Excerpt of Games Dragons Play by Michael Barnette
Third book in the Dragon Dance Cycle of Immortal Heroes
Released February 2007
Available from Phaze


In this follow-up to Apocalypse Dance, Bells has forgotten Valentine's Day. His queen, Nikki, intends to punish him for his indiscretion, but outside forces threaten their happiness. Will the immortal Bells be able to keep those who trust him and Nikki with their safety?

The slender blond man was on his knees, the handcuffs binding his wrists and the collar of black leather the only things he wore. It was the fall of his cornsilk hair that hid most of his sleek body from the critical gaze of the woman. Sable brown eyes that narrowed as she drew closer to him. He could see the anger in her eyes as he peered at her through his hair.

He'd fucked up, badly, and she was pissed as hell at him.

"Hmm.... what should I do with you?" Her wordless vocalization showed she was displeased with him and he felt a leaden weight settle in his chest.

Yes he'd certainly fucked up.

He lowered his head, shoulders going back trying to appease her with a show of submission. It wouldn't work, but it would keep her from getting angrier with him. Not that he thought she could get much madder than she was at the moment.

She circled him like a predatory creature and he could hear the riding crop in tapping into her open hand. The sound made him shiver in anticipation of its kiss. He'd earned the punishment and he expected she would lay into him at any second.

"Give me one good reason, pretty-pet of mine." Her tone was harsh and he let himself flinch as if struck by the crop rather than mere words.

"Because Mistress loves her boy?" was the velvet toned response he gave.

He heard her laugh, felt the tip of the riding crop slide along his arm, the tip of the crop touching his thigh, making his aching cock jump.

Would she give him what he wanted, or not?

She kicked a padded bench closer to him and his mouth went dry. But instead of having him lean over it to be punished she placed her one foot-- a foot beautifully encased in a patent leather open toed high heel shoe-- on the bench. The shoe was so well polished he could see his own reflection in the dark surface.

He stared at the high-heel and the foot it held for a moment. She'd painted her toenails bright red. Officer arrest me red. Come and fuck me blind red. He swallowed, struggled to be good. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't stop himself, his eyes following the shape of the spiked shoe up the perfection of her trim ankle along the smooth curve of her calf to the graceful bend of her knee and onward to the firm creamy smoothness of her thigh.

A tremor went through him as his visual journey continued, his gaze reaching the end of the erotic trail, dusky curls of pubic hair that veiled the slit of her womanhood. He was heating, body going damp with lust-sweat.

He stared at the curve of belly over the thatch of dark hair. He wanted to touch that soft belly but his hands were cuffed and he couldn't. His eyes moved higher, to her full breasts, the dark areolas of her nipples which jutted out sharply showing how aroused she was.

The crop brushed along his shoulder down his arm and he shuddered, a soft needy moan coming from him. It lifted and came down on his shoulder sharply, drawing his attention where it belonged, on her crotch.

"Taste it!"

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