Saturday, January 21, 2017

Love should never be a bed of roses…( @JamiGrayAuthor #flawedcharacters #suspense #pnr )

Marked by Obsession cover

By Jami Gray (Guest Blogger)

Do you carry a teeny tiny bit of conspiracy theorist in your tucked away psyche? Love a good romance with flawed couples? Are you addicted to the heart-pounding ride of unexpected twists?

Yeah, me too.

I started my PSY-IV Teams series because I wanted to combine my fascination with psychic phenomena, suspense, and romance. As an avid reader, I tend to read a great deal outside of my chosen fiction genres. One particular book, The Search for the Manchurian Candidate by John D. Marks, followed the history of behavioral science and the CIA, and helped sparked the idea. After finishing that book, I moved on to The Psychopath Next Door and a few others (which now that I’m reading this I’ll refrain from listing since…um, yeah, my research library of non-fiction titles would be scary to an outsider).

Marked by Obsession is the third book in my Paranormal Romantic Suspense series. The PSY-IV Teams was unlike my Urban Fantasy series (The Kyn Kronicles) and proved a bit more of a challenge when I first started it. Although the series centers around ex-military psychics, no demons (real, physical ones), werewolves or other creatures who go bump in the night, exist in this world, my characters have to face the demons of their past, the nightmares they’ve survived, and navigate the ravages of life. It makes for a rather bumpy ride.

I was adopted at 14, so I find my main characters tend to bring their own baggage. Since I firmly believe that you have two choices when life starts putting you through the wringer, stand up or fall down, my women (and men) tend to stand up, even if they’re weaving on their feet, faces bruised and battered.

Without further ado, I give you Wolf and Meli from Marked by Obsession…

Some betrayals hide behind love, others obsession...

The loss of her beloved brother and a series of unexplained events plunges Meli Dwyer into a dangerously unfamiliar reality. Alone and floundering, she turns to the sexy and unsettling Wolf Kincaid, PSY-IV Team’s skilled telepath, for help even as her battered heart whispers to steer clear of a man more dangerous than what hunts her.
Will Meli find the answers to her personal nightmare before one man’s obsession costs her the heart of another?

Want a quick tease?

A flash of something came and went in those sea-glass eyes. “You don’t like accepting help, do you?”

What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m not talking in tongues, here. It means exactly what I said.” He cocked his head, his face unreadable. “Why are you picking a fight with me, Meli?”

His question made me pause, and I sat back. Why was I picking a fight? Wolf and Bishop were only trying to help, and getting Rabbit to uncover the details behind Eric’s death might give us a clue as to what waited in the safety deposit box. Or maybe, it would just raise more questions. And there it was, “I think I’m scared of what you’ll find.” Saying it out loud didn’t do a darn thing to diminish the dread lodged like a weight in my gut.

Wolf leaned forward, one arm stretching across the table until he could cover my hand fisted next to my plate. “Why?”

Such a soft question to land so hard. The fears chasing themselves in my head were so disloyal, but there was no escaping the logic. Whatever Eric was involved in was at my front door, and there was no outrunning it now. I raised my head and met him head on, even though the words choked me. “During the last year, Eric changed. He was darker, harder than before, and worried. If this is tied to him, or what was haunting him, and it killed him, how do I fight it?”

His grip tightened. “You’re not doing it alone, angel. I won’t let you.”

The solemn depth to his words triggered another fear, even as shame scrambled underneath. As much as I’d love to stand alone, keeping everyone else safe, I couldn’t, I didn’t have the necessary skills to navigate this dangerous new road. But I couldn’t bear it if this man was hurt because of me, because of the trouble I brought. “Don’t stand in front of me, Wolf.”

His thumb brushed back and forth along my wrist, his gaze never wavering. “I can’t walk away. I won’t, so don’t ask.”

I shook my head vehemently because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I wouldn’t survive whatever was coming without him. “Beside me, stand beside me.” It came out rough and aching.

His smile was brilliant and fierce. “That I can do.”

Pick up your copy at:

About Jami

Jami Gray is the award winning, multi-published author of the Urban Fantasy series, The Kyn Kronicles, and the Paranormal Romantic Suspense series, PSY-IV Teams. She can be soothed with coffee and chocolate. Surrounded by Star Wars obsessed males and two female labs moonlighting as the Fur Minxes, she escapes by playing with the voices in her head.

Hunt her down at:

Amazon Author Page:

Friday, January 20, 2017

Protesting the New Normal (#newrelease #antitrump #erotica @MoveOn)

This is a political post.

