But opening a club for business proves to be no small task, especially where unexpected romantic entanglements are concerned. Since first meeting at a kinky costume party, the magnetic attraction between Tera and easy-going Dominant Eric Yun has been undeniable, and yet Tera finds herself denying it at every turn. She knows she has baggage to spare, and the high-strung submissive is taking no chances when it comes to her budding friendship with the sweet and seductive Eric, no matter how tempting he may be.
Eric Yun has baggage of his own. No one knows better than he does how to hide pain behind a joke and smile. He’s spent years learning to take life in stride, and just when he thinks he has it all figured out, Tera Bodnar sweeps into his life with her big dreams, stubborn determination, and soft submissive side. He’s wanted her more than anything since they met, and now it’s impossible to get her out of his head. But he can tell she’s hiding painful secrets of her own, and the more he learns about this beautifully complicated woman, the more he finds himself revealing to her about the Eric behind the smile…
As Eric chips away at her walls, Tera learns that there is much more to this man than his mouth-watering good looks and effortless charm. She’s falling for him hard and fast, but if life has taught her anything, it’s that the harder the fall, the worse the damage, and the risk of Eric becoming a casualty in the process is just too great. But how can she hope to resist him when she can’t even escape him in her dreams?
**Note: This book is the first in a series and ends on a cliffhanger to be resolved in the book two**
Tera
“Sure you don’t need a hand with that?” I watched skeptically as Megan adjusted the massive duffel bag on her shoulder yet again. Her “goodie bag”, as she called it, was stuffed full with more floggers, handcrafted instruments of torture, and various “pervertables” than I thought any sane person should carry with them to every kink event they went to, let alone someone as tiny as Megan. Yet stubbornly carry it with her to every event she did; she liked to keep her options open, she said, and I’d long given up trying to argue with her. After all, I was the last person who should have been criticizing her for needing some variety.
She snorted at my question. “It’s my stuff, I can manage it. But did you really have to park so damn far, though?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, you’re right, I should’ve just pulled right up to the curb and given my keys to the valet. It’s the Strip on a Saturday night, what’d you expect?”
I dodged the punch she aimed at my arm, then steadied her when her playful attack caused her to lose her already precarious balance. Even though I knew my friend and roommate would be the last person on Earth to give two shits about my frequent sarcasm, I still couldn’t help but worry about taking it too far. But it had been so long since I’d felt truly free to express that side of myself without repercussion that in the last couple months I couldn’t help but let my inner “Snark Queen” nature shine through in all its glory.
“Still, though,” she muttered, shifting her goodie bag once again. “Might as well have taken the bus.”
“Oh, I bet that would’ve been pretty amusing to everyone else. How scandalizing! They’d probably think I was just trying for the naughty schoolgirl look and that you’d been in some kind of horrible accident. And Lord knows what you’d be hiding in that bag…”
“I thought you were a naughty schoolgirl, Tera. And for the record, I figured it was pretty fucking obvious that I was going for ‘sexy zombie nurse’, thank you very much.” She gestured at her costume, an extra large scrub top which had been modified into a more form-fitting mini-dress and splattered with a generous helping of fake blood. Personally, I thought most people would assume she was a sexy open heart surgeon, but being a nurse in real life, Megan was insistent on wearing scrubs instead of the stereotypical naughty nurse costume, despite the fact that going without pants hardly made it more accurate.
I gaped at her in mock offense. “I am not just any schoolgirl, I’m a Hogwarts student,” I corrected her. “A Ravenclaw student, thank you very much.” I tugged on my black cardigan in a show of pride, but I couldn’t help but feel that my costume looked a bit shabbily thrown together compared to hers. I did somewhat pride myself on having managed to find a tie online in the book-accurate house colors of blue and bronze, though. All together it didn’t look half-bad, though I was sure any non-Harry Potter fan might have raised an eyebrow at my outfit.
Not that our clothing of choice particularly stood out on this occasion. It was nine o’clock on Halloween night in the Strip District, and Smallman Street was bustling with people in costumes and clubwear, all of them making their way to the Strip’s various nightlife hotspots. Our own destination was Dirty Dan’s, Pittsburgh’s hottest gay-friendly bar, nightclub, and frequent drag burlesque venue. By all accounts, an average Saturday night at Dirty Dan’s was a pretty wild time, but I imagined nothing could quite compare to what went on there three Saturdays a year. Every four months, the club opened its doors to the local BDSM community to host the Pittsburgh Bound Party. One part play-party and one part fetish ball, no two Pittsburgh Bound events were quite the same, although I’d only ever had the chance to attend two of them before myself. As luck would have it, this one happened to fall right on Halloween, and I was excited to see what sort of holiday-themed debauchery was in store.
