Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Book Blitz: The Dumont Diaries by Alessandra Torre

99 cent SALE! FEBRUARY 4TH – 7TH!

The Dumont Diaries Blurb:

Candace Tapers’ life finally takes an upward swing when Nathan Dumont, shipping heir and notorious playboy, sweeps her away to a lifestyle of wealth and privilege. But that life comes with strings, and she is soon pulled in directions she never expected, discovering secrets and ulterior motives in the man who shares her bed.

*The Dumont Diaries was originally released, and is still available as a four-part miniseries. This book combines the four pieces of the miniseries into one, full-length novel. 

The Dumont Diaries Longer Blurb:

A full-length book from the miniseries readers RAVED about!

Lust is a dangerous thing. It can make you believe things that are not real. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise. 

What would you do if you could leave your life? Wake up one day and be someone else?

I signed the contract. I left Candace Tapers and her slutty, strip club life behind, abandoned every part of that life with one hesitant swipe of my pen. 

The contract was clear:
1. Sex
2. Public Appearances
3. No romance

"I need a wife. I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. I will not love you. I will have no use for you other than sex and photo ops."

Sex with Nathan was easy. More than easy. Panty-melting, can-never-get-enough HOT. I had begun to think that I could live this new life, showered in luxuries, orgasms, and diamonds. 

Then, I started tripping over secrets. 

Disclaimer: The Dumont Diaries contains a strong alpha male, super hot explicit sex, and twists and turns that might cause unnatural heart palpitations. This book does not contain BDSM elements.

Find out why readers are saying:
"This man is sexy, scary and a total mystery."
"twisted, delicious, sexy..."
"this book took my breath away, caused gasps, heart clutches and desire for more."
"the writing is HYPNOTIC."
"Intensely Gripping"
"Highly addictive"

*The Dumont Diaries was originally released, and is still available as a four-part miniseries. This book combines the four pieces of the miniseries into one, full-length novel. 

The Dumont Diaries Excerpt #1:

There are people that bring elegance to any environment. Our VIP room definitely needed some elegance, built with functionality and economy in mind: worn black couches surrounding a small stage, black curtains on ceiling tracks that could be pulled around the couches, dividing the room into four private spaces, each with a view of the pole. This man sat on a center couch, leaning back, his arms draped out and across the couch, his feet crossed casually at the ankles, a lit cigar glowing from his right hand. Behind the couch, two men stood, their features hid by the shadows, their silhouetted builds impressive. Between them, the cigar smoke drifted across the man’s face, and blue eyes glowed at me, a smug smile widening as I approached.

I masked my apprehension, holding my posture straight, tits out, stomach in, a smile across my face. I walked directly to him and stopped before him. “You asked for me?”

He brought the cigar to his lips, taking a slow drag on it, his eyes raking up and down my body unapologetically. His eyes flitted to the pole, then back to my face.


I turned slowly to the pole, feeling the absence of Rick, the emptiness of the room. It was odd that we were alone, that no one else was in this space. Even the bouncer had left, leaving me alone with the three men. The house music was piped through this space, a DMX song playing. I strode up to the stage, gripping the pole with one hand and doing a slow spin as I exhaled, releasing my stress and apprehension in one slow breath. You are okay. You are beautiful. You will be fine. I rolled my neck, repeating the mantra, my long hair sliding over my skin as my head moved. I wished for the lights, the bright lights that hid everything from me. Then I took another breath and moved, gripping the pole and swinging my body up and out into the air, a swirling motion that spun the room out of focus, allowing me a brief, short moment of invisibility.

I am reckless on a pole, trusting my legs and arms in a way certain to cause damage. It is a lover I hate and I ride it relentlessly, caressing it in a sensual way that leaves nothing to the imagination. The beat moved through me and I got lost in its strength, pulsating against steel, spinning away only to return to it, my heels a blur of clear sparkle, my thoughts lost in the movement.

