Tuesday, January 31, 2012

It's My Birthday - But You Get the Presents!

Today's my birthday. Of course it's a week day, so I have to work, but that's not going to stop me from celebrating!

And I want you to celebrate with me. So I'm giving away three erotic romance ebooks today, to three people who leave comments. All you have to do is tell me which you would prefer, and why.

Here are your choices:

  • Monsoon Fever - M/M/F historical ménage
  • Crossed Hearts - M/M BDSM contemporary
  • Getaway Girl - M/F light bondage

If you're not familiar enough with the different titles to make a choice, check out the covers, blurbs and excerpts on my website. And don't forget to include your email address in your comment.

Thanks for joining my celebration! And don't forget to come back tomorrow for the first day of the Sharing the Love Blog Bash. You could be the lucky reader who wins a Kindle Fire.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Free Today! Body Electric

Hey, readers! Just popping in let you know that Body Electric, my collection of erotic short stories, is free today only, January 30th, at Amazon.

If you like variety, this is the collection for you! It includes vampires, alternative history, BDSM, spanking, cross-dressing, M/M/F ménage, M/F/M ménage, M/F/F ménage, F/F, M/M, and of course M/F stories...

Get your copy here. If you don't have a Kindle, you can still read Kindle books - just download the free reader software for your Windows, Mac or Linux PC or your smartphone.

While you're over at the Kindle store, check out my new BDSM story collection, Just a Spanking, too!

Sunday, January 29, 2012

A Sweet, Spicy Snog from Refuge

This week's snog is from my short story Refuge, which is part of the charity anthology Coming Together: At Last. This two-volume set features multi-racial and multi-cultural tales, and all proceeds benefit Amnesty International.

I'm focusing on my altruistic erotica today because starting on February 1st, I'll be hosting a whole month of guests who write for Coming Together. During my Share the Love blog bash, many of the authors (including me, of course) will be offering daily giveaways to people who comment. At the end of February, we'll draw the name of one reader who'll receive a $50 gift certificate from All Romance Ebooks. Meanwhile, we're also giving away a super grand prize - a Kindle Fire - to one lucky and industrious visitor. Drop by on February 1st to read the inaugural post from Alessia Brio, founder of Coming Together, and learn how you can get your hands on the Kindle!

Meanwhile, today, don't forget to visit Victoria Blisse at Snog Central, to read her weekly kiss excerpt. Then follow the links to enjoy lip-smacking delights from lots of other authors!

“Khun Nu. I have come to thank you.” It was dark—aside from the commander’s office, the camp had no electricity—but a full moon showed me me every detail of her beautiful face. My cheeks felt hot. I had stripped to my undershirt, but my uniform pants grew tighter and more uncomfortable than ever. “Without your help, Su would have died.”

“Never mind, it’s nothing. I’m glad I could help. Anyone would have done the same.” Shame washed over me. I remembered my temptation to abandon her, and was suddenly very glad that I had resisted. Helping you is the least I could do, I thought, when I’m part of the machine holding you prisoner here.

“No, that’s not true at all. Believe me. I’ve been here a lot longer than you. Most of the soldiers here have no heart at all. They think we’re sub-human. You risked your own position and safety for us.” She reached out to me. “Come. Let me show you how grateful I am.”

I froze, suddenly understanding what she had in mind. “What? No—no, really, that’s not necessary...”

She arched one delicate eyebrow. “Don’t you want to? Don’t you like me? I had some notion that you found me pretty.”

“I—no, it’s not that, you’re lovely, it’s just—well, I don’t want to take advantage... You’re so young, so sweet...”

A bitter laugh. “Take advantage? You think you’d be the first soldier here that I’ve fucked?” Her crudeness made me cringe, but then her voice grew softer. “Please, Nu. I want to be with you. I want to be close to you. You’re the only man in Thailand who has ever treated me like a human being.”

I knew it wasn’t right. I wanted to resist. But I let her take my hand, let her lead me along narrow, overgrown paths where the moonlight could hardly penetrate the overhanging vegetation. My conscience cried out ‘No’. My mind echoed the warning. I ignored them, choosing instead to listen to my body and my heart.

