BLOG TOUR                                         DARK CONTROL by ANNABEL JOSEPH

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Dark Control an all-new sexy standalone by Annabel Joseph is available NOW!

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Dark Control by Annabel Joseph

Release Date: September 25th, 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Not all fantasies are safe, sane, and consensual. Welcome to the world of The Gallery…

Juliet meets Fort St. Clair on a miserable, drunken night, and wakes up the next morning cuffed to his guest room bed. Of course, Fort would never take advantage of her. No, the pleasure and pain he wants to inflict on her body must be negotiated in advance, because once Juliet sets foot in his private, exclusive dungeon, she belongs to him.

BDSM at The Gallery is supposed to be a straightforward arrangement, an affair by the rules, but Juliet and Fort’s growing connection brings unexpected emotions they can’t control. She’s the free spirit who transforms his rigid world, and he’s the Dominant she can finally trust—or can she?

I crossed to join him on the sofa, leaving some space between us for the questions and uneasiness to fit. He put his cup on the table behind him, then reached across the space to touch the top of my knee. His fingers trailed over the place he’d grabbed me last night, lightly, nothing sexual now. He wanted to discuss things. A future for us, maybe.

Next, he tilted my neck, inspecting the place where he’d bit me, his touch lingering like he might still soothe the pain. “No marks,” he said. “At least nothing obvious. You feel okay?”

“Yes, I feel fine.” I felt more than fine. God, I felt a million things. “How do you feel?” I asked, turning the question back on him.

“Conflicted,” he said, coming right out with it. “Here’s the thing about last night. What I did to you up against the wall in that work room…that was me on my best behavior. That was me being a gentleman.”

“Was it?” I took a sip of my tea now that it was cooler. “It felt pretty nice.”

“I can be worse. I usually am when it comes to sex.”

“Hmm.” I took another sip of tea to process, rolling the vanilla and cinnamon flavors on my tongue. “You mean you can be even rougher?”

“Rougher, colder, more intense. I’m a Dominant, but it’s more accurate to call me a sexual sadist. I like to hurt women and force them to do things for my pleasure. It’s how I prefer to get off.”

“I understand about BDSM.”

He shook his head. “You understand mainstream BDSM, the safe, sane, consensual stuff they do at Underworld. You’re into the romance of it, the slap and tickle to get off. To me, that’s going through the motions. It’s not real. Well, not real enough.”

I met his gaze, wondering what he meant by that. Not real enough?

“It’s hard to explain,” he went on, an edge of frustration in his voice. “Especially to a BDSM baby like you.”

“A BDSM baby?” I protested. “Maybe I’m a mess, but I’m not a baby. I’ve been submissive for years. I’ve done a lot of scenes, experimented with a lot of things.”

“I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to explain. You’ve been with a few Doms, you’ve participated in the lifestyle, but at the end of the day, you’re looking for pleasure, a good time.” He grimaced. “I’m into something different.”

“You don’t like having a good time? How does that work?” I blinked in confusion. “Why do you do whatever the hell you do if it’s not fun?”

“It’s fun to me. Dark fun, though.” He shifted, pushing back his hair. “I do BDSM for the rush and release. I like to push boundaries, and hang out with other people who like to push boundaries. Places like Underworld only scratch the surface of power exchange. I belong to a private club where people…go a little further.”

“So…” I put my tea on the low table in front of us. “This is why you’re not good for me? Your sadism is the reason you believe we won’t work out?”

“It’s hard for me to work out with anyone, Juliet. Except, you know, the women who come to the private club. I can be as rough as I want, as cruel as I want, and they want more.”

I looked away from him, biting my lip, considering how to reply. “Do you think…” I turned back to him. “Do you think I didn’t want more last night? Do you think I responded badly to your force?”

He held my gaze. “I think you responded wonderfully. That’s why I’m sitting here on your couch, drinking tea with you, which I literally fucking hate.” He picked up his cup as if to illustrate his point, pounded the rest of his tea, and swallowed with a disgusted face. “I hate tea, Jewels. More than anything in the world.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry. I only meant to say hi to you last night, but it went further than that, and now we have to decide…”

“Decide if we’re going to go further still?” I looked at him from under my lashes. “How often do you go to your private club to do dark, sadistic, non-fun things?”

