Madame X invites you to test the limits of control in this provocative new novel from New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder.
My name is Madame X.
I’m the best at what I do.
And you’d do well to follow my rules...
Hired to transform the uncultured, inept sons of the wealthy and powerful into decisive, confident men, Madame X is a master of the art of control. With a single glance she can cut you down to nothing, or make you feel like a king.
But there is only one man who can claim her body—and her soul.
Undone time and again by his exquisite dominance, X craves and fears his desire in equal measure. And while she longs for a different path, X has never known anything or anyone else—until now...
6 You Belong to Me Stars
I love Jasinda Wilder… Let me tell you my story about her.
Three years ago I went to a book signing. After two hours of waiting, I finally get to meet HER (JASINDA). I just read Falling into You and Wounded (both were five stars for me). So, when I got to her, I told her how much I loved her books (I also told her I was trying to have a baby... more on that later). THEN Jasinda showed me the cover to Falling into Us (it was not public yet)… yeah I know what you are thinking. Big deal? Well coming from a mega book reader fan, IT was a HUGE deal to me. I swear, I fell in love with her that day. Wait... there's more! She gave me wishful pregnancy vibes (you see I was trying for a year) and guess what?! I got pregnant. So, Jasinda is JUST THAT GOOD.
The thing I love about Jasinda’s books…
The thing I love about Jasinda’s books is that you never know what you are going to get. Am I going to cry? Am I going to pull my hair out? Am I going to be hot and bothered? It’s a big mystery and I love it.
When I realized Jasinda was signed on with Berkley (the publisher) I nearly peed in my pants from the excitement. I even cried a little (just maybe, okay I did, don’t judge!). I love Berkley, they have fantastic team and I just knew Madame X was going to meet my expectations (it was and so much more).
Madame X… (I promise… I’m getting to the review)
If you haven’t read a Jasinda book in a while and you are debating if you should give Madame X a go, let me be the person to tell you this.
I read this book in one sitting. I was GLUED to the pages. I NEVER knew what was going to happen. I was shocked after shocked after shocked with all the elements. When I was done, I was shaking from my excitement and just like a good love making, I wanted to do it all over again.
And I will… just with the audio version because it’s the best form of re-reading.
And I will… just with the audio version because it’s the best form of re-reading.
AND my official review…. (as promised)
Madame X is part of a three book series. Is there a cliffy? I’m not going to tell you. Honestly it’s the best way to read this book, you will question it throughout the read and that's how it should be. I promise I’m pointing you in the right direction.
Don’t give up on me!
Madame X is everything you read in the blurb. Madame X is the main character, the Heroine (yup that’s her name) She’s perfect, poised, educated and confident. She controls men with the tip of her fingertips.
She sees clients on a daily basis, BUT not everything is what it seems.
Madame X is not an escort. No, she doesn’t trade those services, but she does provide a service. She teaches boys (young rich privileged “men”) to become men, like their fathers.
When I started the book, I was instantly hooked with the writing style. Jasinda sucked me in and I happily let her. I originally thought X was going to be a Dominate woman and like a “Mistress” BUT it’s nothing like that! As I stated, X has clients and she seems very in control of her situation, BUT not everything is what it is perceived.
I know it doesn’t make sense, and it shouldn’t (just keep following me). X is a very interesting character to read. She's complex, she's in a unique situation and she's a little tortured (this I like). I wanted to know EVERYTHING. I wanted to know her thoughts, how she felt, what she wanted to do and why she kept on doing the things she was doing.
There are a few key players that come into this book. I’ll be honest, I was questioning who the Hero would be. I know in the teaser I quoted Caleb and you will find out who he is in the book. But to know who the Hero is …. Jasinda really keeps you in the dark about this. I LOVED IT (you will too, I promise again!)
Okay, so Caleb does plays a HUGE role in the book and he is also a mystery. I know Caleb cares for X, or it would seem, but his actions towards X speak differently. I swear I loved and hated Caleb. Yes, I wanted to slap him, but also Yes, I wanted him to throw me on the bed too! He’s everything I look for in a Hero (if he really is it).
Caleb is a cad, but also caring. He’s a brute, but he shows signs of kindness. He’s controlling, but very generous and oh my goodness, he is possessive. I swear this is his hottest quality! If you love a dominate, alpha male character, CALEB IS YOUR MAN. I PROMISE YOU!
The relationship between Caleb and X is very confusing and very addictive. I didn’t know if I should root for them or push them away from each other. Like I said, it’s a big mystery. I loved Caleb’s forceful nature towards X. It’s boarder line abusive, but I tell you, it’s just good. I mean, can-not-stop-reading good. It’s the kind of relationship that you don’t quite get, but you can’t get enough of and you just want to find out how it will all end.
