Perdition House Part 1 An Erotic Saga
Tales of Perdition Series
by Bonnie Edwards
Genre – Paranormal Erotic Romance
Publication Date – June 28, 2014
Length – 91K words
Publisher – Self
Cover Artist – Eva Natsumi
~ Synopsis ~
When Faye Grantham inherits Perdition House, her family’s secret shame, she expects to sell the property for millions and marry her long time fiancé.
But the spirits who still reside in the mansion have other ideas. Trapped in the bordello, the women who lived and worked there wait to tell their stories to Faye.
The “girls” don’t just hang around waiting. They control Faye’s libido, influence her decisions and drive her into the arms of two very different men.
Liam Watson wears comfort like most men wear cologne. With an interest in adventurous sex, he’s more man than he first seems.
Mark McLeod is a strong, decisive businessman who was not meant to be more than a hot one-night stand. But Mark is in no hurry to end their liaison, and hopes to continue Faye’s lessons in sensuality.
As Faye becomes enthralled with the mansion, she’s embroiled in a life-changing situation that has her re-examining her engagement, her business decisions, and her beliefs about herself.
As the spirits reveal themselves one by one, Faye learns their stories: how they came to Perdition House, why they joined the women there and some of the secrets that only a high-class bordello could hold.
But can decades-old secrets affect Faye’s life today?
~My Thoughts~
Perdition House is a book that was completely out of my
norm. I have read erotica and I have
read paranormal, but NEVER have I read paranormal erotica. But you know what? It totally works! The sex in this book is mind-blowing, hot and
steamy. And with five horny spirits that
like to tweak certain situations, you have a book that not only will have you
fanning yourself, you will also get a laugh every now and then. I absolutely loved the ghosts of Perdition
House. Each one has her own unique story
to tell about how they ended up working for Belle at her brothel, and each
story is heart-breaking to say the least.
Ms. Edwards has crafted a tale so tantalizing and so
intriguing, I could not put this book down until the very end. I was disappointed in the fact that this book
is only Part 1 of a saga because I really became involved in the story, and
then it just ended - quite abruptly. I will definitely be
one-clicking Part 2 as soon as possible, because this story was amazing and I
need to know MORE! If you are a fan of
erotica, then this is a must read!
My rating: 4 out of 5 stars
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~Excerpt~
Perdition House Part 1…An Erotic Saga by Bonnie Edwards
Chapter 1
On a
mission she’d been planning for two weeks and wanting for longer, Faye Grantham
took a breath, smoothed her palm up her thigh to hike her dress and crossed the
threshold into the darkly lit hotel bar.
Alone.
Desperation was a harsh
mistress and demanded sacrifice, and Faye was desperate. Propelled into the bar
by a heat under her skin she could no longer deny, her craving exploded
outward, from her skin, her hair, and the ends of her fingertips. She was on fire
and it amazed her that no one in the hotel lobby had called 911.
Sex with a stranger. An I don’t want to know your name kind of
stranger, that’s what she was here for, and that’s what she was determined to
get.
She paused inside the
entrance to glance around for a likely candidate. At first she was
disappointed. A sparse crowd was sprinkled around the edges of the room. Light
came from tabletop candles and subdued ceiling bulbs made to look like the
night sky. For a bar called the Stargazer, it made sense.
Couples shared a quiet
drink and men spoke into their cell phones while checking their laptops. A
woman with shopping bags that sported expensive logos sipped a martini. Her
mouth was set grimly, and she downed the drink fast, nodding for the next before
the glass was set back on the table. An obviously bad day.
The only men of interest
were a group of rowdy suits at a table left of the door. Four men in their
early thirties, happy and celebrating.
Pay dirt.
Her inner heat cranked
up to unbearable at the sight of all those delicious-looking men. She kept her
gaze forward to hide her interest but had to ease out a breath. She half
expected to see fire blaze from her mouth.
Need. She’d never felt
such need.
Forcing her legs to take
her past the men and toward the bar kept her focused.
