TOUCH OF A DOM by Madeleine Oh

TOUCH OF A DOM by Madeleine Oh

Dominant Lovers Series Book Two

With her mother recently dead, Adele Royer is determined to find the father who abandoned them when she was a toddler. The only clues she has are two addresses in Nice that she finds among her mother’s papers. Determined to start her search in the South of France, she applies for a job as cook in Eze and becomes part of Luc Prioux’s staff at Les Santons.

She loves the job and is more than ready to begin her search but Branko Odic, Luc’s secretary, proves to be a delicious distraction. The passion they share is undeniable, their chemistry tangible. He becomes her dream Dominant in bed and a true friend as he aids her in her quest.

Together they find her father in nearby Cannes. But Adele is in for the shock of a lifetime.

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Spectacle was the only word for the sight below. By the light of dozens of candles, a woman was spread-eagled on some sort of table by the pergola and a near-naked man stood at her head, cracking the whip on the paving stones. He was skilled, even in the poor light that was clear enough. With confident movements he whirled the whip from side to side, hitting the ground but never touching the woman. Her quiet moans rose up to where Adele watched and she shut her eyes a moment, imagining herself in the woman’s place and feeling the rush as the evil whip cut the night air.

Adele grasped the window sill to steady herself as her body responded to the sights and sounds below. She had missed this. How many months had it been since she’d had a session with a skilled Dominant? And this man was skilled. Was it Branko? Had to be. The security on the estate was far too tight for random couples to wander in and frolic on the terrace at will. Besides, this scene was carefully choreographed. She’d taken part in far too many not to notice that right away.

Helen –it had to be her–moaned and Adele moaned with her. This was too much, too wonderful but what the hell were they really doing? Had to be put on for her titillation. This employee benefit hadn’t been mentioned during the interview.

The tempo changed, the bullwhip hit the ground with a most stimulating crack and the man went over to the side and took up a flogger. It was unmistakable, even from here, and Adele cast a longing thought to her own flogger, now in her underwear drawer. She longed to feel its kiss on her skin. As Adele watched, Helen’s head and shoulders moved a little but mostly she sighed, reveling in the sweet caress as Branko stroked the full width of the spread tresses up and down her body before trailing them loosely down the inside of one leg and up the other.

Seemed he liked the effect, or perhaps her response, as he repeated the movement several times until Adele was half-ready to call out to him to do more, to ply the flogger harder and, as if sensing her wish, he did just that.

With a practiced and very skilled movement of the wrist, he tapped the end of the tresses across Helen’s thighs and shoulders and then flicked the flogger across her breasts. Oh! Switching techniques like that teased and aroused. Adele was wild and ready and whatever happened next and she was merely a spectator.

In the night she heard him say, “Are you ready, my dear?”

She darn well was. More than ready, overly ready, dying from readiness. This should be her reward. It was going to be.

Without pausing for slippers or robe, Adele dashed across the room, through the apartment and down the outside stairs. She ran across the drive, barely noticing the gravel on her bare feet, and called out, “No!”



Branko turned and watched as Adele ran toward them. This had not been part of his plan. A quick glance at Helen, still prone on the bench, showed she was even more stunned. Understandable, given her state of arousal.

“No?” he asked, sounding feeble to his own ears. “Were you invited?” Bit lame that but hell, he was ad libbing here.

“I invited myself. Wasn’t I intended to?”

Not exactly but now she was here he looked at her intently, hair all over the place, nothing on but a flimsy nightgown that did nothing to hide her full breasts and very tight nipples and the scent of her arousal filled the air. Her appearance was unexpected and downright unintended but most certainly not unwelcome.

“I’m glad you did, but tell me,” he hardened his voice, “why are you here, Adele?”

She shivered under his scrutiny but he suspected it wasn’t from cold, Rather from something far more enticing. For both of them.

She took a deep breath, tilted up her chin and met hid eyes. No modest and submissive lowering of eyes for her. He rather liked her attitude. “I’m in need and horny and you and your partner pretty much drove me to the edge.”

“Pretty much?” He raised his eyebrows slowly and met her eyes steadily. “Does that mean you are still on the edge?”

“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“And you expect me to take care of that?”

“Why not? You seem expert at these things.”

She was in need and wanted him. Wanted him to oblige her. He could be very obliging when necessary. He stepped close to her and fingered the neck of her nightgown. Nice, flimsy cotton, perfect to his mind. It covered but really didn’t conceal much. But even so…

“If you want me, you’d better be naked.” He put in just a hint of menace. Her breath caught but the nightgown was off and over her head before she exhaled.

Now he gasped. He’d seen many naked women, dozens even, but Adele took his breath away. Her breasts were large but gloriously firm and rounded, her nipples dark and every bit as hard as the little bumps under her nightgown had suggested but it was the incredible curve of her belly and generous roundness of her hips that drew his eyes down to the dark triangle of her pussy. His cock responded with passion, dire need and sheer and fantastic horniness.

He wanted her, right here and now but first… He raised the flogger that was still in his hand and asked, “Would you like me to discipline you?” She nodded. “I thought you might but— Damn!” He threw the flogger to the ground. “That will have to wait for next time.” He certainly couldn’t. Branko pulled her close, pressing his erection into the warmth of her lovely belly and he took her mouth with his.

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HEROIC MEASURES by Jo-Ann Power

HEROIC MEASURES by Jo-Ann Power

Heroic Measures Trilogy Book One

Honoring those who have served their country in war, most focus on those who have fought on the battlefields. But one group's heroics under fire have slipped through the pages of history, a group whose blood and sweat were left in operating rooms and hospital tents, a group whose heroism has seldom been measured.

