Friday, June 27, 2014

REVIEW & GIVEAWAY: The Saint (The Original Sinners:The White Years) by Tiffany Reisz

In the beginning, there was him. 

Gutsy, green-eyed Eleanor never met a rule she didn't want to break. She's sick of her mother's zealotry and the confines of Catholic school, and declares she'll never go to church again. But her first glimpse of beautiful, magnetic Father Søren Stearns and his lust-worthy Italian motorcycle is an epiphany. Suddenly, daily Mass seems like a reward, and her punishment is the ache she feels when they're apart. He is intelligent and insightful and he seems to know her intimately at her very core. Eleanor is consumed—and even she knows that can't be right. 

But when one desperate mistake nearly costs Eleanor everything, it is Søren who steps in to save her. She vows to repay him with complete obedience…and a whole world opens before her as he reveals to her his deepest secrets. 

Danger can be managed—pain, welcomed. Everything is about to begin.

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Author Bio& Contact Links:
Tiffany Reisz lives with her boyfriend (a reformed book reviewer) and two cats (one good, one evil). She graduated with a B.A. in English from Centre College in Danville, Kentucky and is making both her parents and her professors proud by writing BDSM erotica under her real name. She has five piercings, one tattoo, and has been arrested twice.
 When not under arrest, Tiffany enjoys Latin Dance, Latin Men, and Latin Verbs. She dropped out of a conservative southern seminary in order to pursue her dream of becoming a smut peddler. Johnny Depp’s aunt was her fourth grade teacher. Her first full-length novel THE SIREN was inspired by a desire to tie up actor Jason Isaacs (on paper). She hopes someday life will imitate art (in bed).
 If she couldn’t write, she would die.

Twitter: @TiffanyReisz

Erin's Review ~5+ Stars~

Once upon a time, I had The Siren on my Kindle. It sat there and sat there until I picked it up and started reading. Over the course of 2 days I devoured the entire series and had the worst book hangover in history....then came The Saint, and I was cured until I reached the end, and once again I have one hell of a hangover.
 I will admit, there were times in the Red Years, I didn't like Soren very much. I wanted Nora to ride off in the sunset with Wesley, hell even Zack or Kingsley, anyone but Soren. Then I read The Saint. To truly understand the love between Nora and Soren, you must read this book. I fell in love with him right along with Nora. From the first word I was sucked in and couldn't wait to see what antics Nora would pull next. She's feisty, pushes the limits and I simply adore her. From the very beginning, Soren begins his training of our snarky Nora. Discipline is key and is paramount. Their relationship is an intricate balance of love, discipline and submission. Their history is beautiful, we well as heart wrenching. The way Tiffany wrote the entire story puts you right there with them. You feel how strong Soren's faith is and I admire him for it. Even Nora, with her questions about the church, is drawn in. He truly is a priest of the people. Faith means everything to him. Soren is such a complex character and he is written in such a way that the reader is left in awe of him. You fear him, you revere him, and you worship him. Just like Nora. 
 You know where ever Soren and Nora are, Kingsley can't be too far behind. He is my favorite, I love that sassy Frenchman. The dynamics of the threesome's relationship begin to become apparent very early on. I can't wait to see how everything unfolds. 
 This series is my absolute favorite. If you think this is just a tale of a sadistic priest and his submissive, I pity the fact that you cannot see the absolute beauty in this story. Soren's faith is unshakable, Nora's snark will have you laughing and Kingsley will have you leaving your panties on the floor at a crook of an eyebrow. The Saint is my favorite of the series to date. This book is a must read. 

Keep reading for an excerpt of Tiffany Reisz's The Saint and don't forget to enter the give away at the bottom of the post