“Often enough,” he said tightly. “And I don’t always play with the same women. It’s not a relationship thing, where we all pair up into couples.”

“It’s a sex club thing.”

He shrugged. “It’s scratching a mutual itch with no emotional expectations. So it’s not for everyone, especially emotional types. When the wrong people get caught up in that kind of lifestyle, the results aren’t pretty. That’s why I’ve been trying to stay away from you, even though I find you painfully attractive.”

“Painfully attractive.” I sniffed and sipped my tea. “Can’t hurt me, can’t live without me.”

“It’s not a joke, Juliet.”

“I know.” If it were a joke, I wouldn’t feel such lust and confusion, such horrible curiosity. “You could show me the kind of dark stuff you like to do,” I suggested. “You could invite me to this club to see what goes on, and I could tell you how I felt about it.”

“Spectators aren’t allowed. Only vetted people are allowed at the club, so there aren’t any misunderstandings.”

“Oh.” At this point, I understood what he was trying to say. Even after last night’s scorching-hot hookup, he thought we might be terminally non-compatible.

He reached for my hand and held it hard. His deep hazel eyes hit me full force, his lips pressed in a line. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said. “Since I can’t…” Those eyes raked over me, leaving me feeling stripped. “Since I can’t enter into any kind of…”

“Relationship,” I provided.

“Any kind of relationship with you, especially the sweet, emotional relationship you probably want…”

I let out a long breath. “That’s fucked up. You don’t know me well enough to know what kind of relationship I want. Honest talk: I wanted sex from you from that first sober morning I met you, and I got it.” I stood with my cup and saucer, carrying my tepid tea over to the sink. It had too much sugar. It was too sweet, like me. “I don’t have any judgment about your…your thing. Your sexual sadism, your private club, your playboy ways.”

“Playboy ways,” he repeated in an amused mutter.

“At the same time, I think you’re kind of an asshole. If you don’t want a relationship with me, don’t ask me to dinner at the Ivy. Don’t invite my boss to be part of your ad campaign, and then drop by his art show to fuck me against a wall after weeks without contact.”

“I tried to call you after the Ivy. You blocked my number, Sparkles.”

I glared at him from the kitchen. “Sparkles?

“To go with Jewels. To go with your eyes when you get really emo and intense.”

I picked up a dishtowel and started aggressively wiping invisible spots on the counter. “I had to block your number, Fort. No offense to you personally. I’m just at the point where I have to be more careful about the men I let into my life.”

“As you should be.” He stood to bring me his cup, his expression turned serious. “I try to be careful too. I try to maintain boundaries when I think someone might be easily hurt.”

My eyes widened. “Me? You think I’m some fragile flower? I’m just super sensitive to bullshit right now.”

He didn’t reply, only watched me with his lofty, level gaze. A sadist? Definitely. He could hurt me in so many ways, and those were only the ways I knew about.

“Come here, Sparkles,” he said from across the counter.

“My name’s not Sparkles.”

“Come here, Juliet.”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to make some more hot tea and dash his most-hated mixture in his face.

No, I wanted to go to him. His expression was kind, if resigned. His arms opened for me. I walked around the counter and let him embrace me. He pressed his cheek against my forehead and stroked my back.

“You’d hate it,” he said. “You’d hate what I’m into.”

“I didn’t hate it last night.”

“I was careful with you last night.” He tilted my head back and brushed fingers across my temples and through my hair. “We have this rule at the club: never fuck with the vulnerable. We’re not allowed to hook up with women who are emotionally or physically complicated, women we might damage. We can’t even bring them into the space. It’s like an honor system.”

I tugged my chin from his fingers and looked away.

“I figured out why I like you,” he went on. “I figured out why I want you so much. It’s because you’re all on the surface. Your emotions are right there, plain as day, all the time. You don’t give a fuck about saying what you feel and being who you are. You have this open expression, this way of looking at me and at other people. And you dress however you want.”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

His eyes glanced over the blue fur headband I wore. “I love the way you dress. I love the way that headband matches your eyes, but not your clothes.”

“These are my Sunday hangout clothes,” I said, pouting. “They’re not supposed to look hot and put together like your freaking designer suits.”

