I am thrilled to be a part of the BLOG TOUR for The Penance List, by S C Cunningham
TITLE: THE PENANCE LIST
A DAVID TRILOGY BOOK 1
AUTHOR: S.C. CUNNINGHAM
GENRE: PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER
The Penance List
This one comes with a warning – a steamy suspense-ridden psychological thriller – think Silence of the Lambs meets 50 Shades and hold on tight! S C Cunningham writes with a skilled mix of fuelled tension, dark humour and pulsating sex scenes. Grab a glass of wine, close the bedroom door and read alone!
What happens when opposites attract – when a scorned childhood sweetheart grows into a gorgeous sexual tour de force – when a fun loving career girl, her racy girlfriends and insatiable lovers get caught in his revenge – when sex becomes a weapon, hearts become bait and straight tastes gay – when hi-flying careers, clandestine affairs and wannabe starlets are hunted by celebrity hungry press? Obsession, kidnap, murder… and he’s just getting started!
Purchase from Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Penance-List-David-Trilogy-Book-ebook/dp/B00B0HMTW4
The Penance List by S C Cunningham
Three fun loving friends sitting in a bustling Chelsea restaurant unaware of the psycho killer sitting in a café across the street, his camera watching their every move.
Cellini’s Restaurant, Chelsea, London.
“Spit, don’t swallow, I say, can’t stand the stuff either, no matter ‘ow much sugar you put wiv it,” announced Josie, cheekily spicing up the debate. “It’s the texture that gets me, egg white gloopyish.”
She squeezed her red glossed lips tight into a rigid line and shook her head, not about to let a drop of anything in, gloopy or not.
“Spitting is SO not a good look though, Jose. Just pretend you love it, spread it all over your chin with the tip of his dick,” Tara tilted her head back, pouted her lips, and waved a clenched hand seesaw fashion across her euphoric face, demonstrating her enjoying-it look.
Click, click… he recognized her action, licking his lips; what a bad girl.
Josie giggled; she of all people did not need a lesson in blow jobs, but Tara had a sweet way of talking naughty whilst making it sound as if she were discussing pruning petunias. Tara took her sex tips seriously; she wanted everyone to have the fun she had.
“That way, he’s in heaven with the view and the thought that you love every damn inch of him, while not having had to swallow a drop. Perfect; everyone goes home happy,” Tara beamed, her blue eyes sparkling with the simplicity of it all.
Enzo, the handsome young Italian waiter in smart white apron, had been forgotten. As he deftly dispensed the crisp Chardonnay into their glasses, he listened open-mouthed, barely breathing, following Tara’s performance.
Josie couldn’t resist mimicking Tara. Exaggerating her demonstration, she ridiculously wielded her cock-clenched hand all over the place; across her face, in her eye, over her shoulder, in her ear, over her head, under her chair, in her handbag, up her nose, across her chest, over the table, under her armpits.
“Like this, dahling?” she asked in her poshest voice, arms flailing, mocking wide-eyed innocence, teasing her wonderful friend.
Helen burst into giggles. Tara gave them both a withering look and soldiered on.
“You may jest girlies,’ shaking her head. ‘But I think some form of BJ expertise is important for a girl to master, a necessary tool of the trade, so to speak,” she giggled at the pun. “Blatant spitting is trashy, SO not a good look.”
“How do you get them to kiss and cuddle afterwards?” asked Helen, as she twisted the stem of her glass a little too roughly. “Most roll over, fart, fall asleep, or light up a fag and turn on the footy!…or, maybe, they just don’t like the taste of their own stuff and don’t wanna kiss you afterwards… bloody cheek, and they expect us to swallow it; where is the justice?”
“Jeez, girls, do you mind, I’m trying to eat ’ere,” Josie cut in. “Bloody hell, can we stop talking men’s juices just until we get past the main course, for once, puhlease…”
Enzo, still in a daze with the blow job demonstration, subconsciously wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His other hand, dispensing wine into Josie’s glass, had been forgotten. Wine decanted out of her brimming glass onto the tablecloth.
“’ere! wotch it sunshine, I don’t wanna swim in the stuff!” barked Josie.
Tara, realizing he was listening, deftly changed the subject. Butter wouldn’t melt.
