December 2012

 In The Prince of Asteria, Lucy Snow, a shy languages whiz at the UN, was seduced by Jagor, the crown prince.  Employed as his personal aide and translator, Lucy flew with him to Monaco where the unapologetic alpha male helped her discover her submissive side.

Now, in The Palace of Asteria, Lucy and Jagor must fight to keep their relationship a secret from the rest of the prince’s retinue: but Jagor is eager to introduce Lucy to new pleasures.  Lucy knows it’s only a matter of time before they travel to Jagor’s homeland, Asteria… a nation where men rule and women are slaves.  When the whole retinue is plunged into danger, will she be brave enough to stay with the man she loves – even if it means accepting his collar?  Or will the differences between their two worlds tear them apart?Set in a glamorous world of private jets, palaces and servants, the Royal Asteria series asks: what would happen if, in one small, fabulously wealthy European nation, all your darkest fantasies of masters and slaves were a reality?  Can a liberated, New York woman give in to her desires and accept life as a slave, for the right man?  Could you?

Warning! This is an erotic romance that includes scenes of bondage, spanking and the idea of women owned as slaves by drop-dead gorgeous alpha males. Adults only! All characters portrayed are intended to be over 18 years of age even where not explicitly stated.An extract:’I need to teach you,’ he told me, ‘About Asteria.’ And, suddenly coming close to me, he plunged a hand into my loose hair and drew my head back, his mouth descending on my lips. I gasped into his kiss, my lips aching for his touch. Just the slightest brush of his body was like a drug, making me want to press myself to him. He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving me wanting more. ‘Are you ready for that?’

I was panting, but the memories of our conversation in the limo were still fresh, my anger burning bright. ‘No, your highness.’

He abruptly cupped my sex, his fingers running over the damp silk, massaging my slickened folds. I cried out, my legs buckling. ‘Yes you are,’ he admonished, and I felt my face flush.

‘Go to the stool,’ he instructed, nodding across the room. There was a dressing table there, and in front of it a rectangular stool with deep red cushioning. It stood a few feet high, on carved wooden legs. I walked over to it uncertainly.

‘Kneel down across it,’ he told me.

I knelt, the wooden floor hard against my knees. The edge of the stool pushed against the front of my thighs, and as I lowered myself down the cushioned top pressed against my stomach and breasts, making my cleavage bulge provocatively. I gingerly put my hands on the floor on the far side of the stool. My heart was beating fast: I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.

II heard him step up behind me, and something was drawn around my thigh, just above my knee. I looked down. It was one of his silk ties: he was tying my leg to the leg of the stool.

He tied my other leg, then repeated the process with my wrists, the wood cold against them. Now I was bound fast to the stool, unable to move, the ties he’d used slippery-smooth against my skin. I tugged at them experimentally. They held fast: this might be just a lesson, but the bondage was real – I certainly couldn’t free myself on my own. The thought made my heart beat faster.

Jagor knelt down behind me – I had to crane my head back over my shoulder to see him, and he chuckled. Then he ran his huge hands over the cheeks of my ass and started to smooth over them, again and again. My eyes fluttered closed and I let my head return to front. Every touch was stirring the heat at my groin; after a few minutes I was unconsciously grinding my hips in the air, trying to rub my clit against the edge of the stool.

‘I’m going to spank you now, Lucy,’ he said in a voice as unyielding as the movement of a continent.