My bra was the first victim. One quick unclasp, the release of heavy breasts as I spun slowly downward, my legs suspending my body upside down above the hard floor. One outward fling, and sparkles and black sequins became airborne and joyful in their flight. I kept my panties on, the thin fabric the only thing between me and the pole.

When the song ended, I was panting, my eyes finally moving, traveling across the floor and then up to his. Sometimes the most terrifying thing is eye contact. It certainly was at that moment, when I was exposed, bare and gasping, on the stage before him. He had the cigar in his mouth and want in his eyes. It was a look I was accustomed to, conditioned to. But on this man the look was different. Hungry and possessive, he ate me with his stare, with the blatant desire that he made no attempt to hide.

“Come here,” he commanded.

I moved carefully, down the steps on the stage, my sky-high stilettos wobbling slightly on their downward descent. Then I was before him. I watched as his hand moved, adjusting himself, the hard line of his cock outlined in his pants. He glanced at it, and then at me. “Suck me.”

Excerpt #2:

Bright light. It shines in through the glass walls, the sun unforgiving in its announcement of the day. I try to place the sun, try to place where I am and who is waking me up. I roll, the sheets soft and smooth, which causes my eyes to reopen. Soft and smooth don’t describe my sheets. Cheap and scratchy are my norm.

Green eyes stare down at me. Green eyes that lead to a crooked nose, full lips and a few days of unshaven growth. The face is vaguely familiar and I blink, my brain fully waking up. The security guy. Some name that begins with a D.

“Time to get up. Mr. Dumont would like to speak to you.”

I cover my face in my hands, trying to wake up enough to think. “Then you’ll take me home?”

I hear a chuckle. “If that’s what you want.”

I sit up, pushing back the blankets and swinging my legs off of the bed. My brain hazily engages, memories of last night slowly clicking into place. “Wait.” I turn to the man with a glare. “I locked the door last night.”

He shrugs. “We have a key.”

I bite back a response, shooting him the stoniest glare I have, moving across the room and yanking open the closet door.

“I see you found some pajamas.”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough female clothing in here to outfit half of the city.” I grab a tee-shirt dress and a pair of underwear, the tags still hanging from the lace. Stepping fully into the closet I turn and shut the door on the man’s face, cutting off whatever words were about to come out of his mouth.

I feel a bit of adolescent pleasure at the slight, at the ability to show some of the frustration that is building up inside me. I pull the panties on, popping off the tag and tug the dress over my head, forgoing a bra. I study myself in the mirror, a critical eye looking for flaws. I look younger, my makeup-free face much different than the vixen look I go for at the Club. My hair is curly, a result of going to bed with it wet, the strands exacting their revenge in the form of uncontrollable volume and curl. I run my hands through a few times before giving up and opening the door. To one irritated green-eyed face.

“Sorry,” I say breezily, dipping down and grabbing a set of jeweled sandals from a basket by the door, examining the size before slipping them on. A size too big, but acceptable to get home with. Someone at the club will be all over them.

I can feel his frustration, the emotion making me smile, my spirits rising as we exit the house and head to the main home, sunlight dancing off of the pool’s water and sending playful highlights over my legs. I am close to getting paid, getting in that limo, and heading back home in style. With this payday, I will be flush for a while, six months at least, six months of no stress, no blowjobs, and no bullshit from Dibs over late rent or the utility bill.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. About getting paid, about going home, and about six months of bliss.

Excerpt #3

“Jennifer?” I look at my new ID dubiously.

Is there a problem? Drew asks dryly.

I frown, trying to decide upon an answer to his question. “I don’t know. I just never really pictured myself as a Jennifer.” Jennifers play tennis, like pink, and draw hearts in notebooks. I have already spent twenty-six years straddled with the girly disaster that was Candy. If I am going to get a new name, I want it to be strong, with a backbone. Like Alexis. Or Jinx. Shit. I’ve obviously spent too much time in a strip club. “Do I get a choice?”

“No.” He smiles thinly, his grin all sharp teeth, no humor in its grimace.

I sigh. “Then Jennifer it is.”

