Eskimo Princess Review Blog: Enthrall Secrets by Vanessa Fewings Blog Tour & Giveaway

Book Title: Enthrall Secrets

Author: Vanessa Fewings

Genre: Erotic Romance (Novella)

Release Date: September 26, 2016

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

The promise of salvation.

That was his offer. If I surrendered completely. I’d be rewarded with nothing less than my very own salvation.

And I needed it. Quite simply, I was drowning until billionaire Danton Belfort swept me up into his world.

His unmatched reputation for mastering submissives was legendary. His methods cruel, yet beautiful. Commanding, yet delicate. He was willing to do whatever it took to reach beyond my veil of pain and ensure a transformation that would render me reborn as the most dazzling of dominatrixes.

If the process didn’t obliterate me.

All I had to do was survive. Survive him. Survive myself.

Can serve as a stand alone novel.

ENTHRALL SECRETS is the latest erotic romance novel by bestselling author Vanessa Fewings. It tells the long-awaited story of Scarlet Winters, the infamous, fiery dominatrix from the exclusive Los Angeles BDSM club Enthrall.

This is the world of the hidden.

Chrysalis

A Year Ago

A FORCE OF nature knelt before me.

This was the best way, the only way, to describe this gorgeous thirty-something man kneeling obediently at my feet in the pose of a submissive.

Before entering the dungeon, he’d run his fingers through his perfectly combed short black hair as though reconsidering his appointment.

With some gentle coaxing, he’d removed his tailored pinstripe suit, taking his time in the luxury changing room as though trying to hold onto these last remnants of his control, working his gold cufflinks loose before easing them out and placing them carefully in a locker.

His gaze rose occasionally to meet mine as he stripped out of formality.

As a consummate professional I’d show not even a flicker of desire, no hint I was aroused by the way he’d tugged off his shirt and then removed his black pants, revealing a sun- kissed physique, a ripped torso. Perhaps he could be considered a little underweight from some unspoken trauma, but all six-foot-two of him moved with the elegance of a man who ran every day; I could see that from those lean legs and toned arms.

Just under an hour ago he’d quietly followed me into the dungeon, naked except for those boxer briefs which he’d refused to remove, providing a first glimpse of his fierce confidence, though there was no sign of conceit.

Yet.

And Jesus....

When Ethan Jones spoke with that Georgia drawl I had to remind myself I was the mistress here. The deep tone of his voice, that seductive cadence that hinted of a privileged upbringing – class, that’s what he exuded. I could tell he was a man not easily swayed.

During those first few minutes when I’d worked on honing our rapport, he’d told me that his drink was bourbon “with plenty of ice” – and he’d offered me an endearing grin. I’d let him know that my drink was a nice Cabernet, sinfully chilled with a cube of ice, a scandal to any wine aficionado that I’d dilute their delicately crafted masterpiece.

That made him smile and it softened the hard lines of his face.

He’d placed his life on hold and given himself over to me for one full hour. We’d only met each other today, and it seemed out of character for this particular alpha to relent to anyone.

Yet he was here.

Reminding me of him...a little.

I gave my head a shake to bring myself back to the present. There was no room for melancholy.

Before the session I’d changed into my short Italian leather black dress from Barney’s and pulled on my custom-made spiked thigh-high leather boots. My sleek raven hair was styled elegantly to frame my face. I wanted him to notice my sharp cheekbones and pale blue eyes, notice more than just the vixen holding the whip. I needed him to fall for me a little.

I needed to connect.

His rich cologne was being absorbed into my very blood cells, a centrifuge drawing me in with a visceral effect that put my senses into overdrive, throwing me off.

To focus, I wrapped my fingers around the chain above him as though he were still connected to it, my palm cold from tightly gripping these metal links to still them. This fantasy of us gloriously fucking would remain just that – a wild, fantastic daydream that would not be allowed to suspend the play.

He was my client, after all, and deserved an elite mistress, the very kind he’d sought out. I’d be a strict, sharp-tongued dominatrix providing moment-to-moment evidence of my world- renowned status.

He didn’t need to see the real Scarlet, the sassy woman who loved burying her face in a good book – something by Deepak Chopra, Maya Angelou, or Toni Morrison – or even the poetry of Sylvia Plath. He didn’t need to know I loved picnics on the beach, or people-watching in coffee shops, or that when the newbie subs arrived at Enthrall or Chrysalis, I was always the one who took them under my wing because deep down I cared too much.

No, he didn’t need to know anything about me.

He just wanted to feel.

Or forget.

This innate sensitivity I’d honed over the years was essential for reaching my clients on more than just an emotional level. He needed a psychologist who dared to delve deeper and provide a visceral experience that counted.

