LATEST NEWS & UPDATE:

We're three weeks out from release. I know. The original listing on Amazon had this book coming out in July because I needed to give myself the maximum amount of time I could to get the job done.

But I did the thing, and I did it early. So I'm releasing it early, too.

You're. Welcome.

I know it's been a long wait for Jagger and Talia, book twos are notoriously difficult to write, and I didn't want to take away from my hockey penname plans and preorder committments to make this happen any faster, so we all had to wait.

But it's nearly here.

And I wanted to share chapter one to whet y'all's appetite. Fingers crossed I get to share the cover with you next week - Lori has worked her magic again and it is FIRE.

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. 

Obey

Chapter 1

Talia

We all know how it goes.

When the tall, dark, built like a brick house man gets on the plane to Chicago and there’s an empty, extra leg-room seat next to the bright-haired, bubbly pixie, they’re destined to fall in love and get married.

I’m heading to Chi-town for the weekend before I head home to Kentucky, dragging my heels a bit because I’m not ready to face what’s waiting for me.

So, when the giant brooding bastard—who looks like he should be a bronze statue in a museum—boards my plane and has to hunch his shoulders to make himself small to fit in the cabin, I’m already picking out my dress and cancelling my connecting flight.

Tipping my head back, I thank past Talia for splurging for the extra legroom. Though I kinda wish she’d have made me keep my waxing appointment. Can’t sit next to the man of my dreams with prickly legs, and I certainly can’t join the mile high club with an unruly bush.

My body heats as he approaches. It’s not something I’d have thought about before. But today, I’m not the Talia of old. I can be whoever I want to be.

And right now, I want to be a new-and-improved Talia who thinks words like “bastard” —even if it makes my whole body cringe—and who thinks about doing naughty things with strangers on a plane.

Though I do a quick shirt-check to make sure I don’t have BBQ sauce from my lunch smeared down my chest.

All clear.

I have my bestest, peopliest smile ready to go. There’s no way this cantankerous hulk of a man will be able to resist me. This is it, the moment I meet the man of my dreams. Harry-the-cheater will be nothing but a blip on my rearview mirror once this man starts talking to me and falls head-over-heels for the tiny bundle of joy from Louisville. There’s snow coming down out the window. The setting is perfect.

I’m ready.

Sucking in a breath, I prepare my greeting, but the giant keeps walking.

Huh? Maybe he doesn’t like my brightly colored hair after all.

Don’t be so silly, Tali, that’s not what it is. There’s assigned seating on this flight, so he isn’t fated to sit next to me. It’s nothing personal. It’s not at all that he doesn’t like my new do.

Though in truth, I’m not really sure I like it yet myself.

It’s a new thing. As in, freshly done this morning. When my formerly honey-blonde, waist length locks tumbled onto the floor of the hairdresser’s as she worked her magic giving me an undercut and colored it teal, I admit, I questioned my sanity.

But, having just found out my fiancé, my high school sweetheart, the boy I lost my virginity to, had grown up into a lying cheating scumbag... Well, it’s not Weird Barbie by any means, but let’s just say it wasn’t a carefully calculated haircut.

I’m not generally impulsive, so as I reach a tentative hand to the underside of what remains of my hair, I shudder at the fuzzy feeling that meets my fingertips. Thankfully, she shaved it into a funky ‘V,’ so when my hair is tied into a ponytail, it doesn’t look too weird.

I smother a giggle. My parents are going to absolutely poop their pants when they see it. Their rule abiding, Sunday school attending, straight A-student girl has never as much as colored outside the lines. And now she has a bright blue-green, Mohawk thing. I’m feeling Scarlett Johannsson right now. I imagine when I look in the mirror, though, it’ll be quick to correct me.

This is... oh fudge. This is bad. This is really, really bad.

A tightness blooms in my chest, and my breath stutters as it tries to fill my lungs. Maybe he didn’t mean to cheat? Maybe he tripped over something and his... his... boy thing accidentally slipped into her?

A low rumble rattles inside me as I try to rationalize his infidelity. Aside from the first time, the fateful time when I lost my V-card to him in high school, we haven’t done it again since. “It’s just as well considering he’s a slimy snake.”

When our parents sat us down and told us our act of sin, our “crime against God” had earned us an eternity together, I almost laughed. But they were deadly serious.

Then, after returning from our “True Love Waits” church camp weekend, they insisted our punishment, our penance to our maker, should be no more s-e-x before marriage. And my “beloved” fiancé nodded like one of those bobble head toys you can get.

