Excerpt Four from “Betrayed by Desire and Blood”. Four, and out.

Hey, guess what? This is the last excerpt from “Betrayed by Desire and Blood”, because the book releases tomorrow (that’s 5/22/14 for those of you visiting from the future).

And to celebrate, ya know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to finish the naughty scene you’ve been reading the past two Crawls. Yep, actual finish, as in “happy ending”, “check please”, “I need a PBJ sammich”. Never let it be said that Corey Tremaine Harper kept a girl hanging.

And yo, if you need a warm-up, go back and read Excerpts Two and Three. Cuz it’s totally obvious I’m all about the foreplay.


Desire Book Two cover copy


Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books


He felt bigger than he ever had before. She knew that was impossible, but the thinking part of her brain was drowning in the nonstop waves of the most unbelievable orgasm she’d ever had with him. And that was saying something.

Duncan was motionless inside her, holding firm to her swollen breasts, and nipples so hard they felt like they could cut glass. Every time she thought her orgasm was about to subside, it would plateau a moment, then climb again. The pain was still there, but it was so odd—it didn’t matter, because it somehow became a pleasure so concentrated she had no words for it.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” That was all she could think of.

And then Duncan began to move inside her. The never–ending orgasm became the stuff of legend. She could feel every inch of him inside her tightest opening, every vein, every fold, every aspect of his gigantic swollen head. Again she felt the urge to oust this intruder, but only for an instant.

What had been hottest hot went supernova. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open; all she could see were bright flashes against a blue velvet backdrop. She couldn’t tell where her limbs ended, where the boundaries of her skin were, where Duncan began. Her whole world both expanded to a nameless universe, and telescoped to that massive, blazing rod inside her.

He eased back, and pushed in, his movements at first slow. She was frozen at the end of him, hanging there in the cold water that seemed to boil around her now. Her legs were so rigid the way they were locked around him, she doubted even his tremendous strength could bend them. She felt his turgid cockhead stroking in and out, forward and back, massaging and caressing inside her. His prominent flare slid like a silken plunderer against her inner tissues, and its hardness felt like it was in her pussy at the same time, the thin wall of skin scarce barrier to the sensations she was experiencing.

And the damn orgasm just kept building. To say it washed over her in waves was like comparing water trickling from a faucet to the crashing weight of a tsunami.

Now he began to move faster. Drawing back, then thrusting forward, his tempo increased. Even though his imposing girth and length resonated across the barrier, her cunt started to feel empty.

The moment she felt it, he sensed it, and his fingers were at the entrance to her pussy. His hand had glided from her breasts down her tummy, between her clenching thighs, and separated her labia. His long second finger slipped between her lips, slick with her essence even under water. Pushing first one, then two, then three fingers inside her quim, he stroked them in and out in rhythm with his impaling shaft.

Oh my g… g… g!” Her voice was no more than guttural, the power of reason on its way out.

His other hand slid down from her breast. Part of her whimpered from the loss, another part wasn’t sure he’d actually been touching her there, her nervous system was so overwhelmed. He cradled her tummy with that hand, his broad palm spreading to almost cover her entire belly. Holding her thus, he began to move ever faster.

She gasped, her breath catching on the hook of the climbing sensation. His one hand on her belly, the other buried in her snatch, he levered her forward and back along his shaft, sliding in and out of her faster and faster.

She screamed again as another steaming torrent surged from her. Aroma rose from the water’s surface, and boiling fluids gushed over them both from below. So intense, too intense, and yet…

“Harder,” she grunted, her beast coming forth, her muscles thickening, her curves growing even more lush. “God damn you, Duncan, fuck me harder!”

She felt the chuckle in his mind, followed fast by a snarl as his own brute awakened in response to hers, his muscles rippling with the change. He pulled her away from his body till he popped out of her asshole. Just as she was about to scream from the sudden shock, he rammed himself back in, sending her cry to a quick death. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was exploding in her chest, her ribs hammering, her breasts heaving and swelling even heavier. Now she couldn’t even see the flashes on the blue backdrop; it was all one huge firework. Her brain went somewhere far away, and any thought was impossible. And still

Harder! Fuck me, you fucking fucker, fuck me HARDER!”

She had no idea if she had thought that or spoken it. But it got results. She caught some flit from his head about the water density slowing him down, and the next moment they were on the shore. No idea how that happened.

His feet squished in the spongy moss as he carried her away from the water. She was still suspended on him, suspended from him, that iron–hard dick still moving inside her. He held her aloft, her hands flailing behind her, finding his hips. Her sith claws popped forth and she dug in, stabbing his skin, anchoring herself in his flesh. Coppery blood scented the air. He grunted and grabbed her hips, his fingers painful steel against her pelvic bones. She didn’t care.

Just harder. Just more.

His incredible sith strength held her like a rag doll, now pumping her along his shaft like the fuck–toy she delighted in being with him. The concentration of sheer fucking joy she’d felt since she’d asked him to plunge into her with no warning or pause, and he did, took that pleasure–pain somewhere she had never been.

It wasn’t even this universe.

She had released his creature, and it had responded to her urging like the brute it was—mindless, rutting, its descent to pure animal complete. She loved him for it, for allowing her to free that tightly controlled part of him, knowing he would keep her safe even while it hurt.

She sent him the deluge of emotions she was experiencing, and she felt his cock jump inside her in response. He threw back his head and bellowed, crushing her to him, his hands painful and hard across her tender breasts, her silken belly, her engorged pussy lips. Her clit stood straight out, demanding.

He bulged even more inside her, making her cry out, at the same time her claws dug deeper into his hips, her legs tighter, urging him to more. She was squashed against him now, her back to his iron chest, her trembling ass mashed into his groin with every plunge he took.

She rocked her hips, trying to draw him deeper. If this orgasm was to have a crest, she was nearing it now, otherwise she felt she would die from it. This riptide yanked her along, tossing her like flotsam, she helpless in its power, and his. He held her as if she didn’t matter, but like she mattered more than anything she could imagine. Like useless debris, but precious jewels. Like death, but life everlasting.

Every last mote of self evaporated, and she was pure surrender. And in that moment of surrender, she was free. Past, present, future—none mattered. She existed, weightless, somewhere, somewhen, else. A glow expanded inside her mind then. Things previously tethered began to struggle free, things kept captured, indentured, imprisoned. Her mind’s eye looked, and wondered.

What was that?

Duncan’s pace was harsh and unforgiving, and she was afire. Please. Please, Duncan. At the same moment his thumb found her clit, he jammed his teeth to her neck and bit, hard.

She came, but the word gave it short shrift. What had been explosions, fireworks, novae, now became blackest black, and whitest white. Everything existed at once. Nothing had a name.

Duncan engorged to heroic proportions in response to the immense feelings he sensed from her, and began to spurt his seed deep inside her. Somehow through the clouds among which she floated, she felt him come, heard his roar, felt his every molecule ripple and vibrate in sync with hers.

They quivered together, the two of them, a long time. He held her to him, close, close. She melted into him, wanting nothing more in that moment but to shelter inside that massive male body.



Okey-dokey. I really do need a sammich now.

I hope you had fun with the excerpts from Book Two. Next week–yep, you guessed it–we start with Book Three, “Legacy of Desire and Blood”.

And of course you know Book Two is now available at all fine retailers, right? Like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Apple


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Excerpt Three from “Betrayed by Desire and Blood”. You asked; I answered.


Has it been a week already? Seems like just yesterday I was posting something naughty that Duncan and Kenzi did. Fortunately, there is no dearth of naughty things that they do. To whit:

We’ll pick up where we left off last week. (If you need a “warm-up”, go back and have a read of that post.) In a blog comment on that post, someone asked me to let the poor girl experience a “release”. Be careful what you wish for.


Desire Book Two cover copy

Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books


Kenzi loved and ached for Duncan all the more, because she knew he was doing this to swell her pleasure ten–fold, a thousand–fold. And she knew he would allow her release when he was damn good and ready.

The thought made her sink into him, like she was becoming even tinier against his massive bulk. It was acknowledgement of her surrender to him, to give up her control so she could be in that moment, in all those moments, she knew he would create for her. All she had to do was submit, and know that her submission drove him to even greater levels of excitement.

And she felt it in him, her submission intensifying his energy. Like he was crackling with electricity. It boggled her sometimes, this male energy—it seemed bottomless. Knowing it was all focused on her, would always be focused on her, was almost overwhelming. If she was a human girl, she probably would have fainted.

He must be feeling a little overwhelmed too, because she felt his erection pushing past the waistband of his jeans, the firm yet silken head emerging to press against her perineum. The heat radiating from it burned through her, even in the chilled water, sending a frisson of desire like a jolt vibrating in her cells.

She looked up at him again, and he was smiling at her. “What’s funny?” she asked. Sometimes it was nice to hear him talk, rather than always reading his mind.

