When is a name not a name? Never ever if
it's assumed.
Confused? Read on.
More people than we probably imagine use an
assumed name. I do for my writing. Not because I'm ashamed of who I am or what
I write (I'm not) but because as I put my Raven McAllan 'hat' on, I become Raven, and I
write. Take if off and I have to vacuum and iron.
Deborah wears another hat as well. How else
can she get through each day, and do what she has to do?
And Oliver? His life is one succession of
hats until he meets Deborah…
Here is the Blurb…
Deborah may not
know the full truth of her childhood, but she knows she needs to find her soul.
During one of her
performances at Silk Street, she attracts the attention of Oliver, Lord
Craster. Known for his extreme tastes, he sensed a kindred soul in Deborah.
Persuading her that
their needs mesh proves a challenge, even to a man of his experience. Will
Oliver be the man she needs to unlock her secrets? Or will his dominance scare
her too much to even try?
Are the nightmares
simply too strong?
How about a look at the cover?
Rather Yummy isn't it?
So here is an excerpt...
She lifted one long
tapering candle from its place in the candelabrum, and let the wax trickle
slowly down the sides.
She handed it to
Oliver who took it with a flourish. He would have been well coached on his
duties by a watchful Luc who stood close by. As the first drop slid lower inch
by inch, to be followed by more, her breath quickened. Images of those globules
beaded on her flesh, of the delicate cobweb tracery they could create, made her
breathing choppy and her pulse jump.
To her amazement, the
usual sick feeling in her stomach wasn't there. By now it would be normal for
her head to pound, and her skin to be clammy. Instead her body prickled with
something akin to excitement, and the muscles in her quim pulsed. Her juices gathered
in the apex of her thighs, and she forced herself not to push them together to
try and relieve the delicious tension inside.
Oliver's grin showed
her he had noticed, and Deborah gritted her teeth. Damn him, he is too all-seeing.
"Do it," she
said softly. "Do as Luc has instructed you. Let us finish this
performance."
"This is for
them." He waved the candle in the direction of the silent crowd. Faces
appeared and disappeared as the flickering light crossed them. "Later it
will be for us."
What? Her cunt contracted and
for the second time in minutes. She felt the long forgotten gush of arousal
fill her channel.
"Concentrate."
Luc must have realized her attention had wavered, and brought it back.
"Five minutes, that's all. Then we are gone."
He was right. Deborah
walked to the angled bench placed at the front of the stage and stretched out.
Her body was tilted to enable the audience to see everything. Behind her Oliver
stood, the candle in his hand. Next to him, the ever-vigilant Luc waited.
She nodded. "Ready."
As Luc spoke to the audience, explaining the rest of the act, she turned her
mind inwards, slowed her breathing, and took herself to a place where what was
about to happen wouldn't register. It was the only way she could cope.
"Later, I will
show you how arousing it can be to experience the soft path of the wax
caressing your body. Bring the sting of pain and change it to the sharp shard
of pleasure. Now, I do as I am asked."
****
Oliver speculated what
was going through her mind as she lay on the bench, her body stretched and her
face devoid of expression.
"Do it," Luc
said. "For the love of God and De…her, do it now. Do not make her wait.
That is cruel."
He was not a cruel
man. Even as he wondered what Luc had been going to say, when he had stopped
mid-word, Oliver held the candle high and watched. As if in slow motion the
tiny tears of wax dripped and hit her skin. To him it was a caress, a bite of
pain, which would morph into a swell of pleasure, and a hint of things to come.
A gift he could give her. If he thought they had the chance.
"Another."
Luc was insistent. "As we discussed. Now. While she is within
herself."
His phrasing intrigued
Oliver. Nevertheless, he tipped the taper once more, and created the patterns
they had agreed upon. By now his peers were cheering, the sight of her soft
flesh covered in the ribbons of cooling wax a turn on to all those there. Even
if it was not their own preference, each could appreciate how something so
misunderstood, and called deviant by many, was so necessary to others.
In one way it seemed
an aeon before Luc indicated he was done. In another scant seconds. He handed
the stub of the candle to Luc and took his bow, before he turned to the woman
still supine in front of him. With what the watchers would see as theatrical,
he bent his head. To all intents and purposed he was offering a soft kiss to
her neck. In reality he moved and nipped her earlobe. "It is over. Come,
make your bow and let us take you out of here."
Thanks Raven for coming along today and bringing your fabulous new book.
Interested folks? I certainly am!
Well here is where you can find this tasty book:
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/a-shimmer-of-silk-by-raven-mcallan/
You can find more about Raven on www.ravenmcallan.com
