Special treat today, I wrote a teaser from somewhere in the future of Pandora's story. I haven't quite puzzled out which fairy tale princess their daughter is, but you can bet she's one you know and love. Don't forget to show your love to the other teasers and hit the blog for links to their stories.
Russel shivered in his fur-lined cloak. “Can’t you do something about this?” he asked his wife.
“About winter?” she asked. “Of course I can’t. Weather magic is far beyond my skill and even then, it wouldn’t change the season.”
Russel grumbled and stalked off ahead of Pandora.
She clicked her tongue as he passed and shook her head.
“What?” he asked in a growl. The cold made his nose drip and his fingers ache. He hated winter with a passion and now he was forced out into it by their daughter and her grandmother. He would kill Helen when he saw her next.
Pandora reached out and pulled the hood of his cloak up. She ran her hands along the fur while whispering. “Better?” she asked.
He regretted his hostility. The hood felt like it had been sitting in front of a fire for the last hour instead of catching snow. “Yes, thank you.”
Pandora’s hand went to her throat. “Thanks? For me? Are you feverish perhaps? Maybe you need more than a heat spell.”
He didn’t dignify that with an answer. Not a verbal one.
He plucked a late bloom, shining with ice crystals, and handed it to her.
Hello! This is my first Vampire Friday, and I'm going back to my first erotic novella. Blue Moon House was spurred by my Twilight Fanfiction habit, however, I wanted more classic vampires for my own writing. These drink human blood and intoxicate their prey, but they also adhere to the principles of BDSM to keep their prey safe while they feed. Be sure to visit the other Vampire Friday participants: Linda Hamonou. If you're ready, enter Blue Moon House:
Pressing Julia’s face to the bed, Sophia’s hand came down hard, making Julia wince at the stinging. Then there was burning as Sophia’s teeth broke the skin of Julia’s left buttock. Another spank and another bite.
“Tell me you are prepared,” Sophia demanded.
“I-I am,” Julia stammered. Harry had instructed her to take extra iron and over-hydrate in anticipation of being fed upon this weekend. She expected Sophia wouldn’t be the only one to bite her. All these bites were quick though, small blood loss. Julia was sure the purpose was to put Sophia’s saliva into the wounds. It had an aphrodisiac effect, making Julia start to sway her hips as she became hotter and wetter. Sophia indulged her, fingers stirring her pussy only to stop and spank her again for several minutes, long enough for the edge of pleasure to recede into pain. Then Sophia would bite again and start fondling.
The spanking was followed by a more thorough fucking, and then by a flogging. Most recently Sophia had used a wand, vibrating Julia to orgasm. Julia was covered in sweat, shuddering. Her legs collapsed, and Sophia’s hands alone kept her from falling down. She replaced the wand with a new toy, a rabbit, held inside her by a harness. Sophia turned on the settings and held Julia’s legs as the toy began to rotate and vibrate. When Julia clenched and the toy jarred, slowing its turning, Sophia’s eyebrows raised. However, as soon as Julia relaxed at all the straps pulled it back in. Julia bit her tongue, pulled against the ropes on her arms, screamed freely, but the toy didn’t budge, didn’t cease. After a while, Sophia turned up the setting.
Sophia’s blue eyes filled Julia’s swimming vision. Her last command had been to look at her. Her throat was hoarse from screaming in pleasure, in pain; her chest was heaving with the effort of her vaginal contractions, pulling her diaphragm, her thighs; all of her was consumed by the continued climax. Julia whimpered, licking her lips, her mouth dry.
“There you are,” Sophia murmured and the grinding suddenly stopped. Julia fell, sliding to the floor around Sophia’s legs. The vampire picked Julia up easily and laid her on the bed Julia had been leaning against. “You are beautiful, Julia. Remember, you don’t have to join us to continue to come here. This is not an ultimatum, only a choice.” Julia sighed as Sophia slipped an ice chip between her lips. Holding it in her teeth, Julia let the liquid run over her tongue and down her throat while Sophia wiped her down with a wet cloth.
Warmth filled her cheeks and she smiled brightly. She
continued to lean on her cane, but stood a little straighter admiring the man
approaching, his jaw, his nose, those bright blue eyes. If only he weren’t so
loyal to his dead wife, she would wrap her arms around him and take him into
her heart and bed.
He hunched, straightening to see the figure ahead, her round
hips, her high cheekbones. God, he loved her. If only her dead husband weren’t
his best friend, he would kneel…well, not that, worship her and make her his
wife and lover.
Check out all the other interpretations of this picture by visiting the blog.
Another Thursday, another taste of sleeping beauty. She's been spelled asleep, queue the Prince. The whole story is available on WattPad and there are more fantastic tastes available on the blog.
Russel was his father's favourite son. Second in line, he wouldn't likely take the throne, but he had the guile, the drive to usurp his brother. If he ever wanted to reign, Marcus wouldn't stand a chance. He rode back from his hunt, the pelt of the wolf that had terrorized a village strapped behind him. There was a more precious pelt underneath. He'd found a golden fox while he hunted and bagged that as well. It was safely hidden until he could take it to the furrier and be handsomely paid.
The shoes of his horse clicked on cobblestones and he watched for animals and children darting around him. The shoes were perfect for dirt and mud, giving his mount purchase, but it was easy to slide on these smooth stones. Several women stared at him, their eyes following his progress. He smirked, knowing what they were thinking. Perhaps he'd come down from the palace, visit the tavern, take one of the ladies home.
The daughter of the town elder had been happy for his company, even smeared with the blood of the wolf. She'd washed him, bandaged the small wound on his leg, and settled him in her own bed. Her father had argued, but the girl was old enough to make her own mind, old enough to enjoy the hero come home.
She had been fun for a night. Many women had shared his bed and left happily. Few had tried to push for advantage, trying to gain his attentions for a second night. The few who had were quickly set to right. He was the prince, not their lover. He would not be at a woman's beck and call.
Giving his reins to a stable boy, he released the pelts and carried them in on his shoulder, dried brown blood smudging his cloak.
“Russel,” his father greeted him. “You've returned already? And with the culprit in hand. Well done, son.” The king clapped him on the back, and led him to the thrones where the wolf pelt might sit for the night, telling all of his heroic act.
“Yes, and with more for the bargain,” he said, smiling. He flipped the wolf over to reveal the fox.
“Golden fox,” his father murmured, running his hand through the soft, fine, shimmering fur. “I have always wanted one of these.”
“I'll trade it for the birthright,” Russel answered, smirking.
His father punched him in the arm, hard. He wavered, but didn't budge. “You know I can't trade for that. You know what you must do to get it.”
“Should I trade his pelt as well?” he asked, joking. He wasn't about to kill his brother.
“Crass,” his father said, laughing. “Such black humour. Go, take your prize with you. Then return, we have a guest tonight.”
History is revamped in this erotic tale of choice removed as the duty to submit wars with the desire to resist. Abigail Prescott seeks to prove she is not a witch marked by Satan. She willingly submits to her governor’s thorough examination but it is said the witch cannot feel, that Satan will mark her in some secret spot upon her body. A spot deadened to pain … and to pleasure. And though she submits, she is ill-prepared for her governor’s shameful grueling probe, as it permits him to see and test her every inch and every hollow…
This week I am featuring a tease from Arla Dahl, and boy does it have punch.
