After many false starts, and much gnashing of teeth, the fourth book in the Dominion Trust series, Quinton’s Crucible, is now live at all major retailers.
This story follows the story of the harrowing ordeal of Quinton Trask, a rather nasty fellow readers were first introduced to in book #2 of the series, Her Troika. Unlike anything I’ve ever written, this book is my first F/m title, and it’s likely the darkest book I’ve written to date (if you’re averse to non-con themes, look elsewhere…). Quinton may be a “bad” man… but even his considerable will is no match for the steely Anna Shaw.
Since this is an F/m title, I recognize that this story may not be for some of you, and that’s perfectly okay. We all like what we like. But I just had to write this story. The tale of Anna and Quinton had been gnawing at me to write for longer than I care to admit, and I simply had no choice but to complete it.
For those who take a chance on it though, I think you’ll be surprised. Read on after the product description for a nasty little excerpt:)
A Note About Kindle Unlimited Availability: This book is being released wide for now, so for those of you non-Amazon folks you’re in luck.
Due to several recent troubling changes implemented by Amazon, I am keeping this title out of KU at this time. I understand that this may be problematic for any readers who only read via KU, but without complete confidence that Amazon is correctly recording page reads in the program I cannot in good conscience put any new titles into KU. I’m very sorry for any inconvenience this may cause some of you.
If Amazon cleans up the mess that is the current state of Kindle Unlimited (and yes, IMO it is definitely a mess), then I can certainly revisit putting new titles into KU. But until then, for business reasons (and my basic sense of right and wrong) I cannot put this title — or any other new titles — into KU.
(If any of you have questions regarding the current KU problems, feel free to write me and I’d be happy to explain further.)
Hope you enjoy the book!
As it so often was, my choice was obedience, or pain.
When they held the whip, or the cane, or the crop, my eyes always focused on the hands. The way the fingers caressed the braided leather of a handle, the way a maroon painted nail would catch the light as the cane sliced through the air, my bound body waiting to be reacquainted with its old friend agony. [Read more…]