Friday, March 16, 2018

Dear Diary by Nikki Sapphire

Dear DiaryDear Diary by Nikki Sapphire

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Of Course, My First Book. IT is a taboo story which I think all housewives can relate too. Comes out 03/27/18

View all my reviews

Title: Her Debt by Rebel Rose

Title: Her Debt
Series: Lock and Key Series #1
Author: Rebel Rose
Genre: Contemporary/Erotic Romance
Release Date: March 6, 2018 

My entire world changed the second that I saw her in my casino.

She’s a professional gambler. And a cheat. A damn good one… but not good enough. And now she owes a debt to me. A debt that only her body can repay.

I’m restless with lust and need and desire for this thing of beauty not in my possession. My mind and cock are obsessed with her.

When I spank her for the first time, I know that I’m right.

She is the one.

The woman that I’m going to break. The woman that I’m going to train for only my particular tastes. I’m going to shatter her into a million pieces and then rebuild her into everything that I want and need and desire in…

My next submissive.


“Looking for a good BDSM story? Look no further! This takes it on a whole other level than some other books in the genre.” - Read..Review..Repeat

“The story was a deeply erotic and sensual BDSM tale.” - Olga therebelreader

“It's beautifully erotic, without the least of any displeasure when reading.” - Farah

Her Debt: Lock and Key Series Book 1
Tristan Broussard’s POV
(Unedited and subject to change.)

“She’s back, sir.” There’s no need for Garrett to say her name. I know exactly who the pit boss managing the black jack tables is talking about. And knowing that the brunette beauty is back under the roof of my casino makes my dick harder than steel.

“Is she scoring yet?” I’m not sure why I’m asking. She always wins big money.

“Yes. And already pressing, sir.” Betting large sums of money. She intends on winning big tonight.

And so do I.

She is Emma Lia Grant. Daughter of Conrad Grant, once regarded as one of the biggest cheats on the casino scene. His kid has been visiting my casino. A lot. And she’s up to her old man’s tricks: card counting, roulette past posting, dice slides. You name it and she has done it in my house right under my nose.

And I’ve let her.

My first interaction with Miss Grant happened by coincidence. One of my pit bosses suspected that a new dealer was false shuffling but couldn’t catch him in the act. No one could. Not even my best trained eyes.

I was called down to the floor to see for myself but my eyes weren’t on the dealer or his shuffling. They were on the brunette beauty at his table who happened to be winning huge sums of money.

A fucking knockout. Long chestnut locks with caramel highlights, the ends kissed with loose curls. Forget-me-not blue eyes surrounded by lush, wispy dark lashes. A full rack with cleavage on display and an ass with plenty of meat. The kind of ass that I could dig my fingers into and use as a grip to push and pull her off and on my cock when I fuck her from behind.

That image has played out in my head more than one time, and it always ends the same: her collapsing onto the bed with my cum dripping out of her pussy.

The second that I laid eyes on her, my entire world changed. I became restless, desiring something not in my possession, and I had to have her. Make her mine.

My mind and cock became obsessed with Emma Lia Grant. From that night on, she’s been the only one that I’ve thought about. Fantasized about. Dreamed about.

Miss Grant’s winnings, or debts as I prefer to call them, are close to hitting the magic number. Only sixteen thousand dollars prevents me from carrying out my plan. Tonight’s the night, and that has my dick twitching.

I’ve been camping out in the private penthouse in my hotel for a week waiting for this moment. On call for the moment Emma Lia’s debt hits the hundred-thousand-dollar mark.

Ching… ching… ching. It’s like my own personal sexual jackpot clinking in my ears.

Rebel Rose is a decadently dark romance author living in the beautiful city of New Orleans. She prefers anti-heroes over Prince Charmings and often uses her own sexual experiences in her novels. She can typically be found somewhere in the French Quarter enjoying a cup of coffee while people watching.

Keep up to date with Rebel Rose at:


Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Sugar and Spice and all those Lies by Author Evy Journey

Evy Journey, writer, wannabe artist, and flâneuse (feminine of flâneur), wishes she lives in Paris where people have perfected the art of aimless roaming. Armed with a Ph.D., she used to research and help develop mental health programs.