I pulled my cardigan closer around me, not so much to protect myself from the chilly breeze as it was to hide my currently bra-less state. Of course, there would be no hiding it once we got inside the club. My nipples strained against the thin cotton of my shirt, and a pleasurable shiver spread throughout my body at my sudden awareness of how hard they were. I loved this feeling, of being covered yet exposed at the same time. Already my body was thrumming with energy, highly attuned to the sexually charged atmosphere that grew thicker in the air as we approached the club.
The line outside Dirty Dan’s was mercifully short, and in no time Megan and I were flashing our ID’s at the bouncer and being ushered inside. We paid the $15 cover fee to the smiling pink-haired woman behind the check-in desk and made our way to the main room of the club. It was like stepping into a very twisted alternate reality, where bursts of laughter harmonized with moans of pleasure and cries of pain, and men and women lashed to columns with glow-in-the-dark rope served as decoration. The air pulsated with energy, though unlike the last two times I’d been there, there was no music playing. However, the lack of pounding house music was more than made up for by The Rocky Horror Picture Show being projected on the back wall. A row of St. Andrew’s crosses were lined up against the wall to our right, all of them occupied. A small crowd gathered near them, some to watch and admire, others to eagerly wait their turn. Just beyond the crosses was the spanking booth, where nervous newbies and hardcore painsluts alike lined up to sample the impressive array of canes, whips, and paddles. At the far end of the room, a makeshift catwalk had been set up for the costume fashion show later in the night, though at the moment it was being used for a wax play demonstration.
But it was the people more so than the bizarre surroundings that really set the tone. Their attire ran the entire costuming gamut, from cheap Halloween store costumes to the most hardcore fetish wear. The people were just as varied as their costumes; everyone from giggling first-timers to the ones who had lived as Master and slave for years had come out to be part of this gathering of freaks and geeks. Some stood in clusters, drinks in hand as they watched the movie or the various scenes going on around the room. Others sat at the scattered groupings of plush couches and chairs, casually conversing as if their surroundings were no more unusual than a dinner party. At one, a Dom spanked his gothic lolita-dressed girl over his knee; at another, a sub kneeled dutifully at his Mistress’ feet; and at yet another, a half-naked woman bound to a coffee table carefully balanced on her back the drinks of the two couples seated on either side of her.
It was the most surreal and exciting thing, to feel both right at home and yet still slightly out of my element. Adrenaline pumped through my system as I took it all in. I’d left Teresa Bodnar at the door; Tera the submissive had waited trembling just below the surface for too long, and now it was her time to shine.
But was it really? I took a deep breath and let it out in a loud huff. Fantasies were nice and play was fun, but there was no way I was ready to fully play the part of the submissive again yet. Hell, I doubted I’d end up playing with anyone that night at all; unlike Megan, I didn’t really have any long-standing play partners I could call up whenever I was itching for a nice beating, and most of the guys here were probably strangers. But it had been a couple months since that house party where I’d taken a chance and let one of Megan’s more “domly” acquaintances spank me, and I really was feeling an itch. To be bound and subdued, to simply let go… but it seemed as though simply watching a hot scene or lining up for the spanking booth would be my best options, and I would take what I could get, so long as it took the edge off.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I’d hardly noticed Megan had made a beeline to the bar. Quickly, I followed her over.
“God, what’s taking Mike so long?” she said as she dropped her goodie bag next to her barstool. “Hey! Bartender guy! Two margaritas over here!”
I rolled my eyes again. “Nice of you to order for me, buddy. Could I actually get a strawberry mojito, please? Thanks,” I added to the harried-looking bartender. “Well, did you tell him to meet you at the bar?”
“Yeah, but he’s always late. Don’t even know why I bother with him sometimes…”
Our drinks arrived, and I stroked my chin as I took a contemplative sip. “Hmmm… because he gives you orgasms and isn’t afraid to leave bruises?”