An ego-boosting silence
hit the table as she strolled by. A whiff of tantalizing male cologne swirled
around her head as she moved past. It was a man-spice smell that went straight
to every feminine scent receptacle in her head. Her nostrils flared to catch
every molecule.
If she turned her head
to look at the men, she’d stop walking, and one last shred of pride wouldn’t
let her. She would not stand there to be ogled openly.
Moisture pooled at the
image in her mind of four men touching her with their eyes, skimming her arms,
her breasts, her legs, taking inventory of all her secret places. All of them
wanting to be with her, inside her hot, hot skin.
Suddenly awash in heat,
she took a hard breath. Keep moving.
If she wasn’t careful,
she’d end up with all of them at once. She’d be flat out, stripped naked on a
bed, with four men making her melt, making her wet.
The back of a male hand
brushed lovingly down the side of her naked breast. Pure fantasy, but the
feeling was exquisite. She closed her eyes so she could enjoy the intensity.
The hair on the back of his fingers would excite and entice as he pressed
against the soft flesh. Her nipple would bead; the knuckles, large and knobby,
would caress and inflame her areola. Another man would kiss her mouth, sucking
at her lower lip before sliding his tongue deeply into her yearning, empty
mouth. Oh, yes.
She could have two of
them suckle her breasts, and one could pleasure her toes. The fourth, oh, the
fourth would slide his broad fingers into her so she could ride out an
explosive orgasm before he slid his massive cock into her. She squeezed her
thighs together, barely able to walk the rest of the way. Melting in the heat
of her own fantasy, she finally made it to a bar stool.
She’d never, ever
entertained such hot fantasies before. Maybe it was turning thirty last month,
or maybe it was finally being engaged after five years. Or, maybe, it was
Colin’s talk of her needing a sex therapist.
Whatever was going on,
she loved it. She was living a sexual implosion, and she needed to understand
why. And fast.
Her bra felt like burlap
and scratched against her raised nipples. Sparkles of desire raced from her
breasts to her pussy, and she shivered with the yummy feel. In her mind, one of
the men soothed the roughened nubs with an expert tongue. She imagined a wet
mouth suckling at her as she tilted her head back to offer more. She shivered
as the man’s lips trailed up her neck.
Suddenly remembering she
was sitting alone on a bar stool waiting to be served, she pulled out of her
fantasy and looked down the bar for the bartender. It wouldn’t do to start
moaning in the throes of an imagined orgasm.
She’d be hauled out of
her seat and sent to a rubber room.
Maybe that’s where she
belonged. But before that happened, she was going to get laid. Her nameless
lover would be one of those great-smelling men at the table behind her.
One of them would surely
read the signs of her arousal. One of them would tap into it, want to exploit
it. One of them would want it bad.
And bad was what she
needed.
This craving had built
for months. At first it had manifested as an unsettled feeling when Great
Auntie Mae Grantham had passed away. She’d felt guilty for not going to see her
more often.
Then–oh, so slowly–the
unsettled feeling grew into an itch she couldn’t scratch. She and Colin had had
more sex, but she’d been even less satisfied than usual. All the while the
craving grew until it tore and clawed at her, bringing sexual frustration to a
pinnacle. She couldn’t fight it any longer.
A sexual implosion was
the only name she could give the wild craving. It filled most of her waking
moments and all of her sleeping ones. Sexual need crawled under her skin, oozed
out her pores, scented her breath and made her carry fresh panties everywhere
she went.
Everything she’d done,
everything she’d tried had brought her to this moment, to these men. These
strangers.
If she didn’t succeed in
this mission tonight, her marriage was doomed before it began.
She kept her back to the
tableful of men so they could sort it out amongst themselves. In a few minutes,
when they saw she was alone, one of them would stroll over, lean against her
forearm where it rested on the bar. He’d burn with the fire on her skin. He’d
order a drink, see if she shifted away.
When she stayed put,
he’d look at her and smile. She’d cross her arms under her breasts and, without
flinching, give him an eyeful. She’d chosen this bra for maximum uplift. The
top of her areolae peeked over the edges of the lace cups, the rosy flesh
obvious from above.
