The Choosing

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 63,493
23 Ratings (4.2)

As decreed by Vandarran law, one maiden from every shire walks the Chosen Path to the Night Palace, where one and one alone is Chosen to serve a Dark Master. Those left un-chosen are kept in Blood Service.

Talia learned from a young age to mask her true feelings. She guarded her thoughts, living only to count the days until she reached legal majority, dreaming of when she could escape the stifling rules of her Uncle and the pawing hands of her lecherous cousin.

Just days shy of her twenty fifth birthday and her freedom, her meager dreams are torn away. As punishment for her refusal of her cousin’s marriage claim she is forced in offering to the Vandarran Dark Masters in a ceremony known as The Choosing.

In an erotic ritual of passionate submission her desires are unleashed and Talia is Chosen by Roth, the Dark Prince of Pleasure.

Once Chosen Talia is lead down a path of mystery and intrigue uncovering lust and betrayal at every turn.

To meet her destiny Talia must learn to trust her heart and set free the power of her desire. Can she battle through betrayal to find her true self and live the life she chooses or will she submit to the will of the Dark Prince and his secrets?

The Choosing
23 Ratings (4.2)

The Choosing

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 63,493
23 Ratings (4.2)
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Cover Art by Darcy Sweet
Professional Reviews

Dakota, Dark Diva Reviews, 4.5/5 DIVAS

"Steamy! This book should come with a warning label! Once again, Ms. Sweet has done it. The Choosing is an exciting combination of steamy sensuality and dark desires with yummy vampires and a bit of spanking... the wonderful world she created drew me in like a moth to flame... definitely recommended... to any reader who likes paranormal with steamy sex!"

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“This one?” he asked and I gasped at the sound of his voice. It vibrated through me as if I were a string he had just plucked. The amusement was gone; as he looked me over I wondered if I had seen it at all. His black gaze burnt cold like the bite of a wicked winter wind. I was grateful for the chair that came between us. I leaned into it, gripping my flimsy shield.

He asked again, louder this time, “This one?”

The brother stood up, his erect cock bobbing out from the open placket of his breeches. He answered the Dark Prince but I did not hear what he said. I could not hear over the rush of blood in my head and the surge of adrenalin through my veins. I had to stop this. I had to stop this now.

“I’m not,” I said quietly at first and then after I cleared my throat I said it again, this time louder, “I’m not.”

“Not what?” the Dark Prince asked, taking a step towards me. “Not mine?”

“No Sire,” I answered with my head reverently bowed, “I am most humbly yours Dark Prince, as is every subject of Vandarra, but…I do not think that I am what you seek.”

“Really? And what do you know of what I seek?” The seductive menace of his tone struck me, hitting deep in my sex.

“I know nothing Sire. Nothing. I am nothing special. Ask Sire. Please ask. Around Hawthorne Shire they will tell you I am not suited to the Dark Prince of Pleasure.”

He did not look at me, instead turning to the brother. “Is what she speaks the truth? Is she nothing special?”

“If I may Prince Roth?” The sister spoke, coming off her knees at the Dark Prince’s nod.

“She hid well Sire. She is adept at hiding. She shields her true form, but when she is tested she reveals herself.”

What do I reveal? What self is there hidden? I felt a surge of unaccustomed anger at her words.

“Reveal her to me then,” the Dark Prince said and settled himself down on the other wooden chair to my left that butted up against the vast scarred table.

The brother came forward, not the sister as I had expected. He stood before me his cock still jutting out of his open pants. He wrapped a hand around the shaft, and rubbed it low on my belly. I looked at the Dark Prince and bit back a moan. I knew he watched as the brother lowered a hand to splay his fingers around my thigh. Maybe I should have struggled, protested when he lifted my leg and placed my foot on the seat of the chair, but I couldn’t speak. I was too focused on the eyes that watched me and the hard shaft that thrust out from his open fly. He pushed my leg roughly open until I was splayed wide, my wet and swollen sex displayed for all the watching eyes.

“Watch,” he said as he placed the heel of his hand on my mound and pulled up, revealing the wet pearl of my clitoris. I looked down, down to see what had him so focused. He’d come in closer, until the fat head of his penis was resting on my stomach. He pushed my leg back on the chair and bent his knees until the helmet of his engorged shaft was resting on my exposed clitoris.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not here, not here in front of him.

He did. He gripped his cock at the root of the shaft and began to slap the heavy swollen head down on my sex. At the same time his hand pulled up hard on my mound.

Slap. Pull. Slap. Pull. Slap. Pull.

Over and over he continued, growing rougher with each cycle. I could not help but let my head fall back as he slapped and pulled. Relentlessly beating down on my sex. The fat wet head of his cock slapped my exposed clitoris and fell lower into the wet trough of my sex. The shame. The edge of pain. The knowledge that I was watched. Watched by him. All these threads wove together into a vicious orgasm. My muscles contracted and with each spasm I spurted out juice that coated his cock and abdomen.

“Bring her to me,” Roth said.

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