![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I continue to be gobsmacked at how quickly the patreon jumped up over the past week! We’re now only $29 short of the monthly goal that will trigger the serialization of Bound by the Blood, the first book in my long-long-long awaited “BDSM meets sex magic in modern NYC” paranormal romance series.
(UPDATE: WE HAVE REACHED GOAL! AND the serialization has begun over on Patreon. See all chapters that have been posted: https://www.patreon.com/collection/886649?view=condensed)
To encourage folks to get us to the goal, I’m posting a sample chapter here! Now, you’d think I would post this on Patreon itself, BUT they have a rule that says if there’s anything naughty, it has to stay behind the paywall. So I’m posting it on my regular ol’ blog(s).
Enjoy!
Let’s start with the night I met Clive—boots laced up, my corset cinched, and a bag of whips on my shoulder. I’ll start somewhere you might recognize: a nightclub with an upstairs dance floor. The city is full of clubs like it—a thousand different vibes to suit a thousand different crowds. Upscale, downtown, psychedelic, cyberpunk, Bollywood, cowgirl, you name it.
A shirtless man would grab my attention in any of them, but especially in Purgatory.
Before I saw him, I had been asking myself why the hell I was there. The place was goth, but once a month the dance floor turned into a dungeon. People go to these places—all of these places—to hook up. Not just for sex. People go to bars when they’re lonely, when they’re looking for connection.
I wasn’t ready for connection. Not so soon after severing ties with Ethan. But there I was, anyway.
Clive—I didn’t know that was his name yet—was standing by the empty deejay booth, looking comfortable in his bare skin. A typical darkwave dance-trance playlist was on, but that night was for a different sort of dance. Two leathermen had been flogging a third on the St. Andrew’s cross, but they were mostly done, just running their hands up and down his bare back and buttocks. One of them snapped the elastic waistband of his thong and all three of them laughed. A witchy long-haired androgyne smiled in their direction and then glided down the stairs. A few mixed-gender couples nursed drinks at the tall cocktail tables along the far wall. It was early, not yet crowded, and the spanking bench and other play stations were empty…
( Read the rest of this entry » )Mirrored from Cecilia Tan.
The Bonds of Love
