Theresa’s life has become less than unsavory since Jimmy moved away twelve years ago.
Now, as she stands on the threshold of his mansion, she wonders if their shared past is enough to start again. Or will his lavish lifestyle and questionable connections close that door forever?
There are things at play that even Jimmy doesn’t understand. How can he convince Theresa that she has always been his true love, and keep her safe at the same time?
Publisher’s Note: This steamy mafia romance contains themes of power exchange.
Five Fun Facts
- My biggest pet peeve is how people pronounce niche.
- I love cats and have a writing cat that likes to hang out with me on my desk when I write.
- I started writing poetry at the age of eleven to help me deal with being bullied at school.
- The idea for the book Marked came from a dream I had one night in the spring of 2019.
- I used to be a professional athlete.
Q. Do you listen to Music while you write, and if so, what kind?
A. I prefer music for creative writing which as a series of alpha waves or brain music to stimulate the creative process. Sometimes I need a bit more drama and will switch to epic fantasy music for motivation.
Q. What genres do you write in?
A. Psychological, Romance, Romance-Thriller, Erotica Romance, so far, but I love to explore so who knows what else may come out in the future.
Q. Would you rather do the spanking or be spanked?
A. I am the receiver. Personally, I love being spanked and for a variety of reasons. When I’m stressed out, when I’m feeling out of sorts, when I’m feeling disconnected. During sex. It’s all great!
Q. If you could travel to any time, what time period would you like to explore?
A. That is a super hard choice. There are a few. The age of steampunk for sure, to witness inventions and the evolution of women at that time would be awesome. The Renaissance, women had nothing but their wiles. Back then a twenty-four seven power exchange was real. How women lived. I envision myself over the lap of a large strong handsome man, getting my backside tanned because I didn’t fulfill my duties for the day. My long skirts are pulled up and I’m trapped, no where to go, no where to run. My only choice to accept my punishment and the power that wields it. But, also be smart enough to know that I created that situation because that is what I wanted.
Q. Do you have an all-time favorite novel?
A. not to be a cliché…but it is Pride and Prejudice. For many years, Mr. Darcy was my fictional love. I’ve recently changed that to a character in a novel I wrote Called west end lass, his name is Declan Campbell, a large, wealthy highlander from Scotland.
Q. If your mood was a song right now, what would be playing?
A. If life is a highway I wanna ride it all night long
“Let’s have a nightcap, amore. I need to talk to you.”
I took her hand and we headed down to the kitchen. “Wine?”
She nodded, looking nervous. “Did I do something wrong?” And here was my quandary;my cock loved th e little submissive in her. But my heart hurt when I remembered the fierce, Theresa who used to be. I wanted her submissive to me because she trusted me, trusted that I could take care of her, not because of fear. What did she fear, rejection? This is what I needed to find out. We took our glasses to the patio and sat by the pool. I played with the remote and turned on the pool lights and some music.
Frank Sinatra crooned softly from the surround sound. I held my glass and sat back in my chair studying her. She gazed down at her lap. “Theresa, look at me, Tesoro.” Her gaze traveled up to my face and finally landed on my eyes. “Tell me what happened to you, bella.”
She visibly stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.” She was taking the denial route. I would have to get her confession another way. I reached out my hand and she took it. I pulled her over my lap and held her still. She protested but weakly, like she knew what was coming and accepted it.
I shimmied her dress up over her hips and got a spectacular view of her ass. She had the best ass ever. I brought my hand down hard, no warm up. I wanted a confession. I didn’t want games or history or anything between us. I rained down the blows quickly, not giving her time to catch her breath.
After thirty, she gave in. “Okay, okay, stop please, I’ll talk. You moved, and nothing was the same.” She hung limply over my lap, talking to the ground, but I could hear her fine.
I started up the spanking again, her cheeks now a deep rose red. She squealed and gasped and begged, but I wouldn’t let her up. Finally, she stopped fighting and lay with her tears splashing on the concrete below.
“Are you ready now?’
“Yes,” she sobbed.