Thank you, Liza, for allowing me to share my latest release with your readers.
Maon: Marshal of Tallav is book #2 in the Sons of Tallav series. The first book, Shane: Marshal of Tallav is about one of Maon’s best friends, Shane Tiernan.
After writing Shane, I just had to write Maon’s lovestory, but in Shane, he’s already a married man with kids. So, chronologically Maon is before Shane, although it is book #2.
Set in a quiet cul-de-sac of the galaxy several millennia in the future, the Sons of Tallav series is the stories of three friends, each reacting differently to the matriarchal political system of their home planet, Tallav. Shane is pure Dom. Rand, whose story is being written now, is a sadist. Maon, the hero in book #2 is a switch. Or at least that’s what he prefers to consider himself. He’s really a submissive when he’s not saving the day as an alpha-male marshal of Tallav.
Maon: Marshal of Tallav #2
Publisher: Loose Id
Pub date: Dec. 6, 2016
Science fiction erotic romance
Maon Keefe has always embraced the player lifestyle, until he discovers a mysterious Domme who brings him to his knees.
Maon Keefe has always been told he’s doomed to fail as a husband. He decides never to marry instead focusing on living life as a player and becoming a capable marshal of Tallav. When he is shot and the most-wanted criminal he’s escorting escapes, he fears that his career, his one success in life, is doomed. Assigned to ferret out the cause of missing shipments for a VIP aristocrat, he meets Selina Shirley CEO of the House of Shirley. He finds himself inexplicably attracted to her despite her frumpy appearance. When he meets a hooded and masked, scorching hot Domme, Lasair, at his friend’s BDSM club, he’s torn between the two women. Both fire his imagination and call to his submissive nature. Either might be the woman to change him into successful husband material.
Selina Shirley organizes her life like she organizes her business, taking control of all aspects of each. She’s concluded that she must marry to get an heir and that her future husband must be totally submissive. Mentored by the sector’s most famous sadist, she learns what it takes to be a proper Domme. Then, hidden behind a hood and mask, as Lasair, she meets Maon and her instant attraction to his full submission at the BDSM club leads her to break her own rules and become involved with him. But he’s also the marshal assigned to investigate thefts at her company. When his broad streak of protective alpha male comes into play, it obvious he’s not a 24/7 submissive. To stick to her plan to marry the perfect husband, she must ignore her heart and dump Maon.
Space travel held no appeal for Selina. The CEO of the sector’s leading fashion house, she’d accepted it as the necessity it was, but she’d be glad to get her feet on solid ground again. Her nose alone told her she wasn’t there yet. The air filtration system on the Beta Tau station did a better job than most at removing the metallic tang of C-trol, the fuel ships ran on in hyperspace that permeated all space stations. A harsh aftertaste still clung in silvered wisps to the more mundane odors of fried foods and roasting meats that tempted travelers to part with credits before heading down world or returning to space. No, she wasn’t there yet.
The strap of the portfolio slung over her shoulder slipped. A nudge and it was back in place. A trio of vacationers passed her, their excitement palpable in the pitch and volume of their voices. They hadn’t noticed Selina, but who would? Hidden inside the drab, shapeless dress that constituted her armor against amorous attentions, she was perfectly content to be overlooked. No one would credit the truth. She was on her way to the Whip Hand to meet the owner and notorious sadist Randolph Meryon. The drawings she carried in her portfolio were the first installment of a trade she’d made. He would become her mentor while she explored sexual domination, and she would design exclusive apparel for his staff.
The underlying frisson of unease that always attended her in space was sliding up and down her spine. But the churning in her stomach, while she walked along the companionway from the private ship docks, wasn’t caused by her fear of space. Her father’s death over a year ago had cemented a number of things in her mind. One was the need to acquire a husband. Knowledge that she was on the marriage market would set in motion the machinations of the aristocratic mamas of Tallav—some because of her wealth and others for the connection. She wrinkled her nose. Not going that route.
Her Domme lessons with Randolph were the initial step in a concise plan to find her perfect husband. Emphasis on her. Implementing that plan was the root of her anxiety, akin to the strain of her first business negotiation for the House of Shirley.
A couple, the woman tipping along in platform heels, were cuddling and cooing while they walked toward Selina. She averted her face, seeing but not really taking in the concourse bar she was approaching. Then her gaze met a stranger’s, and for an interminable moment, his eyes ensnared hers. She blinked, and the spell was broken. His lips moved in a smirk while he continued to stare at her.
When she yanked her head away, the oversize art case slipped down her arm, the strap tangling in her long dark hair. Rather than stop to fix the problem, she kept walking while struggling to release the strands that were pulling painfully on her scalp. Portfolio back in position, she sped up.
That man was the exact opposite of her ideal mate, although he was Tallavan. The string tie he wore made his Tallavan citizenship a possibility, but the badge clipped to his belt settled it. He was a Tallavan marshal. Despite his tousled sandy-brown locks that were made to comb through and pull, he wouldn’t make the cut on her very exacting list of requirements. Even before he’d smirked at her, it was apparent he was a player. He’d been sitting still on a bar stool, but swagger oozed from his pores. His navy-blue eyes were full of a boldness that reached out to her and offered her more fun than she could imagine.
What the heck are you thinking, Selina? He’s a snack and nothing more.
Cailin has been writing fiction for five years and non-fiction for two decades. Her non-fiction work has been published in magazines and in a non-fiction anthology. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, the RWA Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal Chapter, and the RWA Passionate Ink Chapter.
Cailin likes to flip convention on its head, creating a universe in which each planet is a study in different what ifs. What would happen to alpha men on a matriarchal planet where the women are not Dommes in the strictest sense but certainly have the attitude down pat? How would society handle it if girls born on their new planet developed empathic senses? Cailin throws her characters into these settings, heroes and heroines whose kink is a major defining attribute of their personality.
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