“I was just thinking what a crazy day it’s been,” he said, his voice low and rumbly the way she liked.

She giggled. “Even for us, I think.” For the moment, she stopped trying to get her hand between them, and encircled his neck with her arms.

He chuckled. “Even for us.” His face went serious. “How are you feeling?”

She cocked her head. “Don’t you already know?”

His full, sensual lips quirked. “Sometimes I’d rather hear you talk.”

“Oh.” Great minds. “Well, I’m not sure my brain has caught up to everything yet. It’s bizarre to have gone the last four centuries being a part of this world—the sith world—but not really a part of it. Know what I mean?” He nodded, and she continued. “And then to have a whole lot of the sith world happen all at once… I just haven’t caught up yet. I thought I was going to lose you today.” She saw his face furrow, and hastened, “But I’m okay, really. I’m pretty resilient, you know.”

“Yes, you are,” he said.

She lowered her eyes. “Are you going to find out just how resilient?” She sent him a very specific image of herself she thought would get his attention.

It did. His eyes widened, and his erection jumped against her. “Is that what you would like?”

She nodded, eyes still downcast. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. A whole month!”

He put his forefinger under her chin and drew her up to look in his eyes. “You know I loved it, too.”

“You did?”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

She giggled; now he was teasing her. That was okay; two could play that. She had felt how the head of his erection had swelled against her warm skin when she sent him her naughty image. Now she undulated her hips, a tiny movement forward and back, enough to stroke his tumescence an inch or so. And move it towards where she wanted it.

“Vixen,” he said, the single word so deep, so heavy with promise, that she froze a moment. His eyes had darkened from their usual azure to cobalt. He gazed at her, and she felt transfixed by his scary, shiver–inducing stare, much the way she thought a deer might feel when looking up from grazing to see a hungry cougar about to pounce, its yellow eyes glowing.

“What are you going to do to me?” she couldn’t help asking. She had a pretty good idea, but he always surprised her. And somehow, asking drove up the fear level, and hence her excitement.

“Everything,” he said, his voice a low–pitched growl.

Her breath caught. He held her with one arm while he peeled off his shirt with the other hand and tossed it onto the bank. She crushed herself against his now bare chest, rubbing her swollen breasts against his muscles, gasping at the sensation of his chest hairs chafing her soft skin and achingly hard nipples. He buried his face in her soaking curls, his lips brushing the delicate skin of her neck. She felt him part his lips and nip her neck with his sharp teeth, making her jump and squeal, then sigh and melt against him.

Her hands came up and gripped his wet hair, fisting in his thick raven locks. Her fingers tightened when he nipped her again, harder this time. She felt his inner snarl from her passionate grip, and he bit her neck, drawing forth a pair of burgundy droplets. He lapped them up, continuing several moments until the puncture healed over.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, her right cheek against his. “I like when you do that.”

He groaned, deep in his chest, the vibration rumbling through her ribs. The image of the giant, unnamed predator came to her again, and she marveled that all his power was under such tight control. But that he could release it at any moment, and she would be helpless to fight it. And why would she want to?

She felt his right hand glide up the wet curve of her hip. His other hand still cradled her bottom, keeping her afloat, allowing her to tighten her legs around the hard muscles of his waist and pull closer to him. When she felt his hand slide along the outer curve of her full breast, she moaned and closed her eyes.

He cupped the weight of her left breast in his big palm, lifting it just enough for the soft flesh to fill his hand, telling her how much he loved her curviness, her lush womanliness. And just as she was sighing into his touch, he slid his thumb and forefinger inward and pinched her nipple. Not hard, not so soon, but enough to send that welcome shock of greedy craving in a straight line from her nipple to her groin. Her legs stiffened and her ankles locked even tighter around his waist.

His left hand under her bottom crept across her round globes and to the cleft of her perineum. She could feel his fingers pause there, between her increasingly swollen lips, and her clenching rosette. With his first two fingers, he stroked her in light, languid caresses, staying in the between–zone, keeping her wondering, and sending her lust skyrocketing. His touch both tickled and incited, and the two sensations warred under her skin, sending her brain into a whirl and driving her desire to the edge.

With no warning, he plunged his two stroking fingers between her pussy lips, and his thumb against her clit. At the same time, he squeezed her nipple hard, stretching its turgid fullness out from her chest.

She shrieked and came, her body wracking against his in shuddering quakes. Warm fluid ejected from her under the water and onto his thrusting fingers. She clutched herself to him, shaking and quivering as the waves of her orgasm crashed through her.

When she could open her eyes and breathe again, she gasped in a huge breath and saw he was grinning at her.

“Surprise,” he said.

Her answering giggle was mostly panting, but she managed to say, “I like your surprises.”

He slid out of his jeans and hurled them onto the moss bank of the spring pond. His erection sprang free, its impressive length nestling from her throbbing lips to her rearmost cleft. She reached behind herself to stroke her fingers across the head, making him close his eyes and groan. Rotating her hips, she ground herself the length of his heated shaft, feeling him swell and become even harder. In the chill of the spring water, it was like sitting on a scorching brand.

Holding on to his shoulders, she leaned back, forcing the flared corona of his pulsing erection to jerk against her puckered rosette. At its touch, she clenched, told herself to relax. When he’d taken her there, a month ago before all the craziness began, she’d never known anything that seemed so naughty could feel so intense and wonderful. That the pain was not like any other pain, and that when it transformed, not like any other ecstasy.

She trembled, and opened her eyes to find him gazing at her. “Hello,” she said.

Of course he knew what she was thinking. “Are you sure?”

“I want to know what it feels like when you… you know,” she said, lowering her eyes, her cheeks flushing red.

“You seem conflicted.”

“I’m a girl,” she said. “Pretty much the way it works.” She tickled the edges of his thoughts, saw what he was about to say. “Yes, I remember my safe words—red, yellow… and green.” She raised her eyes to his, gave him a shy smile. “Olive, forest, hunter, lime, British racing.”

A growl rumbled from deep in his massive chest and emerged an animal snarl. He spun her around so that her back was against his chest, her round ass pressing his cock between their bodies. She threw her head back against his shoulder as he lifted her and slid his thudding erection between her thighs. Sighing when she felt the large flare of his cockhead slip between her labia, and moaning when his big hands came up and cupped her breasts, she hung suspended on his maleness, the water and his tumescence her support.

He pinched both her nipples at the same moment, sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through her. She heated, her belly muscles scrunching, and she bent her legs back to hook her toes around his granite–hard upper calves, leaning forward.

She knew it would hurt, but was not prepared for how much. The pain exploded through her like a constellation on fire, sparks flashing against the inside of eyelids that had shuttered tight in reaction.

Holy Mother of— He had pressed the head of his rock–hard erection against her creased rosette for only a moment, then had thrust straight in, pausing just an instant as she clenched in instinct against the thick invader, her tight ring clamping behind the flare of his corona, her muscles trying to expel this very foreign object.

He held her, murmuring reassurances, telling her to use her safe word if she had changed her mind about wanting him to do this. She bit her lip, unable to speak, and thought for a flash about telling him to stop, but then it happened.

The transformation. Had to be one of the weirdest damn things ever.

Distracted and wobbled by the initial sting, and gripping tight in her innate reaction to resist, several moments passed before she recognized the warmth stealing over her. And then it got even hotter, as her pussy began to contract.

Oh my fucking fuck!” she screamed, a thunderous orgasm crashing through her. It went on and on, building higher and higher, until she was arched straight out from his body, her legs still locked around his, her hands atop his where he held her breasts, his cock deep inside her ass. And he hadn’t even moved it yet.

He felt bigger than he ever had before. She knew that was impossible, but the thinking part of her brain was drowning in the nonstop waves of the most unbelievable orgasm she’d ever had with him. And that was saying something.



I hope everyone feels better that Kenzi got some relief from mean old Duncan’s torturing. Ah, but I’m sure he isn’t through with her yet.

Leave a comment and let me know what you thought. And enter to win a free copy of this book right here!


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Excerpt Two from “Betrayed by Desire and Blood”. A bit of a tease.


I hope you’ve been enjoying your crawl through the Dungeon today. This week I’ve chosen another excerpt from Book Two of the Baobhan Sith Trilogy, “Betrayed by Desire and Blood”.

In this excerpt, Duncan and Kenzi–especially Kenzi–have just been through a harrowing meeting with the director of the hunter Council and his dogged and suspicious master-at-arms. Information has come to light, and our dear heroine Kenzi is very stressed. What’s the best way to de-stress a tightly-wound sith girl? One guess.


Desire Book Two cover copy

Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books

“What is it, Duncan?” Charles saw the look on Duncan’s face, and frowned.

“We have a problem,” Duncan said, outlining what Alistair had told him about the spy in their ranks.

Charles’ eyes had widened while Duncan spoke, and now his features darkened in anger. “Damn it,” he said, his voice low. “When I find who it is—”

Duncan held up a hand. “For the moment, just investigate quietly. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“I don’t!”

