Wednesday, 18 December 2013

The Novice Chapter Tour - Chapter Ten

Welcome to The Novice Christmas Chapter Tour. This is a very special tour as over twelve days the first twelve chapters of The Novice, book #1 in the Sexy as Hell series by Harlem Dae -  will be published, one per day, per blog, for you to get a taste of Victor and Zara’s wild and erotic journey.

About Sexy as Hell – Sexy as Hell is an erotic trilogy that will submerge you into the black heart of a world of bondage and discipline, Dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.

Dare to take this twisting journey with Victor and you’ll learn the ropes with him, experience every carnal sensation and fall into a dark and dangerous love that grips like a fist and binds like a collar.

Get to know Zara, his sultry teacher, and you’ll gasp when she doles out her sinful instructions but then delight in the stunning results she not only demands but achieves. It seems Heaven and Hell are not so far apart when she holds the reins.

Victor has his layers peeled back, but when he does the same to try to get to his Vixen’s core, a revelation appears. Because Zara is a woman whose vast sexual experience is both her strength and her weakness; she can inflict pain and pleasure, make lusty demands and instruct, but she needs so much more, she needs…

Yes, the time has come to for her to admit to her needs and confess to the repairing her soul hungers for. A sea of memories, a lifetime of control requires an acknowledgement that will cut through her barriers, and there’s only one man up for the job—her virgin, her student, her newly trained monster, Victor Partridge.

Please note, in order to enjoy Victor and Zara’s adventures, the trilogy must be read in order.

The Novice is the first book, the second The Player and finally The Vixen. Here is the back cover information for The Novice.

London – one meeting, one month of lessons and a landslide of depraved new desires.

My journey to hell started with a decaff coffee. Nothing more than a grey mug full of dull-brown liquid devoid of its most useful ingredient.

One sip, one smile, one touch of her hand and it was soon clear my life wasn’t destined to stay dull. Oh, no, suddenly I had a month of bedroom education planned by a sultry vixen who intended to broaden my horizons beyond my usual peach-pink palette. 

She wanted to take me to deep purples and navy blues and the pitch blackness that was pure sin. And on the other side of that blackness was a place that might look like Hell, with debauchery and wantonness, people playing devil’s advocate, luring innocents into the hotter, steamier corners of the world.

Her world.

Oh, yes, she promised each night to take me there and paint me an orange-and-red picture that would come alive, flickering like flames, enticing me, holding me spellbound and eager to learn more. To touch, explore, drown in coming.

And drown I would. I was no match for her tricks and taunts. My only chance of survival was to show her that I was no vanilla virgin. I had a rainbow of mastery up my sleeve, too, and if she just opened her eyes, she might be dazzled enough to stay—stay and take ‘my’ lessons. If she didn’t kill me first, that was, with pleasure.

* * * * *

So what are people saying about the Sexy as Hell Trilogy? I’m pleased to report that it’s all good, no, more than good. This trilogy has been described on Amazon as “far better than the 50 Shades of Grey”, one reader said, “I've read many erotic novels and BDSM books but these ones are by far my favourites.” another stated, “I was looking to be titillated yes, but instead was captured by the story of Zara and Victor.” You can read all the glowing reviews on the Harlem Dae website, plus read the FREE Harlem Dae magazine with all the inside gossip about the Sexy as Hell Trilogy and what it was like for two authors writing nearly 300k together and how their characters inspired them to keep on writing.

So finally, with just a last warning that this story is boundary pushing, hot, edgy and dark and not for those of a delicate disposition. It’s BDSM primarily but has a slow burn romance that tips everything on its head as feelings intensify and souls are bared.