I smirked when she playfully punched my arm, secretly thinking her hostile attitude meant she liked her frequent play partner and occasional fuck-buddy a little more than she was willing to admit. But, that was her business. I sipped my mojito as I scanned the club under the pretext of looking for Mike, but my gaze was immediately drawn to the shibari area just beyond the catwalk. I’d always been fascinated by rope work; the endless variety, the precise intricacy of the knots, the strict yet comforting feel of rope on bare skin. There was nothing I craved more than bondage and I loved it in all its forms, but I hadn’t experienced nearly enough rope bondage in my life.
I took in the sight hungrily. My eyes roamed from one scene to the next, until one scene brought my roaming eyes to an abrupt halt. No, it wasn’t the scene; it was him.
What was it that had drawn me to him so intensely? Was it the flash of what looked like another Ravenclaw tie? The way the multicolored lights shone off his dark hair? Or had it simply been sensual confidence with which he moved? Whatever it was, I was utterly spellbound from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was young; there was no way he could have been much older than me, yet he moved with the practiced ease of someone who’d been at this for a long time. He was working with an older man–in his late thirties, I guessed–to bind a woman, although it was clear from the way he paused to point things out to the other man that Mr. Hot Twenty-Something Bondage Pro was the one who really knew his way around a piece of rope. I imagined the woman and older man were probably a couple, although, for all I knew, all three of them could be in some kind of poly relationship.
The thought of that sent a sudden jolt of jealousy through me. Please let that not be the case! I shook my head. What had gotten into me? I had no business wishing that this guy was single; it’s not like anything would be happening between us either way. But just because I was resolved not to touch, didn’t mean I couldn’t look. Although to be honest, I wasn’t so much looking as I was shamelessly ogling. I watched him work as if he were putting on a show just for me. His skilled hands moved in fluid motions as he tied the woman’s hands behind her back in a simple yet elegant takate kote box tie. Desire rippled through me as I imagined those same hands brushing my own skin as he wrapped me in his ropes, those talented fingers teasing pleasure out of my bound and helpless body. How could I be so turned on just from watching his hands? I managed to tear my eyes away from them and let my hungry gaze travel all over his body, finally coming to rest on his achingly beautiful face. Life was so unfair for not letting me have a closer look at that face. He smiled slightly as he worked, though his eyes were intently focused on what his hands were doing.
He looked up suddenly, seemingly distracted by something on my side of the room, and our eyes met. I think I might have gasped out loud; there was no way he was actually looking at me, right? But his gaze lingered on me for too long for it to be mere coincidence. For a second he looked as stunned as I felt, But his expression quickly morphed into a smile that could only rightly be described as “panty melting”. Holy Shit, he’s smiling at me! Instinctively I pressed my thighs together, suddenly aware of how wet I was. Somehow I managed to smile back, mortified to realize that my mouth had been hanging open slightly. Good Lord, two minutes of staring at Mr. Pro and I was losing control of my own body. That couldn’t be a good sign. And yet I couldn’t stop staring, watching as he tugged on his tie and gave me an approving wink.
“Tera. Tera. Teeeeeerrrraaaaa!” Megan’s shouting abruptly yanked me out of my fantasies. I blinked, trying to get my bearings after being caught up in Mr. Pro’s spell.
“Yes?” I asked, hoping to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“I said, ‘Are you going to share that man-candy, or are you going to eat it all yourself?’”
I narrowed my eyes at her, answering her knowing smirk with the dirtiest look I could muster. “‘Man-candy’, really? God, I hate that word.” Calmly, I turned my attention back to my drink. “Besides… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Megan raised an eyebrow, fixing me with her no-bullshit stare. “Please, I saw you eye-banging your Potterhead soulmate over there. I mean, it was cute Asian guy you were looking at, right? Not total-noob middle-aged white guy?”
“I’m… pretty sure he has a name besides ‘cute Asian guy’… little insensitive, don’t you think?”