Duncan patted Charles’ shoulder. “I know, and I appreciate that. But every man deserves to be heard. Just start poking around.”

“You got it.”

Duncan looked back towards Kenzi. “I want to get her away from all this for awhile. She’s had a rough day, and Malcolm’s presence is certain to keep the men stirred up for awhile about anything sith. Give me your radio.” He pocketed the device when Charles’ handed it to him. “I’ll stay in contact. If anything pops?”

“I’ll let you know,” Charles assured him. He looked over at Kenzi, too. “She does look a little shell–shocked. Go. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you,” Duncan said. He strode back to Kenzi.

“Charles is so sweet,” she said, having heard the conversation with her augmented hearing. “I should thank him.”

“You want to do that now?”

Kenzi looked up at his face, and caught the darkening gaze of hunger growing in his eyes. “Um, no. It can wait.”

Duncan chuckled, took her hand, and the two of them passed through the gate and began running towards the hills. The miles vanished beneath their feet, their legs a blur. Soon they flashed among the trees, birdsong stilling only after they had raced past as the feathered creatures tried to react to the supersonic figures in their woods. They whooshed like wraiths among the trees, oaks first, then giving way to the redwoods.

Duncan held Kenzi’s hand, the two of them laughing as they darted among the giant trees, one or the other of them dodging the broad, solid trunks. He picked her up, spun her around, and set her back on her feet without breaking his pace or hers. Her laughter was music to him. Blood was physical sustenance, but her delight was what sustained his spirit.

He let her draw a little ahead of him so he could admire her beauty. And she was beautiful. Her wild red curls whipped behind her in the slipstream their breakneck speed created, her pale exposed neck inviting his lips, the delicate curve as it flowed to her narrow shoulders begging for his kisses, his tongue, his bite. He could see her blood vessels pulsing as her heart raced faster when she realized he was watching her. Her giggle floated back to him, and she sped up.

He chuckled, a low growl of a sound he knew she could hear. A shiver raced through her, and she ran even faster, daring him to overtake her.

Can’t catch me, scary brute!

Watch me.


He closed the gap, noting that her speed got better every time they ran. Her ability to heighten and improve her sith skills seemed endless. One day she might be able to outrun him. But not today.

He reached for her, feeling himself beginning to stiffen as his eyes traced her every rippling muscle, corded sinews, lush curves. She was woman, and she was magnificent.

And she was his.

Almost within his grasp, he prepared to close his fingers around her arm and sweep her around into his steel embrace. His erection grew firmer in anticipation.

His fingers closed on empty air. At the last second, the little rascal darted to the side, sensing his intentions. Her girlish laughter drifted back to him as she disappeared into the trees.

She was getting far too good at that. He growled deep in his chest, then let it rumble from his lips into the forest, the sound rising to a predator’s howl. The forest silenced as each creature froze in its tracks, each hoping this new, terrifying killer was not hunting them.

He was not. His prey was something far more delicious, and there she was, a hundred yards ahead. She flitted back and forth among the trees, making it as hard as she could for him to track her, but her zigzag route also slowed her down. She still had some things to learn from him, and the thought made him happy.

He watched her, picking up her patterns. In moments he had it.

“Hello,” he said, appearing right in front of her.

She shrieked in surprise and delight, crashing into him and knocking both of them skidding to the loam. He landed on his back, gathering her close to his chest in his strong arms, protecting her from the damp soil and fallen branches.

As they slid to a stop, his head bumping into a redwood and knocking a chunk from the bark, she snuggled against his chest.

“So gallant,” she said.

“I endeavor to please the lady,” he murmured into her ear as she drew her legs close to her belly, trying to make herself smaller and closer in his embrace.

“Oh, the lady is pleased,” she said.

Her bottom rested atop his groin, soft round cheeks pressing against him. When the image of her naked behind formed in his mind, his erection grew.

“Mmm,” she said, feeling his thoughts. “I like that you don’t mind how round I am.”

“Kenzi, my love,” he said, placing a finger under her chin and raising her face so he could look into her eyes, “you are so beautiful, it makes me ache in places I didn’t know I had.”

“Smooth talker,” she said, as casually as she could, but he felt her thoughts as well, and as the warmth spread through her, she was feeling anything but casual.

“Come on.” He stood, pulling her to her feet, the suddenness of his movement and his strength making her gasp.

He pulled her along, his nostrils flaring as he scented the first moments of her arousal. He wanted her here, now, his marauding male lust demanding he take her. But his desire to strengthen their bond even more fed his yearning to make each moment of their intimacy last as long as he could.

Now mixing with her scent was that of the spring, just ahead. The fresh, fertile smell of the water called him, and he swung her into his arms. Not breaking stride, he plunged them into the icy water fully clothed, enjoying her shriek of indignation and amusement.

He dunked them both under, hearing her yelp again under the water. He surfaced them, whipping his head to send a spray of silvery water in a fan. Kenzi’s arms were locked around his neck, and she came up gasping and laughing.

“How dare you, sir!” she said when she could speak without breaking into gales. “I am fully clothed!”

“Not to worry,” he said. In a blur he peeled her clothes off her body, tossed them onto the bank. “See? No more pesky clothes.”

“You take liberties,” she said, giving him a look of mock sternness.

“I certainly intend to,” he said, kissing her.

“Ohh… mmm,” she moaned, tightening her arms around his neck.

He traced her full lips with his tongue, feeling the smooth soft skin, making her lips as wet as he intended to make the rest of her. His touch was gentle, almost ethereal, teasing just her lips until she parted them, a soft groan escaping her. Even in the water, he scented her intoxicating aroma, increasing every instant.

Her little tongue flicked out, hesitant, but roused and seeking his. He teased her moments longer, allowing her tongue flicks to become more insistent, until he crushed his lips against hers and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth.


Kenzi sighed as she yielded to Duncan’s insistent tongue invading her mouth, playing her own tongue around his, enjoying his claim over this part of her body, and the promise that he would take far more.

She felt his big strong hands exploring the smooth skin of her back, his fingertips tracing the muscles and contours. She sensed his thoughts of pleasure as he touched her, how he marveled at the satin feel of her flesh, its softness, and her firm yet feminine musculature underneath. Having access to his feelings always made her shiver, and it did so now. How different it was in there, than in her own head! She didn’t always reach so deeply as to soak up his full maleness, but she did so now.

It was harsh, to her, and somewhat cruel. But putting her perceptions into words left so much of what he was behind—like translating slang from an alien language, without understanding anything of the culture. Yes, to be a male was to have harsh and cruel aspects, but what he did with those aspects made all the difference.

For what she felt from Duncan was that he would stand between her and the ending of the world. He would throw himself on a pyre if it meant she would be saved. He would destroy a legion if he thought doing so would keep her from the slightest harm.

So while another man might be harsh and cruel to others in his life, for Duncan it meant that his primary—and primal—goal was her protection and making her feel loved. His intense maleness was an umbrella he spread over her, making sure that, every second of her life, she felt that love and protection flow from him in waves. She was tiny and could sometimes be tossed about on those waves, but she always knew he would bring her safely to shore. For that alone she loved him, and she was his to do with as he wished.

She thrilled now as his roaming hands found the curve of her round bottom and squeezed. The feeling she picked up from his mind as he fondled her was of a very aroused animal growl. No earthly counterpart existed for the type of beast she saw in him; it was huge, dark, with massive strength, and a predator’s single–minded intent to bring down its prey. She trembled, knowing it was she.

The fear sent a tremor of arousal through her entire body, making her belly muscles clench, and her sex heat and throb. Her breasts began to swell, her nipples tightening against his hard chest as he crushed her to him, her soft flesh squishing as both she, and he, worked to get even closer to each other.

The fact that he was still clothed, and she naked, thrilled her beyond what she imagined such a simple difference could make. She felt naughty, and wanton, with this beautiful but fully clad man seizing her trembling, exposed body to his own.

She could feel his powerful legs scissoring the water, keeping them both afloat, strong enough that he had his hands free to do as he wished with them. She floated her legs up, encircling his narrow, muscled waist and locking her ankles behind his back. The action angled her pelvis, allowing her vulva to rub against his stomach. Just that basic contact with his sculpted belly, through his black polo shirt, caused her labia to swell and engorge with blood and desire for him. She gripped his firm waist with her legs, clamping her thighs tight, but with his body in between.

This was making her crazy! She needed to touch herself, and drew one hand from around his neck and down between their bodies, flattening her palm and fingers to slip between his stomach and hers. She could have loosened her leg grip on his waist, but no way was she moving even a millimeter away from him!

Just as she was about to slip a finger between her increasingly demanding lips, he caught her hand.

“Uh–uh,” he grunted.

She lifted her head to see the look in his eyes, dark, smoldering, his lids heavy. She gasped. He would devour her!