He watched her closely as she cried, naked and folded on the floor. Each ragged breath jostled her breasts, the same as when they had been struck by the crop. Her responses had baited him, challenged him to strike harder, and with each flick of his wrist, she had cried out, moaned, filled the space between them with the scent of her arousal. A scent that hovered still.
Engorged past pain, he took an awkward step toward her, then stopped and cursed need for its persistence. He dared not move as a torturous, cock-twitching wave of pleasure and pain all but emptied him. He breathed through it, fought for at least one mere scrap of control.
He turned away from the sight of her, forced himself to focus on the tasks ahead. He set a kettle of water to heat on the hearth. Without a glance her way, he strode to the table and moved the candles he had set there to a ledge on the wall above it. Better to prepare the table now, while she did not watch, than to have her grow fearful and resistant as understanding dawned.
He took a handful of leather strips from a pile on the ledge and chose four according to length. He looped each through iron rings mounted at the table’s four corners, then, with eyes closed, sat back against the table’s wide edge and breathed fully.
Slowly, finally in full control, he looked at her and saw only an accused. “Abigail.”
With a gasp, she scrambled to her feet. Sniffed back tears and awkwardly tried to block her breasts and her sex from view with her arms, her hands.
He waited for her to settle and when she did not, he folded his arms across his chest and tipped his head in challenge. “Only those with the mark hide what they have.”
It seemed a struggle for her to lower her arms and clasp her hands behind her. Finally she did. A brief moment later, she drew a long breath and lifted her chin.
Though tempted to commend her composure, he refrained. “Take the crop from the mantel and bring it here.”
She inched toward the mantel and grabbed the crop. His gaze scanned her lovely body as she moved toward him, her breasts and hips swaying with each step. Her hand trembled as she held the crop out to him. When he was through with this examination, he would lay her beneath him and make her whole body tremble. He would forget the women who waited, the townsfolk and all, and see that her every inch was covered in his scent, his seed, for surely a joining with her would wring him dry.
He set his hands in his lap lest she see her effect on him, then inclined his head toward a spot on the table. “Lay it there.”
Her hair brushed his shoulder as she set the crop beside him. A slight curl lingered there as she turned and lifted her gaze to his. He fondled the strand, marveled at its silken texture then arranged it in front of her shoulder just so, grazing his fingertips down to the end where it reached her breast. His gaze traveled the path of his fingertips – over the tops of each breast and down the valley between them.
Her nipples hardened as his gaze and fingertips touched on them. He pressed a thumb to one, casually rubbed it until it hardened further, watching her eyes the whole time. They fluttered closed in immediate response.
He dropped his hand from her and her eyes slowly opened, then widened as if surprised by her own responses. His smile formed on its own. He tamped it down, pleased at her desire to obey, warmed by her inability to do so.
“Go to the chest,” he said, and pointed to it. “You will see two amber vials. Bring them here.”
When she turned, he received his first rearview of her. He weighed the sight, imagined the soft white flesh of her rump filling his hands, though not quite spilling from them the way her breasts had. He would mold them, knead them, test them for sensitivity. He would spread them wide and examine the tight bud hidden between them.
Both loving and hating her effect on him, he grasped his arousal through his breeches, squeezing tight as if to deflate it merely by strength of hand.
She knelt daintily and leaned into the chest, offering a new view of herself with splendid abandon. He squeezed himself harder. Breathed deeply until the pain subsided and only a sweet throbbing ache remained.
He palmed the crop, then laid it in his lap when she turned back to him.
“Set them here,” he said pointing to where the crop had just been. “Then lean forward. Flatten yourself to the wood and grasp the far end of the table. Widen your stance, Abigail. And do not let go.”
Arla Dahl is a lover and avid reader of all things sexy and suspenseful. In her Immoral Virtue Trilogy, the horrors of the 17th Century witch trials are exposed, examined and reversed. Deeply moved by the viciousness of times, Arla created stories that twist an already twisted history, and turned the very thing which labeled the accused susceptible to the temptations of evil into the one thing that would set them free. Lust. Follow Arla on Facebook, Twitter and Google+, and read further tales of the witch trials on her blog, Notes from Arla.
“Get back here, cunt.” “You stay away from me you son of a bitch.”
“I’ll go where I fucking want, whore, and you will do what I tell you.”
“Go to bed, you alcoholic asshole.”
Jean put her head on her knees and tried to block out the shouts, thumps and screams. She couldn’t. She’d never been able. No matter how loud she played her music, how much she covered her ears, she could still hear them fighting. At least it was a familiar sound. Once, one of her mother’s friends had gotten caught in the middle. That had been worse.
“Jeannie? Come here, Jeannie.”
Jean slid down from her bed and scooched her way to the wall with the mirror. It amazed her that her father hadn’t come and broken it. Maybe it was because she kept it here, on the floor behind her bed and not on the wall.
“It’s going to be okay, Jeannie. Just like it always is.”
It wasn’t okay, and would never be okay, but it ended. They would exhaust one another, or one would knock the other unconscious and there would be quiet.
Her reflection hugged her.
Bang! New sounds were never good.
Make sure you take a moment and visit our blog. Read all the fantastic teasers, none more than 200 words.
This provocative story is about a young man who was initiated into a clandestine sexual society. He was spirited to the Middle East, from his UK boarding school. He attended the Bahriji School (Oasis,) in The United Arab Emirates in preparation for serving in Harems for the wealthy and elite.
It is also a love story between the young man and his ‘Valet’ who served as his chaperone and mentor during the boy’s Harem service.
I had a privileged and unique upbringing in Malaysia, where I was known as a "sissy boy." Following in my brothers' footsteps, I was sent to an exclusive boarding school in England. It is there that I was inducted into a clandestine organization, E.R.O.S. The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society. For four years, unbeknownst to my family, I was willingly and happily part of a Harem.
My story has been kept under wraps for close to 45 years. The correct moment has arrived for me to make known my unique education.
Bernard Foong was born in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. At the age of 8, he was assisting his aunt and cousin, learning the art of sewing and fabrics/colors matching. He attended an exclusive private boarding school in the United Kingdom before obtaining his Diploma in Fashion Design at the Harrow College of Art & Technology in London, England. He went on to complete his Master of Design at the Royal College of Art & Design, London, England. During his college years he won several international fashion awards and was already retailing bridal and evening dresses to several well known department stores in England. Liberty of London, Selfridges, Harrods and Harvey Nichols to name a few that carried his designs. His Royal College of Art graduation wedding/evening wear collection was sold to Liberty of London and displayed in their store windows for the entire month of June that year.
For four years, he worked for Liberty’s bridal department as their in-house designer until a trip to Hong Kong, while working on a freelance project for ‘Bird’s’(casual wear) company, he was recruited by the Hong Kong Polytechnic University as their Fashion professor for the next 6 years. During his stay in Hong Kong, he freelanced for numerous fashion companies. From designing casual wear, swimwear, lingerie, and fur garments, men’s wear, bridal and evening fashions to accessories (bags, shoes, and head-wear). He also participated and organized numerous fashion shows, events, functions, and presentations in the Asia Pacific region.