Nora and Kingsley finally meet
The whistling sound grew closer. Søren took her hand in his.
“Eleanor, allow me to apologize in advance.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For him.”
“Who? Moi?” asked the man who strolled through the nearest door and right up to them. “I hope I’m interrupting something.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened at the sight of the man.
“I love that reaction.” He pointed at Eleanor’s face. “That is the ‘you didn’t tell me how pretty he was’ look, oui?”
“Didn’t I almost punch you on a set of stairs once?” she asked him.
“You broke into my house. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“You have Eddie Vedder hair,” Eleanor said, which was the only thing she had to say for herself. She was still trying to recover from the shock of the man. He wore the most amazing suit she’d ever seen in her life. Black trousers, riding boots, long black jacket, black and silver embroidered vest. He had dark shoulder-length hair and a face that belonged on a male model. And to make matters even worse, he was French. So this was the brother-in-law? The best friend? The Kingsley?
He picked up her hand as if to kiss the back of it, but at the last second he raised her fingertips to his nose and sniffed them. She pulled her hand back. 
“So this is elle?
“This is she. Eleanor, this is Kingsley. Kingsley, Eleanor. Now please go back to the rectory, Kingsley, before Eleanor starts liking you.”
“Liking me more than you, you mean. Too late. Isn’t it?”
“You are seriously French,” she said.
“Would you like to see how French I am?” He imposed himself between her and Søren and stared down at her with the most seductive expression she’d ever seen on the face of a man with all his clothes on.
“Kingsley, please,” Søren said.
“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to her.”
Kingsley stepped even closer.
“How old are you?” he asked her.
“Seventeen. How old are you?”
“Thirty. Is your hymen intact?”
Eleanor stood up straighter.
“Is your brain intact?”
“I ask for a reason.” He shook his finger in her face to hush her. “I fucked a virgin last week. I didn’t mean to.”
“What happened? You trip and fall into her hymen?”
“You jest but do you know how hard it is to get blood off raw silk upholstery?” Kingsley asked, sounding positively perturbed. “She could have told me before I fucked her. I would have put a towel down first. But c’est la guerre. What’s the etiquette for accidentally fucking a virgin? Should I send flowers? If I fucked you and broke your hymen what would you want from me after?”
“Hair of the dog that bit me?” Eleanor suggested her father’s favorite hangover cure. “Fuck me again?”
Kingsley looked her up and down. He seemed to like what he saw.
“Would you like to play a round of Justine and the naughty monk with me?”
“Never heard of it.”
“I swear I will have you arrested,” Søren said to Kingsley. He sounded stern but Eleanor saw amusement in his eyes.
“Have you ever read Justine by Le Marquis de Sade? Wonderful book. Little twelve-year-old Justine runs away to a monastery and the monks rape her and subject her to orgies and beatings over and over again. So that’s how you play the game. Shall we?”
“How do we know who wins?”
“Whoever has lost the least blood by the end of the game wins.”
“Sounds fun,” Eleanor said. “I’ll play the monk. You play Justine.”
“Why, Kingsley,” Søren said in a taunting tone, “it’s like she knows you already.”
Kingsley only gazed at her a moment and she sensed him taking stock of her. The smile left his face, the amusement disappeared from his eyes. In a warning tone the man addressed Søren.
“You are asking for so much trouble with this one, mon ami.”
“He didn’t ask for trouble,” Eleanor interjected. “I offered.”
Kingsley nodded his approval.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” he said to Søren.
Søren put his mouth near Kingsley’s ear.
“I told you so,” Søren said in a stage whisper.
“Can I have her?” Kingsley asked. Søren replied something in French, something that made Kingsley grin even more broadly.
“What did he say?” she asked Kingsley.
“He said, ‘Wait your turn.’”
She glared at Søren, who only shrugged as if Kingsley had lied to her. She knew he hadn’t.
“She doesn’t like my translation.”
“She should learn French,” Søren said. Kingsley nodded his agreement.
“Hello!” Eleanor waved her hands. “I’m still here. I can hear you both talking about me. And you, I can see you giggling.” She stabbed the center of Søren’s chest with her finger.
He gave her an affronted look.
“Priests don’t giggle.”
“What are you looking at?” she demanded of Kingsley, who seemed to be undressing her with his eyes.
“She’s spirited, this one,” Kingsley said to Søren.
“Unholy spirited,” Søren agreed.
Kingsley turned his attention back to her.
“Why do you have your clothes on?” 
“Was I supposed to take them off?”
“I’ve never heard a stupider question in my life,” he said with a very French, very disgusted sigh. “You weren’t supposed to have them on to start with.”
“I get it,” Eleanor said to Kingsley. “I do. You’re Prince Charming if Prince Charming wasn’t charming.”
“And wasn’t a prince but a king.” 
Kingsley raked her body with his eyes. She might have been embarrassed by his nakedly hungry stare but he had a French accent, Eddie Vedder hair and the power to annoy Søren. The man got a free pass to make a pass.
Kingsley finally spoke again.
“I could lose my watch inside you.”



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