She ground her pussy against his stomach, letting him know in no uncertain terms what she wanted. From his mind she detected a chuckle, and she knew he already knew. He was not going to let her touch herself until he decided she could!

Well, she would see about that.

She used her sith strength to shove her hand downward against his grip. It was like battling a mountain. She gained a fraction, and another, but then he pulled her hand back, and she knew he was teasing her, letting her get close, but never reaching it. And it was driving her out of her mind. For all the centuries she had been alive, she could never have guessed that the simple act of being deprived of instant satisfaction could drive her to such lustful heights. She could never have guessed, because she had never known a man like this. Until now.

She loved and ached for him all the more, because she knew he was doing this to swell her pleasure ten–fold, a thousand–fold. And she knew he would allow her release when he was damn good and ready.



I hope you enjoyed this week’s naughtiness. Be sure to leave a comment and let me know what you thought.

“Betrayed by Desire and Blood” will release on May 22nd from Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and other retailers.


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Excerpt Six from “Born of Desire and Blood”. Yep, it’s got THAT in it.


Thanks to our hosts, Sheri and Trent, for wrangling another great Crawl.

This week we’ll continue with the warm sweaty stuff (except sith don’t sweat). You may remember my excerpt a couple of weeks ago, where Duncan was frozen in place, afraid making any move towards Kenzi could potentially cause her great harm.

Yeah. How’s that working out for ya, Duncan?


Desire Book One cover v3

Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books


Damn you, Duncan Munroe!

She stood right in front of him now, so close that the burning tips of her breasts almost touched his sculpted abs. What was wrong with him? He obviously wanted her—she was amazed his jeans could contain what she was seeing. And if she wasn’t getting so pissed, she’d be running her fingertips down its length, just to see if that was all him.

She waited, looking him in the eye, and her scrambled awareness still told her minutes passed. Enough was enough.

Asshole!” she hissed, and turned and walked away.


Duncan’s heart crashed. She was walking away!

He could take it no longer. Every particle of his being roared at him to take her now. To claim her as his female. Now and forever!

His vaunted logic crumbled to dust, and the beast howled to life. No shades of gray; she was his, and he would have her! Nothing of intellect showed in his eyes; he was animal. He reached out and grabbed her arm before she moved out of reach, and yanked her around to face him.


Kenzi gasped as the room spun. Duncan’s hand was on her upper arm, and he was rough. He hauled her around as if she were no weightier than a rag doll.

Her heart buffeted her ribs as a shiver of fear took her. But the moment she saw the look in his ravenous eyes—eyes that were darkening through cobalt as she watched—her breath caught, and her legs went from under her. The waves of desire rolling from him tossed her thoughts like driftwood on deep ocean crests.

Duncan caught her before she fell and crushed her to him, one massive arm around her lower back, the other across her shoulder blades. Her soft breasts mashed against his granite abdominal muscles. Her nipples tightened to points at the abrupt contact with his body. His heavy erection pressed into her heated belly. She couldn’t breathe.

He whirled her around and crashed her back into the wall, cracking the plaster. She was glad of her sith near–invulnerability, that she could take this. That he was wrong when he had said she couldn’t. She wanted more!

Let yourself go, Duncan! Don’t hold back anymore!

She clawed at him, at his swollen biceps—were they even bigger than before?—at his enormous chest, at his face. She was only vaguely aware that her nails had lengthened as she scratched and tore at his skin, blood flowing, fumbling to seize his head and draw him closer.

But he already knew what she wanted, because it was the same thing he wanted, and his lips met hers with an impact that rattled her teeth and cut the inside of her lips. She tasted the copper of her own blood. She bit his lip, and moaned when his blood mingled with hers.

His tongue intruded into her mouth. She sighed, and pressed up tighter against him, her claws shredding the back of his shirt to rags, and his skin to ribbons. Her tongue played with his, loving the way he thrust into her, even his very tongue letting her know he would have her his way, on his terms, for as long as he chose. Every muscle in her body clenched hard at that thought.

Her pussy flooded as she came at his power, her breasts gone full and heavy, areola drawn up tight against his rocklike muscles. Still he kissed her, his nostrils flaring at the sweet fragrance of her. She could not draw breath, and didn’t care. Her hands went to the back of his head, to his neck, and she tightened her clawed fingers into his thick black hair. He was fully supporting her now, squeezing her to him, and she let him hold her while her hands roamed through his dense locks, loving the feel of them being both coarse and silken at the same time.

She sank her hips against him, her belly pressing against his urgent erection. His cock. The word was delicious in her mind, both forbidden and swollen with promise.

She could wait no longer. Now, Duncan!



Was that good for you?

And it’s Book Giveaway Raffle #2 this week. Head on over to the raffle page, and enter for a chance to win a free copy of my book. And don’t forget, to increase your chances, enter every day.


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Smashwords Interview

I get the occasional question about myself, and thought I’d post here my recent interview for Smashwords. Comment and let me know what you think.

Corey Harper on Smashwords


So. You’re a guy?

And you write romance novels?
That’s right.

Umm… Aren’t most writers and readers of romance novels women?
I read a statistic once that it was in the neighborhood of 80% female readers.I know over a hundred romance writers; two of them are male.

What kind of romance novels do you write?
My debut trilogy is an erotic paranormal romance, with a strong D/s dynamic.

Really? How can you write for women? Are you… er… that is to say…
I’m heteroflexible.

Okay. So you like women most of the time, you write romantic porn—
I’ll stop you right there. While everyone has their own definition of what constitutes erotica, versus porn, I’ll give you my perspective. Just porn doesn’t do it for me. Never has. You toss a couple of naked bodies on a bed in a story, with no buildup or tension, no preamble, you’re going to leave me cold.

You sure you’re a guy?
My whole life.

Can you describe what you write?
Of course. I start with the mind—whether in my stories, or in real life. For me, there is no eroticism without engaging the brain first and foremost. And for quite awhile before anything else happens.

What do you mean?
It’s in my profile, but I’ll elaborate. I am a Dom—

A what?
A male dominant.

You mean like whips and ropes, “Fifty Shades” stuff?
Not at all. I certainly appreciate that part of BDSM, but that’s not my personal focus, nor the focus of my stories.

So no bondage?
I said it wasn’t the focus—there is indeed bondage, and spanking, and quite a few other kinky activities.

Then how are you different than whips and ropes? And why would any woman pick up your books, much less buy them?
Because my personal philosophy—again, both in my stories and in life—is that a submissive woman (which is what my heroines are) must feel cherished and protected above ANYTHING else. She is not an object to be used and discarded, or treated unfairly, or ignored. She is the most important thing in the hero’s life, and he will take a bullet for her before he lets anything happen to her. My goal in writing my characters is that they are not perfect, and they can argue and fight, but at their very cores they have a deep and abiding respect for each other, and as the story goes forward, love.

That sounds like intense romance.
I write it the way I feel it.

So the characters do have sex, though?
Of course. Quite a lot of it, as a matter of fact. And it gets pretty darn kinky. But I write the way I like to live—a slow build, lots of romantic and erotic tension, until my characters reach the point that they just can’t fight it any more.

Sounds like mental foreplay.
Correct. And that goes back to what we talked about earlier, which is that sex always starts in the brain for me. I don’t separate it from love. My characters don’t do casual hookups. For readers who like a slow build, an increasingly heating passion, a fiercely protective hero, a heroine who may start out a bit flaky but grows and matures as the story progresses, then my trilogy will be just the right story for that reader.

So your story is mainly romance and sex?
The main thrust of my story is the developing love between the hero and his lady. And yes, lots of sex that arises out of that love. But there is an adventure that they have together, moments of action and danger, and a big conclusion in Book Three of the trilogy. I promise in my profile that I always write with a Happily Ever After ending. But I don’t promise that it won’t be hell getting there. It is a paranormal romance, after all.

What would you say to women who might still be hesitant to pick up a romance novel written by a man?
I would say this: Ladies, read the book sample. Go to my blog and read the articles on BDSM and D/s that I’ve written; and not just the articles, but the comments after the articles. Come have a look at me on Facebook, both my author page and my personal one. Comment on my blog or send me a tweet; I can’t promise that I can answer everyone, but I read everything everyone sends me. If you’re feeling brave, you can even come hunt me up on Fetlife. If you still aren’t convinced, drop me a note and tell me why, because I’d love to hear from you.

Corey Harper on Smashwords

Excerpt Four–and a cover reveal!–from “Born of Desire and Blood: Book One of the Baobhan Sith Trilogy”


For those of you who have been wondering what I do with my days, I can finally reveal the title–and the cover–of Book One of my paranormal erotic romance trilogy. Thank you, Sheri and Trent.

In this week’s excerpt, Duncan explains to Kenzi what they are, and how they came to be.

But first:

Desire Book One cover v3


Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books


Duncan chose his next words, seeking not to offend her. “You said you hadn’t much knowledge of the lore of our kind.” At her somewhat confused nod, he went on, “We are—all of us dark creatures—children of the Progenitor, the first baobhan sith.”