He just agreed. Ha! I guess he agreed to their faces. Because from how acquainted he seemed with a woman I’ve never seen before, in what was supposed to become our marital home once I graduated college and moved home to Kentucky, it wasn’t their first time.

Oh geez, maybe it was their first time, and he’s a little... deviant.

My face and chest are hot and undoubtedly turning a dark shade of red as the scandalous memory replays in my mind.

I’m not completely clueless. I have a growing collection of spicy books on my Kindle app that I read when I’m alone. I wanted to try to learn how to do things, and anticipate my future husband’s needs in the bedroom. I even made a bucket list of things we could try together once we’re married that’s tucked inside my journal.

Turns out, he was already trying them with someone else behind my back.

Unease shifts the contents of my stomach. Deep down, it’s not really a surprise.

Harold Winslow the Third.

Right? Even his name makes him sound like a complete butt face. He’s every bit as pretentious as he sounds, too.

The signs were all there. I glossed them over to appease my parents. I caused them great shame by sleeping with Harry. I confided in my older brother, Isaac, who squealed to our parents, and as my penance to them, never mind God, I followed their rules to the letter, as my way of saying sorry.

I hate being unkind about the boy I gave my heart to, but all things considered, he’s lucky. It’s been a couple weeks since I learned of his betrayal, but I haven’t managed to calm down enough to talk to him, or my parents about any of it. In fact, the bubbling under my skin has intensified with time, not abated.

Oof. I need liquor. And I don’t even drink all that much.

“This is your seat right here, sir. And again, thank you for swapping with that family so they could all sit together.” The flight attendant touches her chest, with dreamy love hearts popping out of the side of her head, as Mr. Tall, Dark, and gruffly Handsome tosses a bag into the compartment above my head and drops onto the seat next to me.

Huh. There may be hope for my airplane romance after all.

I flash him a warm smile, but he doesn’t even look my direction. Instead, his brow creases as he stares at his phone. I swallow down the sarcastic comment brewing in the back of my throat. As a southern woman, I’ve mastered the art of internally saying “bless your heart,” with a wide smile pasted on my face. If my beautiful travel companion, who smells of the forest with an undertone of something I can’t place, doesn’t want to chit chat on the flight, then I’ll leave him be.

But he’s missing out. I’m a delightful conversationalist. In fact, I’m going to prove it to him.

“Hi.” My warm smile returns, but he continues to ignore me.

Something about him holds my attention, he’s wearing a simple button-down shirt with the top buttons popped open, and a pair of jeans.

“Business or pleasure?”

More silence. He has no jewelry on his fingers, but the longer I stare at his golden-brown hands, the more I realize he has dirt in the grooves of his knuckles and under his nails which makes me cringe.

Is he a farmer? Does he like playing in dirt?

On closer inspection, he has smears of black across the thighs of his jeans as well.

Why would he travel covered in grime? Didn’t he have time for a shower before he got on the plane?

Shifting as far away from him in my seat as I can, I turn my attention out the window while my row buddy pulls out a book.

“Wow.” Holy moly! It’s really coming down out there.

As much as I enjoy the fresh smells of spring, the warmth of summer, and the crunch of leaves underfoot in Minnesota, I love the winters. Oversized sweaters, hot cocoa, open fires, and snow so deep you can make snow angels in. A dreamy sigh escapes me. “I could really go for some hot chocolate about now.”

My seatmate doesn’t respond, but he’s probably not even a hot chocolate kinda guy. Which is saying something because, isn’t everyone?

Winter is my idea of heaven. I tried to convince Harry to move up here, to Minnesota, permanently when we were both done with college, but it fell on deaf ears.

We don’t have snow like this in Louisville, and I’m going to miss it when I move back home in a few months. My chest constricts again. Despite it being home, Kentucky isn’t where I yearn to be, and it isn’t where I want to return to. I’m not sure why. There’s something about experiencing each season in all its intended glory that sets my soul on fire here in Minnesota.

The Captain comes over the intercom to announce a delay that’s met by groans and a fairly loud F-bomb from further back in the plane.

I most definitely need a drink. Considering the fact I stepped out of the hairdressers this morning and fell on my face on the sidewalk, then got stuck in traffic due to an accident and had to run through the airport in a wholly undignified manner, I feel like I’ve earned myself a special treat. Maybe it’ll distract me from my skinned and still pulsing palms.

