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About the author:
Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a die-hard Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.
What inspired you to write your book?
This is a monthly ongoing erotic romance boxed set with multiple authors each issue and various stories from BDSM to Gay and Lesbian, historical, contemporary and Paranormal erotic romance.
Here is a short sample from the book:
On the first day of December, my Lover gave to me – a delicious flogging while bound to an old oak tree.
My lover is the Dominant to my submissive, you see. He is the Ruler of My Universe. My Master. He says jump and I say, Yes, Sir. It’s the wickedest of trade-offs – his gift of authority for my obedience. The exchange hardly seems fair for all that I receive in return, yet he reassures me that what I am giving him is just as rewarding.
It’s not a lifestyle for everyone, but it’s the way of life I’ve chosen. To live any other way would be unfulfilling.
My Sir does not believe in the Christ in Christmas, as I do, but we compromise as we do in all areas of our life. He is an agnostic, sensual sadist, and me, a born and raised Christian who enjoys anal sex. Don’t judge. It works.
I prefer to think of my One and Only as flognostic as he has a particular talent for wielding said sexual apparatus. It’s his favorite tool of the trade and the reason he has chosen it to kick off the holiday season. This is our first Christmas together. While he’s been meticulously planning everything out, I’ve been anxiously awaiting his 12 Kinks of Christmas. He has plotted out the course for my pleasure, because he’s creative like that.
And so the 12 Kinks have begun.
I’m led outside clad in only winter boots, lingerie, and a blindfold. With the frigid air nipping at my nips, my chilled body heats from the inside out.
Wrapping soft nylon rope around my wrists and ankles, he binds me to the oak tree that he planted with his parents as a child. The sound of his breathing reveals his excitement, yet his movements remain unhurried. His hands, determined to have their way with me, show the skill held within them.
I am stripped of my vision, magnifying the sounds, sensations and smells all around me.
A gust of glacial air bites into my flesh, sending a shiver of goose bumps over every inch of my body. The scent of our fireplace… His cologne – fresh cut grass, citrus, and lavender… The searing heat of the leather against my skin… Each moment, exquisite.
The flames of desire licking up my spine… The buzz in my brain and limbs from his manipulations… All of it, divine.
The caress of his fingers on my cheeks and the adoration felt in his touch when I beg for more… Every bit of it, essential.
The cowhide against my belly, red welts, and pain – I’m riding the fine edge between not enough and almost too much. His unrelenting rhythm is slow and deliberate, yet never unkind. His attention, unwavering and focused, and there’s never a subtle movement of my body missed.
His voice, thick and steady, is dripping with power when he asks, “Will you fly for me today, Butterfly?”