“Ha! I knew you were staring at him!” she jabbed her finger at my face in triumph and I swatted it away. “And come on, I called the other dude ‘white guy’, didn’t I? Not like I said it to his face or anything…”
“Still, though…”
Already my insides were knotting up in anxiety. As great of a friend Megan was, once she latched onto something, there was no getting her to let go of it. She’d be on my case about Mr. Pro all night if I couldn’t find a way to distract her. Luckily, at that very moment, my ears pricked up at the sound of the opening notes of the “Time Warp”. Oh, right, the movie. I didn’t even have to say anything before Megan was dragging me onto the dance floor. I cast a quick glance back the shibari area, hoping for another smile from Mr. Pro before permanently putting that fantasy away in my masturbation material archive, but he’d already turned his attention back to the bound woman in front of him.
“Sure you don’t need a hand with that?” I watched skeptically as Megan adjusted the massive duffel bag on her shoulder yet again. Her “goodie bag”, as she called it, was stuffed full with more floggers, handcrafted instruments of torture, and various “pervertables” than I thought any sane person should carry with them to every kink event they went to, let alone someone as tiny as Megan. Yet stubbornly carry it with her to every event she did; she liked to keep her options open, she said, and I’d long given up trying to argue with her. After all, I was the last person who should have been criticizing her for needing some variety.
She snorted at my question. “It’s my stuff, I can manage it. But did you really have to park so damn far, though?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, you’re right, I should’ve just pulled right up to the curb and given my keys to the valet. It’s the Strip on a Saturday night, what’d you expect?”
I dodged the punch she aimed at my arm, then steadied her when her playful attack caused her to lose her already precarious balance. Even though I knew my friend and roommate would be the last person on Earth to give two shits about my frequent sarcasm, I still couldn’t help but worry about taking it too far. But it had been so long since I’d felt truly free to express that side of myself without repercussion that in the last couple months I couldn’t help but let my inner “Snark Queen” nature shine through in all its glory.
“Still, though,” she muttered, shifting her goodie bag once again. “Might as well have taken the bus.”
“Oh, I bet that would’ve been pretty amusing to everyone else. How scandalizing! They’d probably think I was just trying for the naughty schoolgirl look and that you’d been in some kind of horrible accident. And Lord knows what you’d be hiding in that bag…”
“I thought you were a naughty schoolgirl, Tera. And for the record, I figured it was pretty fucking obvious that I was going for ‘sexy zombie nurse’, thank you very much.” She gestured at her costume, an extra large scrub top which had been modified into a more form-fitting mini-dress and splattered with a generous helping of fake blood. Personally, I thought most people would assume she was a sexy open heart surgeon, but being a nurse in real life, Megan was insistent on wearing scrubs instead of the stereotypical naughty nurse costume, despite the fact that going without pants hardly made it more accurate.
I gaped at her in mock offense. “I am not just any schoolgirl, I’m a Hogwarts student,” I corrected her. “A Ravenclaw student, thank you very much.” I tugged on my black cardigan in a show of pride, but I couldn’t help but feel that my costume looked a bit shabbily thrown together compared to hers. I did somewhat pride myself on having managed to find a tie online in the book-accurate house colors of blue and bronze, though. All together it didn’t look half-bad, though I was sure any non-Harry Potter fan might have raised an eyebrow at my outfit.
Not that our clothing of choice particularly stood out on this occasion. It was nine o’clock on Halloween night in the Strip District, and Smallman Street was bustling with people in costumes and clubwear, all of them making their way to the Strip’s various nightlife hotspots. Our own destination was Dirty Dan’s, Pittsburgh’s hottest gay-friendly bar, nightclub, and frequent drag burlesque venue. By all accounts, an average Saturday night at Dirty Dan’s was a pretty wild time, but I imagined nothing could quite compare to what went on there three Saturdays a year. Every four months, the club opened its doors to the local BDSM community to host the Pittsburgh Bound Party. One part play-party and one part fetish ball, no two Pittsburgh Bound events were quite the same, although I’d only ever had the chance to attend two of them before myself. As luck would have it, this one happened to fall right on Halloween, and I was excited to see what sort of holiday-themed debauchery was in store.
I pulled my cardigan closer around me, not so much to protect myself from the chilly breeze as it was to hide my currently bra-less state. Of course, there would be no hiding it once we got inside the club. My nipples strained against the thin cotton of my shirt, and a pleasurable shiver spread throughout my body at my sudden awareness of how hard they were. I loved this feeling, of being covered yet exposed at the same time. Already my body was thrumming with energy, highly attuned to the sexually charged atmosphere that grew thicker in the air as we approached the club.
