One moment I’m the forgotten daughter of one of the most wealthy families in the country, and the next I’m the blushing bride in an arranged marriage. My fate is sealed in my wedded union with a complete stranger. In public, Perry Constantine is the life of the party. Easygoing. Adored. In private, he’s brooding. Dark. Angry. But so am I. It’s a contest of wills to see who will break in the bedroom first,…
Everyone’s for sale, including me.
New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author. A believer in kissing. A believer of love.
I also write contemporary romance as USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson.
We screwed up, Master. It wasn’t until I stood there alone in the ashes, raw, naked, enraged, and in more pain than I could handle that I realized we’d been wrong from the beginning. I saw our history in the rubble—all our memories, the pictures filled with devotion and laughter, my wholehearted submission to him. And we had to rewrite the ending. We had to. Kingsley and I couldn’t be over. I missed him so…
Join Master Kingsley and his pet Tate at rock bottom, where their true love story can finally begin. The beautiful and the ugly, the tears and the laughter…and the introduction of a man’s first foray into kink as a submissive Daddy.
The Game Series is a BDSM series where romance meets the reality of kink. Sometimes we fall for someone we don’t match with, sometimes vanilla business gets in the way of kinky pleasure, and sometimes we have to compromise and push ourselves to overcome trauma and insecurities. No matter what, one thing is certain. This is not a perfect world—and maybe that’s why the happily ever after feels so good.
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.
The drumming bass in my head ebbed and flowed with my consciousness. Voices echoed, their words warped and distant as visions of the past played in fast forward.
I couldn’t make it stop.
Until, finally… the images slowed, spiraling out of control one last time.
Burning intensity was all I had left. My life didn’t exist outside of the inferno, radiating agony and nightmares.
I was on fire. My veins filled with lava, scorching my skin each time my muscles spasmed. Itching drew my hands to my back. Nausea overtook me as I felt open sores, raw flesh, and sticky scabs.
Fuck. Would the anguish ever end?
Was this the death I deserved?
I awoke in a panic, expecting pain to ambush me again. I lay on the floor for a silent eternity, trying to even my breathing before I attempted to stand. My legs shook as I took the two steps between me and the wall. I stumbled and caught myself before slumping over.
Did those guys drug me?
The first assholes had. The second ones, though… That was to be determined.
But the answer was in front of me as soon as I surveyed the damage. I pulled my knees to my chest, staring in disbelief at the destruction I’d caused in the room. Bloody marks adorned the shredded padding that had previously covered the walls. My entire being was raw, still mending torn skin and self-inflicted wounds.
I closed my eyes, and the movie ran in my mind anew. Still going. Still harassing me. But since I had calmed down, I could see them for what they were. My childhood memories. The gaps between the start of my life and living with Juliet.
Why were they hidden?
And what had changed inside of me to release them?