For years, I’ve been expecting features of the Jetson’s lifestyle, a cartoon family from my childhood, to appear in my life. Where is my robot maid? Where is my flying car? And above all where is my food replicator? I’m still waiting, but that hasn’t stopped my love of science fiction or science possibility.
My mind is full of futuristic ideas from the many books, movies and television shows I’ve devoured for several decades. The future has yet to be written, except by those of us who like to play with “what ifs.” I’m a big time “what iffer.”
My first novel was created as an answer to the following question: What would happen to alpha men on a matriarchal planet where the women are not Dommes in the strictest sense but have the attitude down pat? Shane’s struggles in Shane: Marshal of Tallav were the result. As his story unfolded in my mind, another “what if” defined the main female character. What if girls born on their new planet developed empathic senses? And so, Adrianna became an empath.
Shane’s story is just one possibility on a female-run planet. Maon’s story came next in Maon: Marshal of Tallav. He’s an alpha male marshal, whose preference in the bedroom is to submit to a sexy Domme.
The third book in the series, Rand: Son of Tallav is still being written. If anything, Rand has bigger problems than Shane or Maon. He’s not only an alpha male but also a sadist and owner of a BDSM club, a pariah on his home planet Tallav.
Each of these books began with that initial “what if”. Characters come knocking on the door of mind, and I throw them into the Tallavan setting, typing madly as their stories unfold.
Cailin's latest book is Maon: Marshal of Tallav, a Sci-Fi/Futuristic Erotic Romance, with Loose Id.
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.
Maon Keefe has always embraced the player lifestyle, until he discovers a mysterious Domme who brings him to his knees.
The underlying frisson of unease that always attended Selina 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.
ABOUT Cailin Briste
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.
Website http://cailinbriste.com | Blog http://cailinbriste.com/category/all-posts/
Twitter http://twitter.com/CailinBriste | Facebook https://www.facebook.com/cailinbriste/