Saturday, April 30, 2011

Of Conferences and Cats

By Simone Eden (Guest Blogger)

This weekend I'm attending the 16th annual Romance Slam Jam, a conference held in Baltimore MD this year. The Romance Slam Jam grew out of an early desire to recognize, and pay respect to African American authors, and to celebrate their craft with their avid fans.” Emma Rodgers, Ashira Tosihwe and Francis Ray gave birth to the ROMANCE SLAM JAM in 1995 in Dallas, Texas, to demonstrate what Nikki Giovanni describes as “The Power, Passion and Pain of Black Love.”

Slam Jam is a blend of offerings for both author and reader. It's a chance for readers and authors to meet one another in relaxed situation. It's like a huge family reunion. Exciting to meet people you haven't seen awhile. I think Siam Jam readers are a particularly sophisticated and knowledgeable group. As expected, there are serious topics and discussion. Things like the role of non-white romance in the genre, changes in the direction of various sub-genres, as well as breakouts. We debate stereotypes and about special issues of marketing. We talk about the romance genre in general.

But mainly I always have so much fun at Slam Jam. When the conference was created, the hip slang for a really good party or music a jam, as a synonym for spontaneity and exuberance. That's exactly the atmosphere at Slam Jam. It's like a big old family reunion. There can be gossip and jealousy, yes. But there are also hugs and lively conversations. Like at many predominately women conferences, meals at restaurants tend to keep on growing to encompass several tables and there's laughter and shouting from one end to the other. The hotel lounge is a big old meet and greet. Groups will make an impromptu trip to the nearest mall or store-in-a-box. African-Americans-- and I'm sure other ethnicities-- are particularly fanatic about seeing themselves and their lives portrayed in a loving, fun and accurate manner. So they are greedy for the opportunity to talk to their favorite authors. Besides books, we talk a lot about our families and daily lives in fun and friendly way which can turn hilarious in a snap. We exchange ideas and teasing.

Last night, Thursday, was the welcome party with a 60s/70s theme. I'm wearing a tee shirt with a silhouette of Fred Sanford and the words "You Big Dummy." Check my Facebook page where I'll give links to more photos as the conference goes on. People, some of them really elaborate. There were prizes for costumes and dancing. We had a Soul Train line which entertained by allowing women of all ages (and the few men: writers or husbands) to show their dance moves. I got out on the dance floor and waved my arms in the air which is not my usual routine at a party. This music is from my generation and it brings back a lot of memories.

This is only my third Slam Jam. I always thoroughly enjoy myself. Although I don't have a huge fan base, I'm often thrilled by running into someone who recognizes my name. These are occasions that remind me what it's all about. I'm enclosed in my office for so many months weaving my private visions; but the whole purpose is to share with others.

Although this conference is focused on the romance of Black authors, all ethnicities are welcome. I've seen people of all races welcomed and having a good time. Like other conventions, you leave exhausted, filled with inspiration, buoyed by new friendships and bursting with new ideas.

Here are some of the other events scheduled. Do visit the website to follow along. RSJ Emma Awards; RSJ Mega Book Signing; RSJ Aspiring Author Contest; Black Romance Online Book Club.

About me:

I became addicted to reading around age eight when my teacher read aloud Charlotte's Web to the class. When I was in high school, I began writing my own novels. Readers don't always understand that writing is something we have to do and that urge can sometimes be frustrating. In my stories I love to explore sensuality and spirituality but I never know what strange settings or characters will be involved.

email: Simone_Eden [at]

Facebook: Facebook/SimoneEdenBooks


About my latest novel:

The shape-shifting cat-like creatures called Baashi, have hidden from humans for eons. Jenna, a computer specialist at a laboratory where the Baashi are being experimented on, has begun to despise what is happening to the mysterious creatures. Keth, a male of the Baashi, returns from a journey to find his pack being captured and disappearing into a lab. He'll do anything to get inside that lab and rescue his people. Jenna and Keth are bound together in a series of mind-shattering encounters. But in order to be together, one of them will have to betray their own kind.

To Purchase:

Here's a brief excerpt from my current book Spell of the Cat. You be the judge of how sexy the shape-shifter Keth is.

Golden yellow eyes blinked at her, then closed as it laid its head back down, a purr rumbling from its body. The aides at the lab called the animals were-cats instead of the official scientific name created by Dr. Phillips. Gazing into this animal's golden eyes, she could believe it.

Jenna shrugged her perplexity away. She'd done all she could at this point. Its breathing sounded more regular and it seemed to be sleeping naturally now.

She carried the animal to the couch in the nearby living room space and threw a light blanket over it.

"You are magnificent," she murmured. She dug her hands into the soft fur and stroked her hands up and down its ribs. She could now tell that the animal's fur wasn't a monotone color, but a luxurious mottled blend of warm browns, golds, and black. The cat stretched and nuzzled against her. In helpless fascination, Jenna allowed it to make itself comfortable.

She'd been impressed by the cats at the lab, but this one made her blood rush through her body with wonder. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off it or keep her hands out of its fur. She felt, rather than heard, the deep rumble in its chest.

Jenna continued to stroke the cat on her lap, watching the TV show. Snowball gave them both a jealous sniff and stalked off with her nose in the air.

The program barely registered in her mind as a warm buzz spread throughout her being, making her more and more sleepy. Finally she eased from beneath the cat, went into her bedroom and closed the door.

* * * *

Keth snapped awake. A tiny house cat was snuggled up against him. When he moved, it sneezed delicately and scooted closer. Keth eased himself away. A pain reminded him of his predicament and the night's events. He stretched his body while absorbing the sensual awareness from the nearby human woman. The woman with her strong, beautiful spirit.

Being with her had started to heal him. His bones were stitching back together; the pain lessening. His friends had brought him to this house because of the powerful healing he needed. Since ancient times, energy had flowed between Baashi and humans in a therapeutic symbiosis, benefiting both. The Baashi had once been viewed as gods but when humans began to try to control and exploit the power, the Baashi went into hiding, roaming the earth in small feral packs.

A pulse on the side of his head teased Keth with the woman's nearness. The bond between them was already woven thick. His inner mys itched to join with her. Leaping to his feet, Keth concentrated on transforming. A knot of pain protested the exertion of his power but he focused harder. With sparkling and crackling, his body wrenched into man form and he stood upright, naked, shaking long dark hair back from his eyes. The woman's house cat backed away from him, hissing and flicking its tail in antagonism. Keth ignored it.

Scratches marred his muscular legs, a bruise discolored the golden skin over his ribs. He ran one hand through his hair. He still had a headache, but he felt much better than when he arrived here. He looked towards the woman's door.

One more exchange with her should finish his healing. On bare feet, air caressing his naked skin, he padded across the living room. But when he reached for the doorknob, the little cat sprang out and sank its teeth into his toe. Keth cursed, his leg reflexively kicking out. The animal tumbled across the floor and righted itself at once, hissing and arching its back. Keth hissed a warning of his own. The cat backed down and Keth turned the knob on the door.