“Nathan has already decided that you will be referred to as Jenny.”

Jenny. I puff out my cheeks in exasperation. Even worse.

My name is only part of the problem. I stare at the racks of designer clothes, designed for someone other than young vixens with a body worth showing off. According to my new workout regime, delivered by an energetic ball of annoyance named Beth, I will be having my ass kicked for two hours a day, twice a week. Following that schedule, and my new diet (also delivered in irritating cheerful fashion), I will be down a dress size within thirty days. What is the point of all of that hell if it is going to be hidden by three layers of couture?

I flip through the racks, every hanger holding some variation of the same thing. Classic colors. High necklines. Low hemlines. Cardigans—a whole freaking shelf of them. Lace. Panty Hose. I shudder, grabbing the panty hose packages and tossing them in the general direction of a trashcan. My wardrobe has been cheerfully delivered by Rosit Fenton—a forty-ish bald, round, gay man—whose outfit contains more color than this entire wardrobe combined. He also supplies me with a book.

“When you flip through the book you will see the outfit selections,” he drones in a nasally tone that reeks of dignity and culture. “Each outfit has a number, shown here.” He points to a giant number, placed to the side of a blouse, so big and clear it looks like it was created for a six-year-old. “The numbers correspond to a hanger. So all you need to do is pull the hangers and you will have your outfit!” He closes the book with a sharp crack, smiling at me in a way that is typically reserved for those of a lesser intellect.

I don’t need a book that matches blah with blah; I can master that disaster all on my own. I force a smile, trying to present an exterior that is gracious and refined. “Thank you.”

And so begins my first day as Jenny—polite, reserved, Jenny. I grit my teeth at the name.

Excerpt #4:

9:06 AM: His hard glare pins me in the doorway as soon as I slide open the glass door. He stands in the kitchen, the island between us, six feet of gorgeous constrained by a custom suit. I can see the anger in his eyes, his face turning into a scowl as he mutters something to Drew. Drew makes a sharp gesture with his head, the message clear, and I step backward, pulling the glass sliding door closed, the summer heat settling around me like a hot, scratchy sweater. I stand there for a moment, feeling the sun stare down on me like a prissy schoolteacher. Bad Jennifer. Get out, Jennifer.

Anger seeps through me in waves, commingling with frustration and leaving me furious. Why is he so difficult? Am I that irritating? My mere presence that unbearable to his peace of mind? My clothes, the proper blend of luxury and sex, are suddenly thick and constricting, the tight wool-blend top ridiculous in the summer humidity. I feel a sudden surge of recklessness, pushed relentlessly by the wave of hot claustrophobia that seizes my entire body. I yank at the sleeveless turtleneck, pulling it over my head, feeling a moment of euphoria when the hot fabric hits the white pavers. My skirt follows, one quick zip down. I stare at my nude thigh-high lace stockings, ridiculous given the fact that they were put on solely for his eyes. There’s no need for stockings in June, slid on in the pathetic hope that he might, on this day, grant me a session with his cock. I slip out of my heels, rolling the expensive sheer fabric down my long legs, flipping my head up to find him and Drew staring at me through the glass, an expression of horror on Drew’s face. Nathan simply watches, a cold look of disinterest in his eyes. Oh, look. There is my wife. Throwing a temper tantrum in front of the staff.

I stare into his eyes, my body covered by only a sheer shelf bra and a barely existent thong. I can only hope my eyes communicate the fury radiating through my body, my hurt at his neglect, at his snub of me and the corner of his world that I inhabit. Then, I dive.

The water shocks me. I am forbidden from the pool, my hair stylist repeatedly preaching the harm that chlorine will cause to my now-expensive tresses. Nathan agreed, adding a new rule to my long list. No swimming. So I am unprepared for its cool embrace, the smooth grip of moisture that instantly refreshes my sticky skin, sliding bubbles across my surface. I come up for air, the sun’s heat suddenly friendly and warm on my face, tickling me as it slides droplets of water off my face. Then I duck back into the underwater world and don’t come up for quite some time.

