Evil Kisses

“Really? That’s where you want the kiss?”

No, where I want the kiss would have her creaming her cotton fucking panties. Christ knows it has me about to soak my goddamn trousers.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: Wedding Dress

I stare at the embossed wedding invite as though it’s an emaciated Great White and I’m on my fucking period. I’ve been here before. Done this before. Bought a big, white dress and set that bitch on fire. Before.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

An Evil Tease

I am an asshole. I own it.

What I said was out of line. I own that, too.

She snatches her nightdress off the floor then shrugs it on, not even attempting to be sexy about it, a fact for which I’m grateful. “You think Dash is perfect. You think you love her.” She shoves her feet into those stupid assed slippers then plucks up her panties. “But you don’t. You don’t love anyone.” 

She charges up to me, going toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, while she wags her finger, thong included, under my nose. Her panties reek of recently fucked pussy, and it’s a dickslap in the face. 

“You can’t,” she screams. “Bastards like your aren’t capable of love!” Her smile turns arctic, her final words like razor blades. “And even if you were, remember this. She doesn’t love you. She’ll never love you. You made goddamn sure of that, you stupid motherfucker.”

Prudence flings her hair behind her, pushes her shoulders back, and then prances out as if she’s just won the Triple Crown. And that’s when I lose my shit. 

I slam my fist into the mirror, not caring that I bought myself seven years of bad luck or that my knuckles are raw and bleeding. I don’t care about anyone or anything because Prudence is right. 

Dash doesn’t love me. 

Not anymore. 

She’ll never love me. 

Not again. 

I destroyed her once. I destroyed her twice. Then I destroyed her a third and a fourth time. But the final time? She destroyed me.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: Attack of the Queen Bee

Dash’s hard eyes are on mine as she waves away the security milling around her like they’re pesky bees and she’s their motherfucking Queen. At that moment, I wouldn’t put it past her to fuck them, just to make their dicks explode and watch them die.

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: On His Desk

Of course, she’s at my desk. She’s always at my desk, which kills me because I want her on my desk. I want her on her knees on my desk. I want to tonguefuck her from behind while I fingerfuck her tight, little asshole—while she’s on her knees. On. My. Desk. 

~See The Evil

Three Wise Men

Book 1

by Molly Grayson

See The Evil: Natural Born Enemies

We don’t fight like cats and dogs. We’re bobcats and wolves. Tigers and bears. Pythons and King—motherfucking—cobras. But add in Dash, and I’m the Antichrist toying with an annoying, little ant. I will stomp her, squash her, and leave her as no more than a gut stain on the goddamn ground. 

~See The Evil,
Three Wise Men
Book 1

by Molly Grayson

Angels, Death, & Really Bad Breath

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Yes, cherub?”

“I smell like death.”

“I wish I could disagree.”

~Reyes, Untitled

The Original Brothers

(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Kinky Behavior

“What I want is for you and Sebastian to behave. We both know that isn’t happening.”

No, it wasn’t. Thane and Bast would fight it out, fuck it out, and then fight it out again. The two of them were volatile. A fireball was more stable than they were, and fireballs flamed out. They never did.

~Thane, In Love, There Was You

(The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

by Mia Ashlinn

Kinky Office Visits

“Damn, boy.” Adam whistled. “I did all your dirty work, and you still ended up in 'Daddy’s' office?” He shook his head. “Pitiful. Fucking pitiful.”

~Adam, In Love, There Was You

(The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

by Mia Ashlinn

Kinky Problems, Breathing's One

Sebastian didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t move. He felt as though his life hinged on Thane’s next words.

“I’d close my eyes and take my cock in hand. Then I’d pretend it was you stroking me. I’d get out the lube and tell myself it was Delancey’s mouth wrapped around me. It was her sucking me off. I’d spend hours, Bast. Hours fucking myself into oblivion. I’d blow load after load. Each time, I called your name or hers. And each time, I was left more empty than before.”

~Sebastian, In Love, There Was You

(The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

by Mia Ashlinn

Revenge is a Dish Best Served...Bound & Gagged?

Bayliss shreds the barricade of men between her and me with one ballbusting bitch glare. “If it were me, I’d fuck you up.”

“But it’s not you.” Thank God. Bayliss is all bark, all bite, all the time.