There was no sound within the room as he eased the door open. Keth slipped inside and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it. The woman on the bed lay in a deep sleep due to the enspelling nature of the mys bond he'd cast between them. A stream of light from the slightly opened bathroom door flowed over her honey-caramel skin. She was an exquisite dessert laid out for him. Her hair was hidden by a cranberry colored wrap, which suited her skin tone, but he knew rich mahogany waves of hair fell past her shoulders. Dark lashes swept her cheeks and rosy lips were parted. The unconscious sensuality of the scene warmed his core and caused his erection to thicken and rise further. He hungered for the most direct connection, physical joining.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Instruments of the Devil

They're infernal machines, designed to drive us mad with frustrated desire. No sooner do you have one than you're craving more. The price you pay - well, let's say that it's not just money. Once you're hooked, you find yourself losing your time - your sanity - perhaps even your soul.

I'm talking, of course, about computers.

The past few days have been particularly bad. My four year old Asus Eee PC netbook, which I use for e-reading and travel, both for writing and connectivity, is aging. The battery has long been burned out, or so it seems. Now the wireless networking, previously a marvel of ease and functionality, has ceased to work.

Now, I'm a bit of a geek - I make my living as a software engineer - so I spent a good three hours yesterday on the web, browsing wikis and forums, trying to discover the source of this new problem. I tried all the suggestions I found, all without any success. Finally, as a last resort, I used the DVD that accompanied the machine to restore it to its factory settings. Alas, this procedure caused me to lose all my customizations and additional installed software, but I figured that would be a fair price to pay if it solved the wireless problem.

It did not, of course.

So this afternoon I have plans to trudge over to the computer mall and see if I can find the Asus service center. I'd much rather be working on my current story, but what can you do? Will they be able to make more progress than I did? Only experience will tell.

Meanwhile, last night over dinner my husband and I had a major fight over computers. He accused me of harping on all the problems of the Eee PC because I really wanted to buy a new laptop. In his eyes, I was trying to push the little netbook beyond its capabilities, making it fulfill functions that hadn't been in my original specifications.

I protested, assuring me that I had no such hidden agenda - not that I haven't been eyeing the recent crop of netbooks with a certain degree of lust (not to mention flirting with the fantasy of buying a tablet), but I recognized that our finances currently couldn't support such a purchase.

He's been battling issues with his own, much more recent and powerful netbook.(Yes, I admit I'm jealous. Lust AND envy.) He pointed out that while I've been sitting there, whining and swearing, he's been suffering in silence. Basically his position was, put up or shut up.

You see what I mean? Computers have driven a wedge between us! This morning all is forgiven - we both apologized for our angry words - but I see now the dangers of these diabolical devices.

Beware of techno-lust. Don't let it spoil your life and your relationships!

Now, why isn't my sound card working?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

My Life as a Lesbian

By Roger Collis (Guest Blogger)

Not my real life, I hasten to add; although the boundary between reality and imagination is somewhat blurred these days. Oscar Wilde famously said: ‘One’s real life is often the life one does not lead.’ And, after all, the mind has been described as the ultimate sex organ.

I am what you might call a ‘regular guy,’ a hot-bloodied heterosexual male of a certain age (and an uncertain future) with five children spread among three marriages, and a few affairs.

A few months ago, I was browsing in a favorite bookstore in London, when I came across a remaindered copy of ‘Best Lesbian Erotica 09’ published by Cleis Press. I was taken by a story ‘Velvet’ by Lisabet Sarai, its literacy, depths of feeling… So I wrote Lisabet a fan letter – which is why and how I come to be writing this guest blog for Lisabet’s ‘Beyond Romance.’

Which begs the question, how come my interest in lesbians, in how they behave, in what drives them, in what turns them on? Not in a voyeuristic way, you understand, but more in a participative way – to share their experience, to participate, to become one of them if only in the mind.

As a man, I always thought that the ultimate sexual experience was the exquisite thrill of penetration, of being inside a woman – of possessing, and being possessed, drawn in and trapped. But you know the penis is a vastly over-rated piece of male kit; it is unreliable; unpredictable; one or two shots at the most, until in the words of Dylan Thomas, it comes ‘pouting out when the limp time comes.’

The penis, it seems, can never compete with the strap-on dildo that I read about in lesbian erotica, that provides both parties an endless cascade of orgasms. And then there all the other things which only two women lovers can do – such as scissoring with their pudenda exquisitely enjoined; and the manifold permutations in the reciprocity of oral sex. So how envious can a guy get?

I am conscious here that I am writing a blog, not an article. I wish I could remember what Joan Didion said about the difference between writing a blog and a regular piece. Didion said something about when she started to think too much about structure, she realized she was starting to write an article. Perhaps it is also something to do with relaxing, letting it all flow; there is, inevitably, something self-indulgent about writing a blog – a temptation to let it all hang out in a stream of consciousness.

But freedom brings its own restraints and responsibilities.

Over the years, I suppose I have written around 600 columns for the International Herald Tribune and the New York Times. And it is hard to escape the tyranny of the ‘pyramid lead,’ and the ‘editor over the shoulder:’ which is what I’m trying to do without ignoring the ‘reader over the shoulder.’

So let’s try and relax; let’s try to forget the serried rows of copy editors out there longing to get their hands on my copy. Not that I’m not grateful guys; but this is my spot for now.

When I lie on my back in bed and fantasize, I am a young man enslaved by a much older woman, required to service her orally; or else, I am waking up in a mysterious clinic with the news that I have had transgender surgery; that I am now a woman ready to service my lesbian mistress…

And, as I lie back (with a surging erection), I think with wonder of my new shape ‘down there;’ the marvelous multilayered complexity of the female pudenda, the outer and inner labia, the clitoris, the opening of the vagina… making love with another woman.

So, if I could ever come back to earth in another incarnation, it would be as a lesbian, not a butch, heaven forbid, just as a gorgeous woman with all her femininity and guile.

Bio: Roger Collis has earned world-wide recognition as a business travel guru through his weekly column, 'The Frequent Traveler,' every Friday for 23 years (1985-2008), in the International Herald Tribune; and as a contributing travel columnist for the New York Times. He has been described as the dean of business-travel journalists in Europe, who ‘created the template for business-travel columns in newspapers worldwide.’ He has written a bi-monthly column for CNN Traveler magazine for about 15 years and contributes to publications on both sides of the Atlantic. .

A veteran corporate infighter, with 15 years’ experience in international consumer marketing, Collis was educated at Liverpool University in England; he is a member of the International Alumni Association of IMD Business School in Lausanne, Switzerland.

The second edition of Collis’ bestselling book, "The Survivor's Guide to Business Travel," was described by the London Times as "the best source of independent travel advice on the market." He is also the author of "If My Boss Calls, Make Sure you Get His Name," a collection of columns satirizing the corporate life. He won a special award in the Carlson Wagonlit 2004 press awards for the Business Travel industry.

Roger is working on three new books: a definitive collection of management satire, a collection of erotic stories, and a cook book.

Roger is in frequent demand worldwide as a conference and round-table speaker; meetings and focus group facilitator; broadcaster; podcaster; and film narrator.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Too Much Plot

My current WIP has a May 1st deadline and a 20,000 word limit. I'm up to 16,000 words at this point, but I having a problem, one I really haven't experienced before. Too much plot.

