Joy Ride, coming soon from Ellora's Cave and part of their new Spice Rack series - it's all about your preferred heat level, and I like mine hot and spicy!
Thursday, 30 May 2013
What Exactly Makes a Classic Clandestine? - Guest post by Morticia Knight... take it away Morticia...
Thanks, Lily! I’m so happy be visiting a fellow Clandestine author! Oh, I don’t just mean that the things we write about are considered hush-hush in some crowds, I mean we have stories released through the Clandestine Classic line at Total-E-Bound Publishing. Lily has Tarzan of the Apes *fans self*, and my new release for the line is The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. What is this you ask? Isn’t that the story I read as a kid about some dorky skinny guy, and a headless horseman that lobbed a pumpkin at his head? What’s so erotic about that?
Oh my dears, quite a lot. For those of you truly familiar with the original tale, there were a lot of hints in Irving’s story about much in the way of both hanky and panky. And while Ichabod might not have sounded like the studliest thing around, in my tale he proves to be more than worthy, as his nose isn’t the only overly large appendage that he sports!
What was fun about writing this classic was the challenge. In order to remain true to the Clandestine Classic line, the authors are not allowed to change any word of the original classic – we can only add. In addition, we need to write in the original author’s voice so that the sections flow together seamlessly, and the reader isn’t jolted out of the story. It was intense, but a lot of fun at the same time. It helps that Irving doesn’t take himself too seriously, so I was able to unleash my inner wench and have a jolly good time!
I shall warn you dear readers – there is a lot of lusty frolicking in this one. It is an MMF – and more – with some BDSM elements. These are bawdy people who enjoy a good tumble with one, two and sometimes more at a time. Here’s a little taste with an excerpt that combines Irving with my additions.
Excerpt from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
By Washington Irving & Morticia Knight
True to his word, Ichabod swived the lass until just before the telling of the dawn, leaving her sore and well-used, and with the knowledge in one night of all of the skills of Aphrodite. He escorted her safely back to her parents’ home, and bade her a brief farewell, planning to state his suit to her father very soon. But first he must send word to Jonathan, for he knew his lover was nearing the end of his studies, and surely the joyful news of his female find would entice Jonathan to their side forthwith.
Wending his way down the path to the most recent dwelling where he was making his home, he pondered all they had discussed throughout the previous eve. Although still confident in his success against his rival, he was a prudent man, and shied from declaring definitive conclusions when there were still matters to be finalised. For whilst some may profess to know the perfect way that a woman’s heart is secured, I profess not to know how women’s hearts are wooed and won.
To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access, while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown, but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones, and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined, his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.
Morticia Knight Author Bio
Erotic Romance author Morticia Knight enjoys a good saucy tale, whether it is contemporary, paranormal, historical, ménage, M/M or BDSM - she loves it all! One of her passions is bringing people's fantasies to life on the page, because life is too short for even one boring moment. Her stories are volcanic in heat, deep in emotion, and sprinkled with doses of humor.
When not indulging in her passion for books, she loves the outdoors, film and music. Once upon a time she was the singer in an indie rock band that toured the West Coast and charted on U.S. college radio. She currently resides on the northern coast of Oregon, where the constant rain and fog remind her of visits to her family in England and Scotland when she was a child.
Morticia has a three-book series called Uniform Encounters set in the Southwest that features those yummy men in uniform coming out in 2013, and is currently working on both a Steampunk horror ménage, and a Sci-fi ménage.
Find her here:
Wednesday, 29 May 2013
I have been blessed with fabulous guests on my blog of late and today is no exception. Please welcome the wonderfully talented Kristina Lloyd. Kristina is a UK based author with many steamy and sometimes controversial erotic stories to her name and she has a new novel out, Thrill Seeker, which is sure to hit all the right buttons for connoisseurs of edgy erotica!
Take it away Kristina....
I was reminded recently that I’m cited as a reference on the Wikipedia entry for ‘Bad Boy (archetype)’, suggesting I’m some kind of authority on the matter. Well, um, I’ve had my share, for sure. In truth, I think most readers and writers of erotica are probably authorities on Bad Boys, or at least have plenty to say about them. After all, Nice Guys (archetype) seldom make for the sexiest or most interesting of male leads.