His kind blue eyes processed every detail with intensity, and those faint laughter lines gave away his thirty years. He had this endearing way of swallowing his pride with each order I wielded as he obeyed, his head remaining bowed in reverence...most of the time.

This desire I felt to step toward him and rest my cheek against his firm chest was not exactly what he needed. He needed a dominatrix – the kind who’d not be thrown by all that southern charm.

His sudden dark, intense glare caught me off guard.

His defiance was raw and vital like the piercing note on a tuning fork. He was all tension and rippling sun-kissed muscles, glancing up occasionally to gauge my response to his continued rebellion.

Disobedience I could handle.

I’d not counted on his beauty affecting me so dangerously, weakening my resolve to be just a mistress to him. The kind of connection we were experiencing was not what I’d expected when perusing his file. Whoever had profiled him had been way off. He wasn’t just a suit in need of a good spanking. He was more...so much more.

Those dark curls were now a tussle of damp luscious strands. A series of whips and paddles had left his flesh tinged a deep shade of red as he’d writhed in ecstasy against the Saint Andrew’s Cross, his moans reaching beyond the four walls.

I saw pride reflected in his eyes, and I raised my chin high.

“Stand.”

He rose with that familiar majesty, almost arrogance, even though I noticed he was not necessarily a man of excessive means – seeing that Michael Kors watch he’d peeled from his wrist earlier. However, from the way he’d recognized that Onesti ram sculpture we’d passed on the way in I could tell he was educated. To me that was more impressive than any financial status.

I was surrounded by men of privilege and yet I was far more interested in the wealth of the mind, the kind of conversations that enlightened and brought meaning to life.

The scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the aroma of fresh leather cuffs and I breathed him in, letting those sensations overwhelm me.

He was waiting patiently for his next command, standing with his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

It had only taken a few seconds to ascertain which room would be best. The décor was sleek and simple so his mind wouldn’t wander too much, a dark dungeon drenched in a soft red hue. Still, coaxing him to open up was proving to be a challenge. He’d been soothed initially when first restrained, as subs often are when handing over their control.

Though from the way he pulled back from surrendering completely, trancing-out would be an issue for him.

I gestured with my whip. “Back to the post.”

He folded his arms.

I took a short step toward him. “Problem?”

He was fighting me again, showing me a devilish grin.

God, he really was a pretty boy and that scar on his jaw added to a bad boy image he couldn’t quite pull off.

I suppressed a smile. Switching wasn’t an option. That fantasy would have to wait for when I was alone. Later, I’d be vibrating my clit to the max with all thoughts trained on him – anything to get him out of my mind.

And out of my system.

It took all my will to resist crushing my lips against his, flicking my tongue inside and tasting his mouth fully, which would be a fair revenge. A good mouth-fucking for the way his flirty eyes undressed me every chance he got.

That subtle shift in his demeanor hinted he’d perhaps caught on to my momentary fantasizing. His brow arched in intrigue.

So far my sub had endured his punishment well, with toned muscles flexing in time with the rhythm of the horse whip. No way could he be described as a seasoned bottom. He didn’t even close his eyes during the process. His jaw clenched as he endured it. He emitted an occasional growl of resistance...a long moan now and again.

I re-secured him to the steel cross, facing forward with his torso against the metal post and his beautiful ass in my face.

How easy it would have been to press my body against his, my tight leather dress one with his pink, firm flesh. With a tug I checked to make sure his wrists could slip out easily if he desired. He’d requested easy-free restraint in his contract. Getting out of these would be possible – though a punishment lay on the other side of disobedience. And he knew it.

When I used the paddle on his buttocks he leaned forward with his arms pulled back, a trickle of perspiration running down his spine and over the rippling muscles of his taut back.

“Should have gone in first.” He shook his head as though rising from a dream. “What was that?” I circled around and stared into his midnight blue irises. “What?”

“You mentioned something about going in first?”

The four inch heels on my leather boots ensured I matched his height, our lips dangerously close. He leaned toward me and I stepped back to avoid his kiss. His jaw flexed in frustration.

“You have to earn the right,” I chastised.

“Jesus, Scarlet.” His dazed expression morphed into iciness.

There was an irregularity in his mood and something in his tone that hinted of rebellion. I was no stranger to defiance. But this was different. He was different.

Vanessa Fewings is the bestselling romance author of the highly acclaimed Enthrall Sessions.

Vanessa is also the author of The Stone Masters Vampire Series. Prior to publishing, Vanessa worked as a registered nurse and midwife. She holds a Masters Degree in Psychology. She has traveled extensively throughout the world and has lived in Germany, Hong Kong, and Cyprus.

Born and raised in England, Vanessa now proudly calls herself an American and resides in California with her husband.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OfficialVMK

Literary Agent: Trident Media Group