For nurse Gwen Spencer, fighting battles is nothing new. An orphan sent to live with a vengeful aunt, Gwen picked coal and scrubbed floors to earn a living. But when she decides to become a nurse, she steps outside the boundaries of her aunt's demands…and into a world of her own making.

Leaving her hometown for France, she helps doctors mend thousands of brutally injured Doughboys under primitive conditions. Amid the chaos, she volunteers to go ever forward to the front lines. Braving bombings and the madness of men crazed by the hell of war, she is stunned to discover one man she can love. A man she can share her life with.

But in the insanity and bloodshed she learns the measures of her own desires. Dare she attempt to become a woman of accomplishment? Or has looking into the face of war and death given her the courage to live her life to the fullest?

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~Excerpt~

When she did return to the tent, she had Colonel Scott in tow. She'd told him nothing except their German was now awake, aware and spoke English. She thought it best to let the officer discern the veracity of the man.

"Nurse Spencer tells me you speak our language. Might I ask you where you learned it?"

"At my mother's knee, Colonel. Captain Adam Fairleigh, His Majesty's Forces. Forgive me, sir, I would greet you appropriately but our erstwhile nurse has strapped me to the bed."

"Then you must need restraining," Scott replied. "What the hell is this that you say you're with the Brits?"

"I am, sir. I am attached to General Pershing's staff, Chaumont."

"As what? How do you speak Hun so well and why in God's name are you in one of their uniforms?"

Fairleigh arched both brows, looking at the short American down his very elegant straight nose. "Liaison to the American Commander, sir. Since December. I speak excellent German because my maternal grandmother came from Saxe-Coburg, the same principality as our late Prince Albert. I speak German, sir, as well as I do English. Before the war, that was no crime, but an asset."

"I see. And how do you come by this uniform?"

Their patient was no longer so quick or cocky. "I took it off a dead man."

Gwen swallowed hard at the savage image of this man removing clothing from a corpse.

"I had managed to crawl across a zone where they were not shelling. I thought if I could reach one of their forward trench lines, then I-"

"Preposterous. How did you get that far in your own uniform?"

"I went in peasants' rags. Our lines abut an old village where only a few huts still stand."

"Why discard your rags for a German captain's uniform?"

"Well, sir, he was not only dead but conveniently my size."

That shut the man up.

Gwen could only marvel at this creature in the bed.

"When I came upon their trench, I could hear their conversation below. Luck was with me. That bunker was a communications center. If I could get in there, I might learn quite enough to make my mission worthwhile. Of course, I couldn't do that, couldn't speak German to them and have them believe I was one of them if I wore French farmer's culottes, could I? So I crept around…among their dead whose bodies they had not retrieved." He stared at the American with blank eyes. "I happened upon the captain who seemed my height. Then I waited until night fell and-"

He halted, regarding Gwen once more. "I buried my rags and crawled into their trench. They accepted my story. I was privy to their orders that were to move their gun emplacements. Then, as you can expect, I was stuck with them, considered one of them. I had to run with them. I had no opportunity to escape until two nights later when the French opened a barrage in our sector."

He lifted a hand, let it drop to the sheets. "I managed to hang back when they retreated with their line. I set out to No Man's Land and prayed to Christ I'd find my way across to French lines. This took me…I'm not clear. A night. Two?" He shrugged. "Here I am."

"Who is your American liaison in Pershing's staff?"

"Colonel Samuel Rustings."

Scott nodded, a hint of a smile curling his lips. "I see."

"I gather you know him."

"Same class at West Point."

"Well, then. If you telegraph him, he will verify who I am and my mission. He knew I went out, you see."

"A man from headquarters is already on his way here."

"Splendid."

"We thought we had ourselves a Heinie."

The man's mouth quirked in bitterness. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, you'll do, sir. What did you say your name was?"

Gwen noticed that Scott had not addressed him by his rank.

"Fairleigh."

"We'll see what our man from Chaumont has to say about you. In the meantime, my private is outside the tent."

Fairleigh inclined his head in acknowledgement of his warder.

"Nurse. Finish up here. Untie him. "

"Thank you, Sir."

"Good day, then."

When Scott had departed, Fairleigh regarded her with appraising eyes. "What is your name?"

"Spencer."

"Nice name. Spencer."

"Thank you." She pulled her cart closer to his bed. No matter who he was, he was to be made whole as efficiently as she could.

"I am sorry, Spencer, for being an ass."

She saw on his face honest contrition. Unaccustomed to apologies from those who insulted her, she had no reason to trust the value of his. Yet she gave him credit for the courtesy of it. He had done such a brave act. What kind of man would do as he had done? A fool. An opportunist. A man who saw this was work which he and he alone was best suited for? Was that hubris? Cunning? Or duty? If indeed, he had done it. If he hadn't lied.

"Spencer, I am grateful for your help. Please do patch me up. I'd hate to lose my hands because I lacked good manners."

He was making conversation to heal their rift. She picked through her gauze looking for the needle she had misplaced when she had left him. Brusqueness served her where experience did not. "Lie back then and be good."

"Chilly. Do you they teach you to be frosty like that in America?"

"Yes."

He feigned a shiver.

She fought a smile. "Put that spoon between your teeth. This needle will hurt."

"I wager it will hurt less than your German. You should have warned me that it was so bad."

"Careful." Fingering her needle, she began to thread the eye. "You need me to be gentle as I sew. Besides,"-she could taunt him now that he was rational and at her mercy-"I doubt I'll ever sing with you again."

"I will endeavor to ensure you do."

His attempt to charm her flattered her. She would do well to ignore it. "This is war, sir. Neither of us has the time."

"Then sing to me instead."

"When I put my needle in your skin, I will hear you sing and off key, too." She threatened him, hiding all the humor his compliment inspired. "The spoon, sir. Now!"

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