In Thrill Seeker, my new novel from Black Lace, Natalie Lovell is involved with three men at varying points in the narrative. Liam, while too unconventional to be ‘nice’ is definitely ‘good’. He’s a friend, a fuckbuddy, a man who’s loyal, kind, fun, sensitive, vigorous and sexy. He’s never going to make Natalie swoon and that’s fine because she’s not expecting him to. Theirs is a relatively uncomplicated relationship. They hang out, have recreational sex, and try not to mess each other about.
In opposition to that, are Natalie’s Bad Boys, Den Jackson and Baxter Logan. Natalie meets Den through online dating while Baxter lurks in her backstory, the lover who betrayed her and still tugs at her heart. Both men are sexually dominant and, as people, are ‘bad’ in different ways. Their personalities are reflected in their sexual style and tastes. Den is deliberately mysterious, often harsh and nasty, and likes to be one up on Natalie. As a dom, he enjoys constructing elaborate scenarios using a range of kinky implements. He’s aloof, patient and in control; a man able to prolong Natalie’s pleasure and pain by maintaining a careful, sadistic distance. Natalie fears he might be dangerous.
Baxter Logan, on the other hand, is passionate, headstrong, prone to make mistakes, and unable to keep his emotions in check. Natalie describes him as ‘a big, angry, soft-hearted Scot with a weakness for women and whisky.’ In bed, he’s aggressive, confident and wildly randy. His urge to dominate Natalie is akin to an urge to consume her. Den, methodical and organised, has a bag of BDSM kit. Baxter, chaotic and spontaneous, is more likely to pick up a skanky piece of MDF en route to Natalie’s house then apply it gleefully to her bared buttocks.
In the book, before readers meet Den and Baxter in all their bad-boy glory, Natalie reflects on a previous relationship which had helped her understand her desires for intense, edgy sex. The man she remembers is called Grant. (I named him that because, yeah, he grants your wishes; or he thinks he does.) Here’s a brief excerpt:
On our first night, Grant blindfolded me, fixed my wrists and ankles to all corners of his bed, told me to relax and enjoy. I swear, I felt like paying him afterwards. He had massage oils, velvet gloves, warm breath, clever hands and, it seemed, all the time in the world.
‘What’s that? Ah, ah, what is it?’ I kept saying, frustrated by my sightlessness.
‘Doesn’t matter, just enjoy,’ he cooed.
‘Tell me, oh God. I don’t think I can cope.’
He laughed merrily.
At one point, I was pulling on the ropes, begging him to tell me what he’d done. He’d been kissing my shoulders, my breasts and then, from nowhere, one of my nipples was enveloped in a blanket of heat. It wasn’t a fiery, intense heat but a deeply comforting heat. My nipple glowed, the warmth radiating into the tissue of my breast. Then it happened to my other nipple, and I was lost.
‘Please tell me what that is.’
‘Please,’ I cried. ‘I have to know. What are you doing?’
He’d capitulated on that one, telling me there was a glass of hot water by the bed. He’d been filling his mouth with the liquid then sliding his lips around each nipple. ‘And that’s all I’m telling you,’ he said. ‘No more questions. You’ll spoil it for yourself.’
I have to confess, after his explanation the sensation wasn’t as wild. Grant was right, I shouldn’t have asked. But gradually, I relaxed, allowing him to stimulate me inside and out. He didn’t seem to care about his own pleasure, getting his kicks, instead, from mine. To be honest, that aspect did get weird after a few dates. Before long, I was aching for him to lose control, to be so overwhelmed with lust he’d grab my hair, pin me to the kitchen counter and bang me six ways till Sunday. But no, ‘just lie back, Natalie, enjoy.’
To read about the men who will bang Natalie six ways till Sunday, go here and check out my two sexy excerpts!
Thrill Seeker is now available in the UK in paperback and Kindle editions, and will be available in the US and Canada late June.
I’m giving away six signed copies on Goodreads. Enter by May 31st!