I watched her body sway in front of me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could see her slender back, with its cloak of gleaming hair. I swallowed hard at the sight of her hips, their swell distorting the patterned fabric of her sarong. I was sweaty and nervous as she led me through the forests near the camp boundaries and up to higher ground. The aching lump in my groin made it difficult to walk.

The path opened into a grassy clearing. Moonlight poured in. To my left rose a steep wall of limestone. The plash of falling water reached my ears. Rivulets emerged from the cliff at several spots and tumbled into a mossy pool at its base, before spilling over and flowing down hill toward the camp. The cool breeze was rich with the scent of growing things, free of the fetid aromas of the caged humanity.

I took a deep breath. Prean stopped by the pool. She turned to me, her arms wide in invitation. I stood rooted in that magical spot, snared by her beauty.

“Nu?” Her voice released me. I gathered her in my arms, burying my face in her fragrant locks. The soft flesh of her breasts pressed against my chest, sending a thrill through my limbs that settled in my groin. Amazed at my daring, I ran my palms over her cloth-wrapped hips, around to her buttocks, and pulled her body tight against mine.

She ground her pelvis against my swollen cock. I moaned, finding her lewdness shocking but irresistible. “Mmm,” she murmured. “I guess that you do like me, after all.” Before I could stop her (and only part of me wanted to), she had slipped her hand between us and unfastened my fly.

My rigid penis sprang into her hand, an arrow to its target. She stroked it delicately, like some fluttering bird that might escape. It swelled at her touch. As it hardened further, she started to squeeze, pumping rhythmically from base to tip as though she was milking a goat. She smeared the sensitive bulb with moisture leaking from the eye, and I nearly lost control. Meanwhile, with her other hand, she grabbed my head and pulled my lips to hers.

Her mouth was open from the first. Her kiss was bold, all tongue and teeth, honest in its need—the hot, hungry kiss of a woman starved for loving. I returned the kiss, as best I could, lost, dizzy with lust. My senses reeled. It was too much. The fever of her mouth, the cool silk of her fingers on my cock. Her scent, grass and smoke, salt and musk. Her taste, lemon and mint. I felt my balls contract and groaned, sure that I was about to embarrass myself by spurting all over her hand.

Prean knew. At the last moment, she released both my cock and my mouth. Her smile was full of mischief and understanding. Stepping away from me, she pulled her tunic over her head. Jet locks tumbled over her bare shoulders. I stared at her breasts, white and plump as little chicks with tips dark as tamarind pods. My palms ached to cup them, to feel them yield under my touch. She loosed the tucks holding the sarong around her hips. The fabric dropped to the ground, revealing her flat belly and winking navel, her pale thighs and shapely calves, and at the center of the universe, the tangled patch of black fur that hid her sex.

My cock twitched, eager for a taste. I was too shy to move.

Her scent was sharper now. She knelt and spread the sarong upon the grass, then lay on her side, watching me. “Please. Take off your clothes, Nu. I want you.”

Friday, January 27, 2012

Happy Birthday, Wolfgang

Today is the 256th anniversary of the birth of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, one of my favorite composers. From the flighty nonsense of The Magic Flute to the somber power of the Requiem, Mozart's music never fails to astound and delight me. Every note seems so easy, so perfectly inevitable, and yet there are intricacies of structure that I, as a non-musician, can only appreciate intuitively. I've read that both musicians and singers had a terrible time dealing with the complexity and difficulty of his mature operas. And yet to the listener, the music is immediately accessible.

Of course, everyone acknowledges Mozart's genius - he won great acclaim even during his own lifetime - yet that didn't prevent him from great poverty and hardship. He's a fine example of the fact that artistic brilliance doesn't necessarily translate into financial success. I guess I have no reason to complain.

I find other lessons in his work, too. Mozart wrote to primarily to entertain. At the same time, his operas, his symphonies and his liturgical work, especially, have a depth, a seriousness, that belies the speed and facility with which he composed them. Perhaps my favorite of his operas is Don Giovanni. It's generally categorized as a comic opera, and yet the final scene, when demons appear to drag the philandering adventurer down to Hell, has the intensity and drama of a tragedy.

I'd love to write this way myself, to produce stories that sweep my readers into a world of pleasure and at the same time, say something serious about life, love, faith, and fate.

