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Raven
Takes a Pearl
Fantasies
in Color
Book Two
Sharon
Lynn Fisher
Genre: Steampunk Erotica (BDSM)
Publisher: West 26th Street Press
Date of Publication: Oct. 29, 2014
ISBN:
ASIN: B00P1INX9G
Number of pages: 45
Word Count: 12,000
Cover Artist: Rafido
Book Description:
Second
novelette in the Fantasies in Color series by RWA RITA-nominated author Sharon
Lynn Fisher ...
Pearl knows it was Raven who stole her
mama's heart -- a beautiful quartz stone given to her by Pearl's father right
before he died. She sets off alone to the crow-man's keep determined to bring
back the stone, but she's caught by a servant and taken to the tower.
The dark-winged ruler of the keep isn't
at all what she imagined, and he isn't about to let Pearl go before unlocking
all her mysteries -- mysteries she never dreamed her body possessed.
Available for $2.99 at Amazon
Available for $1.99 at AerBook
Sharon Lynn Fisher does a great job tell a complete story in a very short time. This is perfect for this time of year when we are all busy getting ready for the holidays and don't have time to sit down and do a lot of reading. You can pick this up and finish in-between decorating, baking and shopping.
Excerpt:THE
PUZZLE BOX
We pass through a corridor lit by more of
the strange lamps, most notably an octopus with an arm span of a dozen feet and
a large green light bulb for a head. A clock is mounted just under the bulb,
and as it strikes the hour, the arms begin to adjust their position along the
wall, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of grinding gears.
Wilkes catches me eyeing it and says,
“Master makes them all himself.”
“Who is ‘Master’?” I reply, fear
sharpening the edges of my voice. “Where does he come from? Who made him like
that?”
“Same as makes us all, Pearl. The Maker.”
“You mean to say he was born like
that?”
“Are any of us as we were when we first
separated from our mothers’ bodies?”
This sounds like something my pa would
say, and is not at all the sort of chat I want to have right now.
“What makes him do it?” I demand. “Why
does he steal things?”
“Master Raven acquires objects for his
inventions. Cast-off things, or things the owner will not long miss.”
“Ha,” I grunt, “and what would a silly
old crow-man who has no use for other living souls know about that?”
Wilkes follows me down the corridor, so he can’t see it’s not
only anger that’s choking me up. But also I can’t see what he thinks of my
answer.
At the end of the corridor we climb a
dizzying number of steps that wind upward like a corkscrew. We rise up through
a hole in the floor into the “workshop.”
Workbenches line the walls, and every
surface is covered with what look like machines in various states of repair or
assembly. There are heaps of “acquired” objects up here as well, and I steal a quick
look around the room for Ma’s stone.
The tower has but one large window fitted
with amber-tinted panes, so it’s only moderately brighter than the rooms below.
More lamps range around the perimeter, but these mostly use clear light bulbs
so it feels less like being in a submersible — or at least what I’d imagine a
submersible to feel like. Near the window is a tall easel holding a stack of
parchment. Symbols and numbers and diagrams have been scratched over almost
every inch of the first sheet. I notice now that many sheets, similarly
scrawled upon, have been hung along the walls. Some of the diagrams seem to be
carefully labeled drawings of Raven himself.
“Here, Wilkes,” he calls, and Wilkes
takes me by the arm and leads me over to the easel. Next to it is a sort of
stand, shaped like an X, with a system of straps and buckles.
I jump as the manservant pushes me toward
the stand, and the moment my back touches it I begin to fight him in earnest.
“What are you doing?” I demand, shoving
at his chest.
Wilkes doesn’t reply, but he uses his
body to seal me against the stand. His eyes bore into mine, transmitting
something hot and alive, as he raises my arms over my head.
Raven joins us, and I cry out as he fits
leather cuffs over my wrists and ankles.
“Leave us,” orders Raven.
As Wilkes withdraws, Raven steps back,
cradles his elbow in one hand, and props his head on the other, watching me.
“What do you want from me?” I shout,
straining against the cuffs.
His brow furrows as his eyes move over
me. I’m not sure he’s heard me.
“Master Raven!” I insist.
He drops his arms and moves to stand
directly in front of me. We regard each other, my heart vibrating my chest, and
I become aware that the fear that grips me is changing — in a way I don’t
understand well enough to explain to anyone, including myself.
My heart still hammers. My breaths come
faster. I am afraid. But something warm and velvet is awake and moving low in
my belly.
Raven reaches for a lever and tugs it
gently. The X-stand tilts backward, angling my body.
He draws nearer, reaching a gloved hand
to the top fastening of my corset. I gasp as he runs a finger from the hook,
along the ridge of the corset, tip grazing the soft, rounded flesh above. His
finger passes back and forth, my breath increasing with his momentum, until
finally his fingertip stops just above my nipple. He presses into the soft
flesh and then suddenly tugs upward.
My nipple pops free of the corset. Heat
builds between my legs and my mouth waters. He meets my gaze, and my lips part,
short puffs of breath moving in and out. His fingertip slides down, and with
the soft leather of his glove he begins to slowly rub.
“I … Master … ”
He ducks his head closer, positioning the
magnifying device over his eye and focusing it over my nipple. I feel the cold
metal of its tip pressing against me, surrounding the small red flower.
“Hold very still,” he says, and I try to
stop breathing. But it’s not possible.
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