Baa–van shee,” Kenzi mimicked the Scottish words. “Not—?”

“Baobhan sith predates any other term from our homeland for what we are,” he said. “We are sith, and we are children of the Progenitor, our Creator, our Maker.”

“Hmm,” she said. Her eyes lit up. “Oh wait—I remember! My father told my sister and me stories when I was little, to make us behave.  He said we needed to stay out of the deep woods, or the baobhan sith would get us.”

“Those old tales were mostly passed around by deer hunters,” Duncan said, “who were said to have been seduced and then drained of blood by beautiful fairy women. Truth be told, the baobhan sith weren’t always discriminating in their kills—blood is blood.”

“They were women? My father didn’t mention that, just that they were monsters that would kill my sister and me.”

“Male sith kill and feed just as females do, but all Makers are women,” Duncan said. “As was the Progenitor. That is how our kind is born. From the female sith. And only from her.” He paused. “Male sith can only kill.”

Kenzi frowned. “I was attacked by… so many of them.” She started to shake. “I couldn’t tell which of them… bit me. But you say the Making can only come from a female?”

“Yes.” Duncan’s throat tightened as her dread grew, and his heart caught. He moved to her and put his arms around her to calm her. She laid her head on his chest, still trembling. He felt her reluctance to move so close to him, but the fears warring within her from her darkest memories pushed her to seek his arms.

Kenzi thought about what he had said. “So to un–Make myself—and you—we have to find the female baobhan sith that Made me? And kill her?”

“That’s right.”


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Excerpt Three from Work-in-Progress: Book One of Erotic Paranormal Romance Trilogy


My thanks once again to Sheri and Trent for inviting me back for this week’s Dungeon Crawl. I hope you are all enjoying the excerpts, and not getting too impatient for the book to be released.

I’ve chosen an excerpt for this week that takes place immediately after Duncan and Kenzi have experienced something… well, for now, I will call it significant, and it is what Duncan was concerned about in last week’s excerpt. Kenzi has become a mostly-voluntary guest at Duncan’s mansion in Marin County, and after the significant event, she has decided to relax with a hot bath in Duncan’s sumptuous guest suite, while Duncan is off consulting with his right-hand man.


 Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books

The concept of the water’s warmth was as good as Kenzi could do; she could not actually feel it the way a human could. For whatever reason her nerves had become ragged, the fragrant hot water soothed them now.

Kenzi leaned back against the curved and sloped backrest of the tub, discovered it was padded and self–heating. She let her arms rest on the cool marble deck, enjoying the contrast with the hot water surrounding her body. Her fingers brushed three matte steel buttons inset into the marble edge. She pressed one, and was rewarded with a gush of bubbles from the four side jets that churned the water into froth and reanimated the fragrance from the bath salts. She pushed the second button, and the jet at the opposite end of the tub fired up, lancing a stream of bubbles directly between her parted legs, to the apex of her inner thighs.

“Yow!” she yelped, jumping partway up, thought a moment, decided it wasn’t that bad. She settled back down. Actually, it was nice. Very, very nice.

She lay like that for a few minutes, letting the bubbling stream push and tease her folds. It felt good. She discovered that if she pressed the second button repeatedly, it cycled the jet through low, medium, and holy cow! settings. She set it on low, and settled against the backrest, her eyes closing.

The pulsing bubbles throbbed in time to the pounding in her clitoris. Clit, she thought, wondering why she had always shied away from using such fun and naughty words. Ever since she had woken up from her bloody nap—or whatever it was; she re–resolved to make His Lordship spill—she had felt randy, to the point where she’d had to restrain herself from reaching for Duncan’s muscled body and ripping his own clothes to shreds.

As a matter of fact, she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite like this. It was as if some weight had been removed from her mind, and she felt more daring, more willing to take the kind of risks that had always frightened her in the past.

And with Duncan Super–cute Sexy–stuff as close as the downstairs, she just might be ready to make that leap. She giggled, marveling at her newfound daring.

She let her mind wander over the image of that giant sculpted Adonis body of his. He was so big, and he made her feel so tiny. She had discovered she liked that feeling, liked the thought that he could break her like a twig with his massive strength, but would never ever do so, would always treat her with that gentleness she realized she had come to expect and treasure in him. Her trust in him was growing by the minute, it seemed.

She reached out and tapped the second button again, sending the jet to medium force. “Ohhh,” she moaned, as the bubbles sped up and parted the folds of her labia. Pussy, she thought. It was called a pussy, and she liked that it was called that. She wondered if Duncan would call it that. Or what other, naughtier words he might call it. And if it would turn him on to say those words to her.

That thought travelled from her brain right to her clit, and set it to harden and poke from the folds of her pussy. She opened her bent knees as wide as she could.

She flailed her hand, searching for the button to send the jet to high. Refusing to open her eyes, keeping the image of Duncan’s gorgeously rugged face in her mind, his strong square jaw with that adorable and sexy chin cleft. And those azure eyes! She imagined that face, with those full, hint–of–a–sneer lips, mouthing words to her that she had never even let herself think.

I’m going to lick your pussy,” he was saying in her mind.

“Duncan, please, yes,” she whispered.

Your pussy,” he continued, smiling at her with that quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Your cunt, delicious Kenzi. I’m going to make you come while I kiss and lick your cunt.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Kenzi whimpered, waving her hand all around the marble deck, searching for the button. She was so close… Duncan… She leaned forward, searching for the second button, and slapped her hand on it. The third button.

Ahh!” she cried, as the final jet—under her bottom—fired up.

The pounding jet rocketed between her cheeks and into the tight ring of her anus—my ass, some part of her brain thought—forcing its way into her tightest, most intimate spot.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” she shouted, and exploded over the edge, her belly muscles clenching tighter than they ever had, her body raising from the water, rigid, wave after wave taking her, her clit throbbing a million beats a second. It felt like it was burning, and her entire body vibrated in time with her clit.

In her mind, Duncan smiled, put his huge hand against her cheek the way he had done earlier, and kissed her. She reached for the belt of his black jeans, her hands fumbling in her haste—

“Kenzi!” Frantic pounding on the bedroom door. “Are you all right?”

Damn his augmented hearing!


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Excerpt Two from Work-in-Progress: Book One of Erotic Paranormal Romance Trilogy


Thank you, Sheri and Trent, for having me back again for this week’s Dungeon Crawl. (What were you thinking?)

This week’s excerpt finds Duncan in conflict: he has learned something about Kenzi that she herself does not know. And he cannot tell her what it is.


Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books

Duncan’s insides were at war, and regardless which side won the battle, he knew he would lose.

Kenzi was so close! The fragrance of her arousal overwhelmed his senses towards madness.

Her nearness beat upon the doors of his mind, like she was crawling inside him, and he could see in her eyes she was wondering why he hadn’t moved to touch her. In a moment, his inaction would hurt her, and he had promised her that he would never cause her harm. But what if giving her what she wanted did just that?

What if succumbing to his mountainous need for her ended up killing her?


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Who’s her Daddy? : The Mystique of the Daddy/babygirl Dynamic

Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books



“Please Sir may I cum! Please Sir may I cum!”


She smiled at his response, her eyes still closed, and her finger moved to the switch of the Hitachi wand, preparing to flick it to “high” and press it down on her clit. He liked denying her orgasms to her, even knowing that, when she begged, she was only moments from cumming uncontrollably. They’d made it as long as a twenty-second delay in the past before she soaked his sheets with her shuddering climax.

She held on as long as she could, relishing the anticipation of that brain-churning moment when she switched the Hitachi to its highest setting and her orgasm exploded from her. Even more mind-blowing was that he was sitting in a chair three feet away, watching. She was exposed to him, her legs bent, soles of her feet together, knees thrown wide. Pussy swollen and slick with her nectar. On view for his gaze.

She begged again, “Please Sir may I cum! Please Sir may I cum!” She was starting to thrash on his big soft Cal King bed as her orgasm built to flood stage.

“I said no,” he said.

Something in his voice made her finger pause on the wand’s power switch. And when she heard him stir, and the wand was pulled from her fingers, her eyes flew open. She almost said something, but the look on his face froze the words on her lips. Her orgasm fled like dandelion fluff in a cyclone.

He held the Hitachi in his right hand, his index finger flicking the switch to off. The humming sound silenced, and along with it, her ardor. The way he was looking at her… She began to feel afraid.

He just stared at her for several long seconds, his hunter green eyes unreadable. She felt exposed, and raised her knees till they touched, but realized he could still see the lips of her pussy between her thighs.

Seeming to become aware of the effect he was having on her, he let out a heavy breath, reached forward, and lifted the corner of the bed’s comforter over her legs. She shivered when the back of his calloused knuckles brushed the top of her left knee. But not the way she usually shivered at his touch.

Something was wrong.