Working for Keys Far East Hong Kong as chief lingerie designer - travelling extensively to the United States, he was soon recruited as an Associate Fashion Design/Illustration Professor to the University of Wisconsin, Madison and also lectured at the Minneapolis College of Art & Design for a couple of years.
Foong was then appointed as the Fashion Development Manager by an established department store – Parkson Grand (22 stores in Malaysia and one in Shanghai, China). Producing under the label, Natural Life by Bernard Foong, he designed casual-wear collections for the Parkson Grand’s flagship store in Kuala Lumpur. After a couple of years later, he was invited by the Temasek Polytechnic, Singapore to join their design school to establish a Fashion Design department. For two years, he assisted several founding members of the design school - working on the fashion department’s teaching curriculum.
The Fitzgerald Theatre Department, University of Hawaii, Manoa, Oahu, Hawaii awarded a full scholarship for Foong to complete his second Master of Art in Theatre Costuming. Now a resident on the Island of Maui, he has assisted many charity organizations in their fund raising events with his extravagant fashion and performance shows/presentations. In 2005, he and his partner, Mr. Walter Jay Bissett opened Fire Dragon Bistro Orient & Design Shop. He also designs costumes/fashions for numerous theatrical productions in Hawaii and abroad.
Appointed as chief lingerie designer for Cerie International Limited – Hong Kong, his lingerie designs can be found in major department stores in Canada and the United Kingdom.
He showcased the BERNARD FOONG R-T-W collections and BERNARD FOONG @ Modern Classic Ltd. (an established – Hong Kong bridal & evening wear company) collections in Hong Kong. His 2008 & 2009 bridal/evening/bridal lingerie fashion show, “Grace” & “Coming Up Roses” were premiered at Hong Kong Fashion Week in July 2007 and January 2008 respectively at the Hong Kong Convention & Exhibition Center, garnering positive interest in many Asian press reviews, including a China nationwide television broadcast of his latest collection. Aika (International Opera Singer) wore several Bernard Foong special occasion dresses at her Japan & European tour in September & October 2009.
Foong was the chief Creative Director for Official (Special Occasion fashion manufacturing company) Guangzhou, China producing – BERNARD FOONG Couture (specialty one-of-a-kind creations), White (RTW - Wedding/Special Occasion wear), Foxy Cute (Smart Casual/Cocktail wear), SexZ (decorative bustier) & Diva Bitch (sexual lingerie inner/outer-wear) collections.
It's another Sunday and I'm starting to scrounge a bit, using Google to find new publishers, so please, if you have a publisher I have not featured, let me know! Today our favourite search engine turned up Cobblestone Press, an electronic only publisher of romance and erotica.
Two of their recent releases fall into their Blue line. This is an imprint for established authors in the house to showcase shorter but no less steamy work. Nikka Michaels has released Mile High Service, a prequel to Lip Service. Seth Coleman is a talented surgeon who has the career he’s worked toward his whole life but is still missing something. As he’s standing in an airport store contemplating buying a tie, he meets handsome stranger, Carson Randall. After sparks fly, they both realize they want the same thing. The second in the Blue line is Thomas Briar'sHaute Couture Romance. Bethany, in spite of being beautiful and successful, doesn’t date seriously because she knows there can never be a happily ever after for her, but on the day Brian walks into her life, she tells herself the date will only be for thrills and that nothing serious will ever come of it. So just imagine Bethany's surprise when Brian shows her what true love really means.
Audra Carusso has released the first Men of Marshall County book, Tempting Levi. Levi Dawson works hard on the farm for Clay Thatcher, doing his best he can to make an honest living. But when the farmer's daughter moves back home unexpectedly, his world is rocked in more ways than one. Long gone is the little girl of the past, and in her place, is a woman who tests every limit of his control. Emma Thatcher has given up the city life to move back home to help her father run the family business. Reluctant at first, her situation becomes much more enticing after seeing one farmhand in particular. The reunion catches her off guard, rekindling old feelings for the man who was once off limits. When her father lands in financial trouble, a battle with the bank complicates life for all of them, but is it all what it seems? What happens when the past is never really left, in the past?
The third book in Anna Leigh Keaton's A Dirty Little Affair series is The Masquerade. Frustrated with their undefined long-distance relationship between herself and Bobby, Scarlett calls the whole thing off and tells him she was better off—had less heartache—being alone. Bobby has to do something to hold on to her. He’s falling in love and can’t let her run now. He sends her a gift and invitation she can’t resist and at the masquerade ball, Cinderella starts to realize she just might have found her Prince Charming…even if they do live a couple of thousand miles apart. The Rekindling of a Dying Flame is a new release from J.D. Perry. Five years ago Assistant State's Attorney Emily Burton and her husband, Douglas, lost a baby girl. Since the death she'd wrapped herself in her work, distancing herself from her husband. Will the death of her childhood sweetheart's mother unlock the door to her emotional cell?
J.R. White has released a new shifter novel Fox Hunt. Living a nomadic lifestyle, Dilly is accustomed to being on the move, but the Federal Witch Hunters are after more than broken wands. Now they’re hunting for wolf pelts, and Dilly and her family are in their sights. Leader of his werewolf bloodline, Mike travels across the country in search of a family traveling through the Southern Appalachian Mountains. Finding his mate in the headstrong Dilly, Mike is faced with the possibility of war with not only the burners but his own mate.
Bound to Love is the latest release from Mia Petrova in the Tryst line.
REGRETTING…Elena Dawson used to neutralize those with extraordinary abilities, but she decides to take a step back and walk away.
…RUNNING…Now she’s on the run, compelling people by doing what she wants. Everything changes when Elena comes across a man that makes her feel impossible things.
…LOVING. Logan Stark was about to get himself killed when the criminal does exactly what he was told, put the weapon down. Logan wants to know everything about the woman. They discover they have more in common than they realize.
The last release I have to share with you is Lady Knight by Mnicoa Corwin. I'm a fantasy kind of girl, so this title really appeals to me. Lady Morigan lives her life by a knight's code. As a Chevelresse for the Order of the Hatchet she maintains the right to her own lands and riches. Alexander, a knight from across the sea, meets his first female opponent and loses. Can he get over the sting of the loss long enough to accept an invitation to her bed? With love, lust, and marriage all up for grabs who will come out the winner?
And here is an excerpt!
Swords flashed in the sunlight. The crowd was caught in the action, on its feet, staring enrapt as the foreign knights fought, helm against helm, armor reflecting the sun in broad bright beams. One of the fighters bore a red ribbon on the hilt of a long sharp sword. The crimson silk fluttered in the wind, a direct juxtaposition of serenity with carnage. The knight with the token swirled around smoothly, trapped the other knight’s weapon, and pushed him to the ground, ending the fight with no bloodshed. A bloodthirsty groan of disappointment from the crowd echoed through the arena as the loser stood. He raised his returned sword in salute to the winner before turning toward the hosts of the event.
The queen stood and addressed the winner. “Bien hecho, Cavallera.” Well done.