I don't normally do a complete outline for a book of this length, but I will create a set of notes, including a scene list. In the case of "Wild About That Thing", I've got way too many ideas! Already I've scotched three or four of my projected scenes, but I NEED the remaining ones in order to bring the story to an appropriate resolution. I'm really worried, though, that I don't have the word count to complete the tale.

Now probably any authors who are reading this are thinking, "Heck, just cut something earlier in the story." That's easy to say, and I'm sure the story includes some fat that could be excised, but not whole scenes - at least, I don't think so. As it is, I'm concerned that I haven't taken enough time to develop the relationship between the heroine and her two lovers (this is a ménage). I don't want to make the story even less plausible. It's hard enough to believe that my heroine falls so quickly for a man she's just met. If I shorten their joint scenes, that will just make things worse. At the same time the plot requires some of the non-erotic scenes in order to clarify the heroine's situation and her internal conflicts.

I've been writing romance novellas for a couple of years now. This is the first time I've run into this difficulty. Usually I'm very good at estimating how long a story will be based on my initial concepts. I've never yet had to perform surgery on my first draft in order to shorten it to the specified length.

I'm not sure what's going on. I will say that I feel like I know my heroine really well, perhaps more deeply than is usual for one of my novellas. Maybe I'm trying to expose too much of her personality and her history. Or perhaps my premise is just too complex for a work of this length, though it doesn't seem like it should be.

If I had more time, I'd send the work to one of my crit partners for cutting suggestions, but it looks like I may be right up to the wire. (But maybe I can beg someone to give me a really quick turn around...)

Does anyone else suffer from Too Much Plot when you've got an upper limit on length? If so, how do you handle it?

L. K. Below’s Cinnamon and Spice Scavenger Hunt

By L.K. Below (Guest Blogger)

Hello, everyone! As a writer of erotic romance, among other things, I’m very pleased to introduce to you my latest release -- and my latest contest!

Blurb: Jack is smart. Jack is charming. Jack is persistent.

But Melissa is dead certain that he isn't the guy for her. In a moment of weakness caused by his shiver-inducing voice, Melissa finally agrees to one date. She shows up on his doorstep determined to get it over and done with, but Jack has something different planned. With a home-cooked meal, wine, and cinnamon-scented candles, can he break down Melissa's resolve? Can he steal her heart?


1. Must be 18 or older to enter contest.

2. Contest open to entrants world-wide

3. Email me at the provided address (lbelow at lbelow dot net) with the answer to the question below. No need to answer in essay format (unless you feel moved to do so) a simple sentence or even one word will enter you.

4. Only one ballot per question -- but if you visit my other stops and answer the other questions, you will be entered multiple times.

5. Contest open until May 2nd, 2011 at 11:59PM EST. Winner will have 48 hours to confirm their email address and give a physical address where they would like their prize to be mailed.


1. A goodie basket of cinnamon-scented products.

2. A photo of the Cinnamon and Spice cover, signed by me (L. K. Below)

3. A PDF copy of Cinnamon and Spice.

CONTEST ALERT: To enter to win the above prizes, simply email the answer to the following question to lbelow(at)

Question: Have you ever had a good time on a date you thought would be horrible?

Do you want more chances to win? Each scavenger hunt question answered counts for one ballot towards the prize. Check for the full itinerary. Good luck!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

A Voyage on the California Zephyr

Last weekend I returned from a three and a half week visit to the U.S., my annual pilgrimage to see family and friends, mail forwarders, lawyers and accountants. A highlight of the trip was our two day, two night journey across the west on Amtrak's Calfornia Zephyr.

We flew from the east coast to Chicago to catch the train. Originally we'd planned to go all the way across the country, but it turned out that the stretch from Boston to Chicago was almost twice as expensive as the rest of the trip, although it's only a quarter of the distance. The train left at the highly civilized hour of 2:00 PM from Chicago's historic Union Station. We had to check out of our hotel at noon, but Amtrak provided a comfortable lounge with secure baggage storage for its "first class passengers" - that is, anyone who had shelled out for a sleeping car! We left our suitcases and went to grab lunch at the station food court. By the time we got back, the train was ready to board.

Chicago's Union Station

We'd purchased a so-called "roomette". This turned out to be a compartment about the size of a small closet, with a window and a sliding door lockable from the inside. During the day, it contains two facing seats. At night the bottom seat folds down into a bed, and a second bunk drops from the ceiling. It's a good thing my husband and I are short and not too fat! And I will forever bless him for being willing to take the top bed, where there wasn't even enough headroom to sit up.

We'd traveled in a roomette a few years before, on a twenty four hour trip from Florida to Boston, but this one was smaller because the Zephyr is a double-decker train. There was no room for anything other than two bodies. We had the devil's time finding space for even the small bags we'd packed with our toiletries and changes of underwear.

Fortunately we were on the lower level; the motion of the train is much less noticeable there and we were also closer to the toilets and the shower. The shower was "interesting". It had hot water, but you could only get it in 30 second bursts. I decided that I'd wait until the end of the trip to try washing my (very abundant) hair!

The train also includes a dining car (all meals are included if you buy sleeping accommodations) and an observation car with big windows so that you can appreciate the scenery. We opted to spend most of our daylight hours in the observation car rather than in our own cramped quarters. After all, a major reason for taking this trip was to enjoy the glories of the American west.

View from the Observation Car

Amtrak provides an attendant for each sleeping car, rather like a concierge. He or she is responsible for making up and breaking down the beds, providing linens and towels, making coffee, emptying trash, and so on. Our attendant, Marion, told us that she'd been working on Zephyr for thirty six years. I immediately started to think about how I could incorporate that into a story, although Marion was far from glamorous

A break for leg-stretching and our attendant Marion

The schedule very cleverly transits the flat areas at night and saves the mountains for the daytime. The first afternoon, we covered the plains of Illinois and Iowa. We reached Omaha, Nebraska, sometime around midnight and arrived in Denver right after breakfast the next morning. Our first full day on the train was mostly devoted to Colorado. The route took us through Rocky Mountain National Park and spectacular, rugged Gore Canyon. Unfortunately, it's a bit difficult to get good photos from inside the train, because the window glass creates reflections. You'll just have to take my word for it - the views were spectacular.

Eastern Colorado plains

In the Rocky Mountains

As night fell, we headed into Utah. Salt Lake City passed us by while we were asleep. One feature of the dining car (aside from fairly decent food) was the fact that you could purchase very good California wine. We availed ourselves of that opportunity both evenings. As a result, we slept quite soundly!

The morning of the second day found us entering California. We stopped briefly at the picturesque border town of Truckee, which looked like something out of an old Western, and picked up an extra engine to help us over the Sierras.

Main Street, Truckee, California

Once out of Truckee, we began to climb, the train taking switchbacks as the elevation increased. We'd first seen some snow in the Rockies (an exciting moment for us since we've been living in the tropics for a decade) but things got seriously snowy in California.

Snow-covered conifers

Sun in the Sierras

When we crossed into the state, two volunteer guides from the Railroad Museum in Sacramento joined the train. Throughout the day they provided us with fascinating information about locations along the route and the history of the area. According to what they told us, just the previous week heavy snow had closed the regular tracks and the California Zephyr had been rerouted south (resulting in significant delays).