Normally I try to avoid politics and controversial religion on my blog. I am a strong believer in every individual’s right to his or her own opinion, as long as no one tries to foist that opinion on me. Live and let live has always been my motto. Plus I recognize that despite the appeal of painting the world in black and white, almost every issue actually involves shades of gray.

Normally, I’d just title this post “New Release”.

However, things these days are not normal.

The United States is about to swear in a president whose main claim to fame is his ability to insult other people in 140 characters. I’m not going to bore you by listing all his objectionable traits. If you share my views, you are already far too familiar with his vile behavior. If you’re one of the people responsible for today’s historic and, to me, horrifying event—well, you’ve probably given up reading already. Unless of course you’re preparing to leave me some comment full of invective, in the manner approved by your candidate.

Anyway, the day after the election results were announced, Alessia Brio, the founder and guiding light of the charitable erotica imprint Coming Together, sent out a call for submissions. Coming Together: Moving On is an anthology of fiction and poetry on themes made painfully salient by the presidential campaign and its aftermath: civil rights, equality, LGBTQ rights, tolerance, charity, sexual assault, politics, voting rights, immigration... You get the idea.

It's out today...Inauguration Day.

All proceeds from the book benefit , a civic and political action group which has been at the forefront of efforts to resist the president-elect’s dangerous agenda and nominees, and his un-presidential behavior.

I’ve got a story in the book. I know many of the contributors. We’re donating our work for free, fighting our despair, because we want to do something to improve the situation.

It might not be much. But each of us can make a small difference, writing, and then living, our principles


Here’s the table of contents:

Introduction by Alessia Brio
Passion's Pull by Corbin A Grace
Hypocrites by Alyssa Turner
When There Are No Words by Sonni De Soto
The Help by Sonni De Soto
Kayla's Birthday Present by Ashlyn Chase
The Stoning by Michael Swanson
Checklist by B.K. Bilicki
Divided We Fall by Lisabet Sarai
For Their Own Good by Lola White
We Desire Many Things by Skilja Peregrinarius
The Aisle Of Lesbos by Allison Wonderland
A Healthy Passion by Mary Winter
Moving On by Kally Jo Surbeck

My story, “Divided We Fall”, is set in a near-future Los Angeles in which different ethnic groups have been confined to their ghettos and encouraged to wage war on one another.

Here’s a bit to give you the flavor.


There are no walls. Just IEDs, trip-wire bombs and snipers. We've learned a few things from the jihadis.

The Santa Anas whip at the white rag attached to my broom handle as I cross Vermont. No-man's land. Black hair tangles in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I should chop it all off, maybe even shave my head. That would be safer. Would look scarier, too. Pathetic how vanity survives, even in the most desperate situations.

Afternoon shadows stripe the broken pavement. The only vehicles visible are burned-out skeletons, picked clean by scavengers from both barrios. I dart from one to the next, keeping a good distance away from the blackened hulks while still trying to use them for cover as I approach the Niggertown gate. Any one of them could be booby-trapped, though that would break the unwritten rules that have allowed us Viets to co-exist with the niggers. So far at least.

I don't want to be here. I've got no confidence my truce flag will buy me any kind of safety. But what can I do? My little brother's disappeared, last seen headed toward the black ghetto. We searched every corner of Viet Village. Unless he's deliberately hiding―not likely given his age and his usual good behavior― he must have wandered outside the bounds.

The many kinds of harm he might meet scroll through my mind like credits for some old movie. I force myself to slow down as I approach the West Century intersection, the only un-mined street leading east into Niggertown. Gripping my flag in one hand, I raise the other high to show I'm unarmed. It's true, aside from the switchblade hidden my boot. I don't step out of the abandoned grocery my family calls home without that knife.

When I sleep, it hangs from cord around my neck, nestled between my breasts. Older Brother calls me Blade-Heart. He thinks it's a joke, but his nickname suits me. I might ask Uncle Pham to tattoo it on my bicep.

"Freeze, bitch."

I'm expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall, lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like it's another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how there's never enough food, but no problem getting guns.

"What you doin' here? This ain't your territory. You get your gook ass back 'cross the street before I kick it back!"

Though the guard talks tough, I can see he's young, maybe younger than I am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon like he'd just as soon shoot me as not, but there's a softness to his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.

He wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to fatal. He might be young, but he's no stranger to battle. None of us is, these days.

"You hear me, bitch?" he growls and jabs at me with his knife.

