Title: Sabato: The Cross (Ties of Steel, #4)
Author: M.J. Fields
Pulication Date: March 31, 2015
Plot:
☆✮ Excerpt ✮☆
Nobody’s Hero
May 27th
I prowl around the club in Florence. I need a release. Something
warm to tease, taunt, titillate, tame, and tear up. It is not only the
lifestyle I portray, it is truly who I am. It has never been my MO to
waste time chatting up some romance novel junkie, saying all the things I know
she wants to hear to get laid.
That is why I came here. It’s not one of my places. I won’t lose
the respect of my girls, or my clients.
Tonight, I seek strange.
I’ve come to exactly the right kind of place. I know this
because I planned it. I plan everything. I take in the leather clad wait staff
with piercings and tattoos—some of whom are holding whips—this is a
no-last-name kind of scene. All fetishes are welcome here. My eye catches on a
tall redhead with a nose ring that’s chained to her nipple ring—totally
exposed, for all to see.
Make that welcome, wet, and waiting.
Nothing good happens on today’s date. Hell, nothing
good ever happens these days, aside from orgasms and creating desire. If not
for causing the slow buildup to release, and the inevitable double-edged
climax, I would feel nothing. But then, usually I like feeling nothing. For too
many years, I felt too much. Rage, sadness, jealousy, obsession, more rage...it
was fucking exhausting, caring that much.
Nowadays, I am a shark, coldly calculating without allowing
anything to touch me on a personal level. Ironically, this seems to make me
irresistible to the opposite sex. It also makes me notice things that most
people are too nervous, too excited, too full of desire, or scared to notice.
In one corner of the club, there’s a man whose facial expression
gives him away as a first-timer to the BDSM scene—eyebrows raised, wide
shoulders cocked back defensively, and a scowl on his face that will likely
keep any subs from approaching him. The way his eyes flit from side to side,
it’s as if he’s trying to figure out how he got here, and what the hell is
going on. I follow his gaze, more slowly and casually, expecting someone who
works here to greet him, at least help the poor bastard feel welcome. But
no one does.
As a businessman, it bothers me. But as an anonymous club
patron—which I am tonight, I remind myself—I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
I saunter over to the bar, sit down, and order a drink.
Manhattan, with rye whiskey—the only kind of Manhattan that counts. When my
drink is in my hand, I turn and continue scouting the crowd for talent.
The majority have not picked their poison yet, and the ones who
have are clearly all about being dominated. It seems like the place is crawling
with prey, but not so many hunters. Good, I like those odds.
The ‘out of his scene’ guy comes up to the bar and sits right
next to me. He orders a glass of wine, cheap wine. I almost snort into my
drink. Rookie move. Feeling generous, I turn to him and offer my hand. “I’m
Sabato, how are you?”
Immediately, his shoulders go up. “Dude, I like pussy.
Okay? I’m not sure what the fuck about me screams I’m willing to swing
that way, but—”
“It’s definitely the clothes.”
“Excuse me?” His attitude is one I am not
accustomed to. But then, after all, this is not one of my usual haunts.
I decide to cut the guy a break, since he’s obviously clueless.
“Look around the room.” I gesture vaguely with my drink. “Tell me, what do you
see?”
He shakes his head, looking confused. “Pussy.” He snorts,
shooting me a glare. “And a bunch of guys who want to tag my ass.”
My patience is very quickly running out. “And, what else?”
He shakes his head again, more loosely this time. The wine must
be getting to him already. What a light weight.
“Honestly, man, I feel like any second, half of these guys are
gonna bust out doing the fucking YMCA. I mean....” He gestures agitatedly
around the room. “You got the cowboys, the cops, the gay bikers—fuck, we’re
just missing the Indians in here.”
I almost want to laugh, because he is right. “And if they see
you checking them out, wearing...what you’re wearing...how do you think they
will approach you?”
He shrugs, looking offended again. I signal the bartender to
bring him another wine, before he really gets his skirt in a twist.