Tour Information/Where to find all the chapters - GO HERE

Harlem Dae Website -

The Novice – Amazon 
                        Amazon UK 

The Player – Amazon 
                      Amazon UK 

The Vixen – Amazon 

Chapter Ten

Damn it. I should have asked Zara to join me for lunch. Offered the invitation and said what I wanted loud and clear. Wasn’t that what I usually did? I was an assertive kind of bloke. I could have just thrown the sentence out there—it would have been the normal, sensible thing to do.
But then, what was normal with regards to Zara?
She probably would have said no, because how could she have been hungry after the huge Danish she’d munched at the coffee shop? I thought women worried about calories? Clearly Zara didn’t, not that she needed to. She had a sleek, streamlined figure, almost like a catwalk model but with bigger tits. Perky tits that I reckoned would fit in my palms just right.
I twirled my fork in the pasta and imagined myself in bed with her. Kissing her, making love, fucking, whatever the hell it was she wanted. I could imagine her taste, rich and spiced, like dark, bitter chocolate melting on my tongue. There was nothing sweet about Zara. She was the opposite to Helen, who’d been demure, a little shy and had tasted of sun-warmed strawberries and sugary treats.
Helen had liked to make love with the lights way down low. She’d been a bit bashful of me seeing her naked. She didn’t completely oppose it, just avoided it. I’d never really understood why. She had a cracking body, soft and curved, and it had fitted so well with mine. It was a damn shame her dream job happened to be in South Africa. Sure, she’d asked me to pack up and head halfway around the world with her, but that was never going to happen. Partridge and Partners was my baby, and Partridge and Partners was in London. There had been no decision to make, and she’d known that in her heart of hearts.
We’d said goodbye. There had been tears.
Soon I’d have to say goodbye to Zara too. It was becoming a bit of a damn habit.
I munched on my spaghetti, then swallowed, took a sip of water. I’d decided not to go for the Scotch. My heart had been fluttering since the coffee shop, and I didn’t think the alcohol would help. I should have remembered to take one of my tablets this morning, but with everything else swirling around my head I’d forgotten—again.
My mobile buzzed in my breast pocket and I retrieved it. I was expecting a call from a client who’d changed his mind about the direction of the staircase in the barn he was having converted. It wasn’t a call I wanted to have on the first lunch break I remembered taking this year.
My stomach clenched when I saw it wasn’t a client at all, but a text from Zara.
You’ve got me thinking about pasta. Cook for me tonight. I’ll come to yours at ten. What’s the address? X
Bloody cheek. Cook for me. What was I, her slave or something?
I lay the phone on the white linen tablecloth and stared at her words. Sharply written, I could hear her saying them, demanding to be obeyed.
My cock stirred.
What was it about her voice? The way she spoke? It was so authoritative. She oozed confidence, a confidence that came from being obeyed over and over.
Who obeyed her? Was it just Carlos or was it all of her lovers? Friends, too, maybe. Was that what she wanted of me? Absolute obedience?
Well, she wasn’t going to get it. I’d do what I wanted when I wanted to do it, not because she told me to. I was a man, a man in charge of my own actions and destiny. Bossy Zara would not have me wrapped around her little finger. It might be Carlos’ thing, but it wasn’t mine. He liked being on his knees, submissive, taking whatever she doled out and hankering after any small bit of attention. Surely a bloke with his physical power could do better than that. He should man-up a bit.
I waited until I’d finished my meal before texting back.
See you at ten. Don’t be late.
I’d added don’t be late, just to show her that I, too, could be demanding. I also didn’t add an X as she had. This was an arrangement, not a romance. She was teaching me stuff, in theory, and I was sticking to my word and sitting through all of her crazy lessons.
Damn, my address. Quickly, I fired off another text.
As I paid the bill, waited for the machine to connect to the bank and approve my PIN, I realised why she was coming at ten. She was working first.
Later on, while I was preparing her meal, she’d be on stage, legs akimbo, pleasuring herself and being wank-fodder for a group of dirty old men.
I shoved my wallet away and left the restaurant, banging the door a bit too hard behind myself. The wind was bitter, and I ducked my head and strode back to the office, the soles of my shoes slapping on the frozen path, my mind full of thoughts of Zara in my home, my personal space. Seeing my stuff.
I’d have to stop off at Marks & Spencer. Buy some food for dinner, some nice wine too. Red or white?

