An Anthology from The Erotica Consortium
Published: May 5, 2014
This set will only be available for a limited time, so get it before it disappears.
Stories and Authors:
Kick by C.D. Reiss
Unraveled by K. Bromberg
COME by J.A. Huss
Red & Wolfe by Ella James
The Devil in Me by K.I. Lynn
Worth by Shay Savage
These Men by Andrea Smith
STILL by Alessandra Torre
Eight mistresses of the erotic bring you eight original, never before published stories to excite and arouse, including USA Today Bestsellers Alessandra Torre and CD Reiss, and NY Times Bestseller K. Bromberg.
These are not your mother’s erotic stories.
We’re not giggling about foul language over tea, or avoiding smut talk at the Tupperware party.
This book is slick fingers and flesh on your lips. It’s twisted bodies late at night when the city sleeps and the moans fall where no one can hear them. This book is pain and pleasure, lust and passion, a body brought to the breaking point. It’s drenched in the the musk of sweat, shuddering at the touch of a Master.
It’s not your mother’s erotica. It’s yours.
By K. Bromberg
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and bound.
Shamed she liked it.
Doomed to want it.
An identity unraveled.
Lives changed forever.
The Devil in Me
by KI LynN
In search of strength and guidance at a nearby church, Jared happens upon a temptation. One he cannot hope to resist. Each time he sees her, the overwhelming urge to have her consumes him. The lust is overpowering, dragging him deeper and deeper with each encounter, exposing the devil within.
The first novella in Songs of Perdition.
by CD Reiss
Fiona Drazen, sex addict, submissive slave, celebutante, trapped in a mental ward until Dr. Elliot Chapman can help her remember why she’s there. But once she does, she might not want to go home to the Master she tried to kill.
by Shay Savage
An injured Roman Tribunus finds comfort in the touch of the slave commanded to tend to his wounds. As a slave, her value is measured as a couple of coins, but as Tribunus Faustus learns more about her, he begins to understand her true worth.
Still, a man of his station can never acknowledge feelings for a slave, and she is already owned by another man.
by Andrea Smith
Paige Matthews has a lot to learn, and more than just about being an intern with the F.B.I. Inexperience with all types of relationships leaves her looking for a new place to live. Eli Chambers and his partner, Cain Maddox, are looking for a roommate. It’s the perfect arrangement, but one that will change all their lives forever.
by JA Huss
He must have her, take her, control her, keep her. She will submit. But she will do it when she is ready and willing. The bond is uneasy and the future uncertain. But one thing’s for sure.
Alone… Harper and James are dangerous.
Together… they are unstoppable.
Red & Wolfe
Part I – An erotic telling of Little Red Riding Hood.
by Ella James
After years attempting to contact her estranged grandmother, an artist who lives on a remote island, Sarah “Red” Ryder is surprised to receive an invitation. When she arrives at the island, she’s shocked to find it is now the home of J. Wolfe, the reclusive artist, who has his own plans for her.
by Alessandra Torre
I was raised right. To mind my manners, keep my knees together, to put my napkin in my lap. But somehow, with one look at the dark sexuality that is Brett Jacobs, I forgot my Southern graces. They may have gotten lost in the pushmeupagainstthewall and takemehere action that occurred. In the clothes-ripping ohmygod action that followed. They may have, along with my sanity and common sense, deserted me, leaving me with bruised lips, ripped panties, and multiple orgasms.
AUTHOR INFORMATION – Collective biography
The Erotica Consortium was the brain child of CD Reiss. In December 2013 she asked JA Huss to help her pull together the hottest erotica writers to start a private Facebook group that would encourage support in all areas of bookish things. Members of The Erotica Consortium were personally invited by JA and CD and the group is complete with six additional authors: Shay Savage, Andrea Smith, KI Lynn, K Bromberg, Ella James, and Alessandra Torre. BEND is their first anthology together.
Excerpt from KICK by C.D. Reiss
The club is thick with humanity. The dance floor stinks. The voices are like a bag of broken glass. The music is a throbbing heartbeat. And the man is gone.