“What the hell is wrong with my clothes?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “If you’re going to a different kind of
club.” I gesture to his shiny, black silk shirt. “I mean, you have your dancing
shoes,” I can’t hold back a mocking smirk, “that match your cute little dancing
shirt.”
“Fuck you, dude.” His eyebrows push together, and he stares at me
for a few seconds like he’s seriously thinking about kicking my ass. Then,
slowly, he smiles. Shakes his head. Holds his hand out for me to shake. “Zandor
Steel.”
I take his hand and shake it. I like a man who doesn’t
take himself too seriously.
“So, what brings you here tonight, Zandor?”
He shrugs. “Just thought I’d wander in. I’m not from around
here, so....”
My eyes widen in mock surprise. “Really?”
“Fuck you twice,” he laughs.
“Yeah, see,” I make a tsk-ing noise. “You can’t say that kind of
thing in here, or one of these guys will take you up on it.”
“Oh,” he nods. “Good point. I meant ‘Go fuck yourself,
twice.”
I find myself laughing, too, in spite of what day it is. It’s
been so long, I’ve forgotten how refreshing it is to have people tell you to
fuck off to your face. Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, I take out my phone and
send a quick, subtle text to have this Zandor Steel looked into.
When I look up, I see him staring at me, appraising me
with a certain shark-like look to him. My shoulders straighten. I shouldn’t
have let my guard down so easily.
“I don’t know if I should be taking your advice, bro,” he says.
“Doesn’t look like you’re any closer to slaying poon tonight than I am.”
I like the ease of this conversation, but I don’t like the
innuendo. I nod to a petite platinum blonde woman who sits across the room,
waiting for notice. In a blink, she is at my side. I nod toward the
floor, and she drops to her knees in front of me, ready to service my every
wish—in the middle of the club—if I ask.
“Well, fuck,” Zandor says, eyes wide. “My bad. You want to be my
Yoda man, I will be your Padawan. Gladly. Just show me how to use the Force
like that.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he looks like he
expects me to. I shrug. Shake my head.
The look on his face is incredulous. “Star Wars?”
“Let me guess,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “It’s an
American thing.”
“Actually, it’s kind of the most epic movie series of all...you
know what, nevermind.” He nods “Carry on, oh wise one.”
I gesture down to the petite blonde. “What is your flavor?”
“My thing is pussy,” he repeats, like that is helpful. “Warm,
willing pussy, in all varieties.”
I sigh with impatience. “No, Zandor. You’re in a bondage club.
I mean, what is your scene? What fetish are you into? Are you a top, a bottom,
a group player? Dominance is not for everyone, no matter how....” I gesture
vaguely at his physique. “Physically suited for it they may appear to be.
Perhaps you yearn to submit. If that is the case, I can recommend some very
talented dommes in the area.”
Zandor Steel looks at me like I am deranged in some
way—even though he is the one with the porn star name, who is wearing a ‘fuck
me, daddy’ shirt.
“Bro, I just like to fuck and not have the bitch so enchanted or
fucking needy that she pulls out the old sexual harassment card, trying to
teach me some fucking lesson. I’m not into really fucked up. I’ll spank an ass
and play with some toys.””
“So, no blood play? Animal transformation? Figging?”
“Fuck no.” He looks vaguely nauseated at the thought—even
though, I would bet good money he doesn’t know what any of those things mean.
“That’s sick.”
“It’s not about mental health or sickness,” I tell him, more
patiently than I should. “It’s about control. Losing it, and feeling
free. Or maybe taking it, for the first time in your life. Every day, in
all aspects of our lives, control is what we seek. Yet most people have no idea
how to control themselves, and they don’t try. They are slaves to their urges,
instead of the other way around.”
A feeling prods me then, something similar to guilt. What right
do I have to be preaching to this stranger about self-control? After all, what
am I doing here tonight?
