LATEST NEWS & UPDATE:

Two weeks ago I teased you a little with the lovely Talia's first chapter of my upcoming release Obey. Last week, you got the delicious cover. This week, meet Jagger. He's everything you want in a hero and then some. Keep scrolling for his first chapter in the book, chapter 2!

Preorder Obey, now!

Dedication:

For all the good girls; the ones who went to school every day, followed all the rules, listened to their parents; the ones who waited to have sex, who stayed in unhappy relationships because they felt they ‘should,’ when all they really wanted to do was get on their knees and ttdlagg...

Dear Reader,

This book isn’t going to be for everyone. If it’s not for you, that’s totally fine. Maybe next time. I’m also the first to admit that not all kink experiences are the same. This in my interpretation of how these characters experienced these kinks. If this hasn’t been your experience, that doesn’t make either experience wrong, just different. The beauty of kink is that it’s not a one-size-fits-all model, and that’s one of the things I love most about it.

I truly hope you enjoy Jagger and Talia’s story, it was a joy to write, and I am so excited to share it with you.

Sincerely,

Lasairiona x

Content Warning

This book contains certain subjects some readers may be sensitive to, including but not limited to:

·      Daddy kink (DD/LG)

·      Religious trauma

·      Death of a spouse from cancer (off page/in the past)

·      Bangziety imminent – they don’t DO IT for a long time in this book. YES, it’s a slow burn, but NO, you’re definitely not reading a clean/sweet romance. (Yeah, I’m putting it in the content warning so you can’t ‘at’ me for them not boning off the bat, or for a while for that matter.)

·      Snowballing (one partner ejaculates into the mouth of the other during oral sex, after which that partner transfers the semen back into the mouth of the ejaculator)

As with every book with content warnings or potentially sensitive subjects, please be cautious when undertaking this story and take care of your mental health. 

Chapter 2

Jagger

She’s got to be fucking kidding me, right?

When the blue-haired pain in my ass repeats her question, I wonder which part of my fuck off and leave me alone face let me down. Usually my R.B.F doesn’t let me down with strangers. Resting bastard face. Works every time.

Usually.

Except right now.

Right now, the bubbly Half-Pint in the seat to my left stares up at me with wide eyes and up-turned palms covered in scratches and scrapes, holding out the bottle of liquor. Her pale, white skin is accentuated by various shades of blue, her bright blue hair, her sea-blue eyes, even her fingernails are painted blue.

She’s giggling, nervousness making her voice shake. “I’m not normally so clumsy. I fell...” Her sentence trails off as though she sees something on my face that tells her I’m not in the mood to chat.

Heaving out a sigh, I roll my eyes.

It’s like sitting next to a goddamn child.

Without another sound, I open the bottle and hand it back to her. The striking difference between her tiny, pale hand compared to my tawny bear-sized-paw is almost laughable. I want to say her blinding grin and sheepish thanks don’t affect me, but the warmth behind the softly spoken “thanks,” is undeniable, and seeps into my skin. Just a little.

“Can you believe how heavy it’s coming down out there?” She hooks a thumb at the window before turning to give a wistful look outside. “You think we’ll be able to take off?” She gnaws on her thumbnail.

I don’t have headphones within reach. I left them at home. Usually my gruff disposition is enough to turn people off from making small talk. But Half-Pint isn’t taking the hint.

What the fuck is she prattling about? Is she expecting me to answer? If she’d take a goddamn breath I’d consider getting a word in. Maybe. Probably not.

Tipping my head back onto the headrest, I close my eyes. Would she even notice if I fell asleep? Do I need to be an active participant in this conversation?

Seems not, since she’s even answering herself. She’s playing both parts in the discussion and doesn’t seem at all phased that I’ve checked out.

After a beat, her high-pitched voice stops for a blissful moment. Cracking open my left eye, just a slit, I hold my breath not wanting to draw attention to myself.

“Oh! You’re awake. Thought I’d lost you for a second.”

Fuck.

She’s relentless.