“I love this time of year when the flowers come out; they look so pretty, they have such wonderful window boxes here; I wonder which ﬂorist they use,” she mused, pointing to the magnificent display of flower boxes outside the restaurant window.
The girls nodded, momentarily confused at the sudden change of tack in convo.
Click, click… they’re looking out the window, had they spotted him? fuck, fuck, fuck!!
Red-faced, Enzo muttered an apology, mopped the mess with a napkin, dropped the bottle back into the ice bucket, and made a fast exit to the kitchen. English girls were frightening, the pastry chef agreed with him.
“How’s Ed the Head?” asked Helen, seizing the opportunity to change the subject.
Click, click… good, they hadn’t seen him; he pulled in tight on her mouth, licking his lips, soon he would taste the fear in her sweat.
Tara took a deep slug of her wine. The Ed saga had ended in tears, when she realized she was not the only one he whispered sweet nothings to and shared his beautiful cock with.
“Ed was many tears ago,” she counted up the months since they’d split. “Shit, it’s been nearly a year… so long without sex, this is a serious dry patch.” Tara’s eyes scanned the table, searching out the butter dish.
“He was so bloody good he’s ruined me for anyone else, fuck him!” she yanked the innocent dish towards her. “Where the hell have all the good ones gone?”
Brutally tearing oﬀ a chunk of crusty bread roll, she stabbed it into the perfectly formed butter coils, and scooped up an unhealthy amount of the hip-enhancing stuff. She then waved it baton-like in the air between the two girls, and popped it into her mouth with a feisty chomp.
“Yuk…!” cringed the girls in unison. What was it about being hurt by a guy that made a girl stuff her face with food?
“They’re either gay, married, or into skinny young fings. Young ﬁngs are safe, cause they’re not wise enough to know ‘ow lousy they are in the sack,” informed Josie, as she won a quick tug of war with Tara, and snatched the butter dish out of her reach.
“All the beautiful, fun, fit ones are gay! It’s so bloody annoying,” sighed Helen. “They should teach us these things in school: blow jobs, reverse parking, understanding the wine menu, and spotting dodgy men.”
“I can’t imagine Sister Stanislaus turning the next page of our text books: ‘Now girls, page 12, Chapter 4, Blow Jobs, who did their homework last night?” mimicked Tara in her best Dublin accent.
“Helen Howard, D minus, that’s outrageous! Have you learnt nothing? Your Blow Jobs are a disgrace, detention after school for you young lady!”
Click, click… he caught a close-up of the stretch of her neck as she threw her head back with laughter, and wondered whether he should place an incision across her neck.
He checked his watch, it was time to leave. He packed the camera into its case, popped on his shades, and slipped out of the café. The staff turned to the sound of the door closing; cold air whipped around their legs.
“Ooohh, someone just walked over my grave,” she giggled, more light-heartedly than she felt.
Author Bio –
British Crime Investigator & Crime Writer, Siobhan C Cunningham creates steamy psychological thrillers and kick-ass paranormal romance with a skilled mix of fuelled tension, dark humour, and pulsating sex scenes. Having worked in the very industries she writes about, her novels offer a fresh level of sincerity and authority, rare in fiction.
An ex-model, British born of Irish roots, she married a rock musician and has worked in the exciting worlds of music, film, sports celebrity management and as a Crime Investigator for the British Police (Wanted & Absconder Unit, Major Crime Team, Intelligence Analyst, Investigations Hub).
Abducted as a child, she survived; and every night for months afterward, she prayed to God, asking for a deal. This personal journey sparked the fuse behind the intriguing and riveting fictional world she portrays in The Fallen Angel Series. Twenty years later she crossed paths with a violent serial attacker who haunted the streets of London, the seed for The David Trilogy was sown, book one is The Penance List, and has been adapted to film screenplay.
She is the proud mother to contemporary Artist Scarlett Raven and is owned by three dogs.
Social Media Links –
Website – http://www.sccunningham.com/
Twitter – https://twitter.com/SCCunningham8
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/pg/sccunningham8/
Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/siobhancunningham8/
LinkedIn – https://www.linkedin.com/in/sccunningham/
Google+ – https://plus.google.com/+SCCunninghamAuthor
Amazon Author Page – https://www.amazon.co.uk/S-C-Cunningham/e/B002L3ZC2U/
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