Kristina Lloyd is the author of four Black Lace novels including the erotic thrillers, Asking for Trouble and her most recent book, Thrill Seeker. Her short stories have featured in numerous anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collections, and her work has been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. She’s been described as an author who ‘writes sex with a formidable force’ and ‘blends literary and popular styles beautifully’. Kristina has a master's degree in Twentieth Century Literature and lives in Brighton, UK. Visit her at http://kristinalloyd.co.uk
Monday, 27 May 2013
My fairytale fantasy novella Enchanted Submission is FREE on iTunes between now and the 9th of June - quick, go, run, grab a copy and find out what all those sweet as sugar characters got up to after they'd found their happy ever after.
I'm completely thrilled that one of my most favourite erotic authors, KD Grace, has released an anthology, so please, put your hands together for the awesome Gracefully Aroused!
From a love spell that doesn’t quite go to plan to a farmhand who needs a little discipline; from a woman who is addicted to the confessional to a personal trainer with a very unorthodox method of guaranteeing his clients they’ll look fab come bikini season, K D Grace will tell you a naughty story with a twist. Before there was Ms Holly and the Pet Shop, before there were sexy ghosts, before Grace Marshall upped the romance ante, K D Grace was into quickies, and here’s a selection of her naughtiest.
Pretty city boy, Tim Harris, is the last man Suzie Sheridan would have hired to help her on the farm had he not been the only one who applied for the job. But with strict discipline generously applied in all the right places, even Suzie is amazed at just how good a hired hand Tim turns out to be …
Penny Davis can’t afford to hire a personal trainer to get her fit for bikini season until ex-military hard man, Hawk Sturgis, offers her an unorthodox fitness regimen and an even more unorthodox payment plan, guaranteed to have her heating up the beach in her new bikini just in time for the summer hols.
On a road trip across America, Liz Martin’s car breaks down in the middle of nowhere South Dakota, and the ride a Good Samaritan lorry driver offers her is not exactly the one she expected.
Under the careful supervision of his unorthodox management consultant, a stressed company CEO learns a hands-on technique guaranteed to up productivity.
Love spells are the most dangerous kind of magic. Mick Denver learns the hard way when he enlists Sally Haddon, a witch who specialises in sex magic, to help him win the affections of his new co-worker, the exquisite and dangerous Darlene.
Hard Times at the Nymphomaniac Rehabilitation Facility
Sadie’s sexual appetite is out of control, and a spell at the Nymphomaniac Rehabilitation Facility is intended to put it right. It isn’t long before fellow inmate Carol is showing her how to bend the facility’s strict rules, earning them both punishments that are more than worth the crime.
Confession is good for the soul, but Hail Marys and Our Fathers aren’t nearly enough to gain absolution when Jilly confesses to an unsuspecting priest that confession makes her come.
While volunteering on an archaeological dig, Gina and Mike discover new and exciting ways to help their workaholic professor relieve stress – and he introduces them to one or two methods of his own, which are far from academic.
We all give off body heat, but only Jenny can see the red glow it gives off, darker and more intense the more turned on we become. When she’s compelled to follow a fellow bus passenger whose scarlet desires are too powerful to ignore, she learns the real secret of her unique vision.
An unusually powerful sense of smell gives Chloe the ability to sniff out the scents of people in lust. When she volunteers for a research trial into pheromones, she doesn’t realise the scientist in charge will have the perfect, sexy aroma she’s always craved in a lover.
Coming soon to all other good eBook retailers.
Hired Hand - excerpt
It irritated Suzie the way Tim Harris worked without a shirt, like he didn’t know how distracting that was. She watched him muck out the barn, grunting slightly with each thrust of the pitch fork, breathing heavily from the effort. If she closed her eyes she could easily imagine him doing something else. To her.
She dragged her gaze away from the hard play of muscles, muscles that, no doubt, came from some cushy air conditioned gym, which is probably where he got his tan.
Working bare-chested might cool him down a bit, but it only made her hotter. She had nearly forgotten the clit-stiffening scent of sweaty maleness, earthy and slightly piquant, a scent that, amid the barnyard animal smells, caused her own animal nature to squirm and stretch and sniff.
He was too damn good looking to be a real hired hand. From Chicago, he said, by way of London – in England! He arrived complete with an accent that never failed to make her tits tight. Rural Missouri was a long way from London. What would a pretty city boy know about farming? He would have been the last man she would have hired had he not been the only one who applied for the job.