He held me against his chest, running his big hands up and down my back. “Just shut up for a minute, because I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know what to do about what happened last night…”

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★ ★ ★ ★

Reviewed by Emma-Louise on behalf of KFF

Dominant Fort St. Clair rescues Juliet. All romantic and white knight like, only he is no romantic and he most certainly isn’t a white knight. Fort is a long time member at The Gallery. The Gallery is a high end, limited membership, super-secret BDSM club. Fort doesn’t do flowers and poetry, he prefers pain and tears. After rescuing Juliet, he becomes obsessed with figuring out if she’s just another “posturing, pretty club maven” or a real sub.

Dark Control was an exhilarating read full of darkness and pain. As the reader, I found myself uncomfortable and even cringing at some points. I didn’t really believe I had limits until I read this book. Fort’s kink is harsher than a lot of Dominants I’ve read. He truly enjoys and gets off on causing his subs pain. In the beginning, Juliet was newly awoken to her desires. She knew she enjoyed them but it caused her a lot of confusion. Fort’s personality helped lead her down the path she wanted to go down and gave her the ability to discover who she really was.

There’s always angst in a book like this but in this book the angst was turned way passed factor 10. There was a certain scene that gave me a giant case of foreboding. You know from the start it’s going to end badly and sure enough it does. Fort breaks the only important rules there are at The Gallery and there are consequences.

‘Leave your submissive in better shape than you found them. Don’t take more than they can give. Never, ever mess with the vulnerable.’

‘We hurt women, but we don’t damage women. There’s a difference.’

Fort is a complex character. He’s a confident, sure alpha of a man, no wonder he makes a stunning Dom. All he wanted was to move from one sub to the next, never getting involved with all those messy things, like emotions. Juliet changes this for him and like most stubborn pig headed males, he fights it tooth and nail. He won’t admit how he feels, perish the thought. The sad thing is that for me it made him less likable. He went back and forth so much, to the point, even I was confused at times.

The highlight in Dark Control had to be Goodluck Boundless (yes this is a person). Goodluck is the artist that Juliet manages and to say he’s eccentric is putting it mildly. In such a heavy and dark book, Goodluck is the light shining from above. This book wouldn’t have been the same without him. Dark Control flowed from one page to the next. The author took the time to make the book feel real, and to me that really helped to pull me into the scenes. Especially the scenes in The Gallery, the description of the clock made me a little sad that it didn’t actually work. Devin has a book next, Deep Control. Devin is even more of sadist than Fort, so we’re certainly in for one heck of a ride.

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About Annabel:

Annabel Joseph is a NYT and USA Today Bestselling BDSM romance author. She writes mainly contemporary romance, although she’s been known to dabble in the medieval and Regency eras. She is known for writing emotionally intense BDSM storylines, and strives to create characters that seem real—even flawed—so readers are better able to relate to them. Annabel also writes non-BDSM romance under the pen name Molly Joseph.

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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ SICK FUX by Tillie Cole

 

 

When Ellis Earnshaw and Heathan James met as children, they couldn’t have been more different. Ellis was loud and beautiful – all blond hair, bright laughs and smiles. Heathan was dark and brooding, and obsessed with watching things die.
The pair forged an unlikely friendship, unique and strange. Until they were ripped apart by the sick cruelty of others, separated for years, both locked in a perpetual hell.
Eleven years later, Heathan is back for his girl. Back from a place from which he thought there was no return. Back to seek revenge on those who wronged them.
Time has made Heathan’s soul darker, polluted with hatred and the thirst for blood.
Time has made Ellis a shell of her former self, a little girl lost in the vastness of her pain.
As Heathan pulls Ellis out of her mental prison, reviving the essence of who she once was, down the rabbit hole they will go.
With malice in their hearts and vengeance in their veins, they will seek out the ones who hurt and destroyed them.
One at a time.
Each one more deadly than the last.
Tick Tock.

Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for ages 18 and over.

 

 

 

Please note : this is excerpt is unedited and subject to change.