The route traverses the infamous Donner Pass, where during the winter of 1846-1847 nearly forty pioneers died of starvation and illness on the road to the Gold Country. As the Zephyr crested the pass and headed down, the sun broke through the clouds, turning Donner Lake an exquisite shade of blue. Magnificent scenery continued to surround us. Above the valley of the American River, our guides pointed out a spot that had been the end of the wagon trail. At that point, they told us, the covered wagons were dismantled and the pieces lowered by rope more than 2000 feet to the valley below. Several companies apparently provided this service to arriving pioneers.

Donner Lake

I had expected that when we reached the lowlands, the view would become boring. However, the train traversed the marshes of the Sacramento River delta and then skirted Suisun Bay, which turned out to be quite dramatic. The brilliant green of the springtime hills was a delightful change after hours of snowy, monochrome mountain vistas.

Suisun Bay

Sacramento River Delta

Springtime in California

The train arrived in Emeryville, across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco, at 3:20 PM, almost an hour early. We were amazed, since every Amtrak train we've ever taken in the past had always been late.

It turns out that a long train voyage like this is very social. Seating at meals is handled by the dining car staff rather than by choice, since space is limited. As a result, we sat with different people at every meal, and had lots of opportunities to chat and share stories. Almost everyone we met was a railroad veteran. Some people regularly traveled on the Zephyr.

As for us, we had fine time, but I don't think we'll do this particular trip again for a while. On the other hand, we'd love to take the Coast Starlight at some point, which runs along the Pacific Coast from Portland to Los Angeles.

Historic depot, Grand Junction, CO

One slight disappointment: although the historical aspects of the trip had an element of romance, it would pretty difficult to find much that was erotic in our journey. Tiny, narrow, one person bunks - the same basic clothing for two days - thirty second showers - let me just say that this was not the lavish world of the Orient Express! It was more like camping, to be honest. Of course, I could use my imagination and ignore a few of these inconvenient facts...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed our journey on the California Zephyr. If you're considering doing a voyage like this yourself, I encourage you to go ahead. It's surprisingly affordable and great fun - as long as you're not in a hurry.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Announcing the winners -and a new contest!

Hello, everyone! I'm back from my travels and I'm delighted to see that everyone seems to have had fun while I was gone, participating in my Sizzling Spring Excerpt Festival. As for me, I really enjoyed hosting the festival; it gave me the opportunity to read snippets from lots of new authors, as well as from some of my enduring favorites.

Anyway, here's the moment you've been waiting for - announcing the (randomly drawn) winners. The envelope, please!

First Prize - 3 autographed print books: Clancy

Second Prize - 2 autographed print books: Jessica (shadow of a princess)

Third Prize - 1 autographed print book: Colleen

Author Prize - Bookstore gift certificate: Renee Vincent

Winners, please email me your snail mail addresses so I can send you your books! (lisabet [at]

Meanwhile, I hope you've had the chance to check out my new release this week, The Understudy. This contemporary BDSM romance was included in the Master Me anthology published in February, but is now available as a single title and also in audio. Here's the blurb. You can read an excerpt on my website.

Sarah Gladstone was thrilled to be offered her first real acting job at the Berks Summer Playhouse. She never expected to be working with theatre legend Geoffrey Hart. The charismatic actor quickly brings her under his spell, not to mention his control, as he initiates her into the dark delights of BDSM. He offers her far more than physical pleasure; they share a level of intimacy and trust beyond anything Sarah could have imagined.

According to the rumours, though, Geoff's heart is taken. Renowned actress Anne Merrill, his long time partner and submissive lover, has severed their relationship and Hart has escaped to the Berkshires to lick his emotional wounds. With her youth, inexperience, and girl-next-door persona, Sarah knows that she can't compete with the glamorous theatre veteran. She fears that she's just a substitute for the real object of Geoff's affections. As he draws her deeper into his intoxicating games of dominance and submission, Sarah wonders if she's willing to settle for the role of understudy in this perverse passion play.

You can win a free copy of The Understudy! All you need to do is go read the excerpt. (See link above.) Then send me an email, to contest [at] with the subject line "The Understudy Contest". In the body of the email, tell me how Sarah is dressed in the excerpt. On Sunday the 24th of April, I'll randomly draw a winner from the set of emails.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Silent Partner

By Renee Vincent (Guest Blogger)

Contemporary erotic romance from Turquoise Morning Press

Buy Now!

Strange as it may sound, I plotted the entire story of Silent Partner in my head on the long drive home from French Lick Indiana, after signing my first contract with Turquoise Morning Press. I was so excited about signing my Emerald Isle Trilogy that my mind was going absolutely haywire, thinking of all kinds of great storylines that had been swimming in my head over the years. But this one, just seemed to plot itself. Before I got home, I had dropped by the cemetery to be with my sister and shared my amazing news with her. While I was there, I told her my story for Silent Partner. And in hearing it out loud, I knew it was another story, like my trilogy, that I simply had to write.


Grayson Anders has it all. He’s the co-owner of a happening nightclub in downtown Boston, he’s wealthy, and women practically throw themselves at his feet the moment he steps on the dance floor. But profiting from these obvious benefits is not his desire. His passion is dancing and he wants nothing more than to find the perfect dance partner.

Chloe LaRoche is a talented artist, but a failing entrepreneur. Her once thriving studio is now on the brink of foreclosure and unless she paints the next Van Gogh Starry Night, she’ll have to cut her losses and say goodbye to her quaint little gallery. Fearing her career is at an end, she drags herself to the local hotspot, determined to drown her worries in the bottom of a shot glass. At least that was the plan…until she lays eyes on a wickedly sexy, swarthy dancer in the club—Grayson Anders.

Unable to resist, Chloe finds herself in Grayson’s arms, indulging on a passionate, out-of-control, one night stand. And when both awaken the next morning, they are consumed with inspiration.

Grayson finds his perfect dance partner and Chloe finally finds her muse. But will her secret destroy both their dreams?


“Ready to steal away to my humble abode?”

Chloe’s eyes flashed open and Mr. Gyration was but a few inches from her, holding two full shot glasses, one in each hand—the ones they had left at the bar. He stepped forward, his lower half pressing against her. “You’ll have to snag the keys out of my right pocket,” he suggested, glancing downward, “if you want that privacy. I’d do it myself, but my hands are full.”

On purpose, she’d bet.

By the way he wagged his brows and smiled at her, yeah, she knew it was on purpose. Come on, Chloe…where’s your sense of adventure? Reach into his tight leather pants and pull out his keys.

With another wave of heat flushing her face, she took a deep breath and lifted her hand, hesitating as her fingertips just breached the open seam of his pocket. She didn’t want to look at his face for she knew he was probably sporting that half-cocked grin that made her hot, and she was already sweltering with heat.

He bumped his hips toward her. “What are you going to do, sweet thing?” he teased. “Ball’s in your court…”

Little did he know his trifling dare was all she needed to shove her hand in his pocket and grip him in her fist.

His mouth flew open and his body shuddered from the bold contact. “…or in your hand.”

She countered him with an equally half-cocked smile, reveling in the feel of his strong erection filling her grasp. Indeed, he was as hard as stone, but no where near as passive as a motionless statue of marble. She felt him move against her, his pelvis jutting forward.