The dress she wore had
practically chosen her instead of the other way around. She’d found it in her
backroom inventory in a stack of men’s fedoras, folded like a scarf.
Odd that she’d even
thought to look there. She shouldn’t have looked for a dress in a pile of hats.
When she’d pulled it out and held it against her body, it screamed come fuck me, and she knew it was the
one to wear.
She’d checked the tag
and found it had been worn by a B actress in a 1957 sex-kitten flick. Not much
cachet in the vintage clothing business, but a whole lot of “hot” in the
seduce-a-stranger realm.
She smiled and felt her
sexual aura shimmer again as she tilted her hips just so toward the men and
placed her beaded clutch on the bar top.
Beaming a smile at the
bartender, she leaned toward him, her nipples grazing the round, leather,
rolled edge of the bar top. Enjoying the pressure, she swished her nipples back
and forth to ease herself.
Big mistake. At the
faint abrasion, moisture pooled again and slid down her channel to wet her
G-string. She crossed and uncrossed her legs to appease her inner ache.
Her focus turned inward
at the first sensation of moisture between her legs. The bartender had been
wiping up a spill a few feet over but let the cloth he used dangle from his
hand as she settled into her seat. Idly she wondered if he could see sparks in
her eyes.
She tilted her head,
gave her hair a fluff and then raised her arms so her breasts jiggled just for
him. He woke from wherever his thoughts had taken him and came over to her.
Young, handsome, and randy, he leaned across the bar and took a good look at
her cleavage.
“Aren’t you breaking
some bartender’s code by staring at my breasts?” But she squeezed them together
again to ensure his interest.
He grinned and looked into her eyes. “What can
I give you tonight?”
“I don’t know. What do
you have that’s juicy and wet? I’m a thirsty girl.”
His eyes flared, and he
folded his arms on the bar. Strong forearms, with a sprinkling of hair showing
out of the sleeves of his brilliant white shirt.
“You must work out. Your
upper arms bulge with muscles. You look very strong.” She trailed a fingernail
across the back of his hand, down to the tip of his middle finger.
One of the suits moved
in beside her before the bartender could answer. “I’ll have a whiskey and soda.
And for the lady?”
He followed the script,
and with a look that scorched peered down her scoop-necked bodice. Faye gave
him a slow, welcoming smile and crossed her legs again. “I like your cologne. I
smelled it when I walked by.”
He caught the movement
of her legs and grinned. “I’m glad you like it.” He reversed her seductive
movement and traced a fingertip from the pink-painted nail of her index finger
across her knuckle and along the vein in her hand to her wrist.
Fire raced along every
nerve he danced against. Touch me, touch
me. Oh, touch me.
When he stopped the
delicate caress, she thought she’d beg for more. She bit her lower lip, wetting
it, plumping it, preparing it. He watched her mouth with deep focus.
Their bodies turned
toward each other, their heads dipped even closer.
A strong jaw, even
teeth, and intelligent eyes made up her first impression. His control of the
situation was apparent when he looked at the younger man and cocked an eyebrow.
Quick as that, the bartender bowed out of the equation.
Faye had found her man.
Aside from the sexy
cologne, he smelled of success and power, and she blinked up at him as if
surprised he’d be so bold. His forearm burned along the length of hers on the
bar, right on cue.
She swiveled her ass
toward the other three men the man had left behind. An appreciative hiss came
from one of them.
She imagined the man
beside her skimming his hand down her back to cup a cheek and squeeze. She had
to blink to dislodge the image.
His eyes were hazel and
hot, his hair neatly trimmed, and his hands were the hands of a businessman.
Clean, neat nails. She’d already learned his gentle strength when he’d traced
her finger and hand.
His lips were hard,
though–exactly the way she liked them. She saw them bearing down on her own,
demanding she yield her mouth to his. The strength of her fantasies unnerved
her. As if they’d come from somewhere outside her own psyche.
