Title: Yield
Series: Bay Area Professionals #5
Author: Mickie B. Ashling
Publisher: Mickie B. Ashling
Release Date: 11/13/2018
Length: 275 words
Genre: Erotica, BDSM
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Synopsis
Yield
A Sequel to Forged in Trust
Bay Area Professionals #5
A promising encounter takes a dark turn.
Captain Sami Soros and Father Jay Blackstone cross paths at a major European hub. When systems shut down due to a cyber-attack, flights are delayed and the resulting chaos is unprecedented.
After having served three tours in Afghanistan, recently discharged Sami struggles with his new civilian status. Emotionally depleted, and dangerously edgy, he views most of his fellowmen with utter contempt.
Jay is returning to his parish in San Francisco after a month-long retreat meant to shore up a crumbling vocation. All vestiges of spirituality melt away when he sets eyes on Sami.
They begin a clandestine affair fueled by a shared addiction to extreme forms of BDSM. Their relationship goes off the rails, and Jay reaches out to Rino Duran, a former seminarian. With the help of Dr. Ethan Marshall, Rino’s full-time Dom, the established couple attempt to separate truth from lies to give Jay and Sami a shot at happiness.
This novel can be read as a standalone.
Thanks for stopping by to help me celebrate my latest release. Yield is the fifth book in the Bay Area Professional Series which I started in 2009 with Impacted! Characters from the other novels weave in and out of this story seamlessly, but Yield can be read as a standalone. With that being said, Ethan and Rino from Forged in Trust are prominent secondary characters in Yield. Their story continues, where it left off, with enough background to fill in the gaps if you decide to start the series with this book.
Yield focuses on a new pairing. When I was plotting this novel, I had every intention of portraying this couple realistically rather than romantically. Their problems won’t be resolved after a stellar blowjob. Each is ensnared in the past and can’t find his way to clarity without resorting to extreme forms of BDSM. They are at their lowest when they meet at a crowded airport. Hardly ever politically correct, Sami makes choices others might find repugnant or inconceivable. Jay has bone-deep abandonment issues. Rino and Ethan are innocent bystanders inadvertently dragged into their mess.
I’d like to share an exclusive excerpt of Yield and offer an Amazon GC along with one e-book from my backlist as a giveaway. Click on the Rafflecopter to enter the drawing. Two winners will be chosen at the end of the tour.
I struggled with the tiny buttons—thirty-three in all—symbolizing the number of years Jesus walked the earth. The speed at which I managed this mundane but tedious task was a good barometer of my state of mind. So far, it was taking me twice as long. Beads of sweat collected at my hairline, turning the pale blond into a darker shade of ash. I dabbed at my forehead with the washcloth I kept within reach.
The cilice belt dug into my bare skin, drawing a sharp hiss and, I assumed from past experience, tiny pinpricks of blood, which would stain my undergarments. No matter. The heavy black cassock would cover up the horror going on underneath. If I could get through the next two hours without falling apart, I’d return to my room and spend the rest of the day in contemplation. For the moment, I had to power through. After slipping the last button through the hole, I reached for my stole and draped it about my neck. The silk scarf, worn during Mass or when administering sacraments, was always accompanied by a prayer. One which begged God to give me the garment of immortality forfeited by our sinful first parents. I skipped the prayer today, horrified by the idea of living forever. A man beyond redemption didn’t deserve the honor, not now or evermore.
I descended the wooden stairs to the foyer of the rectory. They creaked, not due to my weight, which was within normal limits, but because they needed to be replaced. Like everything else in the old building, they were termite-ridden and had fallen into disrepair.
Head lowered, I shuffled down a long hallway, where I could slip through a hidden door into the peaceful confines of the church. Parishioners waited in line to seek forgiveness for their sins with absolute faith in my capacity as God’s representative. I felt like an imposter.
The door leading into the ornately carved oak confessional squeaked upon opening. This relic of a bygone era continued to serve a purpose but needed to be refurbished. I made a mental note to bring some WD40 later in the day to spray the hinges.
The metal teeth circling my waist bit in deeper as I sank down on the narrow wooden bench. The sharp pain a constant reminder of my status. I was unworthy to be in the confessional, let alone administer absolution. After several minutes, and a few calming breaths, I made the sign of the cross and murmured the necessary prayers before commencing the sacred ritual of reconciliation. I slid back the wooden panel and stared into the woven screen barely disguising the person on the other side. My stomach lurched at the familiar face.
“Good morning, Jay.”
I shut my eyes.
Which did no good.
The man who’d upended my life wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily.
In a commanding tone, Sami said, “Look at me.”
My eyelids fluttered open and I grimaced at the undiluted rage twisting Sami’s features into a horrible mask. How far was he willing to go? I’d done the unthinkable by withholding information, and refused to accept responsibility when it was finally revealed. He’d trusted me and I’d proved him wrong.
I ducked my head in a futile attempt to hide.
“I. Said. Look. At. Me.”
Gooseflesh rippled across my arms and up the side of my neck. I crossed my legs to keep the rest of my traitorous body from responding. When I raised my chin, Sami’s triumphant smirk scared the hell out of me.
“You’ll come to me tonight.”
“No.”
“You know you want it.”
“This has to…stop.”
“Probably should have thought of that before we started.”
“I answer to a higher power.”
“God has no use for the likes of you,” Sami snarled. “Shit-can the pious attitude.”
I hesitated a second too long, and Sami’s fist shot through the woven cane, a flimsy barrier incapable of withstanding any kind of pressure much less one of this magnitude. Steely fingers collared my throat, and I felt my pulse beating against his thumb.
“Admit it, Jay. Your life is meaningless without me.”
I bit back my useless protest. Sami was right. There weren’t enough floggers in the world to beat out this craving. I yielded to this irrefutable truth. “Nothing has been the same since Chicago.”
“Roger that,” Sami purred. “Be at my place by midnight.”
“I’m not sure—”
“You’ll obey or suffer the consequences.”
I swallowed down the horrible urge to puke the remains of my spartan breakfast. “Yes, sir.”
Sami vanished without saying another word. The hollow sound of footsteps on the cold marble floor did nothing to reassure me. The man’s powerful presence continued to linger like day-old sex.
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Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multifaceted woman who is a product of her upbringing in multiple cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks.
By the time Mickie discovered her talent for writing, real life got in the way, and the business of raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing—and the inevitable emptying nest—dreams of becoming a published writer were resurrected and she’s never looked back.
She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.
Mickie currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.
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