“Keys,” he reminded with a shiver.

Chloe reluctantly released him and fished for his keys. The pocket of his pants was deep but close-fitting, making it difficult for her not to graze him repeatedly in the process.

“You’re killing me, darlin’.”

On purpose, she elected inwardly.

Finally, she drew the ring of keys from his pants and held them up like a prize. She watched his shoulders relax as if he were relieved the torment on his body has ceased for the moment. But she didn’t plan to keep her hands off him for long. His body was too irresistible not to have thoughts of touching it, torturing him with sinful foreplay.

Yeah, running from Mr. Gyration was no longer an option; leaving him breathless, was.

He stepped back slightly and gestured with his eyes to a narrow corridor behind her to the right. “After you.”

With the keys to paradise in her hand, she slipped past him and started down the hallway, her knees shaking as she walked. They passed a couple, who obviously had no qualms about a public display of affection, passionately kissing and groping each other against the wall.

Visions of a secret room, where only V.I.P members could access came to mind. A place where everyone was freely having open sex — naked bodies draped everywhere and in all sorts of contorted positions. A swingers club.

No. That was not what she had in mind when it came to privacy and it certainly wasn’t what she was into. There was only one door down this hall, and she was not going any further.

She turned around, her face straight and definite in her decision.

He ignored her and sauntered up close, backing her into the very door in question, his drink-filled hands braced on either side of her. She should have felt trapped, scared. But it was the way he looked at her, the way his gaze fell over her face as though he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

She closed her eyes as he tucked his face beneath her jaw, his lips barely brushing against her neck. She knew he was whispering something for she could feel his warm breath bathing her skin, but she had no idea what he said. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears, the throbbing of her aching body giving her no reprieve.

His mouth was exquisite, suckling her sensitive neck with a practiced kiss, weakening her with every tender flick of his tongue.

God, what she wouldn’t give to feel that mouth on her body, in places that were tingling for his attention. She needed him. Needed his love if only for one night. And what would it hurt to succumb to this extraordinary moment, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be in the arms of a much desired man?

She deserved it. She had worked her whole life trying to be successful, trying to be prized and unique in the impressionistic world of art. For once, she felt special. She felt as if she were the only woman he craved and no other woman in the universe would do.

As if he felt her hesitation, he pulled back and looked her in the eye. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to force you upstairs to my apartment. You decide. Right here. Right now. But once you unlock this door…you’re mine. All night long…”

Bio: I am an author with a passionate interest in Irish and Norse history. I live in the rolling hills of Kentucky with my husband and two children on a beautiful secluded farm of horses and hay fields.

When I am not writing, I love to spend my time on the back of a horse, whether with my family or with my friends.

I am a sucker for a good cup of coffee (lots of cream and sugar...and whipped cream if I can get my hands on it), great conversation, and a lilting Irish accent. I love to read and I can't resist watching great epic historical movies.

You can visit me at my website: and at my blog, Past The Print.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Mere Mortals

By Erastes (Guest Blogger)

M/M historical erotic romance from Lethe Press

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Hello, and thank you Lisabet for giving me the chance to talk about my book. Mere Mortals is a gay Gothic Romance set in the mysterious Norfolk Broads in 1847. I knew I wanted to a Gothic with the theme that this book holds (can’t say much, for spoiling!) and I started the book starting it on Dartmoor. However, places like Dartmoor and Exmoor and the like have been done to death and I felt I was retreading familiar ground—and I couldn’t recall any one book set on the Norfolk Broads which are every bit as mysterious, beautiful and deadly as any moor. Plus, I live on the Norfolk Broads, whereas travelling to Dartmoor to research was a day’s travel, so it was an easy fix to change the location. I hope you like the book, if you try it, do let me know, either way!


Orphaned Crispin Thorne has been taken as ward by Philip Smallwood, a man he's never met, and is transplanted from his private school to Smallwood's house on an island on the beautiful but cold and remote Horsey Mere in Norfolk. Upon his arrival, he finds that he's not the only young man given a fresh start. Myles Graham, and Jude Middleton are there before him, and as their benefactor is away, they soon form alliances and friendships, as they speculate on why they’ve been given this new life. Who is Philip Smallwood? Why has he given them such a fabulous new life? What secrets does the house hold and what is it that the Doctor seems to know?


“Goodnight, Jude,” I said again, but I was stayed by his hand catching mine, stopping me from opening the door. I turned to him, and found his face quite serious, his eyes large as if asking a question I’d already answered, days before. In a heartbeat he was close, then closer still and there was nothing but Jude, his scent, the butterfly whisper of his hair against my cheek as he buried his mouth against my neck.

Tingles ran down my spine, delicious shivers that I remember from when Arch used to whisper wickedness into my ear. I laughed softly, tipping my head to one side to give his mouth more space, for there was not much, with my cravat as it was. He pressed his body harder against mine, his arousal obvious and meeting mine with firm determination. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and let them slide down, seeking the curve of his lower back, that subtle curve some men possessed, and which always drew my attention, especially in the fashions of the day.

He groaned as my hands slid beneath his coat tails and he raised his head, his lips damp in the candlelight. His lips opened even as I bent towards him and the kiss was sweeter than the one I remembered. There was something beautifully yielding about him, and it was new, so new to me, for Arch had been all heat and muscle. With Jude I had time to taste, to feel and to explore as he waited, patiently, for me to find him out.

“Jude,” I said, pulling back.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.” His hands fumbled with my trouser buttons, and there was nothing I could do to stop him, nor did I want to. “Not yet.”

I claimed his mouth again, as he opened my buttons and took me into his hand. The fear of our situation melted as all thoughts of where or even who I was vanished for the moment. I found myself making noises I’d never made before, small desperate cries of pleasure, which only spurred Jude on, I could feel him smiling against my mouth, and when he broke away himself, he whispered my name, sounding like yes, and now and thank you all at the same time. After a year of being untouched, there was no way I was going to last long and I knew it, as warmth and pressure built and burst almost before I had time to really enjoy it. I felt a cool cloth against the sensitive top of my member; the thoughtful man had anticipated my emission (although, really, he hardly needed to have any mind reading abilities).

I huffed through my nose in an embarrassed fashion, and looked away. “I’m sorry…”

In response he kissed my cheek. “Don’t be absurd, dear, that was rather the point, was it not? And after all, this is a new suit of clothes. The kerchief I can wash out, or at the very least Paul will think nothing of a cloth in this state. But I would not want to leave a stain on this lovely suit that would need to sponged out. Questions might be asked below stairs, if so.” He stepped back, letting me button myself up. “I think it’s best to avoid that, don’t you?”

Bio: ERASTES is the penname of female author of gay historical fiction. Author of eight novels and over 20 short stories, Erastes is a Lambda award finalist and keen lover of history. She began writing full-time after leaving the legal profession finding it stranger than any fiction. Find out more at her blog or follow her on facebook, goodreads, livejournal or and twitter.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Rosemary Entwined

By Bianca Sommerland (Guest Blogger)

Ménage erotic romance from Total E-Bound Publishing

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Writing Rosemary Entwined started as a ‘What if?’ and turned into so much more. The fairytale Snow White seemed tailor-made for a ménage story and what fun to give this lucky girl who needs to feed on lust to survive seven hot guys to snack on. I had sources galore to use for climactic scenes, but something was missing. Halfway through the story my heroes started grumbling and I had to take a step back because I couldn’t hear myself think over the noise. Then it hit me. How are these men supposed to enjoy a relationship with this girl they share if they can never have a special moment with her?

