Seven Nights. Seven Rooms. One Erotic Lesson➱ The Hall of Art and Pleasure (Chasing Pleasure Trilogy) College Erotic Romance by Darcy Monroe New Release Tour with Rafflecopter
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Seven Nights.
Seven Rooms.
One Erotic Lesson.
College student Mackenzie is invited to a secret house of pleasure, where she'll experience sexual fantasies for an entire week. Meanwhile, the guy down the hall might be everything she wants and more. Will she quit the house for love, or continue in the Hall of Art and Pleasure?
The Hall of Art and Pleasure
Chasing Pleasure Trilogy Book 1
by Darcy Monroe
Genre: College Erotic Romance
Mackenzie’s love life is a wreck. Drinking her troubles away in a strip club seems like the best solution until a dancer slips her a business card with a local address on it.
When she walks through the door, she’ll never be the same…
The address leads to a house with the deal of a lifetime: complete seven nights of “education” in The Hall of Art and Pleasure, and on the eighth night, step through a different door to be tested. She accepts the challenge and begins an awakening unlike any other. Room by room, Mackenzie starts to take back her confidence.
Then she meets Tristen. Heartbreakingly sweet, he seems interested in her for more than her body. Mackenzie is torn between the desire to finish her time in the Hall and her longing for a real relationship. If she continues her carnal quest, she may lose Tristen, but if she quits, she’ll never know what lies behind the final door…
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Excerpt
from The Hall of Art and Pleasure
I
fingered the weathered paper on the door again as I read the fragment of
poetry.
Thy
self: cast all, yea, this
white
linen; hence,
There
is no penance due to innocence:
To
teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What
needst thou have more
covering
than a man?
—John
Donne
I hadn’t exactly studied poetry, but I am naked first
didn’t really need to be translated. If I opened the door, would a nude man be
standing there? Would it be the stripper from the night before?
I remembered the way he’d looked at me, all sexy and
serious at the same time. I’d felt an instant connection with him, or I never
would have let him handcuff me.
A full minute passed as I braced my hand against the
handle, the desperate beat of my heart threatening to break through my rib
cage. Then I twisted the knob and, in a rush, pushed through and slammed the
door.
I stood facing it a while before I dared turn around.
Would someone approach me?
No one did. I can do this.
I slowly turned, and the sight of the room stole my
breath. I pressed my hand to my chest as I was transported to another time and
place. Candles created a softly lit atmosphere. The room was draped in white
silks that floated lazily in the breeze of a few fans. There was a canopied
four-poster bed directly in front of me, and it was like… like Arabian
Nights. Like I was Scheherazade or something. The walls were completely
made of mirrors, making the room look larger and more elaborate, the bedroom
reflected golden and beautiful on every wall.
This was the romance missing in my life. Not the hasty
hookups that were so common in college. Not the way I’d lost my virginity in
the back of a cramped sports car, all awkwardness and pain. This was a romance
novel, a dream.
A low chuckle rumbled from the side of the room.
I turned, startled to see a man leaning back in an
opulent chair, staring at me. His dark brown hair was pulled back. He wore a
button-down white shirt and black slacks, like he had just gotten in from the
office. Not naked after all. He appeared to be about twenty-five with kind,
hazel eyes and… wow. His legs were long. I’d never slept with someone who
promised to be so tall.
I bit my lip. He wasn’t the stripper from Cherries.
He gestured to the room with one hand. “You like it?” he
asked in a mild tenor.
I nodded.
He unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, his eyes
downcast.
I twisted my hands together in front of my coat. This was
so awkward! “So, the contract…”
He chucked again but didn’t say anything.
“Kind of crazy, huh? What exactly am I doing here?”
Having undone his cuffs, he moved on to his shirt with
slow deliberation, but he didn’t answer me.
“And how do you get to be a part of a, um… this?” I
asked, retreating until my back was flat against the door.
He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in a ball
to the side of the room, then unbuckled his belt. It whipped through the loops
of his pants, and he held it for a moment, his mouth quirked into a teasing
smile before it hit the ground with a dull thud.
His eyes zeroed in on where my hand rested, just inches
from the door handle. “Do you feel safe?”
I shook my head once. This man was anything but safe.
This house? Completely unsafe. It was like some weird fever dream, the whole
thing.
I could leave right now. If I wanted to.
I felt behind me until my fingers touched the doorknob.
The man paused in undressing, one hand on his zipper, his
tanned skin glowing in the low light of the room. He arched an eyebrow.
It was like he could see the thoughts as they raced
through my head.
Why did I sign that paper? I chose this room, but… I’m
not ready. Am I? I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Mackenzie,” he said softly, “we don’t have to do
anything you don’t want to do, but there was a reason you said ye. A reason you
chose my door. I get it if I’m not your type.”
I opened my eyes. It was my turn to frown at him. He
couldn’t possibly doubt his attractiveness. His chest was toned, tapering into
a flat stomach. He was the type of man who evoked the cavewoman in girls, the
need to feel protected. A knot formed in my throat as I observed the trail of
light-brown hair that began below his navel and disappeared into the band of
his black trousers.
I shook my head, and his face fell.
“No, I didn’t mean—” My hand left the knob, and I took a
step forward.
His teasing smile was back, and I realized what he’d just
done. He was messing with me, trying to get me to abandon my desire to flee to
comfort him.
I folded my arms, slightly annoyed, but mostly amused.
“Well played.”
He bowed like an actor in a Shakespearean play with the
flourish of an imaginary hat, managing to drop his pants at the same time.
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. It was so smooth yet so
funny.
When he straightened, the warmth in his eyes had changed.
Now, they smoldered with something different, something primal.
Oh, boy. What did I get myself into?
If
I knew I’d die tomorrow…
I’d
throw a huge party with my closest friends and family. I’d eat all the food
that’s bad for me. I’d sing karaoke and go dancing at a club. I’d rent out an
entire movie theater and watch chick flicks with my sisters. I’d end the night
in the hot tub with the hottest of men: my husband.
When
I first considered myself a writer…
If
you write, you’re a writer. I put my butt in the chair and write. Therefore,
I’m a writer. I can’t pinpoint one moment where I felt important, like I was a
true author or writer. It’s just something that has always been in the back of
my mind that I was going to do someday. I don’t have any illusions of being the
Next Great American Author. I want to write trashy romance that makes people
blush. I know my niche. š
What I am Passionate About These
Days…
I’m passionate about escapism—books
that make you forget your daily grind. Books where you want that main character
to be you so badly that you don’t want to leave the pages of that story. No one
should have to read books they don’t enjoy. Not every book you consume has to
be Literature with a capital L. Give in to the dark side. Enjoy yourself some
erotic college romance.
Darcy Monroe is an avid romance reader and spicy romance writer. She enjoys binging Netflix, dancing in the rain, and imagining all sorts of steamy scenes with kind, kinky guys.
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