Hard Limits (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 94,326
7 Ratings (4.6)

[Siren Allure: Erotic Consensual BDSM Romance, with F/F, with paranormal elements, public exhibition, spanking, flogging, fisting, sex toys, HEA]

Evangeline Hope, new to bondage and submission, seeks to belong…to someone. A trained concert pianist, Evie gave up her dreams to avoid the pitfalls of a life on stage, where it was less about the music and more about her appearance—mixed race, petite, curvy, copper hair, intense green eyes, creamy skin, and freckles.

Owner of an exclusive fetish club Dylan Rankin has the opportunity to watch over Evie when she enters on the arm of another. Evie invades his dreams, during a time when he is a shell of his former self after the tragic death of his wife Anne, and becomes “His Hope.”

With Anne’s help and guidance, Dylan fights to get Evie to open up to him, as he teaches her to be the sub he wants her to be, and she learns to become the woman she is meant to be. They engage in an intense sensual experience, including bondage, discipline…and lots of sex.

A Siren Erotic Romance

Hard Limits (MF)
7 Ratings (4.6)

Hard Limits (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 94,326
7 Ratings (4.6)
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Cover Art by Harris Channing
I laughed. I almost cried. Thoroughly enjoyable story, in a very easy read. I read it in one sitting. Very, very sexy and believable couple. And its nice to see a leading lady who is not model skinny. I will keep this book in my collection.
This book was enlightening, sexy and funny. The description of the characters and the 'scenes' makes it easy to visualize each encounter and feel like your in the room watching. The book was engaging and hard to put down. You have compassion for Evie and Dylan, while laughing at their banter. Enjoyed the book from start to finish. An easy read with suspence and lots of great sex.



“Good evening to the Houston business community, friends, and family,” Owen Rankin started. His impeccably tailored tuxedo hugged his sturdy frame. “I am honored to introduce my son, Dylan, as your Man of the Year.” The room erupted in applause. “I never had a doubt that Dylan would become a great man, because he was a great child, and his mother wouldn’t have it any other way.” He laughed as he looked over at his wife, Katherine, seated next to his son on the dais. “I think it is only appropriate that Dylan insisted that this gathering be held in the shadow of his latest charitable venture.” He motioned to the brick building. The two dozen tables of guests enjoyed the spring breeze and the gourmet dinner in the garden behind the Rankin Clinic. “I could stand here all night, telling you what I think of my son, but they told me to keep it brief.” More laughter. “But, there is no way that I could sit down without saying that I’ve been awed by my son since he was born. From his first step, I knew he was special. Most toddlers stand on wobbly legs and rock back and forth a few times before lifting a leg and ultimately taking a tentative step. Not Dylan. He stood up and broke into a run. Nothing was safe in the house.” He chuckled. “I know he doesn’t remember this, but we had to put a leash on him to keep him still. All we had was the dog’s leash, so when we had to control Dylan, the dog would go crazy, because the leash was his cue that he was about to go for a walk.” The room erupted. “So, I would get frustrated, as men tend to do, and would yell ‘shut up, you damn dog.’ Well, Dylan picked up on everything, and from that point forward, the dog’s name was…” He pointed to Dylan.

“Damn dog,” Dylan said with a smile.

“Imagine a two-year-old running around screaming ‘damn dog! Damn dog!’ That was the first time we were asked to leave the country club, but I digress.” He paused to gather himself as the crowd roared with laughter, his emotions starting to surface. The audience continued to snicker, as Owen Rankin’s passion for his son showed on his face. “All kidding aside, I am proud to introduce the best man I have ever had the pleasure to know, my son, Dylan Rankin.” The crowd stood, clapping furiously, as Dylan rose to his full six foot three inches and buttoned the coat on his tailored tuxedo. He grabbed his father in a bear hug before he took his place, adjusting the microphone.

Dylan stood before the podium in front of two hundred business people gathered to honor his accomplishments, his dark eyes scanning the room, seeing some faces he recognized, but more strangers. He ran his fingers through his pitch-black hair and laughed as he began to speak. “Thanks, Dad, for that bit of information. I had a feeling that there would be many laughs at my expense tonight, but it’s all in good fun,” Dylan started. “I remember being a young man growing up in Houston at the feet of my father, learning his business, how to make money, and how to be a man. As a child, I never wanted for anything. I never knew hunger or want. My parents doted on me as their only child, and I loved them as kind and supportive stewards of my future. As I aged, I discovered that their relationship was unique, full of love and playfulness and mutual respect. I had friends from broken homes, raised by single parents, or grandparents. I don’t envy them, and frankly, they don’t envy me. From my friends, I learned to be loyal, strong, and understanding. From my parents, I learned to love,” Dylan read from his neatly typed note cards. “Over time, I realized the kind of man I was becoming. In control of myself and my destiny, confident in my abilities, charming—almost sickeningly so.” And dominant, he thought. The crowd chuckled.“I worked for everything I have. Yes, my parents have considerable wealth, but their wealth is not my wealth. It was intriguing to me that a person could provide a service and get rich because other people wanted to borrow, partake, or use that service, even temporarily. I was determined to make my own way in the world, not ride the coattails of rich parents. Supportive and proud of me, they paid for my education, and I repaid every nickel. Business became a game to me.”