In my opinion, that is what makes this story great. Those special moments the men demanded they be given with Rosemary. She’s got herself some smart guys!


One kiss might save her, but if Rosemary has to lose even one of her men, she doesn’t want a prince.

The only role of Rosemary's nest of men is to feed her insatiable hunger for lust, but that's not what she wants for them. Or what they want from her. While Rosemary presses for them to live their own lives, they each find ways to steal into her heart. With the threat of her mother's nest hanging over them, Rosemary decides to surrender to the love they offer and focus on building their combined strength to stand against the inevitable attacks.

When her control over her powers slips, another problem arises. The nest is incomplete. A prince must be chosen, and if he is not among her men, she'll be forced to let one of them go.

She once feared her heart wasn't big enough to hold them all. Now she fears she's not strong enough to release even one. Even if it costs her her life.


Curled up on the pillow, Rosemary watched Largo as he bent down to slip the DVD into the player, his boxers outlining his ass to perfection. He pressed play on the remote as he took his place. Kurt brought her a beer and sat on the floor behind her, leaning against the sofa. The movie started, darkness and ghostly music that filled the room and pulled them all in. The first scene gave her goose bumps, but she managed to hide her fear until the white face of a child flashed behind a woman searching for the source of a strange sound. She hid her face and an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

No one’s even dead yet,” Felix whispered, grinning through the tousled blond hair that had fallen over his face. “You’re scared already?”

I’m not scared.” Rosemary said into the pillow, peeking past it and biting her lip when the woman turned to look around the now empty room.

Give her another beer.” Alaire reached for a case by the sofa and pulled out a beer. “She’ll start finding it funny.”

I don’t know if we should let her drink too much,” Kurt said from behind her, tone dry. “She might get ideas.”

And that’s a problem for you?” Alaire twisted the cap and jumped at a blood-curdling scream. The beer slipped from his hand and spilled into his lap. He made a face. “Pause the movie, I gotta clean this up.”

Largo pressed pause. “Hurry up.”

For three minutes they waited, listening to the shower, Wylie taking the initiative to mop up the mess on the floor. Alaire came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, running his hands through his close-cropped hair, and plopped onto the cushion at Rosemary’s side.

Rosemary watched the droplets of water trail down his chest to be soaked into the worn, white towel.

Go ahead,” Alaire said, grinning at her as he got comfortable.

Cheater,” Felix mumbled from her other side.

Largo pressed play.

While the movie continued, Rosemary tried to focus but couldn’t help be distracted by the tempting, damp morsel, so close little drops hit her knee ever time he shifted. She glanced around to make sure everyone was watching the movie and let her hand drift to Alaire’s stomach. He moved closer, resting his head against her side, the dampness of his hair soaking right through her dress. A hand settled on her knee and she gave Felix a covert look, her lips curving at the way he fixed his eyes on the screen and slid his hand slowly up her thigh. Alaire’s hand rested on her other knee and she bit her lip as his touch mirrored the path Felix was taking.

Are you watching the movie?” Kurt whispered in her ear as he knelt behind her and lifted her hair off her neck and laid it over one shoulder.

Uh, huh.” Rosemary swallowed as he pulled the strap of her dress off her shoulder and distracted her with soft kisses while his hand curved under her breast and his thumb grazed her nipple through the fine cloth.

Try to focus on what’s happening, keep your eyes open, even during the scary parts.” Kurt’s words were like another touch, one that played on all her nerves, from the sensitive curve of her ear to the nipple he teased, and down to where Felix and Alaire’s hands met at the juncture of her thighs. She tried to follow Kurt’s instructions, but the unspoken agreement of the other boys made it difficult not to cry out and writhe, never mind watch the movie.

Whose hand was where she couldn’t tell, but suddenly her panties had been shifted and two fingers had breached her, moving in harmony with the pair that circled her clit, playing her to a blind crescent of pleasure.

Slow it down, boys,” Kurt said, sliding the other strap down and baring her breasts. He covered them both with his hands and massaged gently. “She’s having a hard time getting into the movie.”

Bio: Bianca Sommerland was born and raised in Montreal, Quebec. When not reading neurotically or writing as though the fate of the world rests on her keyboard, she is either watching hockey or teaching her daughters the beauty of a classic, steel pony while reminiscing about her days in Auto Body Mechanics. Her time is balanced with utmost care between normal family life, and the internal paranormal realm where her characters reside. For the most part, she succeeds. You can find her at

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Their Home Port

By Karenna Colcroft (Guest Blogger)

Erotic romance from Pink Petal Books

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Their Home Port is a story that's quite special to me. In the book, Reesa Boyd starts working in the office at a marine assistance towing company and falls in love with Micah Ward, one of the tow-boat captains. Micah is very heavily based on my husband, who is a tow-boat captain with a marine assistance towing company. Like Micah, my husband works for his father and is the company's top captain. And like Reesa, I work in the company's office, though I started working there because of my relationship with hubby, rather than the other way around.


When Reesa Boyd goes on a date with yet another Mr. Not-Quite-Right, she doesn’t expect to end the day with a job offer from the owner of Marine Tow, a marine assistance towing company.

On her first day of work, she meets Micah Ward, son of the Marine Tow owner and the company’s best captain. And the man who steals Reesa’s heart. Although the instant attraction between them catches her off-guard, she’s willing to open herself to the possibility of a relationship with him.

During a tropical storm, Marine Tow’s boats are cut loose and Micah takes off alone to recover them. Will he make it through the storm, or will Reesa lose the first man she’s truly loved?


During their meal, they talked about superficial things. A couple times, Reesa started to ask where Micah saw things going between them. Each time, she bit back the words before they left her mouth. Nothing would turn a guy off faster than being asked about the future. She’d learned that the hard way.

Besides, it was only their first date. Far too soon to think about what might happen between them beyond the end of the night.

After they ate, Micah paid the check, carefully hiding it from Reesa. Not that she tried too hard to see it. She knew she’d cringe if she saw how much the meal had cost, and she didn’t want to ruin the night by complaining about it.

On the walk back to her car, Micah held her hand. The warmth of his skin against hers spread throughout her body, and a little tingle began between her legs. She’d definitely gone too long without sex, if just the touch of this man’s hand made her horny.

Naturally she didn’t let on to him, though. The last thing she wanted was to rush things with him. She didn’t know what he’d think if he knew about the thoughts that flickered through her mind.

Pasting a smile on her face, she said, “That’s a great restaurant. Thanks for bringing me there.”

“You’re very welcome.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I enjoyed it too. Maybe I’ll take you there again sometime.”

“Are we going to go on another date, then?” She bit her tongue. So much for not asking about the future. Still, he’d brought it up.

“I hope so,” he said fervently. “I really like spending time with you, Reesa. That was the best thing about the other day. I had a chance to talk to you without anyone sitting there listening.” He frowned. “It’s going to be a balancing act, though, if we’re dating and working together. We’ll have to watch how we act at work.”

