Rockin' the Ménage - Sadie Haller

For this week’s instalment of smut, Madelynne Ellis was kind enough to provide a bonus two-fer. First, she rocks us with her contribution to the recently released box set, Mastered. Then, she takes us back in time with Ménage after Midnight – the second book in her Romps & Rakehells series.

Synopsis – Remastered

A bad experience with a former girlfriend caused Spook Mortensen to repress his sexual urges, but when sound engineer Allegra Hutton is called upon to remaster Black Halo’s first album, there’s only so much of her attitude and stubborn refusal to listen to the band’s wishes he can take before he’s forced to break his self-imposed vow and take her in hand.

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“I’ve been broken,” he replied, gently brushing stray threads of hair from her upturned face. “You might think I’m still broken given the sorts of things I like.”

“What kind of things?” She wished he’d be plainer spoken instead of so cryptic.

Spook moved his hand from her temple and instead splayed it across the front of her throat. Alle’s breath immediately hitched. She felt vulnerable with his palm covering her windpipe and his thumb and forefinger tucked against the ridge of her jaw, but at the same time, arousal bloomed inside of her, leaving her breasts feeling heavy and a mellow throb drumming between her thighs.

“Do you like pain, Alle? I do, I enjoy inflicting it. I like seeing women tied up. I like photographing their skin when it’s been reddened by numerous smacks.”

Dear God, had he really said that? Her mouth turned dry. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Hoped for, yes, but never anticipated.

“I like to wrap the strap from my guitar around their wrists and bind their hands behind their backs.”

She could picture him doing that to her, winding the long strap round and round, and then up between both hands. She’d be naked at the time, and on her knees, and oh so dreadfully aware of what came next.

“Do that to me,” she blurted.

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Synopsis – Ménage After Midnight

Affection for a price… Paris Ashcroft supports himself by offering discreet sexual liaisons to women whose husbands neglect their duties. Romance is merely the means by which he makes a living. However, when Sophia Lovich, the one woman he’s lost his heart to, asks for his attention, he intends to surrender himself to passion. Little does he suspect that Sophie will ask him to endure her husband’s dark desires too!

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Paris knew he’d struck gold when Sophia Lovich blew him a kiss from over her husband’s shoulder. Her gaze met his for a mere heartbeat before she glanced away, lowering those dark silken eyelashes of hers over eyes like chips of bitter chocolate. When she looked up again, he found it impossible not to smile back.

Lucifer curse him for the hideous wife thief he’d become, but Paris couldn’t help himself. Not this time. Not with her. He’d taken many to his bed out of necessity, but he rarely felt aroused by those who encouraged his affections. Swiving other men’s wives had become a way to bring food to the table and support his sister in her matrimonial quest. It wasn’t about love or excitement or anything but the most perfunctory sense of satisfaction on his part. He did it as a service to all the women who sought passion but whose husbands saw them only as a means to beget children, with no interest of their own in sex or in any sort of fulfilment.

With Sophia, things would be different.

There would be no detachment, only raw edges and passion.

He had only to look at her and his pulse raced. Every curve of her body set his imagination alight. She had such a tiny waist but broad padded hips. Perhaps some of that was the dress, but he liked to think not. He liked to imagine that hidden beneath her voluminous skirts was a softly rounded belly and thighs he could pillow his cheek upon. She’d have a plump womanly bottom too. Forget all the dainty sparrows; he loved Sophia for her sheer voluptuousness. Hell if it hadn’t splintered his soul when he’d first seen the wedding band upon her finger. Not that he was in any position to make her an offer, but the fantasy of having her sprawled across his bed had been a good one. It remained a good one. Better yet, tonight he intended to make it real.

Across the table, Sophia shook her head at his prolonged scrutiny. He’d been staring without even realising it, but a quick glance at the gamblers around the table suggested the indiscretion had passed unnoticed.

“When?” he mouthed, wanting to seize this opportunity with both fists. The mere prospect of it had him fidgeting, and too much of a delay would necessitate him shuffling out of the room with the skirts of his frock coat drawn fast across his front to avoid displaying his obvious arousal.

Discretion— that’s what women valued. And public reserve, coupled with fire in the bedroom. He’d do well to remind himself of that lesson tonight ; else she’d fly before he ever got close to fulfilling anyone’s wishes.

Sophia didn’t reply. Instead, her gaze strayed over to the mantle-clock. Already long past midnight, many of Reeve’s house guests, his sister among them, had retired to their beds. Only the politicians and gamblers remained, of whom several were likely to still be present at dawn, Lovich among them with any luck.

To Paris’s utmost relief, Alexander Lovich barely raised his elegant head to look up from his hand of cards when his wife whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Perhaps that was for the best. Paris didn’t want her reminded of how fine a catch Lovich was. Unlike most of the husbands he stood in for, Lovich was neither rotund, aged, or sallow. He was a stallion of a man, with the physique of a blacksmith, without any of the calluses that accompanied that profession. His hair and teeth were apparently all his own too. He had warm smiling eyes and was quick to laugh.

“Don’t wait up, dear. And do remember to warm the bed,” Lovich said.

Oh, don’t worry, I’ll do that. Paris stifled the urge to smirk. No point flaunting the fact that he was about to tup another man’s wife, especially since it was a man he’d once admired. If Lovich had any sense, he’d be pleasuring Sophia himself, rather than indulging Lady Luck. Although, to be fair, the fool did at least catch her hand as she turned to go, in order to press a kiss to her knuckles. Many, he knew, would not even have done that. Too many men who didn’t care for their wives.

Still, the idle caress didn’t cause him any alarm. Sophia needed a greater show of affection than that one simple gesture, and with that thought clearly written into the sour turn of her lips, she bade the rest of the gamblers goodnight.

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Capturing Cora

Branwell “Tinker” Locke believes in grand gestures. However, when his marriage proposal to Miss Cora Reeve is dismissed as a jape, Bran has to find another way to persuade Cora of his utmost sincerity, even if it means using his tongue for something other than pretty words. Cora believes Bran is simply set upon helping her win a wager, even though she longs for his love. In order to convince him that she really does want him, Cora will have to bare not just her heart and emotions, but all she has. Including things a lady should never give without a promise of forever…

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Ménage After Midnight

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