For Oliver West, the local night clubs were his kingdom, until the lovely Paige Turner showed him that she could be the Queen to his King.
There are so many great books coming out this fall! This one actually launches Oct. 3, and I can’t wait to read it. I was privileged to read a little snippet while it was under construction, so to speak.
Check out MARYDEE NIGHT, the latest from sexy erotica author and fellow Wicked Pen, M.S. Tarot!
For Oliver West, the local night clubs are his kingdom. Glittering palaces filled with music and erotic delights for all the senses. Known by the nickname “O”, he is a benevolent ruler, forsaking nothing in his quest to slake the desires that decent people hide. Like an angel fallen from heaven, he left decency and innocence far behind him long ago. Or so he thought.
Enter, the lovely Paige Turner. With her mane of Cruella de Vil hair and a smile more wicked than any witch, she could tame the club-hound “O” if she wished. With a request for a single red rose and a wink that promises things he never dreamed of, fate is showing him that Paige can be the Queen to his King.
But, given his past, will Oliver be able to do what he has never imagined himself doing to be worthy of her?
Here’s a little teaser from MARYDEE NIGHT.
“O, I want you to meet someone. Kelly introduced her to me.
She is so fucking cool!”
“Cooler than me? My nipples are hard. Maybe I’ll have to
work on my chill,” I said.
“What? Have you fallen in love with her or something,
Adele?” I teased her. She and I had talked long and hard about her
more goth-than-goth friend Kelly and a stolen lesbian kiss. “I
didn’t think you were into girls.”
“I’m not! Besides, Paige doesn’t swing to girls either.
Leastways I don’t think she does,” she said.
There are moments in any nightclub when there are just a few
seconds of dead air between songs. An echoing silence descends
upon the gathering, a moment’s respite for buzzing eardrums. As
luck would have it, I had spoken in just such a moment.
And in just the right place for the name to be heard.
In front of me was a tall woman with black as midnight hair,
frosted silver in a Cruella streak above deep blue eyes, who
instantly turned to look at me. She eyed me from head to toe, an
appreciative smile gracing her hooker-red lips. The music came
back up and she leaned forward to speak right by my ear in a way
that gave me chills.
“That’s my name, sexy; wear it out as much as you want.”
Paige’s hand was upon my stomach, a soft caress that almost
tickled. “And if you buy me a few shots of Fireball, I’ll consider
letting you wear out … other things.”
Adele was there under my arm, like magic. Appearing, in fact,
as quickly as my hard-on had sprung up. “Paige, this is my friend I
was telling you about. O, this is Paige Turner.”
She held out her hand to me, “You go by O? I’ve read your
story many times. Maybe sometime we should meet at Roissy’s
château for whips and wine?”
I grinned at the reference and was about to answer back, with
as much flirty purr as I normally would, when her name hit me like
a ton of bricks. And I swear to you, on a stack of Bibles a mile
high, without that cutesy-pun name I would have never known she
was a drag queen.