He released another breath, this one even longer that the last. He moved, and she thought for a moment that he was going to sit back in the chair, but after a pause, he slid onto the bed alongside her, sitting rigidly upright.

Something was really wrong. He hesitated to sit next to her?

“Sir?” she said, her voice coming out a lot more quivery than she expected. She reached down and tried to draw the comforter further up her body, but she couldn’t do it without moving away from him, and he was already freaking her out the way he was acting. She didn’t want to give him any more reason to frighten her than he already was doing.

A third breath. He took a third breath. Was he angry at her? He wasn’t even looking at her; his empty stare was across his Spartan bedroom. And she realized he was looking at anything but her.

His silence was beginning to unnerve her. He was normally a very happy guy, always joking, laughing easily at her “pestiness”, as he called it. She liked to dance up to him while he was busy with something mundane, like doing the dinner dishes, and tug at his trousers while he was trying to finish so he could come fuck her properly. She never failed to elicit a deep growl from him when she did this, but eventually he would turn, that look in his eye, and she would start running. He would always catch her before she’d gone three steps, but it was the thought that counted. And he’d always thought she was wonderful.

Until now.

She kept her eyes down, tracing the green and red silkscreeny looking pattern on the comforter. She wanted to look up at him, where he was sitting motionless next to her, but couldn’t. His body, even clothed, put off enormous quantities of heat; it was like cozying up to a hairy space heater. Since she was almost always cold, it worked out well for her, though occasionally he gently peeled her off him in bed during the night, telling her he was about to combust. But always with a kiss to her forehead or lips, a gentle tweak of her nipple, and a caress of her ass.

Now he didn’t even reach for her. His hands were clasped atop his right knee, which was in turn crossed over his left leg. She wasn’t as good at reading his body language as he was at appraising hers, but even she knew that did not bode well.

She was usually the one who closed down to him, not the other way around. He had been more open to her, in the five months they had been dating, than any three other men she’d known in her life combined. Somehow, he managed to be assertive and confident—“Domly”, she teased him—while always remaining sensitive to her needs. He could—and did—perform the most sadistic, kinky acts upon her person, and then afterwards would hold her, cuddle her, and maybe get her a treat like ice cream. A couple times, after particularly vigorous sessions involving a lot of hair pulling and throat fucking, he’d even given her a warm bath and washed her hair. She remembered sighing a lot during those times, and holding onto whatever part of him she could reach. Preferably his incredibly hard and strong forearms.

Now those forearms corded and tensed as she braved looking at him from the corner of her eye. It was like he was trying to pull away from her. Oh no! It was like he was pulling away.

“I like you,” he said, his voice soft. And his eyes still focused across the room; not on her.

Her heart scraped to a halt. She stopped breathing, dreading his next words.

“But this isn’t working for me,” he said.

Now he did look at her, and she wished he hadn’t. His green eyes were both empty, and at the same time filled to the brim with pain. But the pain was not fresh, she saw; it had been there a long while. Almost five months, she realized in that moment. Their five months.

She felt as thin and brittle as a dropped bud vase. And the urge to run from him was overpowering. Her calves twitched as she tried to get hold of herself, and her heart went from silent to hammering overdrive, almost drowning out his next words.

“We’ve talked about this,” he said. “Who I am. What I am.”

And her heart stopped again. She hated disappointing him. For the most part, she believed him when he said he was never disappointed in her, but now, even though he wasn’t saying it, his disappointment bellowed at her. She shrank in on herself, feeling tiny and cold. Inadequate.

“It’s my fault,” he said, now reaching out for her hand where it lay atop her thigh. Her little fingers felt insignificant inside his big, hot palm. “Not yours. Mine.”

She tried to say something, anything, but no words came. He didn’t seem to notice as he went on.

“I tried to get you to do something you are not ready to do,” he murmured. “I wasn’t sensitive enough to your process, how you need to work things through. And I’ve realized I’ve simply been pushing you along too quickly.”

Something in his tone allowed her to turn her head and look at him. She saw his eyes were glistening. Moist. Oh. Her fingers tightened in his, and she dropped her gaze again. Maybe she could still save this—

“I have to release you,” he said. “I have to let you go.”

Her entire body went slack. It was as if all her muscles and tendons and bones simply went away, leaving her a sack of cold flesh.

“You’re…” was all that came out of her in a gasp.

He breathed hard through his nose as he cupped her cheek with his other hand. His hand felt ablaze on her senseless skin.

“I have to,” he said. “I can’t keep shoving you forward just because it’s the direction I think you should go.” Now his voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t keep hurting you.”

“No!” she cried, jerking up onto her elbows, coming up so fast she clunked her forehead against the hard edge of his hand. He drew it back, and she clutched at him. “No!”

“I don’t have a choice, babyg—” He compressed his lips as he cut himself off from what he’d been about to call her. The name he’d been trying to get her to accept the past three months. “I don’t have any choice.”

She looked to that part of herself, buried deep inside, the part he assured her was there. It seemed so far removed from how she viewed herself.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, the tears beginning. She raised her face to him, eyes swimmy cloudy. “Don’t make me go, please, Sir.”

He sighed, and his grip on her hand loosened. “That is why we cannot be.”

“Because I call you Sir?”

“Because of what you are unable to call me.”

She shook her head, her auburn curls swaying limply around her face. “I want to,” she whispered.

“If you felt it, it would be natural to say,” he said. “If you felt it, it would be impossible not to say.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because of what I am. Because of what you are.”

She pondered that. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but usually her brain was melting from sex they’d either just had, or were about to have. That seemed to be their only two speeds. Not that she ever felt like complaining about it—he made her feel alive in a way she’d never experienced. Like breathless alive. Swelling in the chest alive. Can’t stop thinking about him alive. The times she returned to her apartment from his just felt like waiting, like blah, like why was she back there. She’d fallen for him so hard, so fast, and nothing in their dynamic ever deterred her from how she felt.

Except that one Thing.

She kept trying, mainly because he insisted it was who she really was, but partly…

Partly, she felt he might be onto something.

Oh, at first she’d barely listened when he tried to tell her what his instincts were picking up from her. She just figured it was a case of, when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. She’d said as much at one point, phrasing it respectfully as a question, and to her surprise he had just laughed and told her he could see her point. But then he assured her he wasn’t just saying it because he wanted it to be true.

Then he proceeded to tell her about his four previous submissives, and how he had never gotten even a remotely similar vibe from them as he had from her. They were companions, nothing more, he told her. Because he was looking for only one thing. One type of girl.

And he’d assured her she was that type. That girl.

At the time, she’d gotten caught up in jealousy upon hearing about the four freaking submissives. Now, she reran the conversation in her head, and realized she’d missed something.

She’d missed her own reaction to his words.

Oh, she’d noted it afterwards, and chalked it up to just his masculine hotness and Dom vibe. But he was always hot and Domesque. So now, remembering, she grasped how it had been different. The moment he’d told her she was a “little”, a “babygirl”, two simultaneous things occurred: her pussy had flooded, and she’d wanted to crawl into his lap.

The memory bitch-slapped her in her brain, like it had been trying to get her attention for years.

“And because of what I am, what you are,” he was saying, as if he had no idea a war had begun inside her head, “I can’t be with you anymore.” He looked down at her, and the expression on his face started the flood from her eyes again. “I wish it could be different. But it’s unfair for me to do to you what I’ve been doing. You aren’t ready. Not for me, anyway. Perhaps, in a few years, for someone else.” He squeezed her hand, and her heart broke. “But not for me.”

“But…” she started, struggling to sit up without breaking free of his tenuous grip on her hand. “But if you’re so sure, why can’t we just keep going like we have until—”

“Because it’s become too difficult,” he said, releasing her hand and making her whimper. He returned his hand to his lap, joining it with the other one. Leaving her out of the equation. His knuckles cracked, muscles bunching, as he tightened his fingers together.

“For me?” she said. “Because I want to keep trying for you—”

“For me,” he said. He glanced at her. “I know that sounds selfish.”

It did, a little. But then she thought about all the ways he had given of himself to her. And then she become conscious that he had done nothing but give to her. He doted on her. Sure, he was a sadistic bastard, but she was an enthusiastic masochist, so it was a twistedly symbiotic dynamic. But every time they finished with whatever demonic scenario he’d cooked up, he cared for her afterwards like she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

Which, she was understanding now, was exactly the way he felt about her. Now she was the one feeling selfish.

“I want to find my little,” he said. “I need to find my little.”

The more he separated from her with words like that, the sharper became the pain she was feeling. It was as if him slipping away from her was taking everything that she had ever wanted along with it.

She panicked, dragging up an old fear. “So you just want someone closer to your own age, is that it?” Please, let that be it.