She's a writer because beautiful prose seduces her and existential angst continues to plague her despite such preoccupations having gone out of fashion. She takes occasional refuge by invoking the spirit of Jane Austen to spin tales of love, loss, and finding one’s way—stories into which she weaves mystery or intrigue.

Connect with the Author here: 

Gina’s grandfather was a French chef whose life was cut short by a robber’s bullet. The only lasting legacy he could leave his family was his passion and talent for cooking.

Growing up poor but with a mother who is a gifted cook. Gina learns cooking a great meal is an act of love. An art that sustains and enhances life.

A world of new challenges, new friends, and new loves opens up for her when she’s chosen to cook for a Michelin-starred restaurant.

But danger lurks where one never expects it.
Can her passion for cooking help Gina survive and thrive in this world of privilege, pleasure and menace?

~ Amazon ~ Kobo ~ B&N


At this restaurant, the second one I’ve worked for, the clientele comes from the moneyed class. Privileged with money to spare. Money to put aside for a full-course dinner costing hundreds for two people. And that’s without the wine. I could never dine here unless I gave up my apartment, banked all my earnings, and slept in my car or a homeless shelter for a whole week.

Our regular customers are often fifty years or older and established, and come twice, sometimes thrice a year for special occasions. Dining here twice a month? The guy at Table 29 must be worth diamonds to the restaurant.

I get shivers in my spine entering the dining room. I’ve only been in it when it’s empty, quiet, and bright from lights and white tablecloths. This evening, the lighting is subdued and—yes—romantic, warmed by candles and small vases of bright yellow chrysanthemums on tables. Nonintrusive, soft music plays against the hum of voices from every table.

Table 29 usually sits four, but tonight it holds only two people. I’m surprised to see that they’re quite young. Maybe about my age or a little older. And attractive. Now I’m even more curious. And intrigued. Mature and rich or nearly rich, I’ve seen a lot of. But filthy rich and young? Well, I must at least sneak a peek at what this priceless diamond looks like.

For now, though, I’m a willing peon, as grateful as strawberry blond is when I started learning the ropes in this exclusive eatery. So, I focus on the course I’m serving Table 29. How I perform at this restaurant decides whether my career goes haute cuisine or a la Burger King. But that last choice is really no choice at all. I’ll work my butt off to make sure it stays that way. It’s my future, after all, that I’m slaving for.

I recite to myself the script we’ve been trained to deliver. The script is quite simple, but this is my first foray into a dining room full of privileged clients. And hives are sprouting on my arms just thinking that I’m serving my creation to the restaurant’s most valued client. If this guy doesn’t like my dish and blabbers to Laure about it, I can kiss my future in haute cuisine goodbye. Laure is well-loved and well-known, and a word from her can make or break culinary dreams.

I quickly glance, first at his date then at him, vaguely taking in how they look. I take a deep breath, smile at neither one in particular and say, “Medallions of raw ahi, wasabi hollandaise, on a bed of diced cucumbers, vernissage cherry tomatoes, and capers, finished with a sprinkle of toasted nori. Bon appetit!”

Distractedly, my fixed smile still on, I wonder if “filthy rich” Table 29 guy holds my cooking future in his manicured hands—or, more likely, on his pampered taste buds. I take a couple of steps back, so they can start eating. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of whether he likes my dish or not before I go back to the kitchen. I’m also waiting for that “buzz” I’ve been made to expect. Nothing yet. Anything to say about my creation? Maybe that’s what it takes.

But I’m new in this game and still a coward, so I chicken out as he picks up his fork. I control the urge in my legs to run backward to the kitchen. Be at your best, Gina. Be cool. But my ego will be in tatters if Mr. Filthy Rich doesn’t like the dish.

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Dear Diary by Nikki Sapphire

Dear Diary by Nikki Sapphire My rating: 5 of 5 stars Of Course, My First Book. IT is a taboo story which I think all housewives can re...