‘Let me see your hands,’ she commanded.
He jumped and nearly dropped the pitch fork. ‘I didn’t hear you come in, Suzie.’
She tried to keep her eyes on his and not the muscles of his belly, tensing and relaxing into his low-slung jeans that always seemed to be hiding something just barely contained, something she hadn’t stopped thinking about since he arrived at Sheridan Farm.
He removed his gloves and held his hands out, palms up for her inspection, offering her a warm smile. ‘Blisters are healed. I’m starting to get callouses.’
‘About damn time. I’m not paying you to be an invalid.’ She couldn’t help herself; she gave his palms an open-handed stroke, thinking how good those callouses would feel against more sensitive parts of her body.
As she did so, he dropped a glove. She stooped to pick it up, closer to his groin than she intended, close enough to notice his package was straining his Levis this morning. The tangy, male rutting smell made her mouth water. Suddenly the sweat between her breasts wasn’t the only moisture she was feeling. She fought back the urge to jerk open his fly and bury her face against his bulge, reminding herself she hadn’t earned the respect of the other farmers without discipline and self-control.
After her father’s death, she kept the family farm working against all odds, and she wasn’t going to let some city boy’s bulging jeans slow her down. She stood quickly and handed back his glove.
‘I’m going into town to get the seed corn. You can drive a tractor, right?’
‘I can drive anything you need me to drive,’ he replied.
She assumed that meant he didn’t know a standard transmission from a pogo stick. But when the time came Tim was as good as his word. Ike Melbourne had offered her the use of his tractor for the day, since his son was getting married. While Tim ploughed the field behind the barn she used Ike’s tractor to plant the south 40. It was supposed to rain on Wednesday. With the extra tractor hopefully they’d be done before the weather hit.
She planned to plant into the night, breaking long enough to tend livestock before dark. She hurried about feeding the chickens and the pigs, hearing the steady purr of Tim’s tractor in the field behind the barn. She was checking the water tank in the pig pen when she noticed the silence.
Wiping her hands on her jeans, she walked around the side of the barn. Beyond the stand of oak and elm just on the other side of the fence the tractor stood empty and silent.
K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she, cuz otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband recently walked the Coast to Coast rout across England. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots.
K D has erotica published with Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel,Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Welcome to Sunday Snog, here's a steamy snippet taken from just after Dana has given Rick 'Ramrod' Lewis (captain of the Vipers hockey team) his birthday present - an incredibly sexy pole dance.
It was time to move our game up a level. Stepping down from the stage, I stood before him as he death-gripped the arms of the chair.
“Are you enjoying your birthday present?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Hell, yeah,” he said. “But it’s getting kind of painful.”
I glanced at his groin. There was a definite space issue going on in his jeans.
“So you won’t want any more of this then.” I smiled and threaded my arms behind my neck, lifted my long mane of hair above my head and rolled my hips like a belly dancer, spinning until I’d turned my back on him.
I bent over double, exposing the cleft of my ass and the thong settled deep within it. The pose was so naughty, so cheeky, that blood rushed to my cheeks as I stroked my hands down my shins and shifted my butt left to right, mischievously tempting him because he wasn’t allowed to touch me.
Suddenly big hands curled around my hips and yanked me backward.
“Hey,” I said, quickly slipping from his grasp. “The rules, remember?”
“Fuck the rules.” He got to his feet and tried to grab me again.
I shook my head and stepped out of reach. “Oh no, rules are there for a reason.” I tilted my chin. “Sit down.”
His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. His chest heaved as he dragged in a breath. But after a moment of indecision, he settled into the plush chair once again. Every muscle in his body looked primed for action.
“That’s it,” I said soothingly, dropping to my knees in front of him. I rested my hands on his thighs and eased his legs apart, glanced at his groin again.
“I’m going to have zip marks imprinted on my dick forever,” he groaned.
“It’s fucking killing me.”
I smiled. “Sweet way to die though.”
“You reckon?” He shifted on the seat.
I shuffled in between his long, broad thighs and brushed my knuckles over his straining shaft.
He hissed in a breath.
“You want me to help out with your problem?”
“Feel free, any time,” he said in a strangled voice.