“How so?” We’re dating? When did that happen?

“In the office, we have to be sort of professional and stuff.” He blushed. “It’s going to be hard to do that when I’m thinking about kissing you and running my hands over your body. Maybe you should dress a little more conservatively than you have been.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Maybe you should just keep your mind on the job.”

“That isn’t going to be easy, with you sitting there all tantalizing and stuff right across the room from me.” His hand slid over her ass, and she jumped. “You are gorgeous, you know that?”

“Thank you. Does that give you an excuse to fondle me in public?” she asked.

He took his hand away. “I’d love to take you back to my place and fondle you all over,” he said huskily. “Unfortunately, since I don’t have a place, that’s out of the question. I refuse to take a woman to my parents’ basement to get it on with her.”

Nervously, Reesa giggled. “Get it on? And you’re trying to act like you aren’t a teenage boy?”

“I didn’t think I should say ‘fuck’ in public,” he growled in her ear.

She shivered from the warmth of his breath against her skin. If only she’d had other dates with him, she would have brought him back to her place and fucked him silly. Just thinking about it, she felt his hands on her, his body pressed against hers. Her pussy tingled, and she grew moist. “Let’s go to the car, then we’ll talk,” she said hoarsely.

With a smug grin, Micah took her hand again and they walked down the sidewalk as quickly as Reesa could manage in her sandals.

As soon as they sat in her car, Micah pulled her toward him and pressed his lips roughly against hers.

The kiss was filled with lust and promise. She twined her hands in his hair and leaned into him. One of his arms wrapped around her back, and with the other hand he lightly stroked her cheek as his tongue penetrated her mouth. His touch, his smell, brought Reesa to a slow simmer as her body recognized something it had been denied for several months.

She wanted him. No question. Her body craved his touch, and her pussy tightened as though clenching around him. When he traced his hand down her face and neck to her breast, she didn’t protest. Her breath caught, and a shudder rippled through her.

Not just want. She needed him.

Bio: Karenna Colcroft is the alter ego of a shy and sedate mother/wife who started writing erotic romance in 2006 on a dare. Prior to that, she had been writing G-rated stories since age five. Karenna is published with Pink Petal Books, Ellora's Cave, Noble Romance, and Siren Publishing, and has titles upcoming with Passion in Print Press and MLR Press. You can find her at, follow her tweets at!/KarennaColcroft, or friend her on Facebook at!/karenna.colcroft. Karenna lives in the northeastern US with her two children, her husband, and two cats.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

The Bachelor Machine

By M.Christian (Guest Blogger)

Science fiction erotica from Circlet Press

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Okay, I admit it: I'm a geek, a nerd, a fan-boy: my bookshelves are 10% 'classics,' 10% mysteries and thrillers, 40% non-fiction, but the rest (40%, if you're counting) have rocket ships and robots on the covers. Naturally, a pretty good percentage of my own work has been the same, and The Bachelor Machine is all of those: cyberpunk, steampunk, splatterpunk, and all the other 'punks' of science fiction, fantasy, and horror -- with a steaming erotic bent, of course -- in one book.


"M.Christian's stories squat at the intersection of Primal Urges Avenue and Hi-Tech Parkway like a feral-eyed, half-naked Karen Black leering and stabbing her fractal machete into the tarmac. Portraying a world where erotic life has spilled from the bedroom into the street, and been shattered into a million sharp shards, these tales undercut and mutate the old verities concerning memory, desire and loyalty. Truly an author for our post-everything 21st century."

- Paul Di Filippo, author of The Steampunk Trilogy, and reviewer for Issac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine.

Excerpt (from the short story "Hack Work")

Nein, wait, first,—take her ankles, pull her towards you. Idiot! Put the crop down first, on the bed. Yes! Pull her towards you. Good, now turn her over, hard. Do it, idiot! Yes, yes—such a pretty cunt she has: such a pretty, pretty cunt. So black. She gleams, ja? She shines for us, for me. Tell her, speak to her, tell her she is wet. Tell her that she is a cunt, just a pussy for us. Tell her.

The words jammed in my throat and stammered, but they came. I felt my body break sweat from my feet to my face, a fever of fear and disgust that made everything waver in the hot room. I wanted to drop away, to give up completely and just let him have me, do what he wanted to do with her. I just didn’t want to watch anymore.

But I didn’t think, not once, of cutting the connection. I didn’t know then why, and I don’t know now.

Take off your blouse, take off your bra—I know they’re hard because I can feel them. Do nothing, do not say anything. Just stand.

I did. She turned quick and wrapped her lips around my right nipple, sucking with her strong lips, teasing it with her strong teeth. One hand, her right, reached up to tickle my left nipple.

Take her hair, force her back.

I did, drawing her off my nipple. Then she was free, panting like she’d been running, eyes fixed on, first, my crinkled, hard nipple, and then, second, my face.

Draw her up, pull her up by her hair. Do it!

I lifted her by her hair and, with my other hand, her chin. She helped by climbing up onto her knees. Then she was kneeling in front of me. A nipple (like a drop of coal on her breast), I saw, mesmerized, had fallen free of her bra.

Tear it off.

I did, my arms following his directions—my mind disconnected, retreated into doing exactly what he said to do. Her breasts were lovely and dark: large but not fat, bigger than mine—they barely fell as the bra snapped and tore in my hands (she almost falling forward by my earnest ripping).Two nipples out, then, both large and hard, blacker on black.

Tell her that if she makes a sound or moves away the game is over and we will leave. Tell her—

I did, his words falling from my mouth.

Take her nipples in your hands, thumbs and forefingers, and squeeze. Hard! Harder than that—you idiot, this is what she’s here for. Do it!

I thought about reminding him of our contract, that I could have a case of cutting him for abusive treatment of me. I didn’t, though. I didn’t. I couldn’t say a word, I just took her nipples and captured them in my hot and sweaty hands (dimly aware of his cock, a phantom ache of hardness somewhere) and squeezed as hard as I could.

Her eyes got wide. She began to breathe, hot and heavy, like a horse after a race, sweat making her reflect the dim green light in the room—polishing her with pain and something else. I was aware of her smell, rich and strong, as I watched her pupils widen till she stared at me (at me?)—black walnuts quivering in pure cream.

Run your fingers through her cunt, get her juice on your finger tips. Hold them in front of her face. Say, “This is what you are.”

I did, my body did, my mind in the back shaking with fear and something else. She sucked my fingers, tasting herself and growling in heat.

Take her, turn her hard and throw her on the bed.

I did. Her ass was tight, hot, and glimmering on the bed. Her smell was even stronger. She rose up on all fours, the perfect globes of her ass parting, showing me herself, offering herself to me.

Hit her.

I held the crop and did not move, trapped between his bellowing voice and my own arm. I only did what he said I had to do. He did not have control. I would break the connection, pull myself in, zip myself up, and leave.

I would.

Coward. You are afraid. Gott, you feel it, but you are scared. She wants this, she needs this as much as I need this. She wants the crop, idiot. She wants to feel your force, your power. That is why she is here, why I am here. Do it now, fool, or I will break and report you: we do this because we want to do this. I take nothing that is not offered.