I put my hands on bare, sweaty skin, pushing through. Amanda finds me, blonde hair stuck to her forehead, lipstick fading, her bodyguard, Joel, two steps behind in dark glasses and firearm. She kisses me on the lips. I push her away.
“You see a guy in a suit? Tall? Hair like this?” I make a motion with my fingers.
She points to the exit with a wink. I smack a kiss on her lips, and continue pushing through.
She calls my name as I walk away, but I pretend I don’t hear her. I have a man to find.
Nothing like coke to make the impossible seem within reach, or to make it within your rights to shove, tread upon, growl and curse to get through a crowd just to get a look at some hot stranger. Nothing like that expansion of the ego to make it okay to push some squealing teeny bopper out of your way when she screams “Fiona Drazen! You’re Fiona Drazen!” in your fucking face as if your name alone is front page fucking news.
Of course, they wait outside in a cluster, pressing against the red velvet ropes. Paparazzi don’t care about the weather, which is rainy and cold for Los Angeles. Lights flash. They call out my name as if I even answer to it any more. Let them get their pictures. I have him in my sights.
He hands the valet a tip and takes the keys to a black Range Rover.
He is a thoroughbred, and there are twenty assholes with cameras between him and me, which is too bad, because I have to have him.
I put my knuckles out to them, both middle fingers extended for all it’s worth. I have rings on top of rings, and I know the lights are going to glint on them like hell in the pictures. I’m going to look like a flashy rich bitch and the coke tells me I don’t give a fucking shit what Daddy thinks.
I turn to the doorman, skinny ex-cop with a pencil moustache. He looks at my chest, then at my face. I know Irv. He’s a hustler. He keeps these assholes off us when we’re around, but he takes cash to let them know when Amanda and I show up.
“Irv! What the fuck?”
“I got it,” he says.
“Outta my way cocksuckers!” I shout, plowing through, with Irv’s help. They back off for him in a way they’d never do for me. I know they’d chew me up, spit me out, and photograph me crawling to the hospital.
I get to the Range Rover and pound on the passenger side window. It’s tinted. The car doesn’t move and the window stays up. Do I have the right one?
They’re behind me, and I’m on the curb, in the drizzle, out of Irv’s field of influence. If he comes to get me, he’s leaving the door, and that’s not cool.
I pound on the window again. Bursts of light flash on it.
I’m about to get mobbed.
“Hey, asshole,” I shout.
The window rolls down so slowly I feel as if I’m in a movie about falling.
And there he is. My heart jumps out of my chest.
“Hi,” I say, sticking me head in. I can feel them behind me. I can hear them calling my name, over and over. “You took something of mine outta the bathroom.”
“Really?” He’s older than I thought, and this makes him more attractive then humanly possible. “What?”
“My heart.” It’s a stupid come on, but I’m a girl. I can get away with it.
“Ah. I thought maybe your shirt buttons.” For the first time, he glances at my chest, and I feel that my breasts are chilled.
My shirt is wide open. Fucking Earl with his octopus hands.
“Don’t make me turn around,” I say. “They already got enough pictures.”
He takes a second to think about it, looking me straight in the face. A little smirk plays on the perfect line of his lips and I think I just might die.
Excerpt from UnRaveled by K. Bromberg
My body begins to writhe, its need to sate the burning ache a sharp contrast to the warring emotions in my psyche. My only focus is on the slow slide in of his fingers and the pressure and friction against nerves unexpectedly reawakened. The tortuous withdrawal of leather not wet enough tugging softly on the most tender of flesh, causing a different but equally arousing sensation.
I try to fight it.
At least I tell myself I do.
I try to understand how this is possible. How an orgasm can rip me apart right now—again—when fear still holds my breath captive.
I should have never accepted the drink, never looked up to acknowledge him with a subtle nod of my head.
My body vibrates as the swell of white-hot heat sears through me, taking nerve endings hostage and overwhelming all thoughts.
I shouldn’t have looked up—no—so the question is, why am I glad that I did?