“No, it’s not, and you should be glad. Because if it were me…” She smiles, a smile that would have Satan pissing his pants, and strolls up to me with her arms locked behind her back. “I’d fuck a football team at the foot of your bed while you watched.” She pats my chest. “You’d be bound and gagged, of course.”

~Reyes, Untitled

The Original Brothers

(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Two Kinky Men Go Head-to-Head...

Sebastian dug in his heels as Thane continued to crowd him. “Who says I won’t take another man to my bed?” he taunted. They both knew he wouldn’t allow another Dom to top him. Thane was the only man alive he trusted. Despite everything, he still trusted him. “Who says he won’t love bending me over, spreading me wide, and fucking his dick in my ass? You used to do it all the time. If memory serves—”

Thane’s hands found Sebastian’s hair and fisted in it. He pulled his head back with a painful snap. “I say.”

Air puffed in Sebastian. Air puffed out of him. “You don’t get a say.”

“Try me, Bast. Just goddamn try me.”

~Sebastian, In Love, There Was You

(The Doms of Kinky, Kansas Book 2)

by Mia Ashlinn

Bills, Bills, Bills

I’m too weak to stop them, too tired to fight them. But when my strength returns later, there’ll be hell to pay and Reyes will wish his Black Card had the power to foot that motherfucking bill. 

~Torrigan, Untitled story

The Original Billionaire Brothers

(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Not A Lady In The Street, Just A Freak In The Bed

I get guys like their women dirty. I do. I’ve heard Usher and Ludacris singing about freaks in the bed often enough. But at some point, tooling around with whatever ho spreads her legs wide enough and for the most guys quits being hot and becomes sad. And at that point, being the guys sticking it to her is no longer sexy. It’s pathetic. 

Tonight’s group grope is sad. My boys are pathetic, and their bang bunny is a pitiful, little ho. 

~Torrigan, Untitled story

The Original Billionaire Brothers 

(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson 

Hug Me Baby This One Time

Puppies are cute. Baby chicks are cute. Kittens, guinea pigs, and fluffy freaking bunnies. Those things are cute. But women? They’re hot. They’re sexy. They’re a good time between the sheets. The one thing they are not is cute. Except Torrigan is. She’s so cute it’s sickening. And yet I’m not sick. I’m fascinated, and I want to hug her. 

Jesus, I want to hug her. I don’t even hug my mother.

~Reyes, Untitled story

The Original Billionaire Brothers
(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Get Off The Pot, Lancelot!

Gannon acts like some White Knight of the Round Toilet. But he’s not Lancelot, and she’s my Guinevere.

~Reyes, Untitled

The Original Billionaire Brothers
(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Catch My Breath or Bed My Angel?

I need a second, a breather before I do something stupid. Like sweep her off her feet, carry her to the nearest bed of roses, and fuck her until the only name she knows is mine. 

~Reyes, Untitled story

The Original Billionaire Brothers
(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

Batteries Not Included?

What does she think about being in bed with a man while surrounded by another woman’s belongings? Does it bother her? It bothers me. Those are my things, and Reyes is my man. He’s my love. But she gets him. She has him while I’m as lonely as a vibrator without batteries. 

~Torrigan, Untitled story

The Original Billionaire Brothers
(of The Billionaire Brotherhood)

by Molly Grayson

"The Duke and The Domina" Takeover Teasetastic Tuesday

Hello, my kink-a-licious friends. Today's tease is not my own. I stole it...dun, dun, dun...from the lovely Jenn LeBlanc. With her permission, of course. If you love it (and I have no doubt you will), Warrick and Lulu's story The Duke and The Domina is now available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Google, iTunes, and Kobo! 

XOXOXO,
~Mia

* * * *

Prologue

In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy’s country whole and intact, to shatter and destroy it is not so good. 

—Sun Tzu

The Art of War 

1883

The corset tightened, and Grayson let out his last breath of freedom, finally at ease. Corsets were popular with the men of Victorian society, but the reason he wore a corset was different from the rest. For them it was vanity, a softness of the waist, or a straighter posture. But for him? He had no need for help with posture or waistline. His structure was not at issue. 

Grayson needed the binding and the constriction, the pain of the tension and the relief when it released. 

Grayson breathed against the steel bones, letting them pinch as he watched the process in the cheval mirror. If he took a deep enough breath, if he held it long enough then shifted, he could bruise his skin where the boning crossed his ribs. 