Ten hours later my apartment held the scent of garlic and tarragon. I’d made chicken pasta in a creamy herb sauce for our main course along with a salmon mousse for starter and chocolate pudding for dessert.
The chocolate pudding was a bit of speciality of mine. Whipped cream and melted Lindt, a dash of vanilla essence and a layer of blueberries at the base. Served in fat wine glasses so you could see the layers and with a sprinkle of icing sugar on the top.
I’d set the table—well, the two seats at the end nearest the floor-to-ceiling window. The table could comfortably fit twelve around it, not that it ever had. I thought Zara would like the window end with its views over Tower Bridge. The majestic turrets were lit to a golden hue, the traffic a constant stream. I could make out a large Christmas tree on the opposite bank of the Thames, blue lights twinkling as the wind shivered through the branches.
Christmas. Soon it would be that time of year again.
I did a quick calculation. Zara would be gone from my life by then; it was five weeks away. Who the hell knew what I’d do for the festive season this year? It would be my second without Helen.
After lighting the candles on the table, I brought the fire to life in the hearth with a click of a switch and then flicked the TV to a music channel. I found some Einaudi and left it on; his flowing piano music always calmed my nerves.
Heading back to the kitchen, I paused at the mirror. Checked my hair. I’d had it trimmed earlier. The girl had done a good job, it was neater. It had been starting to get a bit wild and the mad professor appearance didn’t suit me.
I stroked the wisps of grey at my temples, wondered if I should invest in a brown hair dye. What had Zara said? Guys his age. What did my age have to do with anything? Perhaps if I looked younger she’d stop treating me like I was an old fart. But then if I looked younger, she’d be even worse with the whole virgin thing.
After straightening the soft collar on my navy Tommy polo shirt, I went into the kitchen area. The pasta was just coming to the boil so I lifted it off, not wanting it to overcook.
Where was she?
I remembered my pill, knocked one back with a mouthful of water then checked my watch again. Ten.
The doorbell rang.
A tremble of anticipation steamed through me as I raced to the hallway. Once there I paused. She’d kept me waiting a whole five minutes when I’d picked her up last night.
I counted to five. Slowly. Five long seconds. Then opened the door.
“Wow, swanky address, you’ve even got a butler.” Zara stepped in without being invited.
“He’s not a butler, he’s a doorman. He keeps an eye on who’s coming and going in the tower.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s eighty-one.”
She shrugged. “He’s cute and he was nice to me. Told me where to go.”
I should have told you where to go the minute I saw you.
“It’s his job to be nice to my guests and make sure they don’t get lost.”
She seemed bored of the conversation, turned her back to me and slipped her furry animal coat down her arms. “Nice place.” She let out a low whistle.
I caught her coat, hung it on a hook and let my gaze slide down the short black dress she was wearing. It hugged her tits perfectly and stopped at the very top of her thighs. “Thanks, please, go through.”
“You design this?”
“Yes, eight years ago. It was one of my first super-sized projects.”
“And you gave yourself the best apartment?”
Bought myself one of the best apartments.”
“One of the best?”
“Yes, there are eight penthouses.”
She stepped out of her skyscraper-height red stilettos and wandered through the living area. Ignoring the fire and the antiques, she went straight to the window. “But you’ve got the best view.”
I followed her, my attention shamelessly on her arse. I spotted a flash of black; she had black lace knickers on, proper ones, not a thong. I wondered if the gusset was damp.
A rush of interest invaded my groin. “Probably, if you like the bridge, that is.”
She flattened her palms on the glass and leant forwards until her nose touched it too. “I love the bridge, and fuck, it’s high, isn’t it?”
“Tends to go with the territory when you have a penthouse.”
“Mmm, I suppose.” She turned, lifted her chin and twitched her nose. “Something smells good.”
“Yes, it’s nearly done. Please, take a seat. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved. I’ve been busy.”
I didn’t let myself dwell on what she’d been busy doing and hurried to the kitchen. I retrieved the salmon mousse from the fridge and reached for the white wine, a nice Chablis that had won awards. When I swivelled to face her, Zara was standing directly behind me, examining the tiny bottle of vanilla essence I’d added to the dessert.