He looked at her again, and shook his head as if he was growing even more sad and disappointed with her. “Our age difference is irrelevant,” he said, his words soft, but with a sharp edge beneath his gentleness. “You are an adult woman, almost thirty years old. We are always able to carry on intelligent conversations, even about things other than sex.” For a moment, she thought he was trying to joke, but the somber look on his face told her she was wrong. He went on, “It has everything to do with acknowledging those parts of ourselves that speak to each other’s core beings.” He took in a slow breath, as if he was trying to calm himself.

“And you think my core is a—”

“It’s not even a question,” he said. “My instincts are good. I’ve never been wrong about this.” The head shake again. “But try as I might, I can’t get past the walls you surround your true nature with.” Realizing how his words had just cut her, he took her hand again, in both of his this time, and turned a bit towards her. “And that’s my fault, not yours. I simply haven’t found the way in. And that means I am not the right D—”

“No!” she said, pulling on his hands as if she was trying to tug him back to her. “You are! You are!” Dammit! Why wouldn’t he get all the way on the bed with her? If there was ever a time she wanted to be in his lap, it was now!

“I thought so once.”

“Tell me about it again!” she said, scooting herself closer to him. She thought about pulling the comforter off so she could be naked against his coarse black denims and navy broadcloth shirt, but decided that might make him retreat further from her. “Please, S— Please.”

“We’ve talked about it a lot. Or at least, I have,” he said, then paused. His eyes lost some of their sadness, but it frightened her to see that it was replaced by annoyance. “You weren’t listening.”

“I was so,” she said, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized it was a lie.

His jaw muscles worked, and the sight of him fighting for control of himself both frightened her and sent a shiver down her spine to her pussy. He was usually so in charge of himself, so self-possessed. Even when he had her strapped down over the leather horse in his fun room, he never for a moment lost himself. Even when he was inside her, filling her, cumming in her, he may have grunted or even moaned, but she always felt it was a conscious choice on his part to make a sound.

“No,” he said. “You are not telling me the truth.” The muscle clenched and stood straight out from his rugged jawline. His fingers tightened around her small hands.

“Am so,” she said. What the fuck was she doing, arguing with him? She’d already lost him, and now she was going to piss him off in the bargain? But an annoying little voice inside her, usually quiet, was getting louder and louder in her ears.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he said. A deep growl came up from his chest.

Her pussy flooded. “Not lying,” she said. “You’re being mean.”

Seriously? What the hell was wrong with her? She was always so respectful to her Doms, especially to this one, because she thought she might actually love him. She always said “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” and “Anything you like, Sir”. When she had frequented the scene clubs in her early twenties, she quickly became known as an especially compliant sub, willing to do whatever was asked of her. She’d never really thought why, until this moment. Now she realized it was because those minutes she was tied, or strapped, or denied orgasm, or impaled in some horribly delicious way, were the only minutes in her life she had been able to actually breathe.

That same feeling was starting to bubble up in her now, in this moment, with him. And he was barely touching her.

“I’m being—” He stopped, swallowed, and she saw his vaunted control begin to slip back over him like a mask. Like a suit of armor that he wore to keep himself in check.

No! She yanked on his hands with all her small strength, feeling his six-two frame barely move. But she got him to drill her with that stare, the one that said he wasn’t entirely in control of himself.

“Mean,” she said. “Being mean. Mean man. Mean mean mean man.”

That growl again, and the bed beneath pussy her got damp. “Mean?” he said, the words a rasp. “You are a brat.”

“Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head so her curls flew. “You’re just mean. Meany.” That little quiet voice inside her head was shouting now. She started to tremble. She felt hot. Her scalp prickled.



With a roar, he snatched her up off the bed, tossed her over his knee, and flung the dragged-along comforter off her. Her bare ass thrust up into the air. His jeans were rough against the soft skin of her thighs.

“You want mean?” he growled. “I’ll show you mean.”

The instant he brought his big wide palm down on her naked ass cheek, she came. And kept cumming as he spanked her again and again, first one cheek, then the other, then the first. Her butt heated, then burned, then sizzled. He’d never spanked her this long or this hard before. She could not stop cumming. This had never happened to her before, either. Her entire body clenched into what felt like a pretzel, and all her toes cracked as she curled them. She flailed, but not to push away his hands; she just could not keep still. Another first for a usually-compliant sub.

Just when she thought he would never stop spanking her, he did. She started to raise up, but suddenly she was in the air, in freefall! He’d picked her up and tossed her through the air and onto his bed. He’d never done that before. Even at his most sadistic, he always gave her the impression he had every move planned down to the inch. Like he was working from a script.

Now it felt like he’d gone so far off-book, that there hadn’t even been a book in the first place.

She started to feel afraid of him, because he was so big, and she was so little. But along with the fear was a thrill that coursed through her like white water in spring floods. It picked up that part of her that was shouting on tiptoes now and carried it along in a current that grew more raging and out of control by the moment.

And in that instant, she understood that was because he was going out of control, too.

The more he lost it, the more she found herself. The wider he opened himself to her, the less she needed to hide. The deeper she saw into him, the higher grew her trust. But now, she saw, he was wavering. The armor he maintained was trying to wrap itself around him again and return his control. He needed her help.

“Meany,” she whispered.

That was it. He bellowed something wordless and guttural, and tore off his clothes. His erection sprang from his snug boxer-briefs, purple and angry and huge. And leaking. The sight of it made her gasp, but she had no time to regard it as he fell on her like a wolf upon his prey.

None of his usual studied finesse. He plunged into her with no warning, no buildup, no attention to her readiness. She was lucky she was as wet as she had ever been. More. He slammed into her, balls-deep, her slickness accepting him, her folds parting, her walls clutching at his steel shaft. His girth stretched her to her limits and beyond, his length bumping her cervix. But she didn’t care.

She understood now.

His strong arms were crossed behind her back and wrapped around her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. His palms gripped her shoulder blades. The coarse hair on his chest chafed against her soft full breasts, causing her nipples to harden and pucker and deliciously hurt. She wriggled against his big body, trying to get closer to him as he pounded in and out of her without mercy.

Her pussy and his cock together made loud wet sounds, and she could feel her nectar splashing from her on each of his brutal downstrokes, soaking them both. His head was pressed into the mattress next to her head, the groans coming from him all the more animal as his control slipped further and further away from him.

He surrounded her, enveloped her, covered her. As vicious as his current attack was, she felt safe in his arms. Secure. Like she had never ever felt in her entire life. He could impale her with his huge long cock whenever he wanted, as hard as he wanted, and she would take it. But not because she was a compliant sub. But because he was her—

“Daddy,” she whispered in his ear. “You are my Daddy.”

He raised up, his green eyes wide, searching hers. With a roar, his face tightened as he lost himself in her smiling gaze, his orgasm filling her more than he ever had. The ropes he pumped into her were merely the physical manifestation of the connection that now bound them. The trust it took for her to open herself to him, and to say the words she now realized she had wanted to say to him since they’d met, was absolute. He was her Daddy, and she was his—

“Babygirl,” he growled, as his orgasm reached its crescendo.

The pulses from his cum subsided, his pounding heartbeat slowed, and his eyes focused on her. For just a moment, she thought he was about to ask her a question. But she saw the shift slip across his eyes, that same one she knew had slid across her own just minutes before. Understanding. Realization at the obstacles he had put in his own path. A small amount of annoyance that he hadn’t known sooner. And finally, acceptance that it had happened.

He looked at her. She looked at him back. It was like two puzzle pieces had just clicked together. No more turning and turning and turning to get them to fit. They just were. Now and always.

He rolled them over and took his weight off her, then sat upright and pulled her into his lap. She drew her legs in and snuggled against him, making herself as small as she could next to his big body. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she let out a sigh.

It felt like she’d just released all the sighs she had ever had inside her. All gone now, every last one of them.

She looked up at him, admiring that square jaw and little bit of stubble that scratched her when he nuzzled her. Nuzzled his babygirl. Her Daddy. She put her arms around him. They had so much to say, it made her chest swell. And yet, they need say nothing at all. They both understood everything, the moment their puzzle pieces had clicked.

He kissed the top of her head, her forehead, her nose. Tightened his arms around her. Let one hand fall between her legs and stroked the still-damp lips of her pussy.

“So, babygirl,” he rumbled. “Tell me about your day.”


I’ve read many wonderful articles on the Daddy/babygirl dynamic, but haven’t to date come across one that talks about the struggle some littles have in acknowledging their nature. The acknowledgement can happen in many ways; this was just one of them.

I’ll get some definitions out of the way up front: the “little” can also be referred to as “lil”, “babygirl”, “littlegirl”, or whatever variation a Daddy and his bg (for short) enjoy using. And Daddy is always “Daddy”. Not “Dad”, “Pops”, “Father”, or any other variation. Because, ick.

Yes, some of you unfamiliar with the Daddy/bg dynamic are squicked right now, so let me make this very clear:

The Daddy/bg dynamic is NOT about incest.

Oh, don’t look at me like that; I know you were thinking it.