Of course, I'm not intending to compare my skill with his, even though I began writing almost as early as he began composing. Why not aspire to the highest level of achievement, though? I doubt that anyone will remember me or my birthday, two centuries down the road. But perhaps I should write as though that was a real possibility.

I have many "Mozart memories", but possibly the fondest recollection is the performance of Cosi Fan Tutti my husband and I attended in the magical city of Prague. We'd bought tickets that morning, but almost didn't make it to the theater because somehow we managed to get on the wrong trolley and traveled ten miles into the suburbs, in the opposite direction from town, before we realized our mistake. We squeaked in just minutes before the curtain rose, tired and sweaty and anxious. Mozart carried us away into a different world entirely. The Prague opera house, all curlicues, gilt and red velvet, provided the ideal setting for the composer's tongue-in-cheek tale of female inconstancy. It felt like a dream, to be there in the city that treated the young prodigy far better than his home town of Salzburg, and which still claims him as its own, drinking in some of the glorious music ever created.

To be able touch others with one's art in that way - what a gift! And so, I celebrate the 27th of January, grateful that Wolfgang lived his short thirty five years on earth and humbly hoping to contribute even one thousandth the amount of joy with my own work.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Body of Secrets, Body of Lies

By Tori St. Claire (Guest Blogger)

[Lisabet asked: How do you do research for a thriller about human trafficking and Russia? Do you have any experience with this?]

*Laugh!* I’ve been asked and asked about research on Stripped. I love how you presented this to me!

Well, you dig and dig and dig on the Internet. Not just the sites that crop up on an initial search, but digging deeper, looking at old CIA news / reports, looking at similar crimes that have taken place. There’s a lot of information available on human trafficking in general, and that’s an easy starting point. Russia is a bit more inherent for me. My mentor is a Russian immigrant, and I heard stories in general, that fed an early fascination with the country. Another very close friend of mine had a passion for anything Russian and I learned by osmosis – when every other sentence relates somehow to the country, stuff sticks in weird places in the head. Third, one of my college best friends was from a Russian village in Alaska, and that just kept the love of the country alive, plus gave me some stuff to work with for Stripped ;)

One of the things though that’s important to understand, I’m from Kansas City, and just before I was born, Kansas City was a mafia playground. In fact, my earliest years came at the culmination of the power here. Chicago saw its days and is fabled for Capone, et all, but those influences stayed strong in Kansas City. It is nothing like it was now, not in any shape or form, but there’s still “families”. Not so much crime as it was, but those who remember. Moscow, in many ways, still shares that influence. Well… let me back up. Moscow exceeds that influence by leaps and bounds. If you need protection, you go to one of the mafias in Moscow. If you need a “solution” you go to one of the mafias. This just made it an easy link… it then became a task of researching the different Moscow and Russian organizations until I found one that had the capability to fit my fictitious needs.

I don’t have any personal experience with human trafficking, but I pay attention to the media. I know that the USA is more commonly a “destination” country, not necessarily a “source” country, which I had to play with a little to make it fit the premise of my story. That’s frankly why I went with the stripper aspect, but… and I certainly don’t want to delve into stereotypes, but bear with me…

Where I live currently, strippers are not the attractive beauties that you might see in a high-end club in Las Vegas. In fact, and I have no idea if this is still true, but the club that is closest to my home was known for, about 10 years ago, the addiction to cocaine many of the women had, and the physical result of this addition was not particularly pleasing to the eye. I don’t frequent strip clubs, and have recently learned that in some portions of the country strip clubs are a “club” that both men and women go to as I might go to a dance club. (Part of this may be related to the fact that Missouri is still part of the Bible Belt.)

Given my foundation in what a strip club was, I wanted a little more class that what surrounds me. So I ported the setting to the place of fantasies – Vegas – where I could pretty much do what I wanted within reason, in my club. I chose strip clubs, as opposed to prostitution, because I wanted to touch on the stereotype that “If someone’s going to go missing and not be missed” it might happen in the world of stripping. Chances are far higher it would happen with prostitution… but that was too stereotypical for me.

