Tainted Love (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 45,864
3 Ratings (3.0)

[Siren Classic: Erotic Contemporary Romance]

Retrenched and persuaded to participate in amateur night at a strip club all in one day, Marianne discovers she’s actually a damn fine stripper, and baring all brings in far easier money than dying by degrees as a temp in a cubicle farm.

But things between her and her ex-boyfriend, Carl, have gone horribly sour, and there’s no denying that her fascination with Brett Gentle, the owner of Imperial House Gentleman’s Club, will bring more complications than she has bargained for.

Even as she gains confidence in tantalising men with her sex appeal on stage and on laps, Marianne’s life starts spinning out of control, tainting the love she has dared to taste.

A Siren Erotic Romance

Tainted Love (MF)
3 Ratings (3.0)

Tainted Love (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 45,864
3 Ratings (3.0)
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Cover Art by Jinger Heaston
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Professional Reviews

4 TEA CUPS: "Tainted Love is a story of a woman who was tired of her humdrum life trying to keep a job that is unfulfilling and has no rewards, the same with her life in relationships. Marianne friends dare her to take a plunge into something different and sign up for an amateur dance at Imperial House Gentleman’s Club, what she didn't realize at the time she won first place was that this journey was going to take her deep into the club scene where there is jealousy, infidelity and girls basically being what they want to really be. Hot Pepper was her stage name and she had a body that loved to dance and cause real men to want more. Brett Gentle, owner and operated of Imperial House noticed Marianne right away and realized that she didn't know what she had. Her dance moves caused a stirring in him that he didn't know he had. But his protectiveness came out when Marianne was threatened and assaulted. Knowing that relationships usually didn't do good with dancers and owners he wanted to take day to day never looking ahead till tomorrow. Marianne never had a lover who considered her feelings till she met Brett her ex sure didn't give her these feelings. But when things turned bad with circumstances under his control, tomorrow's all he is thinking of. This story is a descriptive view of an erotic dancer's journey through part of every day life and the relationships that goes with it." -- Wendy, Happily Ever After Reviews

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Excerpt

STORY EXCERPT

 

Carl was watching some cop show on telly and didn’t offer her more acknowledgement than a cursory grunt when she paused on her way to the bedroom. Acting on some strange impulse, she looked at him. Really looked at him, examining this man she’d spent a good few years of her life with. Already at twenty-six his features were softening, his skin pasty from too little time spent out of doors. Soft, mousy curls were thinning at the top, though he made a valiant effort to gel his hair in such a way to lessen the effect.

Marianne took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to talk to him.

“Carl?”

He glanced away from the screen for the barest moment before looking back. “What?”

“Can we talk? Without the telly on.”

He sighed. “Can’t it wait? This is the penultimate episode. They’re probably leaving this one on a cliffie, and I need to find out who killed Derek.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. She hated it when he talked about the people in the shows as if they were real. “No. I need to talk to you now.”

He gave no reaction, the screen painting his face in flickering of light.

“Carl?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Marianne, can’t you see I’m busy watching the show? I’ve had a shit day dealing with pushy clients who want everything yesterday. All I want to do is relax a little and not listen to you bitching all the time.”

Marianne snapped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to point out to him that he was working late most nights. That would only lead to further trouble. They hardly spoke as it was.

He glared at her until a sound from the television set distracted him and he resumed watching the show.

Taking a deep breath, Marianne said, “I’ve decided I’m going to start stri―dancing at a revue bar. I’m not cut out for working in call centres, and, besides, we kinda need the money right now.”

Carl made a non-committal grunt, and Marianne took that as her cue to go to the bedroom. Still, it hurt. How had their relationship come to that? She thought back to the earlier days, when she’d still been in college. It had seemed exciting then to be dating an older guy who drove his own car and had a steady income, who’d whizz her off to have dinner at fancy restaurants or take her into the country for a dirty weekend.

Now…

It was difficult equating that suave creature belonging to her memories to the slightly doughy fellow who was so absorbed by a stupid TV show.

Marianne had barely passed the couch when Carl’s hand snaked out, the fingers closing on her wrist. “You’re what?”

Good. She’d gotten some sort of reaction after all.

“I’ve taken some shifts dancing at a revue bar.” It’d be better not to say “strip club.”

He frowned. “You’ve what?”

“I’ve taken three shifts a week doing erotic dancing. Look, why don’t you go back to watching your show. I’m going to bed.”

Carl wouldn’t let go. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

A low groan escaped Marianne’s lips. “Look, we need the money…” Should she tell him about that fateful night Judith dragged her out for the amateur contest? No. “And the job I have with the medical aid scheme is driving me a bit bonkers.”

He continued staring at her for a bit, and Marianne assumed Carl was processing the information she’d passed on to him.

“No.”

She almost started laughing. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I won’t have it. It’s not right.”

“Yet you and Paul have regularly had your ‘boys only’ nights.”

“It’s not the same,” Carl said.

This time Marianne did laugh. “What do you mean it’s not the same? How’s you getting a lap dance from some bottle-blonde Russian sloozie any different from me giving a lap dance to some old codger who’s going to slip a fifty in my bra strap?”

Granted, there was a difference, but Marianne was too miffed at Carl’s reaction to want to think too long or hard about her suggestion.

“You’re cheapening the meaning of our relationship by even considering this.”

“And you’re not while you’re busy getting a hard-on.”

