Meet Kristin #dommes @RavenMcAllan #bdsm

Welcome to Raven McAllan.

I have just had that moment of ...envy. Okay hands up yes.. This is one book I WISH I had written. So big love to Raven for this fab book.

So here it is...

The Dommes of Ballingal: Kristin

Ballingal. An Island in the middle of a Loch. Where women rule, and hearts are saved—or broken.

I love the sound of the ladies of the loch. There are six of them. Kristin's is the first story to be told.

Kristin McCrory would never in a million years have thought her ex-husband would show up on Ballingal and profess his need to sub for her. Flynn is the ultimate stubborn Alpha male, and his refusal to even discuss her need to be in charge had already cost them their marriage. That, and his apparent need to seek out the most dangerous place to report on in his work as a television documentary reporter.

However, the Flynn she knew is not the Flynn who stands before her now. This Flynn is a broken man and she can’t just turn him away. As an Empath and mind reader, Kristin can sense his emotional and physical pain. It means Kristin feels even more drawn to the man she loves, and their connection is as strong as ever.

Love is worth fighting for after all, and Flynn finds new strength in his submission.

Excerpt

“Bring those, please.” She didn’t wait to see if he would do as she said, but turned her back on him and began to walk like a ship in full sail back up the path toward the cluster of stone buildings a few hundred yards up the hill. The dozen or so other visitors scattered in various directions as Flynn slung his bag over his shoulders, picked up the boxes, and walked three strides behind her.

Is this welcome to a sub’s paradise? Fuck that for a game of soldiers, or subs. I might say I’ll sub, but there’s subbing and subbing.

“There isn’t, you know.” Kristin had stopped and turned toward him. Flynn missed bumping into her by inches.

“Eh?” He rocked back on his heels and held on to the boxes for grim death. It wouldn’t be a very auspicious start to drop them.

“There’s just subbing where I’m concerned. One way.” She paused and ran one long pillar-box-red fingernail over his cheek. “My way.” She turned and carried on walking.

Flynn shook his head. Either he’d been talking out loud or she was a mind reader. Hadn’t he discovered in his research that really there were as many ways of kink as there were people?

“Mind reader,” Kristin called over her shoulder. “And I’m not other people.”

Fuck, and if you’re reading this be warned, Mrs. McCrory. Sub to you I may be, doormat I won’t.

There was no answer. So it was selective thought reading then?

“No, I chose not to answer.” Kristin stopped outside a bright yellow door, with baskets of spring flowers on either side of the porch. “You’ll submit to me and in my way, or you won’t, Flynn. The choice is yours. We’ll discuss it later. Here’s Nicole’s place.”

He blinked and raised his eyebrows. What was he supposed to say to that? “Very nice.”

Kristin dropped the post sack a few inches from his toes. He was glad he had sturdy shoes on, and he didn’t flinch.

“I hope you think so. It’s the bed and breakfast—guest house. Where, I assume you have a booking?”

Flynn shook his head. He loved the way her eyes glittered, and her fingers twitched. Green eyes, red hair, and a temper to match. Oh so stereotypical, and great fun to light the flare and watch the sparks fly. He was adept, or he amended to himself, had been, adept at ducking.

“A very nice lady called Justine told me it was full and I’d be stopping with you.”

Her mouth dropped open and Flynn grinned. It wasn’t often he had ever been able to surprise her. “Didn’t you know?” he asked in as innocent a voice as he could muster.

“No I did not.”

If she could conjure up frost, he reckoned he’d have frostbite, or icicles on his dick.

“And you are not stopping with me.”

Flynn put the boxes down, very carefully. He felt as if he was about to walk on eggshells. “I’ve paid my dues, surely? Three years I’ve given us. Now I’m ready.”

“You’ve given us?” Her tone was incredulous and her dark eyebrows disappeared under the carroty red fringe of her hair. The two colors should have seemed incongruous, but Flynn hardly noticed. She’d dyed her eyebrows and eyelashes ever since he’d met her.

“Given us?” Her voice rose. “Get real and open your tight little mind, Flynn. You’ve given me fuck all, except heartache. I vowed when you walked away I wouldn’t cry one single sodding tear. And you know?” She poked him in the chest. The look in her eyes made it clear she would have preferred to use a knife, not her finger. “I didn’t. Not one.”

A lump wedged in Flynn’s throat. She hadn’t been upset? He’d gone on a misery-fest for a month, and eventually been dragged out of his bed by his Director. Was it all a mistake? Should he turn round and sit on the jetty until the boat came back? No, no not that. I need her.

“You know why, Flynn?” She poked him once more, and the pain hit his heart and shattered it into tiny pieces of guilt.

He shook his head, scared if he spoke his voice would break as well as his heart.

“I’ll tell you then, shall I? Because I shed fucking millions, that’s why. I was a mess, and if it hadn’t been for Justine, god knows where I’d be now.”

It might be horrible news, and he did feel awful, but deep inside, Flynn had a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, something could rise out of the ashes of their relationship?

Flynn swallowed. “You’re—” He cleared his throat to try and make his cotton wool tongue work. “You’re too strong to do anything silly.”

She curtsied mockingly. “I’m glad you realize that, Flynn. Because if you’re serious about subbing to me, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

http://www.bookstrand.com/the-dommes-of-ballingal-kristin

www.ravenmcallan.com

What's it like to be Auctioned to the Spanish Dom? @mamaD8 #menage

Thanks so much for having me on your blog today with my newest release, Auctioned to the Spanish Dom. Ever since Master Pedro first popped up in Book One of The Spectrum Auctions, I knew I would have to tell his story and this is it.