Reaching for his fly, I released it. Tugged at the zipper and drew it downward though it needed yanking a little, it was so stretched by the bulging erection beneath. This caused it to jerk, eliciting yet another groan from Rick as his head dropped back on the chair.
“Lift,” I instructed. He did as I asked and I dragged his jeans so they were at his thighs. I pulled in the scent of hot, aroused male and gazed at his thick cock tenting his navy boxers. There was a round drip of moisture near the waistband. I curled my palm around his shaft, feeling him through the soft material. His body tensed and I snatched in a breath as my pussy trembled. He was so damn big.
Lifting back the waistband, I revealed his darkened head and wide slit, pulled the elastic lower and released the shaft. Corded with bulging veins, it bobbed toward me from his tangle of jet-black pubic hair.
Thrilled to be this up close and personal with such a fabulous cock, I dipped the tip of my finger into his slit, spreading the glistening drip of pre-cum over the head.
“Ah, baby,” he whispered. “Even the smallest touch from you makes me want to come instantly.”
I curled my hands around his shaft and slid to the base. Gripping as near to the root as possible, I squeezed, tight, until I could feel his powerful pulse against my palm.
“Ah, fuck.” He groaned and gripped my shoulders. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
I looked up at him. “Hands back on the chair,” I ordered.
A muscle flexed in his jaw. I didn’t think he was going to obey but after a moment he death-gripped the chair-arms once more. “Be really fucking careful,” he warned.
Careful, no, careful is for wimps.
I dropped my head and stuck out my tongue, swiped up a new drop of pre-cum balanced in his slit and pressed it to my palate. Finally I fed my hunger for him. His flavor was divine, masculine and spicy. He was the most delicious man I’d ever tasted. There was sweetness to it, an honest sweetness that I didn’t think I would ever get enough of.
Consumed with a sudden impatience, I opened my mouth around the chunky width of his glans and sucked him in. Then, sliding down fast, much faster than I knew he’d expect, I took him until his head hit my throat.
“Ah, Jesus fucking Christ,” he hissed, his hips jerking and his hands threading into my hair. “Ah, Dana, good god, what are you doing to me?”
His tortured pleasure shot sparks of lust to my clit, my breasts and everywhere in between. I allowed his hands to stay in my hair, wanting him touching me, wanting to feel his hands on me. Reaching down, I cupped his balls and rolled their roundness within the loose sac of soft skin they were encased in.
His legs tensed around me and a deeply expelled breath breezed over my naked back. I bobbed up, let him almost slip from my mouth while my other hand rubbed at his shaft, then I dipped back down, deeper this time, the corners of my mouth stretching almost painfully.
“Ah, ah,” he panted as I drew in air through my nose and curved my tongue around his shaft.
I set up a quick tempo of drawing him in then almost releasing him. I didn’t know who this was more of a treat for, him or me. I was having a great time. Delicious darts of pleasure were shooting to my clit, the beginning of my own climb to climax.
Pausing in my swift movements, I held the base of his cock, laved around his glans with the tip of my tongue, scooped into his slit then tickled his sensitive frenulum.
“Wild thing, you’re torturing me,” he groaned, a hand curling around the nape of my neck.
I played for a few minutes more, holding the base of his cock firm and rolling and teasing my way around his head. Then as more pre-cum dribbled from him I opened up and took him right to the very back of my throat again.
“Ah, jeez,” he groaned, the hand on the nape of my neck gripping me.
I began to pump at the base in long, gliding movements, working him up to my mouth then pulling curled fingers down as I treated his head to licks with the flat of my tongue. I repeated this process over and over, absorbing the tiny trembles shivering through his body as I took him in deep then teased him shallow.
Suddenly the pressure on the back of my neck increased and his cock hardened to granite. “Be really fucking careful or you’re going to get it,” he warned in a choked voice.
I wanted it, I wanted it all so I upped the pace, intensified the grip of my fingers and my mouth.
He jerked his hips upward and his cock rammed into the back of my throat and lodged there. He groaned loud and abandoned. I beat down my gag reflex, dragged in thin slivers of air through my nose and sucked...hard. Really hard.