His eyes bulged. “No way―”

“So you just went for shits and giggles, is that it? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Carl. There’s no use trying to hide from me that you and Paul have gone to Blue Velvet or Imperial House more than you’ve admitted. So, you’d like to look at those girls, get all hard, yet you don’t want me to be seen as a sex symbol when you’re happy to be the object for someone’s desire. Even if you have to payher.”

Carl’s mouth opened and shut. Marianne realised belatedly that he reeked of beer and his eyes were just a little too glassy.

He went very pale and rigid. When had she ever gripped his shoulders as though she would shake him? Marianne had not been aware of becoming the aggressor in this conversation. A pang of guilt informed her this was not how her mother had raised her. She let go abruptly, stepping back.

Her boyfriend staggered to his feet, his gaze never once leaving hers. “I will not be spoken to like this.” He wiped his mouth as though he’d tasted something bad. “Bitch.” He breathed the word while scrabbling for his wallet and keys.

When he made for the door after grabbing his jacket, Marianne knew she’d pushed him too far.

“Where are you going? It’s late!” She rushed at him.

Carl shoved her away. “Out.”

“We need to talk!”

He snarled at her before turning on his heel. The slam of the front door resonated through not only the apartment but through Marianne’s very being. She’d crossed some sort of invisible threshold. Why did it feel so final?

ADULT EXCERPT

 

“You like your women wild, don’t you?”

“I think the word is ‘unpredictable.’” He gave a small buck of his hips.

Running her free hand down his chest, Marianne marvelled at his toned muscles, the tension. Without meaning to, she recalled other sexual encounters, with Carl, with some of the boys at college, who’d been pale, flabby. Unbidden, she recalled the way Carl would shove at her, grunting, until he reached his climax, rolled over, and promptly went to sleep. He was nothing like Brett, that much was for sure.

“I must admit it will be fun to find out what it’s like being with a real man.” Relinquishing her grip on his hair, she started undoing the buttons of his shirt, but even as she began her task, she had to draw back with a gasp before hurrying through the remaining fastenings.

Writhing in sinuous coils on Brett’s chest, a dragon gaped at her, its head held to the side on his sternum.

“Oh my…” She traced the lines, marvelling at the intricate detail of the scales.

As his chest rose and fell, it gave the beast inked on Brett’s chest the semblance of life.

“Thirty-six hours of pure agony,” Brett said.

“It’s…something else.”

“Glad you appreciate it.”

Her gaze fell upon the silver rings through his nipples, and she reached out to tug on each, grinning at the flicker of discomfort passing over Brett’s features.

“You’re not so mad about that, are you?” she asked, allowing an impish grin to play across her lips.

“It’s not that I don’t like this, it’s just that you’re…”

“Making you nervous?” Marianne teased.

“Something like that.” He grimaced, then sat up, catching her wrists and shifting so they were face to face. “My turn.”

He kissed her, hard, his tongue twining with hers and making her think of the twisting reptile on his chest. His hands were everywhere, teasing her nipples, cupping breasts, then pulling at the already loosened belt keeping the dressing gown closed. With two tugs he released the knot, and the gown fell from her shoulders. Brett leaned back, unashamedly appraising her, his lips slightly parted and face flushed. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You really are a work of art,” he said.

Bringing both hands to her neck, shaking slightly, he smoothed his palms down her arms as though he could mould her flesh. A delicious shiver coursed through her as he reached her sides, teasing his thumbs over her nipples before going lower. There he paused, his palms pressed to her belly, not once looking away from her, obviously enjoying her anticipation of what would happen next.

But she wouldn’t let him get away with torture. Her skin was aflame, but Marianne pushed past the arousal clouding her imagination. She dropped her hands to Brett’s groin, playing her fingers along the bulge she encountered there. God, he was huge, his phallus straining against the shiny leather.

With one swift movement, she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the zip, freeing his shaft so she could feel the weight of it. His cock was hot in her hands, and she stroked its length once, twice, smiling when he pressed his hips into her movements.

“Oh God, your hands, woman. Evil, ev―Oh…ahhh!

Where her hand grazed the tip, it came away moist. She was overwhelmed by the desire to taste him, quickly scooting to kneel on the ground so she could enclose the head of his phallus in her mouth. He smelled of the sea and something dark and wild, and his saltiness filled her mouth as she explored him with her tongue, finding his secret ridges, flicking at the small slit where his essence wept out.

Brett groaned and twisted, his hands tangling in her hair, which encouraged Marianne to see how much of his length she could take into her mouth, delighting in the way he writhed every time she pulled back, sucking hard so that she could increase the pressure on his shaft and the smooth, tight skin of its head.

Before she could continue, he shifted, placing his feet on the floor. “Enough of this torture,” he said. Strong hands pushed her up and tilted her face up to his. “Kiss me. I want to taste myself in your mouth.”

Marianne rose so she could straddle his thighs, gasping a little when his fingers found her secret place, stroking the lips lightly, tickling and probing, but not penetrating. Brett accepted her kiss with great ardour, increasing the pressure slightly on her feminine folds, so she pushed against him. The moist head of his phallus brushed against her stomach, and she knew, without doubt, that she wanted that, no, needed that inside her so she could take all of him into her.

She wanted the slide and pull of warm flesh in her deepest secret places, and the scary thing was she couldn’t remember last when she’d hungered so much for this kind of contact. Moaning slightly, she shifted, bringing her hand down so she could position Brett’s phallus outside her tight opening. To hell with the consequences.

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