To tie it all together, I needed a place where women taken from the US might hold appeal. The vast majority of places that work with human trafficking use the US as a destination therefore they aren’t going to port women in to the country they operate out of. For instance, the Bratva isn’t going to transport an American to Russia, they’ll transport a Russian to America. Other countries where it’s far more prevalent wouldn’t find an American attractive enough to engage in the habit. But Dubai… now that’s a world of riches and readily embraces Western influences. American slaves fit well with a broad perception.

I did have a few resources I polled about possibilities, theoreticals, and concepts. And like Natalya… if I shared those secrets, I’m afraid I’d have to eliminate you ;)

[Lisabet asked: Do you use your own fantasies in your books? Is there something of you in Natalya?]

(I want to answer this question, because I find it entertaining, but it’s not worth a full blog discussion.)

The short answer is no. But it amuses me how often I’m asked this. I’m a single woman, writing erotic romance. I can’t count the number of men who’ve heard that in an introduction, and within the first ten minutes of conversation find a way to work in this question. The vast majority of them also manage to follow up my “No” with a remark along the lines of “If you need inspiration.” I joined a dating service once, and included in my bio that I was a published romance author. (I write under pen names, no harm no foul). One man even introduced himself with “If you need some help, I’m happy to provide inspiration.”

Granted, it took my boss two months to ask, but even he couldn’t resist. Laugh. (To clarify, so he doesn’t sound like a creep, he’s more a friend than employer, and he’s extremely supportive of my writing career.) Interestingly enough, my guy reads everything I write and has never once asked.

Stripped by Tori St. Claire


Body of secrets…

As a member of the CIA’s elite, Black Opals, Natalya Trubachev must live a lie, working undercover as the lover of Dmitri, a Russian mob boss. His business is trafficking vulnerable Las Vegas strippers overseas for twisted sex games. Natalya’s business is to blow the ring wide open and bring down Dmitri and his American contacts. But the stakes are raised when she learns that the next target is her own sister Kate, a dancer in the famed club Fantasia. Only now does Natalya realize how personal her mission has become, and how far she’s willing to go to complete it.

Body of lies…

The manager of Fantasia is Brandon Moretti, an undercover detective who keeps a close eye on his girls, and an even closer one on his sinfully sensual hire. For Natalya, working the club could be the break she’s been waiting for. But for Moretti, Natalya is a possible link to a killer. Only he never counted on her being so lethally seductive or so dangerous to get close to. As every forbidden pleasure between them is stripped away, his own secrets threaten their security, but it’s Natalya’s that could destroy them both.


“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” His breath rasped over her cheek. Featherlight kisses accompanied the whisper, trailing across her skin in a taunting path toward her mouth.

Kiss me. She turned her head in search of lips she instinctively knew would be warm, the words on the tip of her tongue. Kiss me until I don’t care whether I live or die.

Honesty. Just once.

He caught her lower lip with his teeth, the nip nowhere near gentle. But the lazy stroke of his tongue soothed the stinging bite. She parted her lips, dipped her tongue out to touch his.

Brandon’s body tightened like a whip. The pressure in her lower back increased as his fingers curled into her skin. Their breaths mingled. The tips of their tongues met in a slow, sensual dance. As another spasm of ecstasy threatened to send her tumbling into his solid chest, she braced her hands on his shoulders.

And then Brandon was gone, the magic of his fingers disappearing as he stepped back and set both hands on her waist. His gaze scorched in to flood her body with tingles. He waited, his question unspoken, but hanging between them.

Tell me what you want.

Clearly he intended to make her admit she wanted to feel him deep inside her. Wanted to experience the slide of his bare skin against hers. And God, how she wanted to kiss him. To taste the desire that burned in his gaze and the indescribable flavor of hot, aroused man.

Confessing might lead her to an early grave, but for once, her conscious would be clear. She swallowed hard and dug deep for the courage that had kept her alive these last three years. His gaze followed the sweep of her tongue as she moistened her lips.

“Kiss me.” Her senses honed in on her whisper, amplifying it and the ragged fall of their mutual breathing. She became aware of every minuscule sound as she waited for Brandon to either dip his head and honor her request, or shove her aside with a wicked sneer.

