His for a single night: by right of the dance, by right of passion. Straight laced Persephone Landers surrenders her body to the bonds and the touch of the mysterious, tattooed Polynesian. What the reluctant blonde tourist does not realize, however, is that the man is no hired entertainer, but the prince of the island. Imagine her surprise when he shows up half a world away to claim her as his possession…forever. Review quotes for Dance of Submission by Reese Gabriel Slavery and submission are the themes of this deeply erotic escapade. Fans of BDSM erotic fiction should find this little gem both intriguing and emotionally fulfilling. ~Ann Leveille, Sensual Romance Reviews ...an amazing story with a mythical flair...extremely romantic and very erotic. ...a very tasteful and well-written story about D/S and I look forward to reading more of this author's work in the future. ~Jennifer, Fallen Angel Reviews
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Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.
February 25, 2004
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Excerpt from Dance of Submission by Reese Gabriel
He was pointing straight at her.
The most beautiful man Persephone had ever seen. Half-Polynesian, half-Anglo, utterly naked save for a strip of white cloth tied round his firm waist. With or without the pair of mai tais, she'd have been resilient as gelatin in his presence. All that tattooed skin--muscles bulging in that sensual, uniquely Pacific island way--the pale brownness offset by slightly elongated, sapphire-blue eyes, features like an exotic cat in the firelight. Gorgeous. Untouchable.
Or was he...
Again the finger beckoned, that of the bare-chested dream man, his hair blacker than the sky, pouring untamed down his corded back.
Her imagination ran wild with possibilities. None of them G-rated, none of them even remotely realistic.
"Go on, Sefy," urged her troublemaking girlfriend Stacy, pushing her forward into the fire-ringed circle. "He wants you."
"Yea, come on," agreed the equally traitorous Debbie. "Live a little. It's our last night on the island."
They held her upper arms, preventing her planned escape back to the relative safety of her hotel room. "I am living," she squealed, digging her bare heels into the sand. "Quite happily, I might add."
"As an old maid, maybe," snorted Stacy, who'd roped her not only into viewing this corny outdoor dance show, but the entire week's island vacation as well--a vacation, which, in Persephone's opinion, had been a colossal waste of time and money. "Now are you going out there or do we have to confiscate your PDA and your laptop till we get home?"
"You wouldn't dare and besides..."
Sefy's arguments, and everything else on her mind fizzled as he took her hand. It was not merely a holding of her flesh, but an enveloping, the fingers warm and firm, so much bigger and stronger, entirely possessing hers and yet not in the least bit threatening.
I will never hurt you, the fingers said, but watch out because I'm interested in you and I may not want to let you go.
Sefy's feet were powerless as he eased her forward, into his orbit. He stopped her just short of himself, settling her into a position and proximity that made the rest of the world spin away into insignificance, a galaxy or more away.
His body was like a carnival to her eyes. Everywhere she looked were delights to capture her attention, from the tiny gold rings inserted in his masculine nipples to the incredible array of body designs, gorgeous patterns covering one whole arm, his torso and most of his hard, powerful thighs and legs.
The ink was black and blue and red and green and she could just lose herself looking at the fire flickering over the ever-changing figures, creatures and symbols. What did they all mean? She wanted to know them all. More than that, Sefy wanted to kiss and lick every inch of his delectable skin. Was that the influence of the silly umbrella drinks, she wondered, or just the result of a starved libido?
How long had it been since anyone had made love to her?
He was saying something to her now, smiling coyly.
She couldn't understand a word, but who cared? Just watching those full, masculine lips move, each and every syllable radiating outward like invisible fire, the cheekbones high, but not feminine, the jaw strong, masculine and bold, was a heaven all its own.
An enigma. That's what this man was.
And he was beautiful, too. Had she mentioned that?
"Fire dancer say he want to make dance with you," interpreted the curly haired, Hawaiian shirted character with the swelled, poi poi belly who'd been acting as master of ceremonies for the torchlight tourist show. "Special treat, just for you. Called Lu-atey."
That must be Polynesian for 'embarrass the socks off the tourist girl', she thought.
"Lady like to dance?"
"Hell, yes!" Stacy answered for her.
"Go on," coached Debbie. "Tell him."
Sefy nodded just to shut them up, winning an immediate wink from the beautiful tattooed man that made her blush from head to toe. Standing here before such a strong, virile creature, she felt entirely too underdressed and underprotected in her lemon yellow bikini and sheer wrap.
"Hey, everybody," the announcer chanted in his charmingly broken English. "How 'bout big hand for pretty lady. She big sport, right?"
Sefy could hear Debbie and Stacy squealing in the background, leading the crowd of about fifty in a healthy round of applause. Really, she'd never done anything like this in her life. A bookworm all through school, and now a grown-up international banker, she'd shunned the limelight and the party life. Everyone else told her she was wasting her natural good looks, but as far as she was concerned, her long, wheat-colored hair and mannequin shaped figure only got in the way of serious pursuits.
"Dance begin with girl," said the announcer. "Girl move hips, show to man."
Persephone felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She hadn't bargained on being put on exhibit right off the bat.
"Come on, Sefy!"
"You go, girl."
Great; her own personal rooting section of sadists.
Persephone made a pathetic, minimalist effort. With any luck she'd be booed right off the stage, ending the thing before it began.
The tattooed hunk had other ideas, however. Catching her entirely off guard, he reached for her slender waist; his large hands lightning fast in the superheated air. Sefy gasped as he did the hip moving for her, demonstrating exactly what it was women did that looked so good to him and the rest of his gender. She ought to be infuriated that he was touching her without permission, but it kind of turned her on that he hadn't asked, that he'd been bold enough to seize her body and do with it what he liked.
Besides, who could argue with a man who looked like him?
As long as things didn't get out of hand. Again, she was aware of too much nudity, the hard heat of him burning her flesh through the intervening air as their crotches gyrated in synchronous movement. It was clear he was being careful, holding her at arm's length so as not to touch his sex to hers, but there was no denying her all too easily available flesh. It was a decidedly one-sided situation. She herself would never dare reach for his loincloth, and yet she knew the fire dancer could strip her in a matter of seconds, rendering her nude to his gaze or anything else he might wish to impose.
"Girl move good," commented the microphone man.
Sefy was beyond hearing the cheers of the audience. He had drawn her in, and there was no way back. It was in his eyes: the beating of her own life force, and in the touch of his strong hands, the strength of which was giving her the power to stay on her feet. For some reason, this man had suddenly become the center of her world.
Desperately, now, she looked to the lines of his smile for the approval she needed and craved. Was she really doing this right? Was he sorry he'd picked her and not one of the other girls--either of her sexy girlfriends or maybe one of the lovely native girls, all of whom were so much prettier than her?
"Second part of dance. Man see backside."
A flood of insecurity washed over Sefy, mingled with more than a tinge of resentment. Why was she the sex object here? Why was it always this way for the female? Maybe she'd like to inspect his ass for a while.
Before she could register a protest, the fire dancer lifted her off her feet and whirled her like a ballerina. Sefy felt a play toy to him and that just made her madder. He was a bully, that's what he was.
"Lu-atay is very old dance," the narrator was saying. "Once upon a time, it was used for sacred purpose by island prince. For selecting mate; woman known as an isina, who would submit to him in all things and live with him forever."
Sefy's ears perked up, her brain re-activating back out of what was dangerously resembling blonde bimbo mode.
Had he just mentioned submission?