BOUND BY BLISS – On sale February 24, 2015
About the book –
In Lavinia Kent’s luscious, erotic historical romance, a free spirit learns her true desires from a master of the heart, of the body—and of the sweetest discipline.
Lady Bliss Danser, daughter of the Duke of Mirth, is a scandal waiting to erupt. Which is why her highly conventional brother wants to saddle her with Stephan Perth, Earl of Duldon, the only man he thinks will marry her. Worse, Stephan keeps threatening to punish her, to teach her just how a woman should behave. His words may cause Bliss to tingle in the strangest places, but that doesn’t mean she likes the man himself.
Stephan has secretly desired Bliss for years, but he knows how close he is to losing his beloved. Careful not to rile her impetuous heart, he promises only to aid Bliss in her search for another fiancé. And if she’s determined to understand the male body first, he’s happy to comply in that regard as well. However, she must follow his rules or face the consequences. Slowly he takes Bliss to the darker, steamier side of his world . . . where she realizes that Stephan is everything she’s ever wanted.
Bound by Bliss is an erotic romance intended for mature audiences.
Stephan Andrew James Perth, Lord Duldon, rolled on his side as the clock on St. Michael’s tower sounded the hour, the sheets tangling about his waist. He counted the toll as he ran a finger down one of the fine red welts marking the woman’s bare back. Eleven bells.
A slow sigh escaped between his teeth. Normally such a night’s work would have left him satisfied, but tonight he felt strangely empty, incomplete.
The woman rolled her hips, inviting further play. Almost perfunctorily he raised a hand and gave her a hard swat. Her ass stretched back as a happy moan sounded. Blast. He knew every move to make, but lacked any actual desire. It had been this way for far too many days—weeks or months if he was honest.
The woman turned toward him, heavy breasts falling forward, nipples still swollen from the evening’s play, inviting his touch. A slight smile curved her lips beneath the silken mask she wore. “And how may this humble servant serve you further, master?” Her eyes dropped to where the thick linen of the sheet still draped about his waist.
Her tongue darted out, wetting already moist lips.
Shit. He was late.
He’d promised his aunt he’d attend the Evanstons’ soiree. And his aunt, Lady Perse, was not one to be disappointed—plus there was always the possibility that Bliss would be there. He pushed the thought from his mind. He’d thought of her far too frequently these last months, fantasized about her far too often. His cock began to swell at even the slightest thought. Blast. Bliss was going to be his wife, not his mistress. Now, if only the unruly beast would remember that fact and not rear his ugly head at every thought of sweet Bliss.
Without a word, he swung from the bed and reached for his trousers. If he hurried he would make it before the call to dinner. Luckily Lady Evanston believed in a late dinner. Lady Perse would understand. A gentleman could not be expected to arrive early.
“You’re leaving now?” The woman did not sound happy, not at all.
“I am sorry. I must.” He laid a careless kiss upon her rounded shoulder.
She pushed herself up, her breasts almost slapping his chest. “Don’t you want to punish me more? I’ve been a very bad maid. I haven’t completed my tasks.” Her hand reached for the trousers he had just fastened.
He pushed her hand away. Couldn’t they ever be original? He knew it was all a game; his partner was no more a servant than a lion was a house cat, but some days he tired of all the pretense, wanted something real, something true.
Why couldn’t a single one of them admit what they wanted without masks and foolery? But he knew the answer to that question. It wasn’t as if he walked about admitting to his own desires . . .
“You can’t leave. I am not ready,” the woman complained, her lips forming an unattractive frown.
Now, that was more in character with her real identity.
“Sorry.” But actually he wasn’t. It was as much a relief as anything. “I’ve paid Madame Rouge for the room. You can stay until morning if you wish, perhaps seek another companion.” He draped his untied cravat about his neck.
And then he slipped through the door, his thoughts moving on to the remainder of the night, the woman already forgotten.
About the author –
Lavinia Kent is a former two-term president of the Washington Romance Writers and a four-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart nominee. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets.
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