Of course she’d followed me. She wouldn’t ever do as I asked, even if it was just taking a damn seat.
“White or red?” I asked.
She set down the ingredient, a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “White’s good.” She pulled open a drawer next to the fridge. The contents rattled and she laid her hand straight on a corkscrew.
“How did you…?”
“I know your logic, Victor. Stands to reason you would have cutlery between the dishwasher and fridge.” She reached for the wine. “Do you want some?”
We sat at the table, opposite each other. I made sure Zara had the view over London.
“Great mousse.” She scraped a thick wedge onto a piece of melba toast. “You make it from scratch?”
I laughed. “No, but I did buy it, carry it home and then decant it onto a plate if that earns me any Brownie points.”
She smiled as she munched. “I think you’re doing okay for Brownie points.”
“I am?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Yeah.” She kept her gaze on me.
I stared into her eyes. The lights of the city twinkled in their dark depths. A thrilling feeling of achievement wound through me. I’d pleased her. I was scoring Brownie points. Taking a sip of wine, I wondered what it had been that had got me into her good books. Perhaps it was my stern text, telling her not to be late.
She tore her gaze away, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
“So how did, er, work go?” I asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
I shrugged and set my knife and fork on my now-empty plate. “Just wondered.”
“Do you wish you’d been there, to see me again?”
“I saw you last night.”
“And it turned you on.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. She knew damn well it had turned me on. Well, the second part, when she’d masturbated, not the first bit, with Carlos. “Did you use Carlos tonight?”
“No.” She rested her chin on her hand, her elbow pressed onto the table. “Why?”
“I told you, I just wondered.”
“Did it make you jealous to see me with another man?”
“Well, you were hardly with him.” I stood, collected the plates then walked to the kitchen. Dumped the crockery on the island.
She followed me. “I was hardly with him? What the hell do you think that was then, Victor?” Her tone was incredulous.
“You were using him, like a puppet in a show.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Yes, it’s not like you had sex with him or anything.”
“Fucking hell.” She shook her head, her hair drifting over her shoulders, covering her tits.
I scowled and drained the pasta.
“I think Carlos would dispute that statement,” she said. “Do you fancy bringing it up with him? I could give him a call right now.”
“I can’t see what that would achieve.” The creamy chicken was bubbling and I added the pasta, gave it a stir. Took it off the heat.
“You don’t know what it would achieve? How about it would open your bloody eyes.”
“I have my eyes open.”
“Yes, really.”
She took the bowl of steaming food I passed her. Made no move to go to the table.
“Come on, let’s eat while it’s hot.” I walked past her and hoped she’d drop the subject of Carlos. The image of him with a dildo up his arse was making my cock stir. Not that I’d found it arousing to witness, it had just been…shocking.
Zara followed, sat, put her bowl down, reached for her fork and pointed it at me. “If you asked Carlos he would say that he’d had sex with me last night. I turned him on, penetrated him, made him come. Spectacularly, I thought. If that isn’t having sex with someone, what is?”
“Fucking.” I speared a piece of penne. “Fucking is having sex. Not whipping someone on the arse and playing with toys.”
She blew out a long, low breath, shook her head. “It’s a good job you met me when you did.”
I frowned. “That’s up for debate.”
Stabbing at a chunk of chicken, she scowled. “Victor, that’s not nice, you’ll hurt my feelings.” Her gaze dropped and she worried at her bottom lip. Her shoulders slumped slightly.
 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t?” She looked up.
I instantly felt bad. “No. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Even though I hurt yours?”
“You don’t.”
“Good.” She smiled, a wide, genuine smile that flashed her teeth. “Because I only want to make you feel nice. That’s what all this is about, pleasure.”
I stared at her lips stretching, and an image of them wrapping around my cock filled my mind. That had been really fucking pleasurable all right. I shifted on the seat, my dick thickening, and carried on eating.
She sighed. “No, tonight it was just me and Fifi on stage. We did a girl-on-girl show. The men seem to like that, especially when we ride one another’s faces.”
I struggled to swallow the chunk of pasta. Girl-on-girl. Fuck, now that had me hard enough to hammer bloody nails.

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