I’m regretting my decision to let that family sit together. I want my seat back. I want my peace and quiet back.

Is this woman really telling me about her grandparents? The fuck?

As a mechanic, I’m surrounded by people all day every day. Not just by my team in the garage, but I have to interact with clients, too. I get by. I mean, people aren’t my favorite, but I make it work.

Yet I’ve never met someone who launches into their family history at the drop of a hat. I don’t even know this woman’s name, but her mamaw makes the best peach cobbler in the entire world. Her brother is married to a rodeo cowgirl who just broke her leg getting bucked off a prized horse. And her family dog is named Bark Twain.

She barely slows her roll to down the chardonnay before turning to me with a second little bottle of liquor. “Would you?”

My only hope at this stage is that consuming two drinks at speed will make her fall the fuck asleep so she shuts the hell up, and I can go back to reading my book.

She’s been talking at me for so long I have no idea what the hell happened on the last page. Or even in the last chapter. My watch tells me it hasn’t been days or hours. In fact, this elfish hurricane has been in my life for less than an hour.

With any luck, when I hand her back the second bottle of liquor, she’ll leave me alone. As I crack the seal on the bottle, she gasps so loudly the people sitting across the aisle from us turn toward us.

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. If there was a trap door under my feet, I’d yank it open and take the emergency exit straight out of this tin can. She points at my hoodie now hanging from the chair in front of me. It ended up on the ground after our tangle when she landed in my lap, I figured hanging it up was the safe bet, but apparently it only makes her want to talk even more.

“You went to the University of Minnesota?”

My stomach drops. I don’t want to have anything in common with this woman, because it seems any potential shared interests will result in lengthy conversations I have no interest in pursuing.

She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Oh. Em. Gee. I went there too. And so did Harry, my fiancé.”

The tension in my body loosens at the announcement that she’s off the market, and she’s not hitting on me. If she was, she’s going about it the wrong way. I love a woman who knows the value of comfortable silence. Or at least one who doesn’t fill every single goddamn moment with banal chatter.

Speaking of quiet, she’s been silent for longer than a heartbeat, so I risk a glance. Her face has crumpled, her shoulders curled, and her head hangs. If I focus really hard on her mouth, her chin trembles.

Oh, fuck no. Is she going to cry?

It’s too late to get my seat back from the family a few rows back, but perhaps there’s a chance the captain will trade seats with me so I can escape the ball of emotions sitting next to me. I’m a quick study. I’d happily fly this bird to Chicago, if he’d take Little Miss Chatterbox off my hands.

Sounds like a fair exchange to me.

She seems to have forgotten I’m sitting next to her. She’s muttering about what a cheating dillweed this guy was and how she didn’t expect to be single on her visit back to her grandparents. The ice wall around my heart thaws. Just a little. There’s nothing worse than an asshole who steps out on his woman.

Digging into my back pocket, I pull out my handkerchief and offer it to the now sniffing bundle of palpable sadness. She stares at the piece of cloth in my hand, then my face, then the handkerchief, then my face.

I wiggle the fabric a little. If she doesn’t take it soon my momentary lapse in judgment is going to expire.

Her button nose wrinkles, and her shoulders shake. Is she... laughing at me?

“You’re quite the contradiction, Mr. Grumpypants, aren’t you?”

Mr. Grumpypants? Shaking my head, I can’t help but roll my eyes. Again. I’m a fit guy, but my eyeballs haven’t had this level of workout in a long time.

I mean, she’s also not wrong.

“You use handkerchiefs?” She tips her head, whatever emotional outburst that was brewing within her only moments ago having simmered down at least for the time being.

Maybe if I give her a tidbit of personal information it will feed her for the flight. “My grandfather used to carry handkerchiefs. He said it was the key to a long and successful marriage.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for such a small square of material.”

I offer it to her again, and she accepts it before blowing her nose. For a moment it seems like she’s thinking about offering me back the now snot-covered cloth as indecision flits across her face, but instead, she scrunches it in her hand and places it on her lap.