 

I placed the foot of my cane on the floor and looked to the left. The sound of light breathing came from around the corner. I made to move, but my heart slammed into a fast beat, stopping my feet in their tracks. My nostrils flared as I closed my eyes and tried to suck in deep breaths. I never did this, never had this kind of reaction to anything. Not in eleven years. Not when I was trapped in darkness. Not even when the guards came to “meet the young kid.” Not when we got out—bloodily, savagely, darkly. Especially not when my knife plunged into the guards’ hearts and I watched the life fade from their eyes, the pure fascination of losing one’s life essence occupying my mind.
But this was Dolly. The only person I’d ever given a shit about.
A slick tar pumped through my black heart as I thought of her. She was the blood that gave me life.
I had no idea what state I would find her in. Whether or not her fragile mind had been destroyed. Whether or not her glass heart had been shattered. No hope of salvation.
I had no idea if my only reason for living could be saved. I shook with venomous anger when I let my mind imagine the hell those sadistic cunts would have put her through in my absence. But Chapel’s words rang in my ears . . . Unleash the anger only on those who deserve it. Let it build within your heart like a well swelling with water . . . then unleash hell on those who took your freedom.
Opening my eyes, I breathed through my rage and silently rounded the corner . . . I stopped. There she was, sitting in a chair. I sucked in a breath and heard it rattle in my ears. Her hair. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid, the woven strands falling to her lower back. And she was dressed in black. Long, baggy sleeves covered her arms.
Motherfucking black. Dolly didn’t belong in black. Only color. Blue and white and gold and motherfucking pink.
I edged around the perimeter of the room until I faced her. My heart tore down the center and I had to hold back a loud snarl when I saw her curled up on the seat, a thick blanket over her thin legs and waist as she stared lifelessly out of the window. The window that overlooked the once-manicured lawns, now nothing but high-reaching weeds and too-bushy trees. I looked across at what she was watching, in the direction of what held her so captivated.
My heart was severed completely, the two parts of its flesh repelling the other, trying to escape the rage and pain and fucking consuming darkness.
She was staring at the spot where we used to play as kids. Where she had found me all those years ago, ripping the colorful butterfly apart in my hands. I moved into her line of sight, but her blue eyes didn’t lift to meet mine, just stared through me as though I wasn’t even there. I crouched down and studied her face. Porcelain skin. Full lips. Fucking perfection.
But there was no life left in her.
I had never felt fear before, but I imagined the sinking hole I felt dropping in my stomach was something like it. A sinking feeling that Dolly had gone to a place from which there was no escape, a prisoner in her own mind.
Fragility consumed.
“Dolly darlin,’” I rasped, my voice fucking breaking.
Twenty-one. She was twenty-one and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.
Perfection.
My living doll.
A strand of hair lay over her face. My fingers clenched and unclenched as I tried to force myself to touch her. But I couldn’t. I hadn’t touched or been touched in years. I didn’t know how to anymore. Allergic to human affection. Repulsed by the degrading feeling of touch.
I . . . I . . . I couldn’t.
As I opened my mouth to speak to Dolly again, a loud gasp sailed through the air behind her. I straightened, gripping my cane, to see a familiar old face appear. I watched, the sinking hole quickly replaced by dark satisfaction as the blood drained from her face. “Good Lord,” she whispered as I smoothed down my black cravat and vest.
I glared at the bitch. Leaning casually on my cane, I said, “More like Lucifer, I would think.” I nodded in her direction “To you, anyhow.”
Mrs. Jenkins swallowed and tried to back out of the room. “Ah-ah,” I tutted and shook my head. She immediately stilled, eyes fixed on mine.
“He . . . Heathan James . . . it’s . . . it’s not possible . . .” she stammered and ran her eyes over me. Every inch of me.
“Rabbit.” The bitch flinched at my correction. “I am Rabbit. The motherfucking White Rabbit. So never fucking utter that peasant name to me again.”
Her skin paled, and her eyes fell to Dolly sitting on the chair. Dolly still hadn’t moved. I shifted my grip on the box I had brought inside, about to hold it out to Mrs. Jenkins when she asked, “How are you here?”
I threw the box across the room. It landed right at her feet. “Dress her.”
“Wh-what?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.
I pointed to the box at her feet. “Dress her. It wasn’t a request.” Mrs. Jenkins shook as she picked up the box and moved to where Dolly sat. Dolly didn’t look at her either. Mrs. Jenkins opened the lid of the box and gasped again.
Her old, wrinkled eyes snapped up to mine. “No—”
Before she had even finished the sentence, I had reached into my pocket and pulled out my knife. I ran the flat side of the blade down my cheek. Slowly. Controlled. Watching her terrified gaze track my every move. “You’d best do as I ask, Mrs. Jenkins. My patience and tolerance for you appear to be at an all-time low.”

 

 

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

 

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