Instinct taking over, I shrink backward, then recover. He mustn't think I'm afraid. Straightening my spine, I raise my flag a bit higher.

"I claim the right of truce." I make my voice low, even, and respectful. But not subservient. "I'm looking for my three-year old brother. He wandered out of our territory earlier today. Someone said he might be in Niggertown."

"You better hope he's not." The guard gives me an evil grin. "Me and my boys just love a bit of barbecue."

I ignore his jibe. He's just trying to pull my chain. I hope. "Can I have a look around? Please?"

"Any gooks enterin' Niggertown got to pay the toll." His leer widens, his white teeth a shocking contrast to his soot-dark complexion.


If today’s events make you as sick as they make me, consider buying a copy of Coming Together: Moving On. Take a stand against the new normal. (And enjoy some great fiction, too.)

Available at other booksellers soon.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Fear of Flying (#steampunk #bdsm #mashup)


It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

Thus begins my novel Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it's a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won't tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I break rules right and left with this novel. Would the market embrace my mash-up? Or would readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon is like nothing else I've written. Well, that's not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I've never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I'm pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won't worry. That's out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually:


The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

Totally Bound (TB can send books directly to your ereader)


Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Oops. Did I really write that? (@ShariElderBooks #scifi #eroticromance #amwriting )

Race to Redemption cover

By Shari Elder (Guest Blogger)

Thanks for welcoming me to your blog, Lisabet. I write paranormal and science fiction romance because I enjoy building new worlds, almost as much as I love writing the love story. The logical structure, rules and culture of the society run in parallel to the romance arc. Both must make sense. At the broad outline level, this is not too hard to balance. But when the writer drills into the details, it can get tricky sometimes.

Using deleted snippets from latest release, I thought it would be fun to share what happens when a writer gets that wrong. It’s a small example, but a telling one.

Race to Redemption takes place on a desert world. The sand retains minerals and biogenetic materials that allow the inhabitants, who are nomadic, to build and take them down their homes quickly. Like sand igloos. The land is also subject to frequent and often severe dust storms, so the indigenous populations connect their houses to each other with sand corridors, which also link their living quarters to communal places –bath, prayer hall, governance circle and supply hut.

In the first draft, I put doors with locks on these homes. Which allowed for a fun exchange between my hero and heroine.

Erik knocked again when no one came to the door, then a third time.

I can pick the lock.” 
Any other skills of yours I should know about that could land us in prison somewhere?”

She gave him a shrug. “Basic Zoner survival skills—better to pick a lock then be left outside in a storm.”

A later scene referenced this snippet.

Erik always had a pocketknife with him. He used it to pick the lock.

“Well, well, it looks like I’m not the only with breaking an entry on my resume.”

The smile he gave her melted every bone in her body. If it wasn’t so sweltering …

Doors and locks in a sand igloo? Among people who bath together and pool supplies? Did I really write that?

I did, and I resisted changing it. I loved these short snippets. They revealed a common hidden talent and disregard for convention my hero and heroine shared and showed their bond evolving. I didn’t want to lose them.

Sometimes you have to kill your darlings, as they say. Reluctantly, I deleted or rewrote a few scenes, removing doors, locks, and Elaina’s lock picking. Here’s the final result.

That’s definitely something.” Erik knelt to her right and used his pocket knife to lever it out of the ground, then pick the lock.

So, I’m not the only one with illicit skills on my résumé.”
The smile he flashed liquefied every bone in her body. If it wasn’t sweltering…

Thanks for stopping by and letting me share a segment of my writing journey. It’s my pleasure to invite you to visit my world—with sand igloos, defiant protagonists, alien sex toys, complex villains, intergalactic race championships and a rebellion simmering underneath it all.

Race to Redemption Blurb

A woman who lost everything

Intergalactic storm racing champion Elaina Carteret had it all – fame, wealth, men – until a horrific accident took it away. To get it back, she agrees to pose as Lainie Carter, medical transport pilot and corporate spy. Her risk-taking attitude infuriates Dr. Erik Johansen, who runs the outpost with an iron hand, a permanent scowl and the tightest bod on the planet.

A man desperate for redemption.

Unable to forgive himself for a past tragedy, Erik works himself into an early grave. He has no patience for the insubordinate Lainie Carter, who can’t take an order, disrupts routine and flames his body to ash.

A planet at risk.

When the outpost is attached, they’re thrown together in a race across the desert to stop a deadly biogenetic weapon As a fragile trust blossoms between two damaged hearts, their pasts resurface and threaten their growing bond.