And my dear readers, this isn’t even the full story. Oh no, SO MUCH MORE happens but I reframe from telling you, because you JUST NEED TO FIND OUT YOURSELF.
I think what worked well for me is the way Jasinda wrote this book. First, the storyline is so unique and different. Second, her writing style is not what I typically read. She made it more descriptive, more emotional and I loved how she referenced the male(s) in this book (did I lose you?). She made it seem like the Heroine was in my mind telling me these things, instead of me reading it. I loved it.
Lastly, the book is a little dark and everyone knows I am a dark junkie. It’s not the most conventional romantically (I know, I put the “ly” on purpose) relationship, but it’s intense and it packs a punch (Yes, I rather have that any other day, don’t give me flowers and candy, please abusive me and maybe slap me around a bit). I want a man who would rather, go crazy and storms heaven and earth for me, than simply tell me so. I just have three last words and I will leave you…
Jasinda, you delivered.
An ARC was provided
EXCERPT
Hands blaze over my bared skin and ignite my desire against my will. I know all too well the heat of this touch, the fires of climax, the moments of afterglow when dark eyes drowse and powerful hands are stilled and I am allowed to let my guard down. I stand still, knees shaking, as lips scour and slide over trembling skin. My thighs are nosed open, and lightning strikes with the touch of a tongue to my slick skin.
I gasp, but a single look silences me.
“Don’t breathe, don’t speak, don’t make a sound.” I feel the whisper on my hip, feel the vibrations in my bones, and I nod my assent. “Don’t come until I tell you.”
I have no choice but to stand and accept silently the assault on my senses: down-soft hair against my belly, stubble on my thighs, hands cupping my backside, fury blooming within me. I hold it back, keep it tamped down, bite my tongue to silence the moans, fist my hands at my sides, because I haven’t been given permission to touch.
“Good. Let go now, X. Give me your voice.” A finger pierces me, curls, finds my need and sets it free, and I loose my voice, let moans and whimpers escape. “Good, very good. So beautiful, so sexy. Now show me your room.”
I lead the way to my bedroom, push open the door to reveal the white bedspread, plumped black pillows, all tucked and arranged, as required. I lie down, setting aside pillows, and wait. Eyes rake over my nude form, examine me, assess me.
“I think an extra twenty minutes in the gym would do you well.” This criticism is delivered clinically, meant to remind me of my place. “Trim down, just a touch.”
I hide the clutch in my gut, the ache in my heart, the burn in my eyes. Hide it, bury it, because it is not allowed. I blink, nod. “Of course, Caleb.”
“You are lovely, X. Don’t mistake me.”
“I know. And thank you.”
“It’s just that our clients expect perfection.” A lifted eyebrow indicates that I should finish the statement.
“And so do you.”
“Exactly. And you, X, I know you can deliver. You are perfect, or very nearly, at least.” A smile now, blazing and brilliant and blinding, excruciatingly beautiful, meant to soothe. A finger touches my lips and then traces favorite locations on my anatomy: lips, throat, breasts, hips. “Roll over.”
I move to my stomach.
“On your knees.”
I draw my knees beneath my stomach.
“Give me your hands.”
I reach back with both hands, and my wrists are pinioned in one large, brutally powerful hand. My shoulder blades touch each other as my arms are drawn together, and my face is pressed into the mattress. I swallow hard, brace, breathe.
Oh, the ache, the fierce throb as I’m penetrated. I’m rocked forward and my shoulders twinge and the grip on my wrists holds me in place.
I have no choice but to feel the burgeoning blaze, no choice but let it push through me and make me breathless, and I want to cry, want to cry, want to cry.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I let myself go when I’m told to do so: “Come for me, X.”
And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back, gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.
Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically, aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless. Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.
Yet . . . there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down there, where those truths reside, I know I crave . . . absolution, freedom, a breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.
But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of schools.
And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from discarded slacks demands attention.
“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes. Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”
A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder to hip to foot. “I have to go.”
“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.
“Will you miss me?”
“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.
“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”
“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with Jonathan?”
A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not. William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a speculative glance at me. “But, X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”
Draw out his mean streak. Poke a snake, prod a sleeping bear. Risk injury. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. Hopefully I won’t need medical attention like I did last time. That’s not covered in the contract, of course, but it’s understood: Never, ever harm the property of Caleb Indigo; it’s just not smart business.