The winner presented the hilt of the sword so the lady might remove her token while the loser watched. Narrowing his eyes at his opposition, he noticed how small the fighter was and how very clean the knight’s armor appeared. No knight who saw battle often boasted such immaculate armor, and then there was the way the queen looked at the knight, not in awe or with intimacy, but as a friend.
The loser ripped off his helm and stared at the winner. The knight was a hand span shorter than he but still…dainty.
“I would see the face of the knight who bested me,” he said, addressing the winner.
The winning knight turned to the loser and lifted off the gleaming helm. A mass of red hair fell down her back in a long plait, stark against the shine of her armor.
The losing knight stared at the victor. A woman.
Now disregarding her presence he turned toward the reigning monarch.
“My king, why was a woman allowed to enter the lists?”
“Sir Alexander, check yourself. Lady Morisa is a cavallera of the Order of the Hatchet,” the king answered, leaning over the balcony, intent in his ire.
“How does that matter, my king?
Morisa addressed Alexander. “Sir, it means I fought for my title, and I intend to keep it.”
“But you are a woman,” he said, disdain dripping from his lips.
“Indeed, sir, yet, I’ve killed men, fought in battle, born a son, and buried a husband. I also bear the title of Cavallera, and I own the title to my land and my wealth. As I just showed, I can hold on to both.” The lady put the tip of the long sword against the dirt, waiting to see if he would challenge her again. He would have liked to if it weren’t for the fact she’d beat him a second time. Losing to a woman once was bad enough.
Alexander curled his lip and stalked from the arena. He committed a taboo against the king and queen by leaving them before dismissal, but he didn’t need to cause more problems raging around with his anger unchecked.
There were many men who fell to his blade and during games he’d been beaten as often as he won but never had he been so dishonored as to be assigned a woman for an opponent. What sort of place could allow women to enter the lists? His men back home in England would never believe it, not that he would tell them. He had no wish for them to know he’d lost to a woman.
He travelled to this land to find a wife to take home, bear him sons, and keep his house. To be beaten by a woman would only make him a mockery in front of the court’s ladies.
* * * * *
Morisa straightened the bodice of her dress behind an expanse of banner hanging on the wall before slipping out into the crowd making merry across the castle’s inner bailey. Dressing as a lady never appealed to her. The only time she did so was when she attended court functions. She caught sight of a deep blue tunic worn by the knight she’d beaten earlier in the day. All evening she’d waited for him to make an appearance. She wanted to try to smooth some of his anger at his loss to a lady. Not many men took it well. Her blood still pumped through her body faster than normal, and she needed a drink or a man to curb the edge. A combination she’d found to cure anything that ailed her.
Sir Alexander moved away from the pillar he braced himself against, and she trailed him with her eyes across the expanse of the courtyard until he stopped to grab a new cup of mead. His brown hair was brushed away from his face, but it still hung down to his chin in soft ringlets. Somehow it shone as if he’d added oil to make it appear so. She remembered his gray eyes, vibrant with fire and anger, and instantly she knew an arousal unlike many she’d felt before. His body matched hers in strength. Like a honed weapon, he would make for perfect bed sport. She would have approached him about joining her bed tonight if he hadn’t clearly shown how much he abhorred the thought of a woman fighting or, worse, besting him.
He shouldn’t be ashamed; she’d bested many men, not that he would understand. A servant passed bearing a tray with more mead, and she swiped a cup while watching Alexander. He seemed forlorn; if she couldn’t get him to her bed she might at least try and cheer him about his loss.
She approached him from the front so she wouldn’t startle him. His eyes locked on hers the moment he noticed her approach, and the zing of that gaze passed through her body all the way to her toes, like lightning brightening up the dark and dormant corners of an old and dusty room.
Morisa curtsied before addressing him. “Sir knight.”
He inclined his head. “Cavallera.”
Moving in closer so they could hear each other over the din of people was the first part of her plan. He maintained an appropriate space between them, and she almost wished she could drag him closer by his tunic
“Are you ashamed for losing to me, sir?” she asked and then took a sip of her mead. Its thick flavor wasn’t as good as the ale, but it would do.
His forehead wrinkled as he stared into his own cup.
“My lady, in my homeland, woman do not fight. They keep the house and the hearth. I was just…surprised. You fought with admirable skill. I think the better fighter won.” He let out a sigh as if it pained him to admit such things.
Morisa smiled. At least he could accept that fact. He didn’t seem the type to forgive so easily.
“Sir, would you escort me for some air?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He executed a courtly bow, and she set her hand upon his before they strode together out of the inner courtyard. Once outside she let herself revel in the heat of his hand under hers. His skin was hot, like holding the base of a candle lit for a length of time.
“Why did you join the games, lady?” The path others had worn before them crunched underneath their feet, but Morisa focused on the seductive timbre of his voice.
She thought for a moment too long and then shook herself into answering.
“I just wanted to get out of my home for a while. My son is on a crusade, and I needed to get out from under the bustle of the women.”
He let out a bark of laughter, and she found herself chuckling with him. His whole presence seemed infectious.
“You do know that you are a woman?”
“Indeed, sir, I do.”
He smiled again, and they stopped near a wall to breathe in the cool night air. The summer brought blistering heat during the day but cool, calm evenings. A companionable silence followed as they eyed the other revelers wandering the outer courtyard but covertly glanced at each other under the moonlight.
“My lady, why is it you never remarried after your husband died?”
She looked at the passing group for a moment, his question catching her off guard.
“I inherited his land and wealth along with my own bequeathed to me by the crown. I just didn’t feel the need, and there aren’t many suitors for a woman who can best a man with her sword.”
He grinned. “Indeed.”
“I’ll be honest, sir. I get quite lonely at times.”
If that wasn’t an invitation she didn’t know what was. She would also know one way or another if the attraction was mutual. She swallowed as he moved closer. The scent of clean sweat and sage surrounded her, entering her senses, drawing her into him like a rabbit in a trap.
“My lady, was that an invitation?” That voice, it turned her insides into liquid and made her crave things she hadn’t wanted in a long time.
She grinned, met his eyes, and leaned in so her lips brushed his, softly, barely a whisper of a touch. Just as quickly as she moved into him, she turned and strode up the path away. How long would he wait before he came to her rooms?
New Release from Anne Conley, The Fixer Upper, a standalone novel from the author of the Stories of
Serendipity and The Four Winds series.
James, a UK based chef, has tried to make a career with EAT-TV, but his womanizing ways aren’t what
they’re looking for with their wholesome family style image. However, the producers of a new
reality show about single life, The Fixer Upper, think he’s perfect. His agent convinces him
to give it a shot. His overpriced bachelor pad is needing a mortgage payment, and he needs a job
to support the tween-aged daughter that’s recently been dumped in his lap.
Margaret Dumas is control freak who has micromanaged her marriage to shambles. When she
makes a deal with her mother to quit fixing her up if she’ll do this new reality show, she thinks she’s
won. No more blind dates, no more friendly advice, no more “chance meetings” with her
Mother’s friends’ sons. The only catch is she’s got to go on detestable reality television and
expose her dating habits to a total stranger who is supposed to “fix” her and make her a dating
machine. As if.