He put his hands against the front of the corset and breathed again, waiting for as long as he could before exhaling, then he used his muscles to prolong that feeling. 

The pinch. The burn. The release. 

Then he nodded to his valet in the mirror’s reflection, and his shirt was brought to him. Then his waistcoat. 

Grayson wasn’t looking forward to today. It took everything in him to not run, leave Britain, and return to India—his home. It’s where he felt safest. Here in England, a country he’d wished to never see again, he was constantly on edge. Terrified he would be discovered. There was too much scrutiny here, particularly for a man like him. 

The fact that chance or fate or whatever machination would take his father and brothers without warning, without so much as an inkling, was beyond cruel. That today he was to meet the woman his father had contracted for his oldest brother, the woman he would marry, the woman who was now to become his duchess, was beyond him. Grayson couldn’t fathom marriage to anyone, but to a society miss? The daughter of a duke? A highborn lady who would expect certain things from him? This was truly unfathomable. 

This woman would be in his life and in his house. It would be impossible to escape her. The fact that he was an honorable man never rankled more than it did now. Honor was all he truly had, when the rest of him was…what he was, and he would be forced to hide who he was even in his own house, where he slept. 

To live out his greatest fear in life, to be a man of society, a husband, a father, a proper gentleman—he choked suddenly and leaned over, his breath stolen from him. He rested his hands on his knees at the thought, attempting to catch his breath as the corset bit into his lower abdomen. 

“Too tight, Your Grace?” Rakshan asked as he held Grayson’s jacket. 

Grayson lifted one hand and waved him off, unable to voice an answer. Breathing in through his nose, he stood tall again then pushed his arms back behind him. Rakshan slid his coat up his arms then yanked the tail, straightened the shoulders, walked in front of him, and buttoned him up. Then he pulled the brush from the dressing table and slid it across his chest, shoulders, and back. 

Grayson closed his eyes and settled into the calm of the movements on him. He would need to take that calm with him today to meet the woman he would marry. The future Duchess of Warrick, his dead brother’s fiancée, the woman who would prevent him from ever being himself. 

He may not miss his family for the reasons people believed he should, but miss them he did, because they were all that had prevented him from becoming who he now had to be. 

The Warrick. 

2015

Lulu snapped the single tail just to the left of Oliver’s shoulder, letting the sonic boom send shudders through his muscles. She loved the dance of muscle as it rippled across the back of a client, the skin undulating like a soft wave carried to shore. She snapped it again quickly, this time on the right before the first ripple had a chance to make its way fully across the broad expanse of his back—and Oliver did have the loveliest back. 

With near-perfect symmetry and structure, he was simply beautiful with his arms stretched out to the bedposts above his head. The canvas of his physique, almost flawlessly balanced, could not have been more suited to her art.

He pulled against the bindings on his wrists, his muscles tightening in the center and stiffening his spine. The tension straightened his back as the lats on both sides flexed. The action made his back even bigger and more impressive, exactly what she needed him to do, exactly as she had instructed, throughout his training. 

Lulu waited for him to steady, then she struck him in earnest. First on the left just below his scapula, then on the right without pause. 

Tonight she would give him the wings they’d worked so hard for. 

She picked up the second bullwhip and tested the air with both bullwhips in tandem. This was her special trick and hers alone, and her clients paid thousands for the honor of it. 

She followed the pattern of his muscles down his lats, not letting him breathe between the strikes because the tension played out in his back. The feathers of his wings, made by the welts of the whips, needed to follow his natural musculature in order to look perfect. It was a difficult and practiced dance. Each strike had to be exact, because she wasn’t to draw blood, yet, and it was incredibly easy to draw blood with a single tail. Much too easy. 

For her part, the muscle control required of her had taken years to perfect, the ability to strike in tandem with an exacting weight and placement was nearly impossible. She practiced daily and worked her shoulders and back twice weekly to train out all signs of dominance on her left side. She worked harder than anyone else had ever considered doing. That’s why the clients paid, and they got exactly what they paid for.

Lulu painted his lats with the red feathers, different weights and lengths of strikes making different patterns until he looked as though his back would physically give birth to the wings she put there. 

She set the bullwhips aside and picked up the Wartenberg wheel to add more subtle texture to the feathers. Then the evil stick for the center of the wings, for additional definition. She used multiple tools to complete her work, each leaving a different pattern. 

