Saturday, November 21, 2009

Empire 4: Dawn Rising by Cat Marsters

Empire: Dawn Rising
by Cat Marsters

Cover art by Sahara Kelly
ISBN: 978-1-60521-347-7
Genre(s): Paranormal, Action/Adventure
Series: Empire
Length: Novel

"No one hides from the Empire. They see everything, they know everything."
For too long Callie has been in pursuit of revenge, Edward has been searching for forgiveness, and the Empire has held the world under its boot.
Callie has a unique skill that can gain access to the Emperor and end his tyranny. To unlock it, she needs a man -- a strong, hot man like Edward. But Edward is too tortured by the failures of his past to believe he can save the future. Until an insistent drumbeat fills his head and drowns out the screams of his past, leading him to the one woman who could be his salvation.
There will be love and hot sex. There will be blood and sacrifice. And finally, if they can pull it off, there can be freedom from the Empire.


This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Any minute now...
Callie arched her spine and dropped her head back, letting her auburn curls brush her bare shoulders. Her tiny, bejeweled excuse for underwear tinkled as she twisted her hips, shimmied her breasts and generally gave the assembled watchers a hell of a show. The pounding, thumping music thrummed through her, heating her blood, pumping rhythmically through her veins.
She wore silk, the diaphanous fabric clinging to her oiled skin and revealing more than it concealed. The tiny pair of panties and matching bra, both consisting of a little bit of chain and a few jingling coins, hardly concealed her modesty.
But since Callie didn't consider she had much modesty in the first place, she didn't reckon much would be needed to conceal it.
"You. With the red hair. I want a private dance."
Yes. The man who'd spoken wore expensive clothes and had a discreet datapad strapped to his wrist. He was Imperial, from his neat goatee beard to his impeccably fashioned boots. Callie knew the type. He probably imagined he blended in perfectly with every other man in the dark, steamy, scented room, but to her, he absolutely screamed Empire.
She shimmied her hips and danced over to him, letting a sensual smile curve her painted lips. For a second, she gave herself over to the music, the heat and the thrum and the pounding beat. The air swam with spices and the scent of sex.
Her hands brushed the bare sides of her breasts and she shivered.
The lights flickered.
Callie forced herself to concentrate. The trick was to look as if she were about to orgasm just from his presence -- but keep herself as unaroused as possible.
When she reached him, she undulated to her knees and bowed, letting her hair fall forward over her face, then lifting her head and pouting in the general direction of his crotch. Since he sat with his knees wide apart, this wasn't difficult.
"My lord," she purred.
"Your name?"
"Boudicca," she said, allowing her lips to shape the word decadently. She arched her spine again, thrusting out her breasts and baring her throat. "How... private... would you like this dance, my lord?"
He shifted in his seat, but not before she'd seen the stirring at his crotch. "Right here," he said, and she resisted the urge to frown.
"Are you sure, my lord? We have private rooms. I could dance," she let her voice caress the word, "just for you."
He cleared his throat, the thought obviously tempting. But he said, "No. Just here."
She smiled. Some men liked to watch, and some liked to be watched.
"Very well," she purred, and rose elegantly to her feet. Motioning to one of the pipers to play for her, she began to dance, a steamy, sensual dance that was as close to sex as she could manage by herself and with her clothes on. She'd taken pains to learn it, to perfect every intricate step, to imbue every motion with sensuality. Each slow slide of her arm from its loose sleeve of transparent silk, each twist of her thigh that partially bared it, each undulation of her hips, was designed to simulate sex. To make a man's pulse race, to make his temperature rise, to make his cock swell.
And the Imperial in front of her was, after all, just a man.
Thank God they're too misogynistic to have many top-ranking women, she thought as she bent backwards almost fully, her head in his lap and her breasts inches from his face. Men thought with their dicks: it was universal. A woman was much harder to trap.
She arched her bare foot and slid it along the tiled floor toward him, toes pointed, harem jewelry gleaming in the softly shimmering lights. The movement slid her thigh free from the billowing silks draped from her hips. A bead of sweat trickled over her skin.
The bulge at his crotch got bigger.
"Come here," he rasped. "Dance closer."
She did, and he bid her closer still, until she was dancing between his spread thighs. The whisper of silk against her skin, the brush of hair over her back, the scent of her own skin, oiled and perfumed and hot, all turned her on.
The lights flickered again.
Remember he's an Imperial. A gutless killer. A filthy, soul-rotted rapist.
The lights beamed brighter.
The Imperial had his hands on her waist now as she gyrated in front of him. Her breasts bounced around an inch or two from his face, and his eyes were huge. Hell, she could probably rob him blind at this point and he'd barely notice.
Callie bent backwards at the waist, arching her breasts away from him and curving one hand over her head to touch the floor and support her own weight. This put her scantily-clad crotch right in his line of vision, covered only by the jeweled thong and some very thin silk.
The Imperial made a strangled grunting sound, and Callie smiled. She raised one leg, slowly, sensually, sliding her foot up over his boot, his calf, his thigh. His pants were of the specially created material the Empire used on its high-ranking soldiers and officials. Every inch of it recorded and transmitted what he was doing. It had certainly recorded his location and physical state -- including his sizeable erection.
Probably, it was taking pictures of her near-naked pussy too.
She ran her foot up over his hip, the belt carrying his laser pistol, and slid it around his waist, using it to anchor herself as she uncurled her spine and slid onto his knee.
He was breathing fast now. She straddled his thigh, and that damned clever fabric was probably taking samples of her sweat to transmit her ID to the Empire.
His hand slid up her bare ribcage to her breast, and cupped it.
"Mmm," Callie said, inching closer. "That'll cost you a little more."
"I'll pay," he said hoarsely, and as his mouth descended on hers Callie thought, You certainly will.
He was a good kisser, enthusiastic and skilled, his tongue tracing her lips then plunging inside. His hand tightened on her breast, and Callie let out a little gasp that was part pain, part pleasure, as the metal links and coins bit into her flesh.
Don't, don't, she willed herself. Filthy, soul-rotted rapist, remember? Don't enjoy it. Don't get excited. Not yet. One little blast won't be enough.
She needed to store it up. Build up the pleasure, and then let it explode.

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