When Margaret meets James, they clash on the surface, but deep down they recognize something in the
other that they want: redemption.
Excerpt from The Fixer Upper:
She expelled a puff of air. “You’re the one who’s been telling me to lighten up, James.
You’re the one who’s been telling me to relax my expectations.” She settled a hand on her hip,
drawing his attention back to her jeans. “I’m not looking for anything beyond tonight. I
don’t want a marriage proposal out of all this. I’ve already done that.” She inhaled deeply,
and as she let it out, she said, breathily, “I just want one night.” Her voice hitched and James took
a step closer
“One night? That’s all?”
She nodded. “With you.”
He could give her one night. His cock leapt at the thought.
Her eyelids were at half-mast as she looked up at his lips. He saw her tongue snake out, swiping a
band of moisture across her top lip. An attractive flush rose to her cheeks, and James watched
the pulse pound in her elegant throat.
He was a goner.
He tucked a stray piece of blonde silk behind her ear, using the motion to allow his
hand access to the rest of her hair, which he sank his fingers in, grasping her scalp and pulling her
Against her lips, he whispered, “You’re sure about this?”
A needy whimper escaped her as she lifted herself up onto tiptoes and meshed her lips with his.
She clutched at the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, and James returned the kiss willingly, but not
before turning to Gary with a, “Get the fuck out.” A smirk was his only response before the
camera was off his shoulder and Gary ambled out the door.
Prying her mouth open with his lips, his tongue sank into her depths, swirling around against her
tongue. She tasted like the dessert he’d made, and so much more. He groaned as his
other hand went to her waist and stroked under her t-shirt, finding warm smooth skin pebbled with
This kiss was every bit as good as the last one, making him think of lazy mornings in bed, her naked body
crushed against his, kissing just like this. For hours. God he wanted
As his tongue made love to her mouth, his hands caressed her body,
pulling her against him. Her responses were as fervent as his, her pelvis grinding against his
erection. She wanted one night with him, and he wanted so much more. But if the night
started now, he would make use of his time wisely.
Lifting her, James turned and sat her on the countertop so he could focus better on her, all the while
trying to kiss her senseless.
Available on Amazon,Barnes and Noble, Kobo and iTunes (but every time I open iTunes to snatch a link, my
computer crashes, but it's there.)
About the Author:
written her entire life and has the boxes of angst-filled journals and poetry to prove it. She’s been
writing for public consumption for the last four years. Currently she is writing two romance
series. In Stories of Serendipity, she explores real people living real lives in small town
Texas in a contemporary romance setting. In The Four Winds, she chronicles God’s four
closest archangels, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, falling in love and becoming human. She
lives in rural East Texas with her husband and children in her own private oasis, where she prides herself
in her complete lack of social skills, choosing instead to live with the people inside her head.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/anneconleyauthor, or you can friend me at
In celebration of the release of the fourth Blue Moon House book, I'd like to give you another taste from Slave. You can find many other excerpts here on my blog. As part of my release, I've had the pleasure to share excerpts on other blogs as well. They are all different, so you can see some of the many sides shown in this novella.
This is Thursday Tasters and I am not alone in sharing from a published work or a work in progress. Our blog lists all the great tastes for you to sample.
Bart pulled his head back to gasp for breath before kissing the boy. Bart’s fingers, still oily, slipped over Will’s hips, teasing the crack of his ass.
“I’m hard,” he reminded Will in a whisper. Will groaned. He’d probed himself with a finger, just enough to know how good it might feel. He took Bart’s place leaning over the chair.
“Fuck me,” he said, trying to make it a command rather than pleading. He was fairly certain he didn’t succeed.
“Martha, more oil,” Bart called. “You can anoint me,” he teased. Will didn’t look back, but the smacking sound was most likely their kiss. “You know what to do,” he told his wife, just before Will felt oil sliding over his ass.
“Look how he shines,” Martha gushed, her hand caressing.
Bart must have slapped it away because the next hand was larger and stronger, Bart’s. He gripped Will and thrust toward him.
Will screamed, not expecting pain. Fire burned along one edge of his asshole.
Bart pulled out quickly. “Are you well? Will?”
Will gasped and bent his head to the chair back. “Burning,” he groaned.
Bart touched his cock to Will’s ass again, but this time the pain wasn’t a surprise. Will breathed through it as he had many a lashing. He leaned back when Bart didn’t thrust. The slow inching minimized the burn, though he expected if Bart fucked him, it would return.
Bart held him, and Will straightened, only bracing on the arms of the chair. Bart’s arms wrapped around Will’s chest, his fingers teasing nipples. He kissed and nibbled Will’s neck, making the black boy ease a little more.
“Why didn’t you say it was your first? Relax. I’ve got you. Martha will have us both in a moment.”
Will didn’t understand until he and Bart were both moving, just a fraction, but in a steady rhythm. As it went on, Bart grew and began to throb. That made Will’s cock rise again, the nerves in his ass teased with each nudge, each throb. He was being slowly brought closer to a second climax.
“Damnation, woman. Harder! Good Lord.” With the curse, Bart erupted in Will, pressing out on all sides while coating him in slippery seed. The throbbing ache building in Will’s cock peaked and he came moments after Bart.
Between the two men panting, Will almost didn’t hear Martha’s raspy breath. When he turned he saw her braced on Bart’s arms, a wooden dowel in her hand. It also had an oily sheen, a slightly larger knob, and a spot or two of brown on its edge. Looking at that bulbous end, it was clear to Will what it was built to resemble and why Martha was out of breath.
“If you’ll excuse us, I think the lady needs her bed.” Bart held Martha tight to his side while shuffling toward his pants.
Will pulled his breeches on quickly and lifted the woman into his arms. Her head fell into the crook of his neck and she breathed deeply.
“So beautiful,” she murmured. “So shiny. So large. So strong.”
Bart, shirt hanging open, tapped his wife’s cheek with his fingers. “You’re delirious, Martha. Try to stay with us.” He smiled at Will. “She always was a bit weak.”
“Where?” Will asked, hefting Martha a little higher.
“Oh, this way.” Bart lead him around a corner and into the bedroom. Will laid Martha atop the covers. The woman’s eyes fluttered, but she was otherwise still.
“I suppose I’ll have to fight her out of all those clothes. Be grateful, Will, that you were born a man.”
There are more excellent tastes waiting for you on the blog.
It's release day! All of you who preordered for $0.99 can crack those files open now. Please let me know what you think as a review on Amazon or Goodreads, or even just leaving me a comment on one of my blog posts. I really appreciate the feed back! Today, the spectacular Muffy Wilson, peerless Kiki Howell, and the generous Dariel Raye are hosting me on their blogs today. All my hosts have different excerpts from Slave. So if you didn't preorder, and want to get a really good idea if this book is for you. Hop around to them all and check out the excerpts I have posted on my blog.
Will has no interest in women. He thinks them all animals to
be trained, beaten. It doesn't take him long to discover his preference for
men, but time and error reveal how wrong view toward women is. Before long, he
is able to separate the way he treats women, which is still horrific, from the
way he regards women, as fellow human beings.