The line outside Dirty Dan’s was mercifully short, and in no time Megan and I were flashing our ID’s at the bouncer and being ushered inside. We paid the $15 cover fee to the smiling pink-haired woman behind the check-in desk and made our way to the main room of the club. It was like stepping into a very twisted alternate reality, where bursts of laughter harmonized with moans of pleasure and cries of pain, and men and women lashed to columns with glow-in-the-dark rope served as decoration. The air pulsated with energy, though unlike the last two times I’d been there, there was no music playing. However, the lack of pounding house music was more than made up for by The Rocky Horror Picture Show being projected on the back wall. A row of St. Andrew’s crosses were lined up against the wall to our right, all of them occupied. A small crowd gathered near them, some to watch and admire, others to eagerly wait their turn. Just beyond the crosses was the spanking booth, where nervous newbies and hardcore painsluts alike lined up to sample the impressive array of canes, whips, and paddles. At the far end of the room, a makeshift catwalk had been set up for the costume fashion show later in the night, though at the moment it was being used for a wax play demonstration.
But it was the people more so than the bizarre surroundings that really set the tone. Their attire ran the entire costuming gamut, from cheap Halloween store costumes to the most hardcore fetish wear. The people were just as varied as their costumes; everyone from giggling first-timers to the ones who had lived as Master and slave for years had come out to be part of this gathering of freaks and geeks. Some stood in clusters, drinks in hand as they watched the movie or the various scenes going on around the room. Others sat at the scattered groupings of plush couches and chairs, casually conversing as if their surroundings were no more unusual than a dinner party. At one, a Dom spanked his gothic lolita-dressed girl over his knee; at another, a sub kneeled dutifully at his Mistress’ feet; and at yet another, a half-naked woman bound to a coffee table carefully balanced on her back the drinks of the two couples seated on either side of her.
It was the most surreal and exciting thing, to feel both right at home and yet still slightly out of my element. Adrenaline pumped through my system as I took it all in. I’d left Teresa Bodnar at the door; Tera the submissive had waited trembling just below the surface for too long, and now it was her time to shine.
But was it really? I took a deep breath and let it out in a loud huff. Fantasies were nice and play was fun, but there was no way I was ready to fully play the part of the submissive again yet. Hell, I doubted I’d end up playing with anyone that night at all; unlike Megan, I didn’t really have any long-standing play partners I could call up whenever I was itching for a nice beating, and most of the guys here were probably strangers. But it had been a couple months since that house party where I’d taken a chance and let one of Megan’s more “domly” acquaintances spank me, and I really was feeling an itch. To be bound and subdued, to simply let go… but it seemed as though simply watching a hot scene or lining up for the spanking booth would be my best options, and I would take what I could get, so long as it took the edge off.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I’d hardly noticed Megan had made a beeline to the bar. Quickly, I followed her over.
“God, what’s taking Mike so long?” she said as she dropped her goodie bag next to her barstool. “Hey! Bartender guy! Two margaritas over here!”
I rolled my eyes again. “Nice of you to order for me, buddy. Could I actually get a strawberry mojito, please? Thanks,” I added to the harried-looking bartender. “Well, did you tell him to meet you at the bar?”
“Yeah, but he’s always late. Don’t even know why I bother with him sometimes…”
Our drinks arrived, and I stroked my chin as I took a contemplative sip. “Hmmm… because he gives you orgasms and isn’t afraid to leave bruises?”
I smirked when she playfully punched my arm, secretly thinking her hostile attitude meant she liked her frequent play partner and occasional fuck-buddy a little more than she was willing to admit. But, that was her business. I sipped my mojito as I scanned the club under the pretext of looking for Mike, but my gaze was immediately drawn to the shibari area just beyond the catwalk. I’d always been fascinated by rope work; the endless variety, the precise intricacy of the knots, the strict yet comforting feel of rope on bare skin. There was nothing I craved more than bondage and I loved it in all its forms, but I hadn’t experienced nearly enough rope bondage in my life.
I took in the sight hungrily. My eyes roamed from one scene to the next, until one scene brought my roaming eyes to an abrupt halt. No, it wasn’t the scene; it was him.
