Book Review: Wrapped Around Your Finger by Alison Tyler

This review is based upon a pre-publication review copy. Wrapped Around Your Finger is available now and is published by Black Lace.


When I started reading this book I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to follow the plot, having not read the predecessor. I needn’t have worried. I’m not saying that this book falls into the “Plot? What plot?” category just that it’s not a deeply involved plot. The important things are resolved in media pretty swiftly and, frankly, if by the end of the first chapter you don’t know what’s going on, you’re probably not old enough to be reading this sort of smut.

The story fits into that deliciously vague category that blurs the lines between fact and fiction. Depending on my mood this book can be read as:

Autobiography (with name changes)

Embellished autobiography.

Complete fiction.

And I really don’t care. Because what this book really does well is giving itself a sense of grounding. I’m not saying I think every last detail necessarily happened, but it’s described with a richness and general air of something that could have happened. In terms of the plot itself it focuses on a trio in a slightly complicated BDSM relationship that really sits at the heart of this story. Tyler does a fantastic job in making this understated conflict underpin the entire story. Yes there are lots of kinky shenanigans along the way, but she manages to tread the line between dull and melodramatic expertly.

So what about the sex?

Well there’s plenty of it and it’s a lot of fun. There’s a strong presence of kink and a hell of a lot of spanking and the prose carries this with immersive weight and realism. That said it does feel a bit, how can I say, easily interrupted.

You see this is the one real flaw with this book. Yes I’m familiar with the idea that lot’s of erotica books take a structure of one sex scene per chapter, but the chapter divisions crop up far too frequently for my taste. And this isn’t for lack of sex, there’s plenty of that, but an evening’s bedroom session that might last one chapter in many novels can be split into two or sometimes three. Each time this breaks the flow and whilst the narrative voice never feels discordant, it’s noticeably more abstract at the opening of a chapter than when deeply involved in the good stuff. The simple truth is that a (mathematically rigorous) 51/3 pages per chapter just doesn’t quite feel like enough.

But this is only a relatively technical flaw in what is otherwise a very enjoyable and well written book.


Although if I could add two more words, they would be simply these: “Paris tease.”