There’s a moment of blissful silence that’s verging on euphoric. But I’m not naive enough to think I’m getting the quiet I need to read my fucking book. I lean my head back, and just as my eyes are drifting shut, she sniffs. “Were you close?”

“To what?” Refusing to turn my head, I let my eyes drift closed. Maybe if I start snoring she’ll give up. Wouldn’t count on it.

“Your grandfather.”

I was. My parents worked multiple jobs to make ends meet. They were always so busy that my grandparents played a pivotal role in my childhood. I miss my gramps more than I care to admit, and the urge to press my fist into my chest, to massage away the ache his death left me as a teenager, is consuming. She doesn’t need to know that, though. She’s gotten her factoid about me. And unlike her, I don’t share my life story with strangers on a plane.

So instead, I simply grunt in response.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. As you can see, it’s coming down pretty heavy outside. Despite our best efforts, air traffic control has reported all flights are being grounded, and the airport is closing until the storm passes.”

The collective groan is so loud the captain is drowned out for a long moment. He’s probably telling us to talk to our flight carriers about rescheduling our flights, but half the passengers are already on their feet grabbing their luggage from the overhead bins.

Half-Pint is praying for everyone in the storm, she’s asking God to keep everyone safe and return them all to their families. She pauses, cracks the eye closest to me, and adds “even Mr. Grumpypants. Amen.”

Another gasp. “Was that a...?” She points at my face. “Smile?”

Shaking my head, I cuss internally.

“I think it was.” She beams like she’s won the lottery and doesn’t have to pay tax.

“You want out?” Jerking my thumb at the throng congregating in the aisle.

“I’ll wait.” She pulls out her phone and pounds the keyboard for a few moments. I should probably do the same, but I’m not sure who lives close enough to the airport to come and get me in this weather.

I left my car at Protocol—one of the local kink clubs where I work as a house dominant—and one of my colleagues brought me up to the airport. I don’t like leaving my pride and joy, my car, my baby, Raquel, in the airport parking lot. She draws too much attention. At least at work, there are cameras in the parking lot and enough people around to keep an eye on her.

But I didn’t have a plan for getting snowed in at Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport. Fuck. I should have bounded up out of my seat and hit the rental desk to grab a car. Shooting off a bunch of texts to friends in the area, I mentally cross my fingers.

My seat mate shivers, still looking out the window to her left. As though she’s reading my thoughts, she turns to me, concern piercing me from her stare. “Do you have a ride?”

My phone pings with any number of laughing emojis in response to my request to get picked up. I’m fucked.

In the half-beat I hesitate with my answer, she must read something on my face.

“My car is at the airport. As long as it starts I can give you a ride home.”

Another long pause from me doesn’t dissuade her.

Another phone chime, more laughing emojis.

“Please? You were so nice to me on an otherwise sucky day.” She flashes her cut up hands at me. “Let me do something nice for you.”

She’s a bullshitter. I don’t do nice. And for a half second when I first moved to this seat and ignored her bubbly disposition it took her a long minute to slide her smile onto her face. Then she got pissed I wasn’t chatty like she is. She was big mad I was rude to her off the bat.

She gasps again. Thankfully people are too busy trying to deplane to pay her much attention. “I’ve been drinking.” She gestures to the empty glass on her tray table. “I can’t drive after that.”

Fuck. She’s probably not wrong. But she’s also not my problem. She got herself into this, she can get herself out of it. She’s a grown-ass woman.

When the aisle clears, I stand up and grab my bag from overhead, then, before she can ask me to pull hers down too, I sit hers on the chair I vacated.

“Thanks.” She stands and shuffles into the aisle. “Hey, so, do you drive? If so, you could drive my car. It makes no sense you trying to find a ride in this weather. Unless you have some really daredevil friends, I doubt you’ll find anyone to come out here and grab you.”

Another check of my messages, and it seems she’s right. I’m on my own. The weather is bad across the city and people are staying the fuck home where they can. I don’t blame them, even if it’s inconvenient for me.

