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A Hot New Cover with a Story by YOURS TRULY!
Current Publication!
F. Leonora Solomon has been my editor with Ravenous Romance anthologies for years. We have worked together at least ten times. She's actually responsible for me sitting down to work on my vampire BDSM erotic romance series (starting with the upcoming In the Sin Room, which RR is currently considering). Her latest book is coming from a newer publisher, and I am happy to be involved. Are you ready for the cover reveal?

Squeee! I love this cover!

What's that, darlings? You want a little taste?

Coming Down Fast
by Kaysee Renee Robichaud

Roy tugged on one of the straps encircling Sally's shoulders, cinching it tighter than she had, and the effect was the same as pulling on a pet leash: an undeniable attention grabber. "Pop quiz," he said for the third time since takeoff. In lieu of an actual question, he indicated one of the lines on his chest, while the airplane's engines whirred and droned in the Jeopardy theme (the mile high techno-mechanical remix, Sally considered it after receiving so many pop quizzes).
The line in question terminated in a red and white handle, solid looking but not cumbersome. Anchor shaped for easy gripping and tugging. Impossible to ignore when needed. Sally pursed her lips. "The reserve chute line?"
"Outstanding," he replied. He was a good looking man with brown eyes that could be gentle or stern as the situation demanded. His brush cut emphasized the smallness of his ears and the narrowness of his face. The hair style choice was a leftover of what he referred to as his "misspent youth" aboard one of the Navy's floating city aircraft carriers, but a secondary effect from those days was an attention to bodily discipline. He was still in prime fighting trim. Broad shoulders that could wrestle loose rigging back in place even during high storms, solid arms that could bench two hundred easy, abs and ass tight enough to bounce back tossed change, leg muscles to kill for.
Sally knew she was pretty enough. And not in bad shape, either. She had her sights set on an MMA title, and that demanding exercise regimen weeded out the truly unmotivated. The slick magazines dedicated to her sport enjoyed her bad girl image, casting her as a dark haired Veronica in a world of Betties, vying for world domination. They played up her height and her build, thankfully playing down the massive ankles she had always hated. Those ankles were a leftover of her father's Scottish heritage, while the rest of her was classic Castilian Spanish beauty with an exotic touch of Syrian.
Headlines of late had been less about her body than the Thrash and Thunder bout this coming weekend, and though she was geeked to be on her way, she was also a bit terrified. The best solution for that? A little special something-something to celebrate six kinky months with the man who really understood her.
His suggestion had surprised her, all right.
"Tell me the routine," he said. Clipped words that were perfect military leadership or for playing the top role in their bedroom/playroom.
Though the Short SC.7 Skyvan aircraft was a relatively small one, the lack of seats near the rear offered the illusion of space. It was still pretty cozy, and when the airplane heave a little, she fell right into him. Roy being Roy, he caught her without so much as a grunt.
"You are in control," Sally said.
"Details, please." Though his manner was brusque, he was simply offering her the standard line that all parachuting professionals at Good To The Last Drop gave to their first timers. There were a lot of things to keep straight when performing this sport.
Good To The Last Drop's company literature referred to these as tandem jumps.
"You have control over the main and emergency chutes. I will be tied to you." The rigs were something right off but made for more than play. Buckles and straps made from solidly designed synthetics and leather. Hers were tight across her torso, with lines that slung around her shoulders and beneath her breasts and between her legs. The world's tightest hug, comforting and compassionate. Just being in her current rig brought her warm squirmies. And soon she would be strapped back-to-belly against her man, and then the two of them would be plummeting through the air together, hoping that the primary or emergency parachute would work. "We go out together, and we arrive together. My life is in your hands. You," she repeated, "are in control."
He flushed with power as she said this again, color burning across his pale cheeks and forehead. He glanced back toward the cockpit, separated from this rear area by a flimsy looking sheet stretched across a curtain rod. Roy had called this "the privacy veil," and explained that it was a mostly ineffective barrier between the crew and the folks, which allowed those mind-changers to "bitch out without 100% embarrassment." Of course, the crew would know when they landed, but there was no real razzing. The shame was born internally. "Cowards die a million times before their deaths," Roy had upped Shakespeare's famous line, "the valiant taste of death only once. And even then, we miss out on the flavor."
"You," she said a third time," are in charge."
Most of her life was spent being the killer queen. In the ring, in the gym, in her nine to five team management gig at the zoo. She had to make decisions, plan out not only her own life but those of people around her. It was a relief to find someone worth giving her trust to.
Like Roy.
"I want you to suck my cock," he said.
"Here?" Her eyes shifted from his to the curtain. Timmy could peek back at any time. "Now?"
"You ever thought about joining the mile high club?" he asked.

For more, check out TIE ME UP: A Collection of Binding Tales!


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