Raven Takes a Pearl
Fantasies in Color
Book Two
Sharon Lynn Fisher
Genre: Steampunk Erotica (BDSM)
Publisher: West 26th Street Press
Date of Publication: Oct. 29, 2014
ISBN:
ASIN: B00P1INX9G
Number of pages: 45
Word Count: 12,000
Cover Artist: Rafido
Book Description:
Second novelette in the Fantasies in Color series by RWA RITA-nominated author Sharon Lynn Fisher ...
Pearl knows it was Raven who stole her mama's heart -- a beautiful quartz stone given to her by Pearl's father right before he died. She sets off alone to the crow-man's keep determined to bring back the stone, but she's caught by a servant and taken to the tower.
The dark-winged ruler of the keep isn't at all what she imagined, and he isn't about to let Pearl go before unlocking all her mysteries -- mysteries she never dreamed her body possessed.
Available for $2.99 at Amazon
Available for $1.99 at AerBook
Excerpt:THE
PUZZLE BOX
We pass through a corridor lit by
more of the strange lamps, most notably an octopus with an arm span of a dozen
feet and a large green light bulb for a head. A clock is mounted just under the
bulb, and as it strikes the hour, the arms begin to adjust their position along
the wall, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of grinding gears.
Wilkes catches me eyeing it and
says, “Master makes them all himself.”
“Who is ‘Master’?” I reply, fear
sharpening the edges of my voice. “Where does he come from? Who made him like
that?”
“Same as makes us all, Pearl. The
Maker.”
“You mean to say he was born like
that?”
“Are any of us as we were when we
first separated from our mothers’ bodies?”
This sounds like something my pa
would say, and is not at all the sort of chat I want to have right now.
“What makes him do it?” I demand.
“Why does he steal things?”
“Master Raven acquires objects
for his inventions. Cast-off things, or things the owner will not long miss.”
“Ha,” I grunt, “and what would a
silly old crow-man who has no use for other living souls know about that?”
Wilkes follows me down the corridor, so he
can’t see it’s not only anger that’s choking me up. But also I can’t see what
he thinks of my answer.
At the end of the corridor we
climb a dizzying number of steps that wind upward like a corkscrew. We rise up
through a hole in the floor into the “workshop.”
Workbenches line the walls, and
every surface is covered with what look like machines in various states of
repair or assembly. There are heaps of “acquired” objects up here as well, and
I steal a quick look around the room for Ma’s stone.
The tower has but one large
window fitted with amber-tinted panes, so it’s only moderately brighter than
the rooms below. More lamps range around the perimeter, but these mostly use
clear light bulbs so it feels less like being in a submersible — or at least
what I’d imagine a submersible to feel like. Near the window is a tall easel
holding a stack of parchment. Symbols and numbers and diagrams have been
scratched over almost every inch of the first sheet. I notice now that many
sheets, similarly scrawled upon, have been hung along the walls. Some of the
diagrams seem to be carefully labeled drawings of Raven himself.
“Here, Wilkes,” he calls, and
Wilkes takes me by the arm and leads me over to the easel. Next to it is a sort
of stand, shaped like an X, with a system of straps and buckles.
I jump as the manservant pushes
me toward the stand, and the moment my back touches it I begin to fight him in
earnest.
“What are you doing?” I demand,
shoving at his chest.
Wilkes doesn’t reply, but he uses
his body to seal me against the stand. His eyes bore into mine, transmitting
something hot and alive, as he raises my arms over my head.
Raven joins us, and I cry out as
he fits leather cuffs over my wrists and ankles.
“Leave us,” orders Raven.
As Wilkes withdraws, Raven steps
back, cradles his elbow in one hand, and props his head on the other, watching
me.
“What do you want from me?” I
shout, straining against the cuffs.
His brow furrows as his eyes move
over me. I’m not sure he’s heard me.
“Master Raven!” I insist.
He drops his arms and moves to
stand directly in front of me. We regard each other, my heart vibrating my
chest, and I become aware that the fear that grips me is changing — in a way I
don’t understand well enough to explain to anyone, including myself.
My heart still hammers. My
breaths come faster. I am afraid. But something warm and velvet is awake and
moving low in my belly.
Raven reaches for a lever and
tugs it gently. The X-stand tilts backward, angling my body.
He draws nearer, reaching a
gloved hand to the top fastening of my corset. I gasp as he runs a finger from
the hook, along the ridge of the corset, tip grazing the soft, rounded flesh
above. His finger passes back and forth, my breath increasing with his
momentum, until finally his fingertip stops just above my nipple. He presses
into the soft flesh and then suddenly tugs upward.
My nipple pops free of the
corset. Heat builds between my legs and my mouth waters. He meets my gaze, and
my lips part, short puffs of breath moving in and out. His fingertip slides
down, and with the soft leather of his glove he begins to slowly rub.
“I … Master … ”
He ducks his head closer,
positioning the magnifying device over his eye and focusing it over my nipple.
I feel the cold metal of its tip pressing against me, surrounding the small red
flower.
“Hold very still,” he says, and I
try to stop breathing. But it’s not possible.
About the Author:
An RWA RITA Award finalist and a three-time RWA Golden Heart Award finalist, Sharon Lynn Fisher writes stories for the geeky at heart — meaty mash-ups of sci-fi, suspense, and romance, with no apology for the latter. She lives where it rains nine months of the year. And she has a strange obsession with gingers (down to her freaky orange cat). In addition to her erotica stories, she’s authored three science fiction romance novels for Tor Books: Ghost Planet (2012), The Ophelia Prophecy (2014), and Echo 8 (2015).
Visit her at www.sharonlynnfisher.com
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