He cried out a string of curses that ended in, “Holy shit.” The grip on my neck increased as his cock pulsed in my mouth and a shot of rich semen flooded my tongue. His legs tensed around me so tight I feared for my ribs. I was trapped, impaled upon him. I was loving every single one of his reactions to me.
“Oh my god,” he groaned as more salty liquid spilled from his convulsing shaft. His whole body trembled around me and I swallowed fast, drank him up. Sucking mercilessly, I drained every last drop of pleasure from him. My pussy was contracting, throbbing around nothing. I could orgasm just from doing this to him, I was so near, I was so close.
Eventually his cock stilled and I let him slip from my mouth and glanced up. His head was tipped back, his mouth parted in a slack, sated way and his eyes were shut. Touching my lips to the coarse hair running to his navel, I began to slowly kiss my way up his bricked abs, shoving at his T-shirt as I went and delighting in the flavors and textures of his skin. When I reached his nipples his chest was still rising and falling rapidly. I swirled my tongue around the dark beads and they hardened and rolled.
“Lose this,” I said, my hands still in his T-shirt and my mouth now on his neck.
He opened his eyes and with one swift movement peeled it over his head and discarded it on the floor.
Finally coming face level, I rested my body against his and smiled at his glazed expression. Wiry chest hair tickled against my breasts and his softening cock lodged at my belly. I fed him a hot, open-mouthed kiss, exploring and delving deep into his mouth. He gave back as good as he got, his tongue eager, his rough-textured hands tracing the outlines of my body.
“It’s never, ever felt that intense,” he said, pulling back slightly. “That was awesome, Dana.”
I smiled and kissed his jawline right around to his ear. “Happy birthday,” I murmured.
He pushed slightly at my hips. “Get back up on the stage.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised. I thought it would get carnal down here, on the chair.
“Stage,” he said again.
You can find out more about my on-going Hot Ice series on my website.
Thanks for visiting Sunday Snog, have a great day,
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week 8 from The Glass Knot, my m/m/f novel set in The Cotswolds. Laura and Josh have just had a clandestine liason in the barn but Josh is racked with guilt that he has betrayed his husband Nick. Laura can't help but listen to their argument...
It was then I heard voices, deep voices that were loud with outbursts of emotion.
I paused and glanced through the open kitchen window.
Josh and Nick were standing by the Aga. Josh was still bare chested though his skin and hair looked damp, as though he’d shot through the shower to remove physical evidence of me; it made me think of Lady Macbeth, obsessively washing her hands over and over after the murder of the king.
Nick wore a neat red polo shirt and an expression of both fury and agony.
“Nick, please just listen,” Josh pleaded.
“Why the hell should I?”
“Because I love you, you know I do, with all my heart I just—”
“Clearly you don’t love me, not enough anyway, not if you just fucked her.” Nick flung his hand to the ceiling as though indicating that I was upstairs.
Saturday, 25 May 2013
Hello, and happy Saturday to all you Sat Spank followers! This week a snippet from Shared, my first novel with Ellora's Cave and published back in 2010. This is near the end of the book and Quinn, a sexy surgeon with a dark side, has just ordered a box of tricks to treat Ariane.
“Do as I say, Ariane, remember this is me in charge and every time you don’t do as I say I will spank you all the harder.”
I pushed to my elbows, the word spank had been used, again. My clit quivered, the exposed flesh on my behind tingled. Every time Quinn just uttered the word “spank” I got a thrill in a new, uncharted part of my being.
I heard a rustle in the box as one of Quinn’s hands swept over the orbs of my buttocks. “I love your ass,” he said in a tender voice. “So pale and creamy, so round and soft.”
And then it hit down - a whack from something hard and solid landed on my right butt cheek. I jerked forward and cried out, surprised by the sheer force.
Suddenly my whole buttock was ablaze, as though it had been pierced by a thousand needles, even the air in the room felt hot against it. Then his hand stroked over the seared skin and soothing noises escaped his lips. “So pretty,” he said. “You’re flushing pink already, I can’t wait to see you red, red and hot.”
If you read and enjoy Shared, then it has a sequel, Shared Too, which gets even kinkier including F/M/F/M sex, strap-on's and voyeuristic fun - hot stuff!