How does a slave become an equal? What does it take for a
young man to see women in a new light?
Angelica Dawson is the author of Blue Moon House, which has
been in the top ten best-selling titles at Naughty Nights Press for over six
months. She has also written two short stories, “The Highest Bidder” and “Leave
Taking” which were each included in anthologies.
She contributes flash fiction to several blogging
collectives and excerpts from work in progress can also be found on her blog. She is active on Facebook and Twitter.
She has been writing for several years and having sex a lot
longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her
love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards –
mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.
Thank you for dropping by on your rounds of the teases this week. Aren't they excellent? I love getting to see so many different snippets from different pieces. This one probably isn't something you'd expect either. This is some down and gritty, hardcore BDSM. Not light bondage and spanking. So if that's not your thing, this isn't your stop. If you aren't sure, try a taste. There are more excerpts on my blog under the Slave tab.
“You need to be beaten?” he asked, slapping the other thigh harder than the first. Her hips jumped and her thighs rubbed one another. He slapped each fleshy leg twice more, watching the ripple move along her skin. It was satisfying, despite the obvious female curve to her hips. Again, he was sure this would be better with a man, but pain, he could take pleasure in that regardless of gender. He paused to twist each nipple hard and the whore cried out again.
The woman, he corrected himself. He couldn’t let his mind fall into the old path. It was one thing for him to treat her like a whore, but Lynn and Sophia had shown him how important his respect for himself and fellow slaves was. She had chosen him, unlike her owner. She had given him control; he hadn’t earned it, or deserved, it or paid for it. It was her gift, and in return, he had to remember she was not a whore, rather a woman with special needs and desires. Desires that were met by being treated like a whore, not being made a whore.
After switching his attack to her chest, he returned to her legs again. He knew he could continue to strike a spot if he gave enough time between lashes. Then he took hold of the hair between her legs and pulled hard on it.
The woman arched her back and murmured. She wasn’t in pain; she was about to climax. He could feel her skin vibrating with pent up pleasure. She ground into his coiled fingers.
He released her hair and kicked her legs farther apart. He slapped the inside of each thigh and she gyrated more. Gripping the dark, curly hair of her sex, he tugged and she cried out. Again, it wasn’t a plea to stop, rather a call to God. He pulled his hand back and slapped her sex.
Nessa swung past one blade after another, slipping through the lawn as fast as she could. “Wait, Nessa! I can’t keep up!”
Her sister, Drew, was falling behind. Nessa felt the duty to slow and watch her, but there was also the desire to be free. Besides, the lawn was safe. It wasn’t as though anything bad could happen to Drew if Nessa wasn’t there to protect her.
In a surge of independence, she threw herself faster through the green, as fast as her arms and legs could propel her.
A high pitched whistle stopped her. She clung to a stem, listening. Was that an insect? Was it a friendly one, like an aphid, or something much more sinister, a spider perhaps? That made her curse herself for leaving Drew behind. There shouldn’t be any spiders that close to home, but Drew would keep following.
She turned, about to return, when another whistle sounded, closer than before. She looked over her shoulder, up to the tips of the blades.
There, she found a pleasant face looking down at her. One more whistle preceded his voice. “Pretty fairy.”
She smiled, but it didn’t last long. She could count his eight legs.
Available for a Limited Time at the special price of $0.99 !
James Alexander Whitmore III, better known as Jaws as a joke among his co-workers, doesn’t even want to be on this cruise he’s been guilted into.
A rule-breaker in his CEO father’s eyes, he’s a software engineer who designs video games. Although, he’s not your typical geek, either, with his muscular body framed by long, dark hair and home to tribal tattoos from his latest successful game.
After traveling around the world to gain certificates as a personal trainer and yoga instructor, Samantha has finally landed her perfect job working on a cruise ship. As a staff member, Sam has the run of the ship. She can fraternize with the passengers, but being caught in flagrante delicto is grounds for immediate dismissal.
While an adventurer, she’s not a rule-breaker, so this poses a problem when she meets Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious. While she can’t imagine fitting into the world of a man who can rent a secluded cabin in the Grand Turks for the five hours they are in port, he just may prove to be her greatest adventure yet, in the bedroom and out.
“This book is sexy, sweet, funny and absolutely worth devouring! Watching Samantha struggle with her decision and Jaws flirting with destiny had me glued to the pages.” ~5 Stars, Ava Mallory
The romance that flourishes between them is swoon-worthy, and the narrative is far too good to not read all in one setting. I didn’t want to put it down! If there is one thing Kiki Howell knows how to do, it’s write a romance that is the perfect blend of erotic sensuality and passionate romance. Your breath will catch, your face will flush. You will swoon, you will sigh. In the end, you will read the final word with a smile on your face. That’s how you know it’s a great romance.” ~ 5 Stars from AP Bullard, Triskele reviews
Changeling Press is celebrating 11 years of publisher hot books, and it promises to only get hotter in 2015. Here are their most recent releases.
Breathe Me In is the first in a new series from Lily Vega, Crescent City. Tired of facing immortality without love, John Rabbitt refuses to consume life energy -- until his protege hires a stripper to dance for him. Veronika Mason never would have agreed to fulfill her strange client's every desire, but if she doesn't pay off her ex-boyfriend's gambling debts, the thug sent to collect the money may well follow through on his violent threats. Vampires naturally lead to life or death decisions.
Also from Lily Vega is Devil Inside, the start of another series, The Devil May Care. Blake Owens, a fourth generation demon from the second circle of hell, is used to masquerading as human. Arianna Prince, dressed in a sexy angel costume, seduces him at a party and proves to be a genuine damsel in distress. Until she meets Blake, Arianna believes her immediate future involves sex with a creepy shifter and death while giving birth to its offspring. Blake may be just the guy to give Arianna pleasure beyond her wildest dreams and save her from her stepmother's deadly plans.
How Not To Date a Bear is the enigmatic title of the latest release from Stephanie Burke, the fifth in her How Not To series. Declan Batalova is a bear unlike any other. The Russian shifter goes for relaxation in a new club that caters to bears. Cosmetologist Gillian Leekey is a woman on a mission. She loves big, muscular, hairy men, and Declan is perfect in every way. But after one night of passion, the Bear Shifter Mafia is declaring war at her front door! When did life get so complicated? But that's what happens when you decide to date a bear.
Black as Night is the first in a multi-author series, S.O.S. This one comes from Shelby Morgen. Feral cats are disappearing all over Chinatown, and Special Agent Tom Katowski, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, has been assigned to investigate the case. Who better than an old tom cat? Officer Evaline O’Donnell thinks the Special Agent’s story is more than a little fishy, so she’s up to doing some investigating of her own. But will that Tom Cat strut get her so distracted she forgets who’s supposed to be wearing the handcuffs? The S.O.S. series mixes shifters with uniforms in hot little reads.
