Marie Treanor

Steamy Nights, Ebook, "Montage", Available now from Changeling Press

Love, lust, and revenge, woven through the twisted chaos of time…

Fighting for her life in Edinburgh's dark, dangerous streets, Miri stabs the wrong man -- and ends up in his arms, sparking a sequence of events that alters history, with catastrophic consequences.

Wrongfully exiled from his own dimension, Caratacus is determined to find a way home. But that's going to be difficult using only nineteenth century steam technology -- even more difficult when distracted by the sort of steam he creates with Miri!

Before he can go home, he has to set things right. That means hunting down a Jack the Ripper copycat, prevent Robert Louis Stevenson from

becoming an engineer, and help a brutal, game-playing civilization protect itself from cannibals -- all without destroying the intense but fragile love he's found with Miri.

After that, reversing time should be easy.

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Read Excerpts

Reviews:

"What an interesting spin on the time travel story... The steam of the relationship between Miri and Caratacus adds to the fascination..." - 5 Tombstones, Virginia, Bitten by Books.

"I got sucker punched by the Steam Punk muse that seduced Marie Treanor, and after waking up on Fantasy-Fiction Drive with a happy smile on my face, all I can say is, “Let’s do it again!”

"Caratacus... made the entire narrative hum with thrills, excitement, and heat. Miri compliments his wild, boyishly chaotic energy, driving the story with a quixotic insanity that never quits... I’m reserving a special slot for Steamy Nights on my Recommended Read dance card, and so should you." Joyfully Recommended, Patrice, Joyfully Reviewed.

"I don’t know how she does it, but Marie Treanor always seems to come up with new and unique plots and real exciting characters. Her writing is tight, her characters leap off the pages, her romance is sensual and steamy and the plot is interesting and captivating... I liked the way Ms Treanor takes a woman who would usually be considered a low, coarse person and gives her a sweet disposition, a warm heart and courage to help her hero. I loved her hero... Marie Treanor infuses a lot of emotion into her characters and their lives. This is another fantastic read from a very talented author." - 5 Hearts, Valerie, Love Romances and More

"“The Time Machine” meets “Jack the Ripper” in a gripping tale of dark intrigue in Victorian era Edinburgh..." - 5 Angels, Whitney, Fallen Angel Reviews, on the first part of Steamy Nights.

Excerpts:

    Tonight, “Auld Reekie” lived up to its name.
    Miri shivered in the dank mist that clung to her hair and clothes and almost entirely obliterated the dismal street ahead. She wondered if she should risk approaching the one faint glow in the dark -- which had to be the World’s End pub -- and find some warmth.
    The trouble was, you got better trade through discretion. Men were warier of paying for their pleasures in front of friends. And God knew she needed customers tonight. Billie would be furious if she didn’t bring in some money. She really didn’t want to give him an excuse to rage, or to sell her on, not now with all this going on…
    And as her unquiet stomach reminded her, another day without food would leave her weak and open to illness.
    Miri drew her thin, shabby shawl more closely around her, and shifted from one foot to another in a vain attempt to prevent the damp seeping through the holes in her ancient boots.
    She thought she heard something -- a shuffling sound muffled by the thick, smoke-laden fog. It came from behind her, at the steep steps leading down to the least savory part of the city. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, forcing her into motion.
    She took a few hurried steps forward, nearer the pub’s welcoming glow, careful to keep hold of the small, sharp scissors in her pocket.
    How are customers meant to see me in this pea-soup? she wondered miserably. Why are none of them on the street yet?
    Because they’re all safe and cozy in the pubs, gossiping with delicious shivers, no doubt, about the disappearing girls. Like Jeanie.
    Her empty stomach twisted. The loss of her friend and mentor was huge. She missed her companionship, her laughter, her sheer practical good-sense. She hated to imagine what had happened to Jeanie and to the others… This was Edinburgh’s old town -- rank, filthy, smoky, riddled with dark passages and grim corners where murder could be done without interruption…
    Three men loomed out of the mist, almost on top of her. Startled, she fell back with a silent gasp of terror.