But Zandor seems to consider—genuinely consider—what I’ve told
him. “Not sure if you’re being a dick, or sincere, but as I said before.” He
points to the blonde at my feet, who is still silently, patiently waiting. “I
want something simple. Meat and potatoes. I want ass that goes away satisfied
when I’m done and doesn’t sit outside my door banging on it, begging for cock.”
I can’t help but laugh at the visual image he’s created.
“Begging is also a very big part of this scene, my friend. I wonder if you
wouldn’t be more comfortable at a nice trucker bar. I hear there is one down by
the gas station, near the freeway.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he says, rolling his eyes. “At least there, no
one would have a chance at knowing who I was. Ever since my family came into
some money, that shit has seriously fucked up my game. There’s no such thing as
‘anonymous’ or ‘no strings attached’ anymore. Now, they’re telling me I need to
‘lay low?’ That ain’t gonna happen. So, like I said, teach away.”
I’m intrigued by his story, and want to know more. New money is
like blood in the water for a shark like me. But I’m also starting to like this
guy, in spite of myself. So I indulge him, for the moment, and play mentor.
“You have to keep feelings out of it,” I look down at the
blonde, finally giving her the attention she craves. She is a textbook sub,
willing to wait as long as it takes—because waiting for approval only makes her
wetter. I point her to Zandor, and she crawls over, instantly transferring her
attention—and adoration—on him. “The only thing you ask of her is obedience,
until the game is done. Sexual obedience. Release must be earned, and given
like a gift. It cannot be taken.” Zandor slowly smiles, staring at the blonde’s
tits. “I definitely like control.”
I nod to the redhead with the nose-to-nipple piercings, and she
walks over to stand before me.
“Is Cindy to your liking, Sir?”
“She’s hot,” Zandor says. “So, yeah. I’d like to show her
a good time.”
“No,” I correct him. “You want to take pleasure from her.
In return, if she does exactly as you instruct, she will be rewarded.”
I look down at the girl. “Present yourself.”
She does as I say, without question. Whether they know my name
or not at this place, it doesn’t matter. They obviously know enough to tell a
Dom when they see one.
Leaning back on her heels, Cindy widens her legs slightly,
clasping her hands behind her back. The position causes her breasts to jut out,
pressing her nipples out against the sheer fabric of her costume.
“You see how she is dressed?” I ask Zandor. “She is wearing
lace, not leather. She will be a good partner for your first time. But
make sure you agree to the rules, between the two of you, before anything
happens. Her presentation shows her desires. She wants to be treated like a
lady, but she needs for you to be in control. Like you, she is not so very
experienced.”
“What?” Zandor looks at me skeptically. “What do you mean? How
can you possibly know that?”
I gesture for the blonde to leave us. “Go over there and wait
for your master to claim you, Cindy.”
Immediately, she goes back to where she was sitting before,
across the room.
“Everything is in the rules,” I tell him. “It’s part of the
world we live in, part of the scene. That is the kind of woman who wants a
stranger to spank her and fuck her, but still wants the illusion of romance.
She needs someone who wants to dominate her full time, and take care of her. If
she asked for my opinion, I would have told her to go somewhere else. This is a
place for temporary engagements. Whereas this one,” I point to the redhead, who
is smiling at me with open invitation. “Is a submissive of opportunity.
She wants to lose control, for an hour...a weekend. But she is experienced
enough to be comfortable in the scene, which tells me that she will be looking
for something...special. A singular experience she can tuck away and revisit
later, in her private moments.”
My eyes burn into hers, and my explanation takes a turn into
something else. Something meant only for her and I. “She is looking for an
eye-opening, stinging slap that will drive her over the edge at exactly the
right moment. She wants a man who will fuck her, mind and body, like pleasure
is her only purpose in the world. And when she’s screaming and begging for
release, I will pull it out of her reach, at the last possible second. Because,
more than anything, she wants the exhilarating feeling of being
wildly...totally...helplessly...out of control.”