Anne Kane has released ,the second book in the S.O.S. series. There’s coyote trouble in the canyon. One coyote, to be specific. A male. He’s been creating havoc in the small rural community of Pine Valley -- enough havoc it’s time to call in the Feds. The S.O.S, U.S. Dept. of Fish and Wildlife, Special Outreach Services Division, investigates crimes involving shifters. Special Agent Kinsey is the absolute expert on coyote shifters. Because she is one. And Greg expects nothing less than the very best. Coyote Games
Anne Kane also has a boxed set of the five novellas from her Stargazers series. Descended from the witches of old Earth, Stargazers have the ability to control the lines of psychic energy that join the planets and other heavenly bodies. They use their talents to bend the energy to their own use, much the same as the druids of Earth used to harness the ley lines. They can power space ships, run machinery on far away planets and detect people's presences from great distances. Highly sought after, both by legitimate sources who want to hire them and by pirates who enslave and sell them, they are constantly on guard.
Here is an excerpt from Wanton in the Stargazer series.
Tarik watched the young woman pacing the cargo bay of his ship. Tall and willowy, she stalked the width of the cell with angry strides of long, slim legs. A short, fitted tunic did little to hide her shapely figure, and he felt a spark of heat ignite in his gut despite his mistrust of her kind. Wisps of wavy, chestnut hair escaped from the single braid that hung to her waist, and her green eyes sparkled with rage.
He felt the corner of his mouth tilt upward as she aimed a kick at the wall. He'd bet if he could hear what she was muttering, it wouldn't be very ladylike. Of course, she wasn't really a lady. Krystal de Mylar was a Stargazer, one of the few who hadn't yet sold her talents to the Intergalactic Council. Probably holding out for a better deal, he thought cynically.
The lack of military security surrounding her had made her an ideal target when he realized he needed to acquire one of the accursed witches in order to rescue his brother. Tarik's renegade status made it impossible to post a job proposal with the Stargazers' Guild, so he'd simply used his resources to plan and execute the perfect kidnapping. Unfortunately, none of his cybernetic enhancements would help him explain to the infuriated redhead why he'd spirited her away from her home without her consent.
The woman stopped pacing and pivoted to face the hovering droid, her eyes narrowed so that the green irises sparkled like gems. She'd obviously realized someone was monitoring her. A flicker of heat ran up his spine as she stood still, legs spread and hands on hips. Her mouth moved, and his attention dropped to her full, luscious lips as they moved slowly in exaggerated speech.
You are going to regret this.
It wasn't hard to read her lips. Or the threat in her eyes. He sure hoped she didn't know how to wrap the interplanetary energy lines around his neck.
"Not exactly what I'd expected." He turned to address his second-in-command. "I pictured someone older, and tougher."
Ryan grinned. "And a little less mouthwateringly attractive? Might have made it easier to deal with her. Do you want me to go in first and soften her up a bit? Your reputation with the ladies doesn't bode well for gaining her co-operation."
Tarik sighed. They'd managed to spirit Krystal out from under the noses of her parents and her bodyguards without a problem, but they needed her to co-operate if they hoped to accomplish their mission.
Stargazers could sense the energy lines that connected the stars and planets. They had the ability to grasp those lines and harness the energy for their own use. If she agreed to help them rescue his brother Cynn, all they'd need to do was narrow down his location and the witch could use the energy lines to get them in and out of Intergalactic space undetected by the patrolling warships. He didn't understand how the Stargazers accomplished it, but the results were irrefutable, which explained why the unscrupulous bastards running the Intergalactic Council made a point of hiring as many of the witches as possible.
Before his parents were murdered by the Council, they'd likened the Stargazers' abilities to the witches of Old Earth, who used the planet's ley lines to feed their magic. They'd been baffled though, by the Stargazers' tendency to accept employment with the restrictive Intergalactic Council. He sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. The longer he put this off, the angrier the witch would get.
"Get her into a set of restraints and bring her up to the interrogation chamber." He turned to leave, pausing when Ryan grabbed his arm. He looked pointedly at the offending hand, raising one eyebrow questioningly.
Ryan let go of his arm. "Restraints? Are you serious? She's already pissed. You need to convince her to help us, and treating her like a criminal isn't going to win you any brownie points."
That might be true, but he wanted her under control until she agreed to help. "Just the wrist restraints, then." He ignored Ryan's glare of disapproval. "If I understand the theory, she can't hook into the power of the energy lines without lifting her arms, so we should be safe enough."
Ryan's disbelieving snort told him what his second-in-command thought about that.
"Get her up there. Now." He issued the command in what he hoped was a stern tone, pivoting to stalk out of the room. The damn witch hadn't been on his ship for a full solar cycle and already she was causing trouble.
The lovely A.P. Bullard, who does fantastic reviews as well as a plethora of writing news, nominated me for Liebster award. Now I get to answer her 11 questions, nominate another 11 bloggers (with followings under 200) and give them 11 questions of my own. The recipients should like back to me and notify their nominees via social media that they have been nominated. Okay, enough stinky rules, let's get on to the questions!
1. When you see or hear the world ‘alien’, what type of image pops into your head?
Green man. Not like with almond eyes, like the Green Giant, or the Hulk.
2. If you could have any superpower or ability, which would you choose?
Teleportation. Travel for work is a bitch.
3. What is your biggest grammar pet peeve?
Apostrophes for possessives. Drives me batty when people get it wrong.
4. Who is your biggest literary crush?
Tough one. I'm going go with Tessa Wanton. Her Tess series is to die for.
5. If you use a purse, what are the top 5 things you simply MUST carry with you?
My phone, my wallet with my debit and credit card, lip balm, pocket pack of tissues and keys.
6. What is your favorite pizza order?
I love spinach and feta. No one else in my family does. Suck.
7. Favorite genre?
Fantasy. More so for reading than watching, but there are some wicked fantasy movies too (Princess Bride, Ladyhawke, the Dark Crystal...
8. If you had to live in one book’s/book series universe forever, which book would you choose?
I'd probably head to Hogwarts. Having magic would be pretty awesome.
9. What is your favorite time period?
Tough one. I'm kinda partial to the present. I guess I'd pick turn of the century, any earlier and there isn't really a Canada, and I love Canada.
10. If you won one million dollars, what would be the very first thing you did with it?
Pay off my house. That would leave me 3/4 of a million dollars. Lots to have fun with!
11. Do you prefer office jobs, or more active jobs?
I like a mix of the two, which is why being an environmental scientist working with plants is so awesome. In the summer I work outside, in the winter I work inside (office or lab). Parfait!
Here are my questions, bloggers:
1. What one thing can you not live without?
2. The library is on fire! Which book do you grab?
3. The house is on fire! What one thing do you grab?
4. Your car is on f... no I'm kidding, enough of those. When did you decide to start writing?
5. You made the NYT Best sellers list are raking it in. Who do you thank?
6. Authorgraph: yes or no?
7. Paper or electronic?
8. The power's out and you only have enough battery on your phone to play one album. What is it?
9. What is the one article of clothing that you love most? Where do you wear it?
10. Kink or vanilla?
11. Chocolate or vanilla?
And the nominees? These shouldn't come as a huge surprise. Most of them are hosting my blog tour and/or participate in Tantalizing Tuesday, Thursday Tasters, Flasher Fiction Friday, MidWeekTease or other groups with me.
