Little Wolf by Amélie S. Duncan
When twenty-three year old Tala Velsik appears in a last minute performance art piece, she has no idea that public nudity will be the least of her worries. Wearing nothing but silver paint and a pair of antlers, her body is bared to hundreds of eyes, but one penetrating stare simmers through the others, Adrian Caro.
Adrian Caro is one of the world’s most famous directors and photographers, but with striking features and a body made for sin, most would guess he belonged in front of the camera.
Of course, the last thing Tala needs is romance, even with a walking Adonis. Mounting bills, a dead end job and a set of childhood memories most therapists would pale at; love is low on her list. Assuming, of course, her new admirer allows her to have a say in the matter.
Shocked yet thrilled by Adrian’s passionate domination, Tala can’t help but feel she’s standing on quicksand. For all his wealth, fame and talent, Adrian is tormented by his own demons; hiding secrets big enough to destroy them both.
Description
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About the author:
Amélie S. Duncan writes contemporary, erotic romances with a dark edge. Her inspiration comes from many sources including her life experiences and travels. She lives on the West Coast of the United States with her husband.
What inspired you to write your book?
A combination of my love for erotic romances and life experiences.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“No, Monique, we are going to Sacred Coeur tomorrow,” Sergio said.
She pouted, but Sophie walked over and hugged her, kissing her cheek. A pang went through my chest at the love and comfort between these two women. It scraped against a deep longing in me to have a similar connection with my mother. I stroked the knife wound on my forearm, remembering that it had been earned one of the times I had trusted in and tried for that kind of comfort.
“Tala? Tala? Someone give Tala a hug, I think she could use one right now,” Fatou said.
I blinked at her. “What? Huh?”
“You were staring, and you looked sad,” Fatou observed.
My cheeks warmed. “I was just lost in thought. I don’t need a hug.” My tone was harsher than I meant, and Fatou bristled. I immediately felt guilty.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—” I tried to recover.
“Nothing’s wrong with getting a hug,” Fatou smiled, seeming to have already forgotten my tone. She came around the counter and wrapped her arms around me as I chewed my cheek to stop from crying.
What is wrong with me?
Adrian took over from there, kissing my face and cheeks with soft assurances.
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