Each fantasy was more
powerful than the one before until she wondered if she was projecting them onto
her forehead for the world to see.
She’d never been so
imaginative. Never so hot, never so needy, never so alive.
“I haven’t decided what
I want yet,” she said, finally remembering to reply to the stranger’s question.
“I can be very picky.”
She cleared her
fantasies away with great effort and took stock of him. What she saw fit her
requirements: healthy looking, interested, no wedding band and keen
intelligence. Yes, he’d do.
“I’m Faye Grantham,” she
said, tossing away her anonymous-sex fantasy. Giving her real name came
naturally, and she wasn’t an easy liar.
“As in, ‘grant’im his
wish?” One side of his hard mouth kicked up.
“If you’d like.”
“I’d like.”
“Miss, can I get you
something?” The bartender interjected all business now.
“Like I said, I’d like
something wet, something juicy.” She arched her neck, trailed her fingertips
down her throat. “Maybe an icy drink; I like the way they cool me when I’m
hot.” Her fingers drew down farther along the line of her cleavage.
There was a long moment
of silence from the two men as they watched her fingers trail between her
breasts. Her nipples stood out prouder, the areolae hard.
“Do you have something
that will cool me off? Something juicy and wet?” She emphasized the t sound, drawing it out only to clip it
off at the end.
The gulp the young
bartender gave was audible. “A Bellini. You’ll like it, I promise.”
The man at her
side–older, and more experienced than the bartender–narrowed his gaze. Then he
slid his hand to her back to a spot above the low material of her dress. Her
flesh tingled where he touched.
His fingertip drew slow,
hypnotic circles on her naked flesh. Her spine straightened in response,
lifting her breasts higher. If he didn’t do more than skim a finger along her
skin soon, she’d shimmy right out of this bodice. She looked into his eyes and
saw the promise of a sure thing.
He was hers for as long
as she wanted to play.
“I don’t need that drink
after all,” she said. “I think I see what I need right here.”
She slid off the stool,
making certain to brush the length of his body. Her pebbled breasts skimmed his
chest, her knee bent as it caressed the side of his leg. More juices flowed at
the thought of sex with this man with the hot eyes and hard mouth. She licked
her lower lip in anticipation.
“You have a room?” she
asked him on a husky note, surprised at the deep timbre.
He nodded and turned his
head to the bartender. She liked the sharp angles of his profile, took a
complete inventory and burned again.
“Champagne. Suite twenty
fourteen,” he ordered from the gaping young man on the other side of the bar.
She slid her eyes to the
younger man. “Make it the best you’ve got.”
She turned, took her
clutch from the bar top and headed toward the exit that would take them through
the lobby and up to his suite. She swayed her hips seductively, straightened
her shoulders and knew the heat of his stare through the silk of her dress.
“My card,” he offered.
He took her elbow in a firm grip to guide her through the tables. She took the
card, glanced at his name in spite of not wanting to know it. Mark McLeod.
It was a good name. She
didn’t recognize the company logo, but it didn’t matter; they’d never be in
touch again. She slid the card into the outside pocket of her clutch next to
the very convenient letter from Watson, Watson and Sloane.
She looked up at his
profile once more. Strong chin, bold nose, hard lips, and great shoulders. She
warmed through and through at the idea of skimming his collarbone with her
mouth, allowing her teeth to leave small marks of possession along the path.
He did not look back at
the table of companions he’d left behind. No, his focus was on Faye and Faye
alone.
She knew he’d keep it
there. How refreshing.
They strode across the
lobby together, his fingers firm on her arm. Her breath quickened with each
step, her breasts bounced, each movement a secret abrasion on her sensitized
nipples. Her knees quaked at the knowledge of what she was about to do. Sex
with a stranger in an airport hotel room.
Coolheaded logic flushed
through her body, washing away the rapacious desire that had brought her here.
The inherent danger in
her plan finally rattled her. Faye glanced at Mark out of the corner of her eye
as they walked together. He looked like a decent man, a kind man. A normal man.
A hot and ready man she’d deliberately enticed. She couldn’t go back on her
offer now.