Friday, 24 May 2013
Two more great reviews for Breathe You In. I'm so happy that this book is working for readers. It's a story born from loss but it's about falling in love in unusual circumstances and it's sexy and passionate and shows all the raw emotions of the two main characters as they become acquainted mind, body and soul.
Here is what reviewer Brynna Curry said...
Review: Katie Lansdale is sifting through the pieces of her shattered life. Eighteen months earlier, a construction accident claimed the life of her beloved husband Matt. He was her whole world; every part of her life centered around being Matt's wife. Now, she is an emotional and physical wreck. She's lost weight. Her friends try to help by pushing her to go after life again, but she just can't let Matt go. Katie's grief is a tangible, palpable thing and it ripped my heart out from the beginning of this beautiful story of loss and finding love again.
After the accident, Katie chose to donate Matt's organs. Almost a little mad with grief, she becomes obsessed with the need to know who received Matt's heart and lungs. She needs to see the recipient healthy and thriving, to know that the heart that loved her so much still beats. This might have been a little odd for some readers, but showing the depth of Katie's grief made her initial actions acceptable in my eyes. People do odd things when they are grieving. She only wants a peek at the man from afar. It seems harmless, until she bumps into Ruben Strong in the museum where he works and falls in love.
Ruben was a real live wire. A Formula One mechanic, he lived his life in the fast lane of racing. Fast cars and faster women were his thing. And then, his heart starting fading away. After his heart transplant, he's slowed down, works at a museum and lives a quite careful life. He and Katie click immediately. He doesn't know that she is the donor's widow. This makes for a strong conflict between the pair. Ruben is a broken hero, broken but still whole. He needs to feel alive again and Katie does that for him.
Any more and I'd be giving away the story. Breathe You In is both sexy and sweet, tragic and hopeful. The level of emotion Ms. Harlem evokes not only from the characters but the reader as well shows a rare gift. In a few short pages, she managed to make me cry, laugh, and yearn for this couple to connect. Breathe You In has become my favorite title by Ms. Harlem to date. As always, I can't wait to see what else she has in store for her readers.
And here is what Victoria Blisse said...
Lily Harlem really pulls at the heart strings with this unusual set up for a romance. The characters are strong and the emotions gut-wrenching in places. Of course there are scorching hot love scenes, filled with great passion but there is a lot of romance, plot and back story here too. I think it all comes together beautifully to make a cohesive erotic romance that isn’t just about the sex. It’s much, much more than that. This is an interesting set up for a love triangle that you’re just not going to expect and you will soon find yourself engaging with the fabulous characters Lily has created. You’ll never look at peacocks in the same way again!No peacocks were harmed in the writing of this book though, I’ve been assured of that!
As always, a million thanks to readers who take the time to put down their thoughts after enjoying one of my books. It makes it all feel worthwhile.
Thursday, 23 May 2013
Sydney Tyler is renting a barn conversion in Northern France, planning to spend the fortnight getting some words down on her novel. Unfortunately, construction work in the other half of the building puts an end to her peace and quiet. Genuinely upset that the builders are going to disturb her, the property’s handsome English owner, Harry Bay, offers to make it up to her. He’s a little flirtatious, and after spotting his wedding ring, Sydney keeps him at arm’s length. Sexy as he is, she has no intention of getting involved with a married man. But when Sydney learns the truth about Harry, will their mutual attraction spur them on to work through their emotional baggage and make this more than just a French affair?
Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-french-affair/
Sydney Tyler jumped so hard that her fingers slammed down onto the laptop’s keyboard and she typed a bunch of gobbledegook.
Kashfkjsdhlfknsdlfvn sdlkch awoeduioh ahdwklc
Gasping, she clutched at her chest as her heart thumped rapidly and painfully. “What the fucking hell was that?” she said to the empty room.
Pushing her chair back from the desk, she stepped over to the window. Peering out into the brilliant sunshine, she saw something on the lawn that she had absolutely not been expecting. Workmen.
She groaned. So much for her peaceful writer’s retreat. She’d planned to get a good chunk of her novel down in the fortnight she was away, and now it looked as though her peace was going to be monumentally shattered by banging, drilling and God knows what else.