When the flight attendants start their first pass with the drinks cart, I know we’re going to be here a while. Either the pilot undersold the level of delay, or it’s grown since his last announcement. Considering how much snow is already on the ground outside, I’d be surprised if we get to take off at all. But the professionals think they can do it, right? Or they wouldn’t have let us board the plane.

I don’t have payment options on my phone, so I need to stand up to get my bag down. “Excuse me, sir...” Letting my sentence trail off, I point to the aisle on the other side of his spread-wide knees. When his molten eyes meet mine, my lungs stop working. There’s something so intense in them that holds me captive.

He cants his head as though he’s waiting for me to say something. I mean, I stood up, I said excuse me, I pointed, can’t he figure the rest out?

“I need to grab my bag.” I point again to the overhead bin, like he might not know where I’m getting it from. The door to the plane is closed, so I’m hardly going to get it from the luggage hold.

“Okay.” But he doesn’t move. His face is unreadable. He has a strong nose and jaw, dark facial hair that’s turning into a full-on beard, and if I’m not mistaken, tattoos peek out from under his shirt.

He sighs under his breath, bracing his hands on the arm rests either side of him.

“You know what? It’s fine. I’ve got it.” Steeling my spine, I drop my shoulders. If this imposing, greasy, rude man isn’t going to move his sticky-outy knees for me to pass, then I’ll just climb over him. I did gymnastics in high school, and I do yoga every morning. I’ve got this.

Picking my leg up with the grace of a gazelle, I step widely over him, half expecting applause from the surrounding passengers when my other foot makes it safely across into the aisle, too. Mildly surprised I didn’t fall into his lap, I reach above his head to pop the handle of the luggage bin. He’s put his bag in front of mine, and when I try to move it, well, let’s just say I’m barely over five feet tall and not wearing heels.

“Uh... sir?”

His head barely moves to acknowledge I’ve spoken to him.

“Your bag is... uh...” Some days I hate being short. Smoothing down the front of my shirt, I bite my lip. You know what? Nope. I’m not asking the grouchy guy next to me for his help. I can do it myself. My stomach is practically smashed into his face as I lean up into the bin, grasping blindly for some purchase on my bag.

“Ma’am?” The flight attendant’s voice startles me from behind, I shriek, lean forward a smidge too far, and before I know what’s hit me, I’m falling for the second time today.

Only this time, it’s right into Mr. Crankypants’s lap.

Strong, warm arms wrap around me, picking me up like I weigh nothing, and plop me back onto my feet between his legs.

“Thank you.” My voice is barely a whisper. Heat consumes my entire body, and I don’t know where to look. I can’t look at my seat buddy. The vibes rolling off of him are less ‘hey, no problem, it’s all good, these things happen,’ and more ‘why did I give up my seat for that family?’

I can’t look at the cabin crew either, so I return back to my mission to retrieve my bag. Because if I didn’t need a drink before, I definitely need one now.

As I reach my arm up, I’m picked up off my feet again. Burly Guy—who has now rolled up his shirt sleeves revealing inked forearms that could probably rip the door to the plane open without unlocking it—moves me out of his space.

Reaching into the overhead locker with ease, he tugs my bag free and hands it to me, still scowling. When was the last time he smiled?

He sits down again with a grunt. I’ve never been so tempted to run through an airplane wall before. Prickles of humiliation cover every square inch of my body, and by now I’m sure even the cabin crew are experiencing second hand embarrassment on my behalf.

Peachy.

Staring up at the open lid of the luggage bin, I shake my head. I know before reaching for it I can’t close the stupid thing. Tossing a pleading look to the flight attendant and hoping they take pity on me, I scooch back into my seat, muscles heavy and a light coating of sweat sprouting up across my skin.

I order chardonnay, hand over my card, and accept the drink with no additional drama, politely thanking the cabin crew as they pass. The seatback tray table comes down without any fuss, and I make the decision to turn this day around.

Sure, I fell on my face, twice. Sure, I have sore hands and hurt pride. And sure, I’m seated next to a man who could probably snap me in half if he chose to.

But I have a mini bottle of wine, blue hair, and I’m heading home to Louisville.

Huh. There’s that twinge again.

Putting the small bottle into my palm, I try twisting the top off but end up hissing in pain. Oh, no. I try the other one, same result. It’s cruel and unusual to be holding a bottle of wine in my still-throbbing hands and be unable to open it.

I have two options, I can use my teeth—which I’d really prefer not to, last thing I need right now is a cracked tooth—or I can try again with The Grump.

Swallowing down the sour lump at the back of my throat, I spin in my chair, presenting him with the bottle. “Could you help me, please?”

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!