Ugh. Fuck. Generally speaking, I don’t do strangers. I have my people, and they’re my people, and I don’t need new people. But I need a ride back to Raquel and this chick needs to put some time between the alcohol and driving anywhere.

Logically, it makes sense. Even if I don’t like it.

We deplane and head back into the airport. A frenzy of people and noise and movement surround us. There’s no way I’m getting out of here alive by myself, and if she stays here she’ll probably end up offering to drive a serial killer or two home.

She's not my responsibility, but I’d rather not be interviewed by the cops or a news crew when her dead body is found post-thaw. Why she’s even offering to drive me anywhere when I could be one of the aforementioned serial killers is anyone’s guess. But I know I’m not a serial killer, and I’d rather not feed her to one by leaving her here.

That said, if anyone could chase away a murderer it’d be this woman. She’d talk at them until they curled into a ball on the floor.

She’s still talking at me. Though at this point I have no idea about what.

She grabs me by the elbow and jerks me forward so hard I almost let go of my hand luggage. She’s surprisingly strong for a five-feet tall word tornado. “Come on, Mr. Grumpypants. Let’s go find Bessie and get out of here.”

Who the fuck is Bessie?

Preorder Obey, now!

Link: https://books2read.com/protocolobey1

Until next time,

Have you joined my reader group yet? If not, then head over to: Margaritas, Men and Mischief with Lasairiona. As the name suggests, it's a place for my readers to chat about all things romance - with a healthy dose of sarcasm, sharp wit, conversations comprised entirely of GIFs, sneak peeks, giveaways and a plethora of memes. It's one of my absolute favorite places on the internet and I'm really enjoying getting to know readers that bit better over there. Don't be shy - we don't bite... much! Come on over!

Justin

I thought I’d left my past in Minnesota when I moved to Iowa, but it was right there waiting for me.

Long blonde hair, curves in all the right places, and a death glare that hits harder than a slap shot to the solar plexus. On the ice, I’m a pro at blocking shots, but Savannah Bowen has slipped behind all my defenses and made a home in my heart.

I had no intention of revisiting the past, but when she’s damn near everywhere I go, I’m a goner.

Savannah

Hell freakin’ no.

It doesn’t matter that Justin Ashe is seven feet tall and sexy as sin, or that I’ve had a crush on him for years. He cheated on my best friend in high school, and that makes him off limits.

I can’t be with him, but damn, it’s impossible to stay away from him. Girl Code says uteruses before duderuses.

He’s supposed to be my enemy, but the more I see of him, the blurrier the lines get.

Welcome to UCR hockey, where fierce AF heroines and hot as puck heroes find their hockey ever afters. If you pucking love college hockey romance series, you’ll adore UCR Raccoons hockey.

FREEZING THE PUCK is a delicious slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, ovaries before brovaries sports romance. This interconnected full-length stand-alone is the first in a new series with no cheating or cliffhangers and has a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

Read Freezing the Puck, today!

Bookish. Bold. Beautiful. And entirely out of his league.

On paper, all-American boy next door, Lincoln Scott, has it all. But behind his slap shots, straight-A report card, and easy going charm, Linc hides a secret only his best friend knows.

When he attempts to return a misplaced bra, a wrong number gets him way more than the hook-up he bargained for. No one has ever looked beyond the star hockey player, until the mysterious woman he can’t stop texting sees him for who he really is.

Does Linc have the skills off the ice to keep up with her? Will he follow in his father’s footsteps? Or will he step out from the shadows and chase his dreams?

If you’re pucking obsessed with Helena Hunting, Pippa Grant, and Elle Kennedy, you’ll love this hilarious, hot-as-puck, secret identity, opposites attract, curvy girl sports romance. Two for Interference is a full length standalone with no cheating, cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Welcome to the Minnesota Snow Pirates, where skilled and sexy mother puckers’ lives get turned upside down by strong and badass heroines. Curl up with your next book boyfriend today.

Read Two for Interference, today!