When the door closes behind a broad, suit-swathed back, I shower the sex-stink off. I scrub harder and longer than I have to and fight the boil of forbidden emotions. When my skin is rubbed raw, I force myself out of the shower and dress, apply makeup, remake the bed, prepare tea.
And then I seat myself on the couch and breathe, compose myself, push down the vulnerability, put away the fear and the desire. Once again, I am Madame X.
EXCERPT
Hands blaze over my bared skin and ignite my desire against my will. I know all too well the heat of this touch, the fires of climax, the moments of afterglow when dark eyes drowse and powerful hands are stilled and I am allowed to let my guard down. I stand still, knees shaking, as lips scour and slide over trembling skin. My thighs are nosed open, and lightning strikes with the touch of a tongue to my slick skin.
I gasp, but a single look silences me.
“Don’t breathe, don’t speak, don’t make a sound.” I feel the whisper on my hip, feel the vibrations in my bones, and I nod my assent. “Don’t come until I tell you.”
I have no choice but to stand and accept silently the assault on my senses: down-soft hair against my belly, stubble on my thighs, hands cupping my backside, fury blooming within me. I hold it back, keep it tamped down, bite my tongue to silence the moans, fist my hands at my sides, because I haven’t been given permission to touch.
“Good. Let go now, X. Give me your voice.” A finger pierces me, curls, finds my need and sets it free, and I loose my voice, let moans and whimpers escape. “Good, very good. So beautiful, so sexy. Now show me your room.”
I lead the way to my bedroom, push open the door to reveal the white bedspread, plumped black pillows, all tucked and arranged, as required. I lie down, setting aside pillows, and wait. Eyes rake over my nude form, examine me, assess me.
“I think an extra twenty minutes in the gym would do you well.” This criticism is delivered clinically, meant to remind me of my place. “Trim down, just a touch.”
I hide the clutch in my gut, the ache in my heart, the burn in my eyes. Hide it, bury it, because it is not allowed. I blink, nod. “Of course, Caleb.”
“You are lovely, X. Don’t mistake me.”
“I know. And thank you.”
“It’s just that our clients expect perfection.” A lifted eyebrow indicates that I should finish the statement.
“And so do you.”
“Exactly. And you, X, I know you can deliver. You are perfect, or very nearly, at least.” A smile now, blazing and brilliant and blinding, excruciatingly beautiful, meant to soothe. A finger touches my lips and then traces favorite locations on my anatomy: lips, throat, breasts, hips. “Roll over.”
I move to my stomach.
“On your knees.”
I draw my knees beneath my stomach.
“Give me your hands.”
I reach back with both hands, and my wrists are pinioned in one large, brutally powerful hand. My shoulder blades touch each other as my arms are drawn together, and my face is pressed into the mattress. I swallow hard, brace, breathe.
Oh, the ache, the fierce throb as I’m penetrated. I’m rocked forward and my shoulders twinge and the grip on my wrists holds me in place.
I have no choice but to feel the burgeoning blaze, no choice but let it push through me and make me breathless, and I want to cry, want to cry, want to cry.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I let myself go when I’m told to do so: “Come for me, X.”
And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back, gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.
Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically, aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless. Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.
Yet . . . there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down there, where those truths reside, I know I crave . . . absolution, freedom, a breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.
But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of schools.
And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from discarded slacks demands attention.
“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes. Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”
A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder to hip to foot. “I have to go.”
“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.
“Will you miss me?”
“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.
“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”
“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with Jonathan?”
A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not. William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a speculative glance at me. “But, X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”
Draw out his mean streak. Poke a snake, prod a sleeping bear. Risk injury. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. Hopefully I won’t need medical attention like I did last time. That’s not covered in the contract, of course, but it’s understood: Never, ever harm the property of Caleb Indigo; it’s just not smart business.
When the door closes behind a broad, suit-swathed back, I shower the sex-stink off. I scrub harder and longer than I have to and fight the boil of forbidden emotions. When my skin is rubbed raw, I force myself out of the shower and dress, apply makeup, remake the bed, prepare tea.
And then I seat myself on the couch and breathe, compose myself, push down the vulnerability, put away the fear and the desire. Once again, I am Madame X.
Exposed Pre-Order AMAZON
Falling Series
Falling Away AMAZON
Wounded Series
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she’s not writing, she’s probably shopping, baking, or reading.
Some of her favorite authors include Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Liliana Hart and Bella Andre.
She loves to travel and some of her favorite vacations spots are Las Vegas, New York City and Toledo, Ohio.
You can often find Jasinda drinking sweet red wine with frozen berries and eating a cupcake.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
No comments:
Post a Comment