Amelia C. Gormley on Risk Aware ~ Exclusive Excerpt

Prism Book Alliance® would like to thank Amelia C. Gormley for stopping by today.


Title: Risk Aware
Author: Amelia C. Gormley
Publisher: Riptide
Cover Artist: L.C. Chase
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Drama, Erotica, Romance
Release Date: 05/09/2016


Tattoo artist Geoff Gilchrest is convinced his life is some sort of cosmic joke. Why else would a hemophiliac also be a masochist? He’s given himself more than one elbow bleed since puberty just doing what guys do when alone and bored, so forget about whips and chains. How many partners would contemplate playing with someone even a mild flogging could kill?

Gallery owner Robin Brady knows he can deliver what Geoff needs: to be taken to the edge of danger but never beyond. But Robin came to Saugatuck to get away from the leather scene and heal from a betrayal by his former sub, so he’s not sure he should get involved with Geoff. His ambivalence isn’t helped by the fact that Geoff’s unwillingness to communicate about his well-being hits Robin in some very raw places.

Geoff’s hemophilia isn’t the obstacle he thinks it is. Instead, a lack of trust—on both their parts—is what could end them before they have a chance to begin.


I heard the crunch of gravel ahead of me, and I knew even before he came into view that it was him. I felt his presence like a pulse through my body, and oh, fuck, that was so not a good thing. But it was him, despite the fact that he wore glasses today and wasn’t dressed for clubbing. That hunger in his eyes was still there, burning hotter than ever. Everything inside me throbbed with the urge to give him what he had to have. I’d never exactly been a service top, but his need spoke to me on a whole other level.

I didn’t just want to be sure that, whoever he played with, he knew how to do so safely.

I wanted to be the one to give him what he needed.

God, how I wanted that.

Something flickered in his eyes. Then he swallowed visibly, grabbed my wrist, and tugged me off the path.

Right. Okay. Time to stop pretending I just wanted to talk to him. Time to deal with the reality that, despite last night’s epic failure, I still fucking wanted him.

As soon as we were out of sight of the trail, I backed him against a tree trunk—stopping short of slamming him into it, enough to give him the feel of force without hurting him—and picked up where we’d been interrupted the night before.

There was no beer on his breath this time, and though I missed the taste and smell of it, this was better. His fingers scrabbled over my shoulders and grappled with the back of my jacket while I set about filling every square millimeter of his mouth with my tongue and breath. No biting? Fine. I nipped at his lips firmly enough to toe that line, teasing him with danger, with the possibility that I could bite. I could feel the struggle in his body as he debated with himself whether to slow me down and remind me of the limits, or to throw caution to the wind and accept whatever consequences or injuries might arise if I overstepped the bounds.

He didn’t realize there was a third option, something between overcautiousness and willful recklessness. He didn’t realize he could trust me to safely take him right up to the limit and then bring him back.

But he would. I’d show him.

He hooked one of his long legs around me, his knee riding my hip as he ground on my thigh. “Jesus. Oh Jesus!” he gasped, tearing his mouth away from mine when I wedged a hand between our bodies to cup his erection firmly. I tangled my other hand in his hair, keeping his awareness on the tug of my fingers in his waves instead of on the fact that I was also cushioning his head while I sucked at his lips.

I remained mindful of all his cautions from the night before, but I pushed at each of them, deliberately giving him the sense that I could overstep the boundary at any time. I felt him yield the struggle and resign himself to the fact that there might be a price to pay for this indulgence. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want him to just give in to the momentum, telling himself it didn’t matter if I injured him so long as he got what he needed.

I wanted him to give himself over to me, to trust that he didn’t have to police me, that I could deliver what he needed without harming him in the process. It was a totally different thing, and I knew he didn’t get it. Not yet.

He smelled good. I wanted his scent covering me, saturating my clothes, my hair, my very skin. I accidentally knocked his glasses askew, then fumbled to take them off and stuff them in one of the pockets of my jacket, where they had less chance of being damaged. I gripped his ass, first through his jeans, then wedged inside to feel the soft, downy hairs on his narrow backside. My finger slid into his crack. I found that wrinkled skin and knotted muscle and pushed at it. Not too firmly. I just wanted him to feel the pressure, the fear that I might try to force my way inside. I kept it there to taunt him with the uncertainty.

I was hotter for him than I could remember ever being for anyone as he humped against me. I pushed my thigh between his, butting it up nice and firm under his nuts, and he rode that fucker until I was ready to cream my pants. From his sounds, he wasn’t far behind.

“Take me to your room.”


Risk Aware on Goodreads
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA


To celebrate the release of Risk Aware, Amelia is giving away an ebook copy of the Strain series. Leave a comment to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on May 14, 2016. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!

About the Author

Amelia C. Gormley published her first short story in the school newspaper in the 4th grade, and since then has suffered the persistent delusion that enabling other people to hear the voices in her head might be a worthwhile endeavor. She’s even convinced her hapless spouse that it could be a lucrative one as well, especially when coupled with her real-life interest in angst, kink, social justice issues, and pretty men.

When her husband and son aren’t interacting with the back of her head as she stares at the computer, they rely on her to feed them, maintain their domicile, and keep some semblance of order in their lives (all very, very bad ideas—they really should know better by now.) She can also be found playing video games and ranting on Tumblr, seeing as how she’s one of those horrid social justice warriors out to destroy free speech, gaming, geek culture, and everything else that’s fun everywhere.

Twitter: @ACGormley


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