This Friday, I opted to write a snippet from the story I started the first month I wrote for Flasher Fiction Friday. That month, I wove the pictures together into a story about a world where the genders remained separate and only came together for procreation. You can find those clips here, here, here and here.
Mourning was a heavy and black cloak around Lara's shoulders.
She had lost that which she had loved most, even when she hadn’t known it. She
had thought her love was the woman with whom she wove great magic, grew
beautiful things, but it was a man that grew the thing she loved most, a man
who planted a seed in her, a man who created the being she couldn’t live
Now that life was gone.
Letting her despair fly from her with a murder of crows, she
had murder on her mind. He would pay for her pain.
The blog has other 100 word flashes for the same picture.
Welcome to Thursday Tasters, where my wonderful comrades and I post excerpts from Works in Progress and published works. I have featured Slave on Thursdays past and I am happy to share that it releases officially on Sunday the 15th. Please take advantage of this opportunity to buy it and the original Blue Moon House for only $0.99. You can also sample the other excerpts I have posted here.
Now, one more taste of Slave:
“So soft,” she murmured, stroking him gently. She’d removed her gloves and her hands were just as soft as Will had imagined. He had stroked himself, but that didn’t prepare him for someone else touching him.
Nothing prepared him for her lips wrapping around his head. He shuddered at the sensation, his head tipping back. When he looked down at the long curls, he felt disappointed. He wanted Bart there.
“Not too much, Martha. I have plans for that.” Bart poured oil into his hand. “And you know you want to watch this.”
Bart bent over the seat of one of the chairs, exposing his ass. His oily hand ran between the cheeks, spreading the glossy liquid. He shoved one finger in, leaving no doubt as to what he wanted.
Martha stopped sucking, releasing Will with a pop. Her tongue lapped his tip once before she rose. “Let me anoint you,” she said, grabbing the crystal decanter. She poured oil over his length, using her hand to smooth it. Will sucked breath through his teeth at how her fingers slid over him. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Bartholomew? I’d be intimidated.”
Bart scoffed. “He’s not your first black cock.”
“Oh, he is yours? Pardon me,” she said stepping away from Will to take a seat in the chair facing the one Bart bent over, where she could watch.
Will turned to Bart, not entirely sure how to do what he had planned. He took hold of Bart’s hips and tilted his own until he was pointed at the puckered hole. He pushed forward...and nothing happened. It felt like he was trying to press himself into a short length, like he was bending. Will grunted at the discomfort.
Bart groaned and everything changed. Instead of pressed, Will was being drawn in, as though Bart’s hole were pulling him. He slid so easily.
He was being pressed again, but now it was around, as though the hole weren’t made for his thickness. The sounds Bart made assured him it wasn’t painful.
“Yes, Will,” Martha said, breathless. “Fuck him. You look amazing like that.”
Will didn’t turn his head to look at the woman, but he obeyed. He pulled back through the smooth, tight tunnel only to push forward again.
He sank deeper this time and the sensations around him changed subtly. He’d passed some point inside Bart.
“Yes, fuck, so good.” Bart’s hips began to rock and twist. “You’ve got me hard again.”
Will reached around to find that was the case. He stroked Bart in time with his thrusts.
Martha let out a string of raspy curses Will barely noticed in his euphoria. He thought he worshiped the cock, but this, the sensation, it was so much more.
His balls tightened and he knew the moment had come. This would be the most satisfying ejaculation of his life.
Please consider ordering a copy of Slave. And be sure to check out all the great samples from the Thursday Tasters.
Her lungs burned and her legs ached through her lower back and up her spine. Her hands scrabbled, searching for handholds and bruising when she caught them. Clinging to cold rock, she pulled her head above the clouds.
Thick clouds had covered the surface of Denir for over a century. The clouds were not so thick as to leave the planet completely dark, but Bromine’s eyes were whiter than her mother’s, more light-sensitive, a trait being bred. Now she wished she didn’t. Hers was the first head to break through the cloud layer in recent memory. She was breaking ten laws and a thousand traditions doing this. She had been taught that the Creator brought the clouds to cover Himself and Denir, hiding from those who would harm them.
She had tried to convince others to come with her. It was a painfully lonely climb with no one to help her. At last, she had achieved her goal, one unattainable for decades.
She stared, dumbfounded, and nearly lost her grip on the peak.
The histories told of the moon, large and pale. They said it was always visible, even in daylight, but nothing else.
Now, there was a second moon.
Make sure you pop over to the blog and read all the other fantastic teasers. (Okay maybe not as out-of-this-world as this one, but fantastic!)
The spectacular Dariel Raye invited me in on this blog hop. All I need to do is tell you 7 lovely things about myself and send you to 15 of my friends. If you know anything about me, my self esteem is crap, so this is not going to be easy. Here goes anyway.
1. I am a proud mother. I have an amazing 8 year old daughter who forgets to put her dishes away, cries when she realizes she forgot her homework, but can spell reciprocity correctly on the first try. Seriously, her spelling lists are ridiculous! She also was reading at 2 to the point that she read her third birthday cards aloud. My daughter is one of the most lovely things that I have ever created.
2. I can write fast. That's not a boast, or even really a compliment to myself, but it is true. When I have a fully fleshed idea in my head and it begs to be written down, I can spin out 30 words a minute (for comparison, my typing speed is around 45). It's often very rough and riddled with typos and missing punctuation, but the ideas are all there. 3. I crochet. This I mention because I'm in the middle of a marathon. My sister just had her second child, a girl this time, so I started a baby blanket for her. But my other sister is due in June, a boy for her, so at the same time I picked up a giant ball of blue. Then my friends were over this weekend and I realized/remembered that their daughter turns 1 in the fall. Off to the craft store for more yarn!
4. I have a dry sense of humor. It's also a bit abstract or high brow, so most often I tell a joke or make a comment and let it float to see if people laugh or not. It's not an uncommon trait among Canadians.
5. I have maple syrup coloured, curly hair. I love my hair. It's definitely my best feature in my opinion. And it only looks its best when I do absolutely nothing with it. If I shower at night (and I usually do) and fan my hair on my pillow to dry, I will have to-die-for curls in the morning. If I brush it, they come out. If I use any kind of styling product on it, they come out. To be honest, I really thought I'd be grayer at 37, but I just have a few strands.
6. I am a cheerleader. I actually was in Junior High and we were the homliest, geekiest bunch you ever saw. Not sure why the geek squad decided to be cheerleaders, but there we were, shouting our lungs out. Now I'm not as vocal, but very much online a supporter of my friends, their efforts, their successes, even when I sometimes feel bad about myself in the meantime, I'm always there to give a high five or a boost when needed.
7. I am eclectic. My music tastes range from alt-rock, to golden oldies from the 50s and 60s, to Bach (not Bachman Turner, though I love them too) with a splash of country and the right kind of rap topping it all off. My writing is equally eclectic. As Angelica I've written Vampire BDSM, New Adult, Gay, Menage, and vanilla, and that's just in the erotica camp. I also write YA dystopian, scifi, fantasy, contemporary literary, fanfiction... You get the idea.
Well, now that I've shared 7 lovely things about myself, it's time for me to point you to 15 other people so you can learn more about them. Here goes (and some of these may have already participated and I missed it).