The participants are adults, all of legal age, not related by blood, not idiots or otherwise impaired, and a few of them probably live in your neighborhood. They have jobs, take their kids to school, go to church, and are otherwise as normal as anyone else. And probably happier.

Obviously I’m biased. But from my perspective, the level of internal trust it takes for a bg to give herself to a Daddy is massive. Again, in my opinion (and many in the BDSM/kink community may disagree), this is the most open, the most connected, of all the variants of relationship types in our community.

That’s because that trust level I just mentioned—not dependent on how good he is with ropes, or the flogger, or any of the other fun toys—comes straight from her emotions to his. (I say “her” for bg and “him” for Daddy, but a male can be a bg, and a female can be a Daddy, though what they call each other is up to them. Since I am heteroflexible, I will use the paradigms that are most familiar to me in this article, and stick with the male Daddy/female bg combination.)

I’ve known subs that keep their emotions tight to their hearts, and instead give themselves over to be used like our compliant sub in the vignette. I’ve known others that act out in various ways, either as brats, or even a little blustery, because they weren’t ready to bring out their littles.

Even the girls who know they are littles can struggle. They carry massive amounts of emotions around with them. Strong emotions. Like whirlwinds in tutus. It’s not at all surprising they would clamp down on those emotions, or act out, because how else are they supposed to deal with them?

Think about it: if she has these cyclones of overwhelming feelings lashing around inside her, what does she do with them? How does she cope?

For someone who is not a little, just saying “suck it up” to one who is, is not a tenable solution. Yes, some littles do suck it up, but rarely successfully. Oh, don’t get me wrong; they manage, coping with their lives and challenges, but actual happiness eludes them. (The same for Daddies, but it works a bit differently for them. More on that in a moment.)

For a little, emotional highs are higher, lows are very low. Euphoria (very common) is stronger, and upsets cut far more deeply (also very common).

An example, pulled from my Tumblr feed, of what a little texted to her Daddy:


Funny? Of course. Silly? Every little I’ve ever met has been devastatingly intelligent, so I’ve no doubt that—objectively—she was aware of the silliness of her statement. I’m also relatively certain that, in that moment, she truly did feel her life was over. (And in the moment after that, she probably found a crayon she liked better and forgot about the broken one. Or Daddy bought her an entire new box.)

Think of a bucket filled to overflowing, then think of more liquid going into that bucket. She doesn’t have another bucket; she can’t keep up with the overflowing. And the more she tries to keep up, the sadder and more frenzied she feels.

That’s an iceberg’s tip of her flood of emotions. And these emotions don’t stop. She can’t fight them. She can barely deal with them some days. Like I said, some littles repress and compartmentalize, while others have strong emotional episodes. I.e., explosions. These are stopgaps at best.

So what’s the solution?

A Daddy.

Sound familiar? Dom needs sub; sub needs Dom. And if you think that one has a powerful pull, you ain’t seen nothing till you’ve run across a little in a spin who needs her Daddy.

Once she acknowledges who and what she is, those needs get stronger. (Remember my article on the awakening of a submissive? This is like that, except rather like comparing a Cessna to a Gulfstream.) And similar to with a “regular” submissive, it is the Dom who takes on the care of her emotions. But for a little, the emotional responsibility is considerably greater, because for the little to feel completely free in her skin, she has to let it all out. To him.

And it’s massive.

A Daddy has to be ready for any emotion, at any level, at any time. No compromises, no “I’m too tired tonight, babygirl”. This is the power exchange in the Daddy/bg dynamic, and it must be absolute, or it doesn’t work. If he’s taking her on as his little, he gets it all. Every crumb of news in her life, every bit of excited blather, every morsel of sadness, joy, anger, happiness. Sometimes all at the same time.

A girl with an emerging little can become overwhelmed. Think about it: it’s almost like a birth. Except instead of the blissful unconsciousness of actual infancy, she has just become aware of her true nature. She emerges, blinking, into her brave new world, bright lights and loud noises startling her. Anything that upsets this process of nascent awareness can cause her to recoil, hide, run. The fault will be her Daddy’s, of course. And in this case, the best thing he can do is to back off, give her a “breather”, let her “skin” toughen a bit to her new environment. If she continues to become overwhelmed, scheduling regular breather periods can help her to adjust and balance more easily as her little grows more confident in their bond.

Littles can be complicated. They are also a blast. They fulfill the same thing in a Daddy as he fulfills in them. Same coin, opposite sides. A Daddy without a little gets grumpy, growly, and feels incomplete. A Daddy with a little is the happiest place on Earth, way happier than Disneyland. Which she may want to go to.

Which brings me to the next thing you are thinking: that all littles act… well, little. As in, young. Immature. Babies.

Certainly age play can be a part of the Daddy/bg dynamic, but it isn’t a requirement. It does tend to be common, but there are plenty of littles that don’t do age regression play at all. I tend to see being a little, and any age play included, as two separate things. Many in the community would disagree, because the littles who engage in some level of age play are far more common than those who don’t, and it is a very integrated part of their little natures.

What am I talking about here? It varies, and is entirely dependent on the little. It ranges from those who don’t do it at all—needing only for Daddy’s nurturing lap to be there when they want it—to littles who, when they are very upset, regress to needing blankets, stuffed animals, binkies, even baby bottles. And everything in between.

The girl in my last article on “sub drop” was a realized little, and I touched on her self-comforting behavior a little (heh heh). But that little had a Daddy; many do not. It’s very difficult for them, and they get sad about it often. Hence the various methods I mentioned to self-comfort.

Some of you who are unfamiliar with this dynamic might be thinking, “Eww! What a baby. A bottle?” First, let me remind you of my philosophy—I am a zero-tolerance anti-YKINOK (Your Kink Is Not Okay) pervert. What that means is, you’re a perverted fuck, too (or you wouldn’t be reading this), so don’t go judging anyone else. If everyone knew the shit you got up to behind closed doors, thou wouldst also be judged. Don’t perpetuate the hate.

Now that I got that little rant out of the way:

The thing is, littles have an extremely tender core, as tender as the friable flesh of a newborn infant. So a Daddy is a different kind of Dom, wired to deal with their sometimes hair-trigger emotions. They can go off the rails in a variety of ways: inconsolable sobbing, acting out, brattiness (our little in the vignette did that to a mild degree), and at the other end of the spectrum, completely shutting down and running away.

Though the outward manifestation appears different, inside they are in similar turmoil. Something is amiss in the Daddy/bg dynamic. She needs… something. Many times she will not be able to use her words to tell him what that is. He has to figure it out for her, and bring the both of them back into balance.

Does this make it sound like littles are high-maintenance? Well, they kinda are. But that’s like saying the effort a five-star chef puts in to creating a special meal is high-maintenance. It’s what a Daddy is wired to deal with. And it is a pleasure for him.

A Daddy lives to care for his little. His world revolves around her, because she is at his center. Nothing is more important than her. And since she is at his center, he surrounds her, metaphorically speaking, with his protection and love. She becomes free to be who she truly is, at her core self. The being she was meant to express. The littlegirl that can sometimes become trapped by layers of baggage, the judgments of others, and her own fears, can finally breathe free. No half-measures. No compromises. No compartmentalizing. Her world rights itself every day when he comes through the door and she hears those two words:

Daddy’s home.


Corey Harper Books


Excerpt from Work-in-Progress: Book One of Erotic Paranormal Romance Trilogy



Here’s an excerpt for the RTK Dungeon Crawl, from Book One of my upcoming trilogy, an erotic paranormal D/s romance with a variety of delightfully naughty perversions that Duncan and Kenzi–my hero and heroine–get up to.

In the following snippet, Duncan has just given chase across the Northern California hillsides, and captured an impish and naughty Kenzi.

And by the way, Duncan and Kenzi are special, in an immortal, nearly-invulnerable sort of way. What way? You’ll find out when Book One releases this spring.


Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Corey Harper Books

“Now what am I to do with my naughty little girl?” Duncan wondered, looking sternly at Kenzi.

“Oooh,” Kenzi sighed, going limp under his darkening gaze. “Anything you want.”

Without warning, Duncan flipped her over and threw her across his knees, her naked bottom upwards, her belly lying against his left leg, her heavy breasts hanging.

“What… what are you doing?” Kenzi half–giggled, half–trembled. But he could hear her heart race as he stroked his hand across the smooth skin of her buttocks, so he knew her fear was the kind she had sought from him.

“What happens to all naughty girls,” he said, deepening his voice, and she rewarded him with another shiver. He caressed her bottom more firmly.

“Will it hurt?”

“Do you want it to?”

She was silent a moment, then said in a small voice, “Yes.”


“Does that make me a slut?”

He bent forward and kissed her left ass cheek, then the right. He slid his tongue across both, then down the cleft between. He paused a moment at the tight rosette, gave it a flick with his tongue, and she jumped, then quivered like a trapped fawn.

“It makes you my slut,” he growled.


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