Be warned: Erotic romance, level five heat designation, gender neutral characters.


Erik tilted his head. Speech didn’t seem to be in him. She followed him to the bathing room at the back of the building. The small lump in the bath couldn’t be Sen. Whatever it was had gill-slits and grayish-green skin, no remaining golden hue of the Ranharran air breathers. No, definitely not Sen.

I don’t understand.”

Biogenetic tampering that forced his DNA to rewrite itself into Den Vedran but it was only partial. His gills are not fully formed, but the Ranharran lungs collapsed. I believe the Den Vedran lungs would have grown over them but not in time. The changes left him unable to take in oxygen from any source.”

She couldn’t get her head around what Erik was saying. Every cell in her body froze into numbness. Her blood stopped flowing. That just couldn’t be Sen.

We should return him to the dust. Sen had a soft spot for Ranharran ceremonies.” How she coughed up those words she’d never know, but it was what Sen would want. If that lump were Sen, which it wasn’t.

Erik shook his head. “He’s not dead. I injected him with a stasis drug. It only lasts about two months. I’ll need to do so some tests on him.” His low growl told her the idea appalled him as much as it did her. She swallowed back an instinctive retort. He didn’t need her crap on top of the pile he already carried.

For Qirta,” she said instead.

Gratitude flickered in those ancient eyes. She took his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, desperate for touch. He let her without balking. A heart did beat underneath Erik’s scowl.

They stood together without moving for what seemed like a century. Fintarl brought in an air gurney at some point to move the body that wasn’t Sen to the lab. Everyone in the camp stumbled like the walking dead to get through the next hours. Ranharrans did not have tear ducts because their bodies were built to retain every ounce of water. They hummed in grief and the camp was awash in a low, melancholy drone.

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About Shari

I'm Shari. By day, I crawl out of bed, mainline coffee, get my kid off to school, walk the dog, then save cities within the four walls of my office. Usually by email.

At night, I take off the suit, curl up with my computer and save cities on a jet-powered skateboard, make six-toed footprints on the sixth planet in the Andromeda galaxy and bring men and women, who had given up on romance, another chance to find it.

Join me on this journey.

Find Shari

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Review Tuesday: In Shadow by @GiselleRenarde (#stepbrother #repression #abuse)

In Shadow by Giselle Renarde
Smashwords and Kindle Digital Publishing, 2016

Although Clover is twenty four, she’s still a virgin, living with her mom and her step-father Gord. Somehow she has never had the urgeor the courage—to strike out on her own. She spends her days creating paintings in her studio out in the garage, pretending to ignore her vague sense of dissatisfaction.

Clover’s family gets along well enough, but they don’t talk much about their feelings, or about the wounds in their past. All the hidden pain and twisted need starts to surface when Clover’s sister Brooke marries her long-time beau. Gord’s son Mason flies in from Vancouver, where he runs a successful business, to attend the wedding. Clover works hard to treat her step-brother as just another member of the family, but her shadow reveals her true desires. When she’s in Mason’s presence, she’s horrified to see their shadows engaging in what are obviously carnal activities.

No one else seems to notice as Clover’s shadow becomes increasingly outrageous and menacing, independent of her physical activities and her will. Is she losing her sanity? Is she possessed by some sort of demon or other supernatural presence? All she knows is that she wants her step-brother, and the attraction seems to be mutual.

This synopsis may make it sound as though Giselle Renarde’s In Shadow is just another instance of the taboo step-brother incest erotica that’s become so popular lately. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Truly, this short novel defies categorization. It’s intriguing, mysterious, insightful and frustrating, in part because Ms. Renarde never resolves the true nature of the Shadow that haunts poor Clover.

It could be something paranormal—the purple-haired lesbian witch who gives Clover herbal tea and crystals seems to imply something of this sort. It could be the product of repression and abuse. The terrifying scene in which Clover is attacked and sodomized in a church stairwell by the shadowy Presence suggests that she might have experienced something similar at the hands of her father, a convicted paedophile who died in prison. The reader never knows.

This tale has a psychological depth that one rarely finds in erotica. (Indeed, despite some sexual content, I’m not sure the label “erotica” fits.) Clover is a complicated and believable character, despite her sometimes extreme reactions (like chopping off all her hair). To some extent, she suffers from arrested development. She behaves like the teenager she was when Mason left home for his first job, after the earliest appearance of the Shadow. Indeed, one can also view this novel as a coming-of-age story. By the end, Clover has undergone some dramatic changes.