Short excerpt:

He leans forward and kisses me, and I suddenly don’t need the image of dollar bills to distract my mind. Everything floods the moment his lips touch mine.

Soft, sweet lips. Not what I expect from this commanding man. He brushes my lips softly, my lips parting for him, immediately wanting more. A groan slips from my mouth before I have a chance to capture it. His hands move up through my hair, gripping and pulling its strands. He tastes me, spreading my lips gently with his and dipping his tongue inside. I respond eagerly, my body taking over my mind, shoving it aside forcefully as a wave of arousal hits me. His touch turns harder, his mouth more demanding and he moves me backward, my heels skittering over tile, 'til the edge of the table is against me.

His hands grip my ass, squeezing it roughly, one hand on each cheek and lifts me easily, setting me on the table, the surface cool against my skin.

“Lay down,” he bites out against my mouth, taking one, last, torturous sweep with his tongue before he pulls off, stepping back and watching me.

I grip the glass top, sliding backward until my elbows are resting on the glass. I watch him, watch as he unbuttons his sleeves. He breathes hard, his eyes glued to mine and walks towards me, stopping a foot from the table.

Short Excerpt #2 (X-rated):

He grinds against me, his hand reaching down and placing his cock upward between our bodies, its hard shaft heavy between my legs, every thrust of his pelvis creating delicious friction on my sex. He lifts his mouth from my neck, hovering above my mouth and changes the pace, kissing me softly and deeply as he slides his bare cock over me. I gasp against his mouth, an ache between my legs growing, the tease of his shaft driving me wild, every withdrawal thrust giving me hope that he will move it two inches lower and bury it inside of me.

I, despite my ridiculous stripper standard of abstinence, have had plenty of partners; my college career littered with drunken hookups and failed relationships. The one-night-stand experience and I are old acquaintances, having shared three or four awkward experiences. One-night stands have, in my experience, always been disastrous, two strangers fumbling through motions while trying to convince each other that they are having timeoftheirlife sex. This is something else entirely.

This is electricity, sizzling between our bodies and creating heat of intense need. There is, at this point in time, no going back. If he changes his mind, pulls off of my body, I will tackle him to the ground and take his cock. I am ravenous, my body crying out for his, my mouth, fingers and skin itching for his touch, for his domination. What he demands, I will freely give, his orchestration of our sex uncontested. I don’t want to battle with him, I want to pour out my body for him to use in any way he sees fit. I have tasted submission to him and love the release of control and how it feels.


The Dumont Diaries by Alessandra Torre 
Publication date: September 4th 2013
Genres: Erotica, Romance


A full-length book from the miniseries readers RAVED about!

Lust is a dangerous thing. It can make you believe things that are not real. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise.

What would you do if you could leave your life? Wake up one day and be someone else?

I signed the contract. I left Candace Tapers and her slutty, strip club life behind, abandoned every part of that life with one hesitant swipe of my pen.

The contract was clear:
1. Sex
2. Public Appearances
3. No romance

“I need a wife. I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. I will not love you. I will have no use for you other than sex and photo ops.”

Sex with Nathan was easy. More than easy. Panty-melting, can-never-get-enough HOT. I had begun to think that I could live this new life, showered in luxuries, orgasms, and diamonds.

Then, I started tripping over secrets.

Disclaimer: The Dumont Diaries contains a strong alpha male, super hot explicit sex, and twists and turns that might cause unnatural heart palpitations. This book does not contain BDSM elements.

*The Dumont Diaries was originally released, and is still available as a four-part miniseries. This book combines the four pieces of the miniseries into one, full-length novel.

Purchase (99 cent sale price from February 4th – 8th.):



Alessandra Torre is a new author who focuses on contemporary erotica. Her first book, Blindfolded Innocence, was an #1 Erotica Bestseller for two weeks. Now, Alessandra writes full time from her home in North Florida.

Learn more about Alessandra on her website at, or you can find her on Twitter (@ReadAlessandra) or her Facebook fanpage.


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