    “A machine to give women pleasure?” Miri marveled.
    “And the men who watch them,” said Farq. He twisted the knob again and the chair stilled. Agnes gave a mewl of protest. “Visitors first,” said Farq, reaching down to pull her out of the chair.
    As Agnes rose with reluctance, the back of her skirts dragging across the seat on their way down, the purpose of the chair became clearer.
    Immediately catching Miri’s attention, a long, penis-shaped shaft rose up at a slight angle from the middle of the seat. But in front was a sort of feathery pad designed, no doubt, to stimulate the clitoris. Another, similar pad lurked behind the phallus.
    “It has other -- attachments,” said Farq. His voice had grown deeper and slightly hoarse and his attention was all on Miri. “Please, accept my -- hospitality.”
    “Oh no!” Miri blinked from him to Caratacus. “I -- I couldn’t!”
    “Why not?” Farq demanded.
    Caratacus stirred. “Whores are not exempt from pleasure -- remember?”
    Miri shut her mouth, almost shocked to realize how wet she was between her thighs. She’d never experienced anything like this in her life before, and since Caratacus had opened the door to her own bodily pleasures, she found herself increasingly curious.
    Yet what one did in private, or in the arms of a lover, was different from being watched by several strangers…
    Farq pressed on the other knob and the apparatus retracted, to be hidden by a lid which slid smoothly over the hole.
    Agnes said grumpily, “Aw!” And Miri knew how she felt. She’d hesitated too long -- and yet she didn’t want it, not like this.
    Did she?
    Something burbled inside the chair, causing her gaze to fly up to Farq’s for explanation.
    “It’s cleaning,” said Farq proudly. “Some women are fussy about hygiene.”
    A sound like a choke came from Caratacus. “Fantastic,” he said breathlessly.
    The burbling stopped. “It’s ready,” Farq invited.
    Miri licked her lips in indecision. Walk away, you idiot. You can’t do this in front of everyone. In front of him…
    Caratacus held out his hand. Her breath caught. Gasping, she laid her hand in his, and he winked at her. It was just a game, a sensual game…
    Caratacus handed her into the chair, and she spread her skirts around her as Agnes had. From behind Farq yanked the skirts out from under her bottom. She felt herself blushing.
    “Very refined,” Caratacus approved. He was still laughing, although his voice wasn’t quite steady, betraying an edge of excitement that spurred her on. She grasped his hand tighter.
    She heard a click as Farq released the mechanism, and with strange anticipation, she felt the apparatus rise up. She wanted to laugh. Until it touched her.
    She’d expected it to feel rough and mechanical, cold and clinical. But it was warm and slow. The little feathery pad brushed her clitoris first, gentle, almost teasing, and then she felt the nudge of the phallus against her labia, moving upward with slow but relentless force. She was already wickedly wet and from instinct had sat in just the right position, so it slid inside her with ease.
    Weird to feel something inside her that wasn’t flesh. Something large, and filling. She stared into Caratacus’s eyes and the pad brushed back and forth across her clitoris, stunning her with the pleasure. Before she could recover, the phallus began to vibrate and she gasped. Sparks of delight shot outward through every nerve in her body. The mechanical cock began to pump up and down, in and out of her, ruthlessly, delightfully while the feathery pad fluttered against her clitoris, and the other began to stroke her anus.
    She clutched Caratacus’s hand in both of hers, hauling it convulsively against her breast without thought or plan. But it turned against her, seeking and finding the torn flap of her gown and sliding in to find her naked breast.
    Farq laughed softly, reminding her of his presence. He stood watching, his hand on the bulge in his trousers. Beside him, Agnes licked her lips, and behind them, Spike stared at her, rhythmically stroking his clothed cock.
    Here at last was something she understood -- giving men pleasure. It was just a different way, so she could relax and enjoy it. As if she wasn’t already…
    Her desperate gaze sought Caratacus once more. She drowned in his amazing eyes, in the lust in his handsome face. It was his cock inside her, fucking her, loving her; his fingers caressing her to unstoppable, inevitable climax. Sweat trickled between her breasts, ran down her forehead. She tried to be still, to resist the urge to move with the rhythm of the phallus vibrating and plunging inside her. She had to bite her lips to keep silent.