The story is also about lies and about corruption. From the married priest who screws Brooke’s best friend, to Clover and Mason themselves, almost everyone in the book tries to hide the truth. Clover is a virgin for a good part of the book, but neither she nor anyone else is “pure”.

I deeply appreciated the originality and emotional intensity of In Shadow. However, I had the sense that the author herself was confused by it. The happy ending seemed overly facile, even inappropriate, since the core conflict (the nature of the Shadow) is never really resolved. Although the story has the raw quality that comes from writing out one’s visions, I think it would have benefited from some structural revisions. It felt to me like something scrawled in a notebook after a feverish dream, rather than a polished novel.

Still, if you’re interested in sampling a truly different take on the step-brother romance trope, as well as enjoying Ms. Renarde’s always evocative writing style, I would recommend In Shadow.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Sneak Peek: Doctor's Orders by Lucy Felthouse ( @cw1985 #mm #kink #bdsm))

Doctor's Orders cover


Hospital porter Aaron Miller isn’t expecting a very exciting birthday. He and his doctor boyfriend, Blake Colville, are working opposite shifts, leaving Aaron to go home to an empty house and the prospect of another shift the following day. Just as he’s leaving work, however, an unexpected sexy encounter in a supply cupboard leaves him feeling in a much more celebratory mood. And an impending dirty weekend away with Blake just puts the icing on the non-existent cake. But who needs cake when you’re dating a dominant doctor?

Note: Doctor’s Orders has been previously released as part of the Brit Boys: With Toys boxed set.


Aaron hummed contentedly as he walked along the white-painted corridor towards the locker room. He was happy in his job as a hospital porter. He might not be saving lives, like his doctor boyfriend, Blake, but he liked to think he was improving them. He made the effort with the patients he transported around—or the ones that were well enough to hold a conversation with him, anyway. He chatted to them, showed an interest, tried to make them laugh, always remained positive, even when things were bleak. That was his way of spreading a little cheer, or helping someone forget their worries, even if it was only for a few minutes. It was a small contribution, but a contribution nonetheless, and it made him feel good.

The corridor stretched on, and Aaron thought for the umpteenth time that it could do with some artwork on the walls—something other than doors to break up the interminable expanse of white paint and grey dado rail. But patients never came to this area of the building—unless they were lost—so there was no need to spend any more money on it than was absolutely necessary. Aaron understood that, but boy did it make for a dull walk to the locker room.

As he continued his journey, he saw that a supply cupboard door on the left hand side of the corridor was ajar. It was nothing unusual—people often propped doors open with their feet if they were just leaning in to grab something, or used something as a door stop if they needed both hands to carry what they’d come to collect and therefore couldn’t open the door again to let themselves out.

Reaching the door, he’d just opened his mouth to call out and ask whoever it was if they needed help, when the gap grew wider. A white-clad arm appeared and the accompanying hand grabbed the front of his T-shirt, pulling him roughly into the cupboard.


Aaron didn’t even get chance to finish his exclamation, as he’d been slammed against the now-closed cupboard door, and hard, demanding lips were pressed to his. Lips, he realised, as his brain caught up with the turn of events, that belonged to Doctor Blake Colville. Lips that were allowed to kiss his, thank God!

The fresh, spicy scent of Blake’s cologne invaded Aaron’s nostrils, and he relaxed into the kiss, returned it with enthusiasm. Blake’s tongue sought entrance to Aaron’s mouth, and he gave it willingly, moaning as their tongues slipped and tangled together sensuously, and Blake’s firm, lithe body pinned his slightly-more-muscular one against the cool wood of the door. He stifled any further moans that wanted to sneak out, remembering that, hot as the situation was, it was also pretty precarious, and both of them could get into serious trouble if they were caught. Patients may not frequent this area of the building, but the staff sure did.

Reaching out, he gripped the lapels of Blake’s white coat and pulled, so their bodies were crushed together and their kiss grew bruisingly brutal—in a good way.

The move had clearly fanned the flames of Blake’s lust, because he began grinding his crotch against Aaron’s, teasing their already erect cocks and pushing them both rapidly towards the point of no return.

But could there be a point of no return, given where they were? How on earth would they get away with making love—or, in this case, should it be fucking?–in a supply cupboard in the hospital? Granted, it was one of the quieter areas of the building, but bloody hell…

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About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of 100 Modern Erotic Classics That Youve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Cafés Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller) and The Persecution of the Wolves. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 150 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at:

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