Thanks so much for having me here today. I do love a tortured hero, and Sven, the hero in The Housewife and the Film Star is very tortured indeed. On the face of it he has it all, fame, fortune, good looks, and he gives the impression that he doesn't give a hoot about what others think.
The public sees an arrogant playboy, too busy partying and chasing the latest bit of skirt to even act recently. Kiss and tell stories a-plenty tell the story of a man hell bent on seeking his own pleasure, whichever way he may get that, and as such his reputation in the business is in tatters.
The real story is, of course, very different. Sven keeps his private, and his public life completely separate and not many people get to see this private, broken Sven, because he doesn't let anyone close enough to see behind the mask—until he encounters Sylvia.
This ordinary mum of three is like a breath of fresh air, and she marches under his defences with dizzying speed. Not at all impressed by his status and even less impressed by his womanizing reputation, she fights her own attraction for him every step of the way, but Sven is a hard man to resist when he decides to pursue you.
With single minded determination Sven seeks to get her out of his system, in the only way he knows how—by screwing her senseless.
They agree on one weekend of hot sex away from the glaring eyes of the media.
Great plan, in theory, but a man like Sven attracts attention wherever he goes, and the more he gets to know Sylvia, the more he realizes that one weekend is never going to be enough… not when she raises every one of his protective instincts. The Dom in him cannot resist a sub in need.
When International movie star Sven Larsson meets young widowed mum of three, Sylvia, the sexual chemistry between them is instant and explosive, and plastered all over the papers. Sven needs to repair his damaged reputation. The last thing he needs is another scandal, but the Dom in him can't resist the challenge Sylvia represents.
Having survived an abusive marriage, Sylvia is not looking for another relationship, let alone a kinky one with a man of Sven's reputation. Her submissive side can't help but be drawn to him, however, especially once she gets to know the man behind the public image. This private, broken, Sven she cannot help but fall in love with, even if he doesn't do love.
With the paparazzi breathing down their necks at every turn, and past demons raising their ugly heads, will they ever be able to find happiness?
"Like what you see?"
Sylvia wrenched her gaze upwards to meet his eyes. He was watching her reaction from under heavy lidded eyes filled with lust and a grim determination that frightened her a little.
"Sven, I don't think I could…"
Before she could even blink he was on the bed next to her, matching his long length to her much smaller frame. He grasped her wrists in one hand again and pinned her arms above her head. With a wicked smile he used just one finger of his free hand to slowly travel up the inside of her thigh. The slight pressure was torture, and by the time his thumb flicked her clit, she was a quivering mass of feminine excitement. How did he do that? Was it the unwavering focus with which he watched her reaction, or simply the way he once again had her pinned, unable to move?
"Trust me, baby, you can, and you will."
The kiss that followed seemed never-ending. In direct contrast to his earlier urgency, he took his time exploring the inside of her mouth with a breathtaking thoroughness that spoke of ownership. The more she tried to hurry him, the slower he went, pressing his heavy body on top of hers, until the whole word narrowed to just the feel of him. Every stroke, nip and suckle of his oh so talented tongue, stoked the slow burning fire in her core to fever pitch, and her hips bucked wildly, needing his touch.
He straddled her, effectively stopping her from moving and looked down on her.
"Take it easy, we have all night, my little firecracker. We'll do this my way, and unless you want me spanking that delicious ass of yours until it matches the color of your lips, you will not rush me."
Sylvia couldn't stop her sharp intake of breath, and Sven's gaze grew even more heated.
"Oh, I see, you like that idea, do you?"
"N-no … I don't."
"Liar." He whispered the word and lifted off her just enough to cup her swollen pussy. Sylvia swallowed her groan as he swiped his fingers through the wet evidence of her arousal, and then lifted his glistening fingers up for her to see.
He licked them clean and hummed his approval.
"Hmm, delicious. If you don't like the idea of my hand on your ass, then why are you this wet?"
Sylvia had no answer for that, so she just shook her head.
"I don’t know. I don't like violence."
She screwed her eyes shut and pushed the memories away. They had no place here, none at all, damn it.
"Neither do I, my sweet, but I think we need to do something to stop those thoughts swirling in your head. Look at me."
His voice had dropped an octave, the cadence of it so compelling that Sylvia had no choice but to comply.
"Bad memories?" he asked.
At her tiny nod he sighed and bent to kiss the tears off her face. She hadn't even been aware of shedding them.
"I can help you with that, if you trust me?"
He went so still towering above her, she couldn’t be sure he was even breathing, and when she nodded again his smile of approval made her worries float away.
"Good girl, now roll over."
He released her completely, and she felt suddenly bereft without his comforting presence. She awkwardly complied and jumped when he grabbed her ass and squeezed.
Instead of the hit she was expecting, however, he moved his hands up to her shoulders and kissed her neck. Tiny butterfly kisses followed down her exposed back until he reached the zipper of her dress. With agonizing slowness he peeled her out of her dress, murmuring encouragement when she helped him by lifting her arms and finally her hips, until she lay face down on the bed with just her bra still on.
Much to her surprise he left it in place and continued to run his hands up and down her back and over the curve of her ass. The strokes grew harder, leaving tingles of awareness in their wake, and the last of her anxiety fled.
Heat suffused her whole being, and she raised her butt into his hands, willing him to delve lower between her legs, where she practically ached for his touch.
He slapped her lightly on one ass cheek, and she froze.
"If this gets too much, just call red, and I stop, okay?"
She nodded, and a harder swat followed to her other butt cheek, which this time stung.
"I can't hear you."
"Yes, okay, errr, Sir?"
His laugh in answer confused her. He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head up to study her.
"Very nice, but that's not really a salutation I've earned yet, and this is just a little spanking. I don't think either of us is ready for anything else right now, are we?"
She blinked, and the red hot stab of disappointment coursing through her veins took her breath away.
"If we were to go down that route, we would have to discuss a lot of things first, my sweet. I'm not sure I want to do that. Let's not assume titles and just enjoy ourselves, shall we? Unless this is something you need to—"
"No, I don't. I mean, I'm perfectly happy with vanilla. I just thought that's what you wanted. I mean … I…"
Her voice trailed off when his expression darkened.
"I thought you don't read the papers, lady."
"I-I don't, but there's been rumors and, well, I do have some experience."
She mentally crossed her fingers at her fib. Sylvia had experience and then some, but he was right. She was so not ready to have that discussion now. It would dredge up a past she didn't need to remember, not now.
The tight set of his shoulders relaxed slightly, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She really didn't want to piss him off, and she was suddenly desperate to see if this would be as erotic as it had been—before Richard.
"So, you're familiar with the traffic lights then?" he finally asked with a small smile.
"Yes, Si… I mean, yes I am."
Heat rose in her cheeks under his quiet regard, and finally he nodded.
"So be it. I trust you to use it, not that I have any intention of being too hard on you, but I've fantasized about reddening that delicious ass of yours since I met you."
He laughed at her astonished snort in response.
"You have?" she asked, not really believing a word of it. He had to be kidding. "No need to humor me. In case you haven’t noticed I'm in your bed and a pretty safe bet by now, you know."
His expression darkened again, and her stomach dropped in delicious anticipation.
"For that inane comment you've just earned yourself some extra spanks. We'll have to work on that warped self-image of yours. You're a beautiful, desirable woman."
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Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris... at least that's what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.
There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.
She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.