There’s one area of my life that’s not a game, nor is it even remotely humorous…my love life, he thought as he scanned the room. He continued on smoothly with his speech until his eyes locked with a pair or perfectly green eyes staring back at him, causing him to lose his breath for a moment. Who is she? He had to reach for and take several sips from a glass of water to calm his cough. As he replaced the glass, he looked back toward where she had been standing, but he saw nothing. For the next several minutes, he continued with his planned speech, skimming the faces in the room, looking for her, but she was gone.




He licked across her lips, now plump from his passionate kisses, and continued nipping along her chin to her lobe, down her neck, turning his attention to her sensitive nipples. First one and then the other, he took each into his mouth, eliciting more moaning from Evie as she again arched toward him. He continued to lick and caress down her soft, supple body until he reached her core. Still stroking his fingers in and out with growing intensity, he caressed her mons with his entire face, coating himself with her juices. She lifted her ass and grasped his hair, grinding her pussy into his face. Burying his nose and mouth into her open pussy, he kissed her with the same nips and caresses her used on her lips. The openmouthed kisses made her buck wildly under him. He loved the taste of her. The feel of her shaved pussy, the sweetness of her natural juices had him moaning into her body. Moving upward, he circled her engorged bud with his tongue, then sucked it between his lips as Evie tightened her grip on his head. My God, I want this. His decision had been made. She would be his, body and soul. He brought her to the precipice, feeling the change in her body. He pulled his mouth away, provoking a whimper from his Hope.

He stood beside the bed, slowly removing his clothing. Evie watched his every move while her hand made its way to her pussy. “Hands above your head, Hope. You belong to me tonight.” And forever. Responding with what sounded like a growl, she did as she was told and slowly raised her arms until overhead. “Did you just growl at me?” Her sly smile made his cock jump. She was his and he planned to use her, all of her.

He resumed his striptease, unbuckling his belt and opening his pants. He dropped the trousers, taking the black boxer briefs with them to the floor. Dear god, no way can I take that,she thought. His cock was the longest, thickest, hardest she had ever seen. Not that she had seen many, but the few in her repertoire did not hold a candle to the throbbing creation that bobbed before her. His erection looked painful as a tear of pre-cum sat on the tip, ready to spill. He took himself into his hand as he walked toward the bed. With the other hand, he grabbed her leg, pulling her toward him. He tugged at her until her dripping pussy was at the edge of the bed. He stepped to her, placing his huge erection against her pussy. He rubbed himself against her sopping-wet core, coating himself with her juices. Evie’s gaze never left his. Each time his cock rubbed against her clit, she gasped. “My Hope,” he started. “My Hope. I want to feel you, feel myself inside of you. It will kill me to stop now. You are mine.” In response, she opened her legs wider in invitation, as he positioned himself between her thighs. He struggled to sheath himself with a condom from the supply she kept in the bathroom, brushing against her sensitive clit in the effort. She inhaled sharply and started moving her hips up and down, insisting that he hurry. Watching the movement of her body, he hesitated for an instant before plunging into her. Allowing her to become accustomed to his size, he paused.

Evie gasped at the invasion. The attention he paid to every inch of her body during the massage, the way he focused on tormenting her breasts, and now the way he entered her made her feel complete. She bowed toward him, encouraging him to give her more. He pushed forward and then pulled back before moving forward again. He looked down to see that she had taken more than half of his ten-inch pole. He was content to stop there, but she had other ideas. Her body seemed to pull him in. She met him thrust for thrust as she arched toward him. “All of you,” she demanded. “I want all of you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t hurt you, Hope. I won’t hurt you.”

“You will not hurt me. I’m made for you.” Those words. Anne’s words. He pushed his cock deeper into her pussy, pressing against her cervix. He could go no further, yet she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pressing her heels into his ass, pulling him forward. His heavy dick pounded against her womb. She groaned out loud. He paused, so afraid to hurt her.

“Don’t stop, Dylan. Please give it to me. Harder!” she screamed as she began to open further to him. He felt the thickest part of his dick push into her. Once his balls touched her ass, it was his turn to scream. The head of his dick was being caressed by her cervix while the root of his massive cock was caught in the tightness of her pussy. He had found home.

“Hope, mine. My god. My Hope.” He was pounding into her, pushing her toward the middle of the bed. He climbed atop the bed, and over her. He lost all coherent thought as he felt her pussy contract around his dick. Her channel was tight as a vise, as it milked his cock. They both groaned with abandon as he set a punishing rhythm. Feeling her breathing change and her body react, he bent down and took one nipple into his mouth. Lavishing attention on one until she screamed, he moved to the other, still thrusting in and out in a steady, intoxicating cadence. Mine, mine, mine.

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