By the time I am finished with my description, the redhead is
almost panting with desire. I have no doubt that underneath her leather
harness, she is dripping with need, ready and waiting for my cock to penetrate
her. For my body to conquer hers, completely. I glance over my shoulder, toward
the entrance to the private lounge area. I raise an eyebrow. She nods, eagerly.
I turn toward him with a start. I’d almost forgotten he was
there.
“So...can I go fuck Cindy now?”
I nod, because I am done mentoring for the evening. I have my
target now, and nothing else matters but the slow burn, the build, and the
eventual quench.
“Of course. Just remember that control is a responsibility, not
a right. It can be taken away, just as easily as it is given.”
“Understood.”
Satisfied that I have done my part for my fellow man, I turn my
attention back to the redhead.
“Go to the cross and wait for me.” I get up and slowly remove my
jacket, folding it neatly over one arm. “It was nice meeting you, Zandor
Steel.”
With a nod, I leave him to his fun. I circle the bar and
go into one of the side rooms, where a Saint Andrew’s cross waits in the center
of a dimly lit room. The redhead is there, on her knees, already assuming ‘the
Position.’
“Get undressed.” I close the door behind me—but not all the way,
in case there are any voyeurs who would like to peek in—and hang up my jacket.
By the time I turn around, the redhead has taken off her scant leather thong,
and is kneeling naked in front of the cross.
She is shaved bare, of course, and I can see for myself what my
words have done to her. She is glistening already, and I have yet to touch her.
Behind me, I can hear whispers, and I don’t have to turn to know
a small crowd of watchers has gathered outside. It’s not unusual for me,
because they know who I am, I have a reputation, one I am proud of. Her chest
is heaving, her nipples are hard and she waits in her pool of desire.
I unbutton the cuffs on my shirt as I look to my left and see
Zandor, my new prodigy talking entirely too much to the girl wearing lace. I
want to correct him but now is not the time. Now is show time, now is the time
for me to release the anger of the date, to bring down sheets of glass and
chaos on the lucky woman in front of me. 
Title: Eroe: St. Andrews: A Sabato Origin Story (Ties of Steel Book 3)
Author: M.J. Fields
Release Date: March 15, 2015
Plot:
Sabato Efisto was born from an unholy union, the bastard son of a martyred saint and the Devil. At least, that's what he's believed, for most of his life.
His father is an Italian crime lord, a man so dangerous that Sabato's mother died trying to get away from him. For that tragedy, which happened on his seventh birthday, Sabato blames himself. Every year, he practices the ritual of self-punishment, flirting with death the way most boys his age flirt with girls.
Until ten years later, when he meets a sweet girl named Luciana, at St. Andrews of the Holy Cross. For the first time in his life, Sabato doesn't want to end it. The darkness in his soul is replaced by hope. But, as the priests will tell you, the sins of the father are not easily escaped.
And those who are born into darkness must carry that cross forever....
Purchase Eroe today for only 99¢!
☆✮ Ties of Steel Series ✮☆
☆✮ About the Author ✮☆
MJ Fields's love of writing was in full swing by age eight. Together with her cousins, she wrote a newsletter for family members. The newsletter was put back into 'publication' in September of 2001 for the entertainment of her cousin on a Navy aircraft carrier in the gulf, (Her cousin is a female Navy officer and helicopter pilot).
She self-published her first New Adult romance in January 18, 2013. Today, she has completed four self-published series, The Love series, The Wrapped series,
The Burning Souls series, and The Men of Steel series.
Ties of Steel, (the first series spun off of some the Men of Steel series) book 1 ABE is available now. Book 2 Dominic releases January 18th, 2015 (MJ's 2 year pub-aversary)
The Norfolk series, has two titles available now, Irons 1 and Irons 2.
MJ is an Amazon bestselling author in multiple categories as well as all of Amazon as a whole.
MJ lives in central New York, surrounded by family and friends. Her house is full of pets, friends, and noise ninety percent of the time, and she would
have it no other way.
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