New Release and contest from an extremely talented author - Annalynne Russo

Vampires and Bondage.  Two favorite words and items in today's fiction romance society.  *thinks* Can a vampire be considered an item?  In my mind I picture Brad Pitt in An Interview With a Vampire and yes, he'd be an item I'd love to have over and over again.  *grin*  

Today we have a fabulous new release to promote that gives us a taste of both favorites.  Annalynne Russo brings the world of temptation, suspense, and wicked sexiness right to our doorsteps.  It's a release you want to put in your TBR file and one that you'll want to move to number one.  

Rather than just promote this book, we want to make this a little contest in order to "spice" it up for you all.  Ms. Russo an I have collaborated an idea and would like to see just who can come up with the most original and fitting Vampire name.  There could be a bit of a surprise to this contest that may be release later but first and foremost, the one who can come up with the winning name will get a free copy of Blood & Bondage for your own reading...pleasure. Respond to this post with your entry and check out Ms. Russo's excerpt to the new release down below. 

You can purchase your own copy at Amazon or here. Interested in other releases by Ms. Russo? Be sure to go check out her Facebook page and click like.

Blood & Bondage Excerpt

Other than the barrage of crimson stares, Anaïs found it difficult to make out faces. She did, however, recognize the guttural moans and groans of pleasure that came from every corner of the room. In addition, the loud bass of hard rock pounded against the walls, making the foundation of the building rattle and hum. The place had been painted in black with only a few dim strobe lights that flashed on and off at intermittent times.

Using the leash he’d insisted she employ, Anaïs paraded her boy toy across the length of the room. She only released him long enough to shackle his arms and legs to the hooks that hung from the walls and low-lying ceiling.

“Are you sure we can do this?” Anaïs asked with trepidation. She wasn’t necessarily keen on public exhibition, especially since the two of them had to make their act appear legitimate. If their resolve wavered for even a second, the bloodsuckers in the club would see through it and surely pounce.

“I’m up to the task. I promise to be a good little sub,” he whispered huskily into her ear, making goose bumps form on already sensitive skin. “What about you?”

“This isn’t generally my scene. But I’m a dancer. I’m used to being on stage.” Anaïs drew back. She stared into the depths of her lover’s eyes, gauging his mood. “You do realize, I’ll have to bite you. If not, these fuckers won’t buy the charade.”

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, then handed Anaïs the flogger he’d kept huddled at his side. “No safe word, eh? Well, I suppose you’ve earned a bit of retribution.”

Anaïs squared her shoulders, then yanked on the chains that bound him to ensure they were secure. She had to make her role as dominatrix seem real. After a brief moment of hesitation, she strutted around his tightly-coiled body, her perusal gluttonous and intense. At least she hoped that’s the way it looked. As she encircled him, the cat o’ nine tails she held in her hand lashed at the rippled muscle on his chest. Damn, she found Oliver impossible to resist. Once again, the urge to ravage him had snuck up on her. There was something about his refined masculinity that kept her perpetually ensnared. God, she couldn’t wait to sample the rare, well-preserved vintage of his blood.

Standing behind him, Anaïs raked her razor-tipped fingernails down the curve of his spine. Then she cracked the whip again and watched his body wince. Her hand drifted up, two bloody fingers teetered on the ridge of her lower lip. A few seconds later, her tongue slithered out and sucked the rich, red deliciousness off the fingertips.

That tiny tidbit of her lover’s life essence drove Anaïs’s libido into an all-out frenzy. Moisture from her womb soaked through the slick fabric of her clothing. The warm, slippery wetness slid down her inner thighs. Her hardened nipples sprang to life, rubbing painfully against the clingy latex cat suit. She wanted to tear open the sphere-shaped zippers and thrust her bosom into his face. But with an audience in tow, forcing her sub to do it with his teeth would make for a much more convincing show.

At his mistress’ decree, Oliver lowered his head and obliged, unzipping the fabric that covered each breast in one fell swoop. He puckered up and took one plump areola into his mouth, while he rolled the roughness of his weathered palm over the other.

“Suck harder, damn it! For Christ’s sake, do as I command.” Anaïs screamed loud enough for the masses to overhear.

Oliver’s low rumble reverberated against her skin. No doubt he was turned on, almost as much as she. With their bodies in such close proximity, she could hear the man’s heart beating in his chest. His carotid artery pulsed wildly on the side of his neck and she could no longer war with her instincts.

Anaïs felt her sharp, serrated canines emerge, ready to pierce her lover’s supple flesh. With his mouth still suckling her breast, she reached down and clasped his enormous cock through his jeans, stroking its length until he purred like a cat. Once in the throes of pleasure, she sank her fangs deep, siphoning his blood greedily.

Oliver bucked slightly, then groaned in a clear attempt to remain in control. She knew it must have taken everything he had not to yank on the chains and pull out the stake attached to his hip. To hell with the fact that her bite had made both of them feel good.

Anaïs pulled back, releasing the suction from their pleasure racked bodies. Briefly, she gazed at his face. His eyes still swirled with sexual intent. The flush of his cheeks and the sweat on his brow served as proof that Oliver, too, had enjoyed their display.

Anaïs growled as her tongue swept over the twin pinpricks she’d left in his neck in order to cauterize the open wound. Her shy insecurities had been replaced by desire. “Don’t move, lover boy. The show’s not over yet.”

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