Something Different
by
Nia Farrell
#erotica #menage #mfm #bdsm
SOMETHING
DIFFERENT (The Three Graces Book Two) is a standalone MFM ménage BDSM rock star
erotic romance by Nia Farrell. Only
$2.99 for a potty mouthed gamer girl and triple platinum indie artists who are
about to rock her world.
REVIEWERS:
“Sexy
and sultry” “Fun and hot…This ménage à
trois, featuring two sexy rock star brothers and a talented musician, will
leave you breathless and wanting for more.” “Nia Farrell did not disappoint.
Although Something Different is a heavier BDSM read than its predecessor, it
was well written and flowed well. I cannot wait for more in this series.”
BLURB:
Singer/songwriter
Anna James is getting desperate. Even
with a day job, money’s tight, and she’s wound tighter yet, having sworn off
sex to reconcile with her mother who’s in chemo and her father who disowned her
for her wild, wicked ways. No sooner
than her psychic best friend predicts an end to Anna’s self-imposed drought,
rock stars Jackson and Jacob Thomason come to town, with the dream of an indie
album co-written with local American Indian flutist Nico White and his
songwriting partner, Anna's alter ego AJ McPherson. From the first, it’s clear that the
triple-platinum indie rock stars want more than her music, but does Anna dare
submit to the part-Comanche twin brothers who perform as No Mercy?
Buy links to Something Different:
Barnes
and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/something-different-nia-farrell/1122718107?ean=2940150808072
Dark
Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!something-different/c13v4
The
Three Graces Series by Nia Farrell
SOMETHING
ELSE August 25, 2015
SOMETHING
DIFFERENT September 29, 2015
SOMETHING
MORE October 15, 2015
from
Dark Hollows Press
Excerpt:
They’re staring now, trying to reconcile reality with my stage
name and with how I look in the cheesy publicity photo I use, shot four years
ago when I turned eighteen and my mother wanted the whole glamour thing
captured for posterity. She’s never forgiven me for refusing to let them tease
and torture my hair. In the shot, I’m looking over my shoulder like I’m caught
in a fucking daydream, while my thick, straight hair drapes my back like a
black silk curtain.
I wear my hair shorter now, streaked with red and purple.
Those splashes of color and my asymmetrical cut keep it well this side of
boring.
My eyes, on the other hand, are the same. Unlike my hair, they
wouldn’t improve with the enhancement of colored contacts. They’re purple.
Fucking Liz Taylor purple–one of those anomalies of nature that my mother can’t
explain. Hell, I’ve caught my dad looking at me sideways, like I might be the
spawn of an incubus, ‘cause there’s no way that I belong to the Chinese-born
mail man. I guess my wild ways haven’t given him any peace of mind, either.
Shit, when I met Grace, she didn’t screw, didn’t swear. Now she goes to bed
with two strapping men every night and has a mouth that could make a biker
blush. As far as I’m concerned, my corruption of her is complete.
Right now, she’s staying blessedly silent. The Thomason twins
are, too.
When the intensity of their stares shifts from kind of rude to
downright disconcerting, I’m tempted to stick out my tongue and tease them with
the surgical steel ball I’ve sported since I turned twenty-one last year. Right
now Jacob’s looking at the diamond stud adorning my left nostril, and Jackson’s
staring at my C-cup breasts, his own nostrils flaring as my responsive nipples
tighten to hardened nubs.
Enough of this shit.
“Guys.” I drop my voice to a husky whisper that could earn six
figures at a 900 number. “I might use an outdated picture to throw people off,
but my eyes–they’re fucking purple, for Christ’s sake.”
Yep, the eyes have it. Recognizing them, both men sit
straighter and exchange a look that makes excitement thrum in my veins. They’re
here to see Nico, but why? I remind myself to breathe, tell myself to slow down
before my imagination runs too wild. They wouldn’t
be the first major artists wanting to lay tracks with the American Indian
artist and his native flutes.
“So…AJ–Anna James.” Jackson
says it likes he’s tasting my name, tasting me.
I swear my pussy’s gushing.
Okay, so they might not have come looking for me, but they know my work.
They’re big fish in my small pond, and their recognition means everything to
someone like me.
“Yes, but please, guys, call me
Anna. Jax. Jake.”
Recognizing them as
individuals, and not just as No Mercy, earns me a brownie point. I rack up more
for not going all fangirl on them.
“You work with Nico White.
Motherfucker.” Jackson eyes his brother, then turns back to Grace. “Nico’s
expecting us at eight. I suppose we’ll see you both then?”
Eight? Shit. That’s–
“You’ll see more of Anna,”
Grace tells them. “I make myself scarce on music writing night. The energy’s
too intense for me.”
I’ve suspected as much, but the
lake where she lives with her lovers is really conducive to creativity. So,
rather than meet at the apartment I rent above a vintage storefront on Main
Street or somewhere else, Nico and I have our songwriting sessions at their
house. Grace, bless her, doesn’t complain, since it means she gets to have some
alone-time with J.T., the half-Puerto Rican member of their threesome.
While Grace starts a review of
local businesses that would make a Chamber of Commerce proud, I’m thinking of
tonight. I might be working with these two men, writing for them. Fuck, maybe
we’ll be writing with them. The possibility makes me wet. I know how
Nico and I work. Our collaborations are so natural, so organic. We’re
comfortable with each other.
These two make me anything but.
AUTHOR BIO:
Nia Farrell has been writing
for pleasure since junior high. Now that she writes about pleasure, she can
share the fantasy worlds she visits and introduce readers to characters who
remain with her long after their tales are told.When crafting a story, Nia draws upon a rich diversity of life experiences, which include singer/songwriter, prize winning needle artist, private pilot, Reiki Master/Teacher, crystal healer, psychic fair reader, jewelry maker, physician's assistant, factory worker, waitress, genealogist, period reenactor, and children's author. If this life isn't enough, there are plenty of others to choose from. Otherwise, she devotes hours of research to subjects outside her realm, determined that her stories ring true.
Nia lives on a farm in Southern Illinois (far, far from Chicago, in the heart of "Little Egypt"). A seventh generation Illinoisan, she is descended from Mayflower Pilgrims, American soldiers from the Revolutionary War to World War II, and Scottish nobility. She enjoys playing in the past and visits Ren fairs and historical reenactments in period attire, sharing her love of history and her passion for music. While her husband and two grown daughters may only read her nonfiction work, she appreciates their support in pursuing her dreams, one of which is being published in erotic romance.
Nia
Farrell’s Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/?q=#/pages/Author-Nia-Farrell/1678898589004941?ref=bookmarks
Nia
Farrell’s Tumblr page http://authorniafarrell.tumblr.com/
Nia
Farrell’s Twitter page https://twitter.com/AuthrNiaFarrell
Nia
Farrell’s Amazon page http://www.amazon.com/Nia-Farrell/e/B014HAAWLK/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1441506277&sr=1-2-ent
Nia
Farrell’s Author page at Dark Hollows Press http://www.darkhollowspress.com/#!nia-farrell/c1mop
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I was born when we kissed; I died when we parted. I lived in your embrace while we loved..........