Master Pedro is a complicated man, and writing his story brought it with some unexpected surprises. I also fell hopelessly in love with him, and I hope readers will too.  He might be a Sadist, but he’s also a man who falls hard and deep for the right woman—his pequeñita J

Blurb: 

[Ménage and More: Erotic Older Hero Consensual BDSM Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, flogging, paddling, cropping, knife play, sex toys, HEA for M/F]

Peyton King had a simple plan. Sign up for the Spectrum Auctions and finally get the story that will get her the promotion she craves.
It’s just her luck that the person who wins her is Pedro Hernandez. The Spanish Dom has been starring in her erotic dreams ever since they first butted heads in her professional life, and he proves impossible to resist, if downright scary.
The sadist in Pedro is looking forward to teaching the prickly reporter a lesson or two. However, when Peyton turns out to be a masochist her instinctive responses floor the experienced Dom. Maybe it’s just his age catching up with him, but this young reporter gets under his skin like no other sub ever has, and their play smashes through both of their emotional defences in record time.
When their relationship is put to the test, Pedro has to decide if he can trust his pequeñita.
She is a reporter after all…

Buy Link: http://www.bookstrand.com/auctioned-to-the-spanish-dom

STORY EXCERPT

A man could fucking lose himself in those expressive eyes staring up at him. He didn’t read one iota of malice in Peyton’s expression. She didn’t probe, didn’t ask the questions she was without doubt burning to ask. No, she just waited patiently for him to tell her. He had the most curious sensation crawl up the back of his neck, the instinctive knowledge that she would also accept it if he didn’t tell her. A novel experience, for sure. Any woman he’d ever been involved with, even on a casual basis, had eventually been full of questions.

Another reason why he kept his encounters these days confined to the club, and the purely sexual. Life was simpler, if rather lonely that way.

“If you’d rather not tell me, that’s okay. I realize we barely know each other, and this is clearly personal, and I sense perhaps painful, so let’s just forget it.”

She stepped away from him, and he had to smile at the nervous way she pulled on the misshapen neckline of the shirt she wore.

“I’m just gonna clear this table away.” She mumbled the words into the curtain of her hair and started to stack the plates together.

“You were right, you know,” he said, and she froze, empty wineglass in one hand, two stacked plates in the other. “Put those down, pequeña, and let’s take this in the living room.”

He didn’t check to see if she followed. All he knew was that he needed to sit down, and he flung himself into the wide, comfortable leather settee and shut his eyes. Big enough for him to sleep on, if need be, it had seen him do so far too many times lately when he’d stayed up late, watching old movies in an effort to dispel the thoughts churning in his head.

The sofa dipped slightly when Peyton sat down next to him, and then depressed again. He opened his eyes to find her throwing a cushion on the floor. Peyton knelt on it, wrapped her arms around his legs, and rested her chin on his knee.

His dick stiffened automatically at seeing his beautiful sub on her knees by his feet, and the churning in his gut subsided somewhat.

“Very nice, Peyton, but we’re not in a scene right now, so this is not necessary,” he said. Instead of getting up, she tightened her hold on his legs, and nuzzled into his thigh.

“Yes, it is. Indulge me, please, Sir. Besides, I like the way you look at me when I do this.” A faint blush crept in her cheeks, but she held his glance, and he smiled.

“And how do I look at you?” he asked.

That blush of hers deepened, and he straightened slightly so that he could wrap his hand into her hair. A tremble went through her, and the dominant in him lapped up her submission. She was right in one way. Telling her about his fucked-up life so far would be easier when he was in this headspace. The memories hurt less then.

“As though you like what you see, and…” She dropped her gaze and seemed to find his bare feet most interesting. Pedro increased the pull on her hair and tugged her head back up so that she had no choice but to look up at him.

“Tell me.” He dropped his voice and her mouth opened slightly. Eyes wide, and lips trembling, it was the utter trust and submission he read in her beautiful orbs that made that curious sensation at the back of his neck turn into an allover itch. His chest tightened and a rush of pure possessiveness swamped him. This delightful young woman sat at his feet was his, and his alone. Peyton’s nails curled into his legs, and she blinked several times before she answered him.

“It just feels right, Sir. I can’t explain it, and it makes no sense. I just feel it in here.” She brought a hand up to her chest, and he nodded. “I guess I just feel free, which makes no sense at all.”

Pedro released his hold on the silky mass of her hair and petted her head.

“No, it makes perfect sense, pequeña. You’re embracing your submissive side, and that makes me feel very proud of you.”

Her face lit up in a brilliant smile, and he was hard pushed not to just sit there and grin back at her like a besotted fool, but there was no denying the connection they had established in a very short space of time. Pedro had scoffed at Slade and Laura when it had happened to them, though at least they had known each other for years beforehand. Scarlett, too, had been at the butt off his jokes, though, again the whole danger she had been intended to accelerate and clarify feelings. What was his excuse, however?

Turning forty far from home, and without any of his family acknowledging that fact, shouldn’t prove that much of trauma, should it? After all, he was used to it. Then again, Pedro had been unsatisfied with his lot in life for some time. Seeing his friends settled had just crystallized those feeling for him.

He sighed and Peyton’s face fell.

“Sir? What’s wrong?” she asked.

 Authors Bio:

Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris... at least that's what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.

 There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.

She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.

Writer of sensual, sassy, sexy romances

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