Sighing, she gave the windowsill a pathetic thump in her frustration. She might have been pissed off, but she was no vandal. And besides, she didn’t want those noisy buggers in her part of the building fixing things—having them next door was bad enough.
Sydney really could not believe her shitty luck. When she’d booked the cottage in the French village of Monthiers over the phone a couple of months ago, she’d dealt with a fellow Brit called Harry Bay, who she’d suspected was the owner. On arrival, though, a timid French woman had met her and let her into the luxurious barn conversion before handing over the keys and explaining a little bit about the local area. Apparently, in the mornings, someone came along the village streets, selling fresh bread and pastries.
There wasn’t much else to tell, it seemed, as the village had nothing except a church—almost opposite her accommodation—and a tavern. It was also lacking—she’d quickly discovered—a mobile signal. Not even a single bar illuminated her screen. Her phone was now no more than a watch, alarm clock and calendar. If there was an emergency, she was screwed. But on a much lighter note, it was one less distraction. She could just get on with what she was here to do, blissfully undisturbed.
The arrival of workmen was incredibly irritating. Her temporary landlord hadn’t mentioned there’d be anyone working next door. If he had, she wouldn’t have booked the place—the quiet and idyllic location were the whole reason for choosing this property, this area. Even though there was no way he could have known she was there to work, common courtesy would dictate that he told her. Perhaps he was just interested in taking her money and didn’t give a damn about whether she had a satisfactory stay or not. There was nothing to be done about it now, unfortunately. She’d paid for the fortnight, and she was buggered if she was going to cut and run, pissing that money down the drain. She’d just have to find a way around the disturbance, and console herself that she could leave a snarky write up on a review site when she got home.
Finding out the builders’ working hours would be a good start—she could attempt to write around them then. Or perhaps she could make use of the headphones she’d stuffed into her case, without ever thinking they’d get used. Some loud rock music would drown out the din from next door and hopefully allow her to work. It was worth a try. She hoped they were only doing a small job that would only take a couple of days, but deep down she knew they weren’t. They were renovating the whole place so it was as beautiful as the half she was in.
She was just about to go in search of the aforementioned headphones when one of the men pottering around on the lush back garden stepped away from the others. Standing in a shaft of sunlight, he pulled his arms high above his head and stretched, dragging up his t-shirt to reveal a lean stomach with a fine line of dark hair leading enticingly into the waistband of his jeans.
Oh yum, she thought, perhaps having builders next door wouldn’t be so bad after all. Especially if they all looked like him. She continued to watch as the man dropped his arms to his sides and watched the others. His dark hair was overlong and stuck out at crazy angles, as though he’d been running his fingers through it. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes from this distance, but she could make out enough detail of his features to see that he was handsome. Gorgeous, actually. Close up he could be much less attractive, but from her upstairs window, the view was pretty fine.
Just then, he glanced across at her side of the long barn, which was divided into two holiday cottages. He caught sight of her standing there, and his face dropped. He looked back at the builders, then returned his gaze to her again. Pointing at the group of noisy men, he slapped his forehead with his other hand. Finally, he pointed at his chest, then up at her. He was indicating he wanted to come in. She paused, then nodded. Common sense told her she shouldn’t be letting a strange man into her temporary home, but then, there were several large, bulky men milling around, so if they were a dodgy sort, she and the locked door would have no chance against them, especially with no means of calling for assistance. She could scream, of course, but she doubted anyone would come. The walls of the building were extremely thick—though sadly, no match for banging and drilling—the nearest house was a little way down the road, and by day, the village was all but deserted. There was only one business that she knew of—the tavern—so the other inhabitants would have to go elsewhere to work. To nearby Chateau-Thierry, perhaps, or even further afield.
She’d just have to hope that the handsome man—probably the head honcho of their group—was also a decent one. Presumably they were a reputable company, as they’d been hired by the British owners, who were usually more wary of cowboy builders, and given the horror stories and dedicated TV programmes back home, it was understandable.
Before she got even halfway down the stairs, a knock came at the door. Okay, so he was polite enough to knock, that was good. She moved a little faster, careful not to trip in her flip flops and go hurtling downwards. Once she was safely on the ground floor, she twisted the key in the door and opened it.
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women's Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9