A BDSM Excerpt from Roadhouse Blues by Malin James

I, Lana, love rough sex scenes, especially when there’s emotion coursing through the darkness. Add when a character is likened to Lauren Bacall, trust me, I’m hooked. So imagine how excited I was to first read Roadhouse Blues, the title story from Malin James‘ forthcoming Roadhouse Blues collection, which launches this July (7/11/17). You’ll see why I’m inspired in the excerpt below.

To set the scene, Mick has texted and sexted a little with Jett, but this is the first time the two of them have met in person. They’re both experiencing tough lives right now, and Jett especially has intimated her need for sex.

Content note: this scene portrays sex between a man and a woman in which both parties hit and are hit spontaneously. There’s also scratching, spanking, and more. The characters both love the violence of this. 

By the time they got to the Krazy Kactus Inn, their loose, linked hands held more filthy promise than Friday night at the bar. She’d barely closed the door when he turned her around and pulled her in tight. “You know what I’m going to do.”

She met his gaze. Straight up. No shifting. Like looking into a mirror again. Like he was going to fall right in. “Yeah. I know,” she said. She gave him a long, slow smile.

Permission. His move.

Mick sank his fingers into her hair and closed his fist so he was holding her firm by the scalp. Then he twisted her head to the side. She wrenched her neck away, smiling the whole time. “What? You want me to beg? Fucking kiss me. Now.”

He kissed her. He kissed her hard and cruel, moving her head where he wanted it, enjoying her resistance, the clash of their teeth and her quick, insistent tongue. That kiss ignited parts of him. Dark, secret parts. It made them flare, like a brushfire in high summer.

Her nails bit into the nape of his neck. She was scratching him up and he didn’t care. He wanted scratches and bites. He hoped she drew blood. He wrenched her head again and watched her, eyes open, mouth hard against hers. Hurt me. Mark me. Bite me. Bruise. Scratch. Smack. Every text he read in the middle of the night with his hand around his cock, showed up, alive and hungry, all over her face

Mick picked her up and shoved her up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed herself against him, tighter and tighter, till all he could feel was the heat of her through his jeans. She made a rough, feline sound deep in her chest. That sound was so rich and full he could taste it in his mouth. “Fuck this,” he said. “Gotta get you out of those clothes.”

Mick’s focus split as he tossed her on the bed. Part of him was watching it like porn, leaning back with popcorn and beer. Part of him was noticing how small she actually was, tight and compact, like a Porsche. And part of him, most of him, the dark, secret part of him, just wanted to spank her ass.

Good guy Mick didn’t do that shit, but good guy Mick wasn’t there. He was back on his sister’s couch. This was a different Mick—the one that came out when Jett chimed his phone. Mick hauled her up and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Then he gave her ass a hard, tight smack.

Jett yanked free and spun on him. “Do that again, and I’ll fucking deck you,” she growled. Then she grinned, a long, toothy dare. She would deck him. He knew it. And he fucking wanted her to. He smacked her again, harder this time. Then he spread his hands out, making a target of himself. “Go on, slugger. Do it.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when she landed one, sharp and mean, against the side of his head.

“Jesus! That was my fucking ear!”

Jett’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck! I’m sor—”

Mick touched her lips. “Don’t apologize. It was perfect. Do it again.”

Quick cat smile. This time, when she hit him, it was square on the jaw. She hit him so hard that his head snapped back, but he came up grinning, and he grinned even more when he saw the delight on her face.

“Okay, handsome,” she said. “Your turn.”

Mick went still. He’d never hit a woman—not on the face. He’d never even wanted to, but he wanted to now, and that fact didn’t settle comfortable with him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I trust you.”

Jett raised her chin, calm and sure. He reached out and touched her cheek. She really did trust him. For Mick, trust was an act of soul-deep recognition. It wasn’t something you fuck around with. It wasn’t something you let down.

Mick shut off his resistance and focused. He told himself not to hit her even half as hard as he could. He wasn’t going to pull it, but he’d be goddamned sure he didn’t hurt her for real. He aimed for the sweet spot, and held her gaze, natural as the fit of her hand. Then he cleared his mind and hit her.

His palm connected and her head snapped back. Mick flexed his hand, shocked by the chemical high. He was about to ask if she was okay, when Jett grinned and touched her cheek. The same giddy high was all over her face. “Better even me out, don’t you think?”

Grin. Grin to happy grin. Feral, wild, relieved, like two lonely kids finding each other in the middle of the forest. She was a goddamn, soul-deep relief. Mick slapped her other cheek and sent her sprawling on the bed. He was halfway out of his shirt when she reached for him, hair tumbling over her shoulders like shadows on the sheets. “Get your ass down here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She made him want to light her cigarettes and tip his hat. Instead, he stripped off her clothes, fast and rough. Then his face was down between her legs, and he was lapping her up, licking, sucking, she tasted so good. Jett writhed and cursed, arched up against his mouth until she clutched his head and came. She came in waves and currents. She came like she couldn’t stop. She twisted, alive in the vertical shadows of the cheap Venetian blinds, and begged him not to stop. Mick didn’t stop.

Finally, she grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head away. She kept her hand anchored in his hair as he moved up her body and kissed her. The kiss was made of bone and teeth, hard and grinding, a kiss like coming. But when she looked at him, her eyes were soft and full of wonder. Driven by an impulse he didn’t understand, Mick offered her his wrists. She bit one, then the other, very gently. Gentle as a kiss.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “Mick….”

There was something in how she said his name, like she’d tucked the whole of herself right into it. It was the hottest fucking thing Mick had ever heard. It was so goddamn hot, so easy and right, that he couldn’t fucking stand it. He flipped her over and spanked her. She snarled and looked over her shoulder, as he smacked her again. Her face had an edge like a whetstone, but she took it, attacked it, welcomed it. He loved the way she took it. It made him want to stroke her hair and turn her black and blue….

He pulled her up and held her close, half pinning, half holding her. “You need me to stop, you tell me,” he murmured in her ear.

She nodded. “You know I will.”

–Malin James (from Roadhouse Blues)

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