What was it that had drawn me to him so intensely? Was it the flash of what looked like another Ravenclaw tie? The way the multicolored lights shone off his dark hair? Or had it simply been sensual confidence with which he moved? Whatever it was, I was utterly spellbound from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was young; there was no way he could have been much older than me, yet he moved with the practiced ease of someone who’d been at this for a long time. He was working with an older man–in his late thirties, I guessed–to bind a woman, although it was clear from the way he paused to point things out to the other man that Mr. Hot Twenty-Something Bondage Pro was the one who really knew his way around a piece of rope. I imagined the woman and older man were probably a couple, although, for all I knew, all three of them could be in some kind of poly relationship.
The thought of that sent a sudden jolt of jealousy through me. Please let that not be the case! I shook my head. What had gotten into me? I had no business wishing that this guy was single; it’s not like anything would be happening between us either way. But just because I was resolved not to touch, didn’t mean I couldn’t look. Although to be honest, I wasn’t so much looking as I was shamelessly ogling. I watched him work as if he were putting on a show just for me. His skilled hands moved in fluid motions as he tied the woman’s hands behind her back in a simple yet elegant takate kote box tie. Desire rippled through me as I imagined those same hands brushing my own skin as he wrapped me in his ropes, those talented fingers teasing pleasure out of my bound and helpless body. How could I be so turned on just from watching his hands? I managed to tear my eyes away from them and let my hungry gaze travel all over his body, finally coming to rest on his achingly beautiful face. Life was so unfair for not letting me have a closer look at that face. He smiled slightly as he worked, though his eyes were intently focused on what his hands were doing.
He looked up suddenly, seemingly distracted by something on my side of the room, and our eyes met. I think I might have gasped out loud; there was no way he was actually looking at me, right? But his gaze lingered on me for too long for it to be mere coincidence. For a second he looked as stunned as I felt, But his expression quickly morphed into a smile that could only rightly be described as “panty melting”. Holy Shit, he’s smiling at me! Instinctively I pressed my thighs together, suddenly aware of how wet I was. Somehow I managed to smile back, mortified to realize that my mouth had been hanging open slightly. Good Lord, two minutes of staring at Mr. Pro and I was losing control of my own body. That couldn’t be a good sign. And yet I couldn’t stop staring, watching as he tugged on his tie and gave me an approving wink.
“Tera. Tera. Teeeeeerrrraaaaa!” Megan’s shouting abruptly yanked me out of my fantasies. I blinked, trying to get my bearings after being caught up in Mr. Pro’s spell.
“Yes?” I asked, hoping to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“I said, ‘Are you going to share that man-candy, or are you going to eat it all yourself?’”
I narrowed my eyes at her, answering her knowing smirk with the dirtiest look I could muster. “‘Man-candy’, really? God, I hate that word.” Calmly, I turned my attention back to my drink. “Besides… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Megan raised an eyebrow, fixing me with her no-bullshit stare. “Please, I saw you eye-banging your Potterhead soulmate over there. I mean, it was cute Asian guy you were looking at, right? Not total-noob middle-aged white guy?”
“I’m… pretty sure he has a name besides ‘cute Asian guy’… little insensitive, don’t you think?”
“Ha! I knew you were staring at him!” she jabbed her finger at my face in triumph and I swatted it away. “And come on, I called the other dude ‘white guy’, didn’t I? Not like I said it to his face or anything…”
“Still, though…”
Already my insides were knotting up in anxiety. As great of a friend Megan was, once she latched onto something, there was no getting her to let go of it. She’d be on my case about Mr. Pro all night if I couldn’t find a way to distract her. Luckily, at that very moment, my ears pricked up at the sound of the opening notes of the “Time Warp”. Oh, right, the movie. I didn’t even have to say anything before Megan was dragging me onto the dance floor. I cast a quick glance back the shibari area, hoping for another smile from Mr. Pro before permanently putting that fantasy away in my masturbation material archive, but he’d already turned his attention back to the bound woman in front of him.
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When she’s not busy reading, writing, binge-watching Game of Thrones, or doing a million other important things, Siena enjoys traveling, archery, and getting lost in the woods (also known as “hiking”). She and her better half/writing buddy/sometimes Sir/sex muse live together in Pittsburgh. Their dream is to relocate to the middle of nowhere and build a castle capable of withstanding the impending zombie apocalypse.
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Sounds good.
ReplyDeleteThe artwork on the cover really stands out. Love it!
ReplyDeleteSounds great!!
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