Her body wouldn’t let
her, she realized, as the warmth in her loins spread upward again. She tried to
tamp it back, but it was useless. This was a battle she’d lost many times in
the last three months. Her body wanted what it wanted in spite of her attempts
to hold herself in check.
She wanted to scream her
need out loud, but she didn’t have to. Mark had picked up on her sexual
craving, had responded and answered the call of woman to man. He knew what she
wanted, and he would give it to her.
Once alone in the suite
with Mark, anything could happen. Any sexually deviant behavior he favored
could occur, and she’d be trapped in it with him. But wasn’t that part of the
whole thing? The fantasy of being unable to put a stop to things, of being
swept up into something forbidden, exciting and wild. Excitement mixed with a
healthy dose of fear twitched and grew and made her pant.
“I’m fine.” Fear mixed
with anticipation was a heady blend–arousing and spicy.
“You’re more than fine,
Faye. You’re a dream come true.” He let go of her arm and ran his hand down her
back to cup her ass the way she’d envisioned earlier. Thrill trails followed
his movements. “You’re perfect.”
“Really?” She bit her
lip. She shouldn’t sound so ingenuous, so stupidly inexperienced. He’d be
surprised enough by her behavior once they were alone.
The elevator doors
opened, and they stepped inside the smoke-mirrored quiet. They turned as one to
face the doors, bodies thrumming, heat rising, minds racing with images of what
was to happen when the door closed, hiding them from public view. Mark frowned
at a harried-looking bellman with a luggage cart.
The bellman nodded and
stepped back. The last chance to change her mind disappeared as the doors slid
shut, closing Faye in with this stranger. This Mark McLeod.
~Author Bio~
Bonnie Edwards, a Toronto native, lives with her husband and pets on the rainy coast of British Columbia. She’s a mom, auntie, sister, friend, like all women. She believes life should be lived fully and with joy. That joy shows up in her earthy, often irreverent love stories. Bonnie uses long hikes in the woods and nearby seaside to bounce ideas off her husband and her dancing, prancing Standard poodle. (who almost always agrees with her)
She has written novels, novellas and short stories for Carina Press, Harlequin, Kensington Books and Robinson (UK).
Sometimes her stories have a paranormal twist, likes curses and ghosts, other times not. But they’re always entertaining and guarantee a happy ending.
She loves to hear from readers through her contact page at www.bonnieedwards.com
~Authors Thoughts
On The Perdition House Saga~
Four minutes later, she responded with: Great! Let’s make this a two book contract.
Gulp! I had no synopsis, no real handle on the characters…I’d just been playing what if?!
So, I did what any writer would do who wants a career. I jumped into Perdition House with both feet, both hands and all my heart. Once I got rolling on the dreams, things got carried away and I followed along with the hookers, basically writing down what they told me. At the end of about 85,000 words I realized none of them had had their happy endings. (Aside from safe haven with the madam and the other girls)
What’s a romance writer to do when there’s more story to tell? Start Part 2, of course. Which is what I did, right away.
Perdition House Part 2 answers questions raised in the first book…what happens to all these great heroines?
I never had a conscious plan to turn my idea into a saga…it’s just how these stories unfolded for me. So, they unfold for readers in the same way.
I know this is different. I know these books are long. I know I’d love to write more. I have unfinished business in that bordello...please do let me know if you agree.
Why the title change after the original books were titled Midnight Confessions?
I always wanted to call them Tales of Perdition House, but the same editor didn’t want the word perdition on the book. I told myself once she read it, she’d understand the title. I played with the word all through the books. When you read, you’ll see how. And, I have to say, that when readers asked about Midnight Confessions, they never EVER called it that.
They always wanted more stories set in Perdition House!
I hope you enjoy my Tales of Perdition saga and believe me, there are more tales to tell…
~Follow
the Author~
~Giveaway~
GIVEAWAY PRIZES
3 e-copies of Perdition House Part 1 An Erotic Saga
2 $15 Gift Cards to the online retailer of their choice
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