She didn’t use the bullwhip where the bone was close to the surface, because the chance of drawing blood was much too high. Instead, she used the floggers to paint broad strokes, then the wheel and the stick to define. The final effect was well-defined crests with fluffier-looking feathers down to the tips, but it was the last feather that sold the piece. 

She picked up her whips again for the final strikes, the most painful of all. They would hit the soft hollows below his ribs, carefully avoiding his kidneys, and painting the final, long feathers that would go from his sides to just on either side of his spine. The feathers would bracket those beautiful dimples in a searing pain he would remember for the rest of his days. These would bleed, but only slightly, and only because he’d asked for them to. 

He yelled into it, a deep, throaty growl. They always did, if not during the process at least during the last strike. None of her subs could contain themselves through that final strike—blood or no.

Lulu dropped the bullwhips and inspected his back. The small cuts at his lower back bled two small rills of blood that slid easily into the dimples at his spine, pooling there. “Don’t move,” she whispered. 

She walked to him and leaned across his back, careful to avoid streaking the blood while brushing his newly formed wings with her corseted breasts, running her fingers down his sides, at the very edges of his feather welts. 

“Don’t move, don’t breathe, we’re almost there,” she whispered over his shoulder into his ear. Her breath sent goose bumps across his skin, his welts, causing shudders of pain to rack his body once again. She loved the sound that came from the depth of his rib cage. She wrapped her hands around his waist, skimming her thumbs just at the edges of the last welts to the center of his spine. 

“Thank you, Domina,” he breathed, his voice tense and hard but gracious, and she was brought to life in that. She hit a switch on the wall, then walked to her camera. The lighting was set, the stage created. All Lulu had to do was check the focus and press the shutter, and they would both have a permanent reminder of why they were here. 

She stared into the ground glass at the upside-down reversed image to check the framing. “Don’t move, my darling,” she said as she made the final adjustments to the focus. This was one of her best yet, and she had the beautiful man before her to thank for it. 

She grinned and gave a little booty shake at her excitement, but when she stepped to the side to take up the shutter release, her heel caught on the tripod and her ankle rolled. Her hand flew out to grab anything to help steady herself, catching the leg of the tripod. As the camera tipped she went down hard, hitting her head on the floor, the camera crashing down with her.

The entire thing landed just in front of her as though she were composing an image, their legs tangled like lovers. She could see the back of the camera, the image out of focus, the tilted room projected on the shattered glass, the wings she’d only just created attempting to take flight as Oliver fought against his cuffs. 

She blinked, struggling to keep her eyes open, focusing intently on the back of her camera one more time to try to keep herself from passing out. As she felt the warmth of blood pooling beneath her skull. she heard him yell her name, but she could do nothing but close her eyes and dream of wings.

* * * *

You can find out more about The Duke and The Domina at Goodreads. And if you'd like to get to know Jenn LeBlanc better, she can be found at www.jennleblanc.com as well as on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.

Teasetastic Tuesday: A Long, Cold, Kinky Blizzard

Looking at Sebastian was like being locked out of her house during a blizzard—cold, bleak, and lonely. His eyes were shrouds of darkness, his face as lifeless as a corpse. No spark, no emotion, just…dead. 

“Put me down.”

Wyatt hesitated.

“Now.” Delancey had never spoken to Wyatt quite like she did at that moment, which is probably why he sighed and set her on her feet. 

“You have thirty seconds,” he said. “Then I’m getting you out of here—whether you, Thane, or Sebastian like it or not. You are my priority. No one else.”

Delancey would have gagged but she’d already turned away. “Bastian?”

Sebastian bore a hole through her. It was as if he saw her but didn’t see her. “What?” His voice was sharp as a dagger but cut like a knife. It sliced through her middle, clean and swift.

“I’m going to go with Wyatt.” For your sake, not mine. Delancey half hoped Sebastian would ask her to stay. A part of her bled when he didn't. “I need to know you’re going to be okay.”

Thane cursed loud enough to be heard, but it was Sebastian’s relapse into silence that deafened her. 

“Bastian?”

Sebastian’s face remained utterly devoid of life. “I’ll be better when you’re gone.”

Where Delancey's stomach had been slit before, it was now a jagged wound. The blood her heart had wept escalated to a river of crimson tears.

~In Love, There Was You (The Doms of Kinky, Kansas 2)

Please Be Gentle...This tease is unedited.