Look at her, she wants it more than your body. Hit her, damn you, hit her and give us what we both want!

Anger was a vibrating wire in my guts, around my spine. The crop was light in my hand—but I knew he felt it more than I did, my senses rerouted to my fare.

Hit her now!

Bio: M.Christian is - among many things - an acknowledged master of erotica with more than 300 stories in such anthologies as Best American Erotica, Best Gay Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bisexual Erotica, Best Fetish Erotica, and many, many other anthologies, magazines, and web sites. He is the editor of 25 anthologies including the Best S/M Erotica series, The Burning Pen, Guilty Pleasures, The Mammoth Book of Future Cops and The Mammoth Book of Tales of the Road (with Maxim Jakubowksi) and Confessions, Garden of the Perverse, and Amazons (with Sage Vivant) as well as many others. He is the author of the collections Dirty Words, Speaking Parts, The Bachelor Machine, Licks & Promises, Filthy, Love Without Gun Control, Rude Mechanicals, and Coming Together Presents M.Christian, Pornotopia, How To Write And Sell Erotica; and the novels Running Dry, The Very Bloody Marys, Me2, Brushes, and Painted Doll. His site is

Friday, April 15, 2011

Go Wild

By Juniper Bell (Guest Author)

Menage erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

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I’ve lived in Alaska for four years, but this is the first book I’ve set here. I was waiting for some kind of unique twist to come to me. Finally, during the umpteenth blizzard of my third winter, it did. What if an Alaskan town came up with their own crazy, let-loose, go-wild, dump-your-inhibitions way to let off steam in the middle of winter? That was the inspiration for the festival called Wild Nights, and GO WILD is the first story in the series. Next comes GO DEEP, then GO FOREVER, then….I’m open to suggestions! Got any ideas?


Lars loves Katia. Katia loves Lars. Lars wants to marry Katia. Can he convince his free-spirited lover that marriage will be as fun as her sexually adventurous single days?

Never before has Katia been tempted to give up her carefree ways. She’s deeply in love with Lars, but she doesn’t know if he can handle her wild side—or wilder needs. But Lars is a hard man to resist. The former Olympic champion won’t give up, not when he knows just how to please her.

The people of Wild, Alaska, know the best way to survive winter is to let off a little steam. When his buddies hit town for Wild Nights, a notorious winter festival with one rule—“anything goes, nothing counts”—Lars has the perfect opportunity to prove he’s the man for Katia.

Lucky for Katia, “proof” includes four rugged Alaska men and one wildly erotic night.

Reader Advisory: Features an extended ménage (M/F/M/M/M) and references to bondage experimentation and sexual escapades of all types. Woohoo!


Katia tried not to stare at the smorgasbord of bare, muscular male flesh crammed into the tiny sauna. “Nice to meet you. I hope we’re not interrupting.”

Hell, no. We were just talking about sheetrock,” said Jake with a chuckle.

Anything would be welcome. Especially you. Very happy to see you.”

Shouldn’t he say “meet you”? Remembering she was naked, Katia put her hands to her bare breasts and found her nipples just as hard as before. Maybe even harder. Behind her, Lars cupped her ass. The feel of his warm hand made her pussy twitch. Or maybe it was the feeling of these men’s eyes on her.

Please don’t cover up,” begged Marlowe. “You’re the nicest thing I’ve seen since I headed off into the wild. Actually, you may be the nicest thing I’ve ever seen. I beg you, take pity on a poor deprived scientist. Did I mention I’m trying to save the planet?”

His whimsical tone immediately put her at ease.

Well, if it’s for science,” she said teasingly and dropped her hands. A moment of silence followed while the three men looked their fill.

Someone let out a rough sigh. The atmosphere in the room shifted to something more intense, more electric.

Lars ran his hand down the cleft between her buttocks. Did it bother him to see three men visually devour his girl? It didn’t seem to. In fact, she felt his erection poke against her back. Apparently it turned him on. Maybe because the men were his friends?

So you got room in there for Katia and me?” Lars asked.

Our casa es su casa,” said Jake, flinging out his arms in invitation. “I’ve been keeping the place warm for you.”

Trust Jake-O to take credit for a fire I made and tended.” Marlowe wiped his forehead with a small towel. “Good thing I’m too lazy to beat his ass.”

A snort was Jake’s only response. Katia wondered if Eagle ever said anything. So far he seemed quiet. Maybe he was falling asleep, or zonked out from the heat.

Don’t let us scare you off,” said Marlowe. “Go on up and have a seat next to that studly fellow there. If he doesn’t treat you right, you let me know.”

Jake shifted a tiny bit to his left to make a little more room for Katia. She took a step forward onto the clammy wooden planks that made up the sauna’s floor.

If anyone treats her wrong, they’ll answer to me,” said Lars, still behind her. He gave her a little spank on the ass. Katia felt her flesh tremble and her nipples perk up— more.

A warm, melting feeling spread through her. The feeling of an adventure about to begin.

Lars took Katia’s arms and held them behind her. Her mouth fell open in astonishment. He drew her up on the tips of her toes so her back arched and her breasts protruded in blatant display. The three men appeared riveted by the sight of her naked body presented to them so invitingly.

Through her haze of surprise, she wondered what they saw. A slim, taut, pale body, long dark hair, erotically aroused nipples. A shadowed triangle between her legs.

This woman,” Lars said in a husky voice, “has been making me crazy since the moment I met her. She’s the most sensual, most passionate, most lovable wild thing you’d ever want to meet. And she has the idea that I’m a straight arrow who can’t handle her free-spirited ways.”

For the first time, Eagle made a sound, something between a snort and a cough.
“I thought you’d say that,” said Lars. “And it’s true, since I met Katia I’ve been more of a stay-at-home type. It’s only normal. We had to cement our relationship, right, love?”

What’s going on, Lars?” she whispered, turning her head against his chest.

You. Me. Three naked men. A sauna. Whatever you want.”

She turned her head back toward the men, who were studying her body with complete and thorough attention. The tension in the room went up another three notches.

I told you before I trust these guys with my life. When you’re out in the back country you have to rely on each other. We got stuck a few times and had to figure our way back.”

He ran his hand up the side of her breast. “If it suits you, we’ll keep going. If it doesn’t, we’ll stop.”

She shivered as her nipple hardened further. Between Jake’s strong legs, she spotted an answering rise. “Why are you doing this?”

Lars bent his mouth to her ear. “Because I love you. Every bit of you, you wild thing. And I want to prove it. ”

Katia’s body pulsed with excitement. How long had it been since she’d had a sexual adventure like this? She’d forgotten the adrenaline rush of the wild unknown. The thrill that reached deep inside her and made her feel like a goddess.

And to have Lars participate, no, even have him take charge of her like this...what an unexpected miracle.

Bio: Juniper Bell is a multi-published, bestselling author of erotic romance. She lives with her husband and stepdaughter in a cabin in Alaska with no running water and a spectacular view of glaciers. She wound up in the frozen north after leaving her career as a stressed-out Los Angeles TV writer. Luckily, her love for writing survived the move. When she’s not shoveling snow, she’s spending time with her family, traveling, and dreaming about the day she moves to Hawaii. She’s published with Ellora’s Cave, Samhain Publishing, and Liquid Silver Books.

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