He took a step closer, bringing their bodies in contact from chest to toes. One arm wrapped around her waist, then slid up her back to offer support between her shoulder blades. The other tangled in her hair, tipping her head back. Putting her where he wanted her—subtle dominance that thrilled her in places she hadn’t known existed.

Her womb clamped hard, sending another rush of moisture through her pussy.

His mouth descended. Warm lips played against hers, drawing her into the spell his body wove. Pulling her in so deep she struggled for air.

The sudden, brassy ring of her cell phone jolted her out of hazy desire. She froze. With Kate and Sergei due to arrive at Fantasia any minute, there could only be one other person calling at this time of day—Dmitri. It would be almost one in the morning in Moscow. The time Dmitri put aside his work and crawled into bed. He’d want to talk before he slept.

“Don’t answer that,” Brandon whispered against her mouth.

Damn if those lips weren’t compelling. She’d had his mouth on her breast, knew the incredible magic his tongue could create there, but had yet to experience the tantalizing slide of his tongue against hers. The need to feel his mouth on hers, to get lost in his potent masculinity pressed her to ignore the ringing tones.

Duty, however, rose up screaming. If she didn’t answer, Dmitri would get suspicious. “I have to.”

Bio: Tori St. Claire grew up writing. Hobby quickly turned into passion, and when she discovered the world of romance as a teen, poems and short stories gave way to full length novels with sexy heroes and heroines waiting to be swept off their feet. She wrote her first romance novel at seventeen.

While that manuscript gathered dust-bunnies beneath the bed, she went on to establish herself as a contemporary, historical, and paranormal author under the pen name, Claire Ashgrove. Her writing, however, skirted a fine line between hot and steamy, and motivated by authors she admired, she pushed her boundaries and made the leap into erotica, using the darker side of human nature and on-the-edge suspense to drive grittier, sexier, stories.

Her erotic romantic suspense novels are searingly sensual experiences that unite passion with true emotion, and the all-consuming tie that binds -- love.

Tori can be found at:



Twitter: @claireashgrove

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Lisabet's January Newsletter

Happy New Year to all my readers! I've got lots of exciting things to share this month, including several chances to win free books and gift certificates.

New and Upcoming Releases

I have two new releases since last month. The first is a collection of my BDSM short stories, entitled Just a Spanking. Is a pure spanking, stripped of any sexual manipulation, enough to make a submissive come? Can a Dom turn a woman into his slave using just his voice? Can a banana split be an instrument of torture? Find out in this lively, arousing collection. The book is available exclusively for Amazon Kindle and can be borrowed for free by Amazon Prime members.

The second is a re-release of Incognito, bundled with Iona Blair's scorching Sins of Susan into a super-sized sexy ebook entitled Taboo. It's also on Kindle Select. You can read an excerpt here.

Just a Spanking
            Cover Taboo Cover

Both my Books We Love collections Just a Spanking and Body Electric will be free for every one on specific days from now through April. I'll announce the days on my blog and Yahoo list a day or two before. Meanwhile you can get either of these books free from me. All you have to do is review the other on Amazon, then send me the review link.

I heard from Maxim Jakubowski that my story The Antidote will be included in the next Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica. And my erotic fairy tale Shorn comes out in May as part of Kristina Wright's collection Lustfully Ever After

Finally, I've signed the contract for Quarantine. The book is scheduled for July. I really don't know how I'm going to wait that long! Meanwhile I've posted a short excerpt to whet your appetite.

Other News

Want to read some sexy excerpts and win lots of prizes? Dumb question, right? February is Coming Together "Share the Love" month here at Beyond Romance.

Share the Love banner

In case you haven't been paying attention (grin), Coming Together is a publisher of erotic fiction for charity. We've raised thousands of dollars for causes like breast cancer research, AIDS research, conservation and social justice, as well as supporting victims of disasters including Hurricane Katrina and the 2007 California wildfires. During February, I'm turning my blog over to Coming Together authors, who will be sharing the hottest snippets from their charity stories. Most will offer giveaways to people who comment, and at the end of the blog bash, we'll choose a grand prize winner, who will receive a $50 gift certificate to All Romance Ebooks. We're also giving away a Kindle Fire to a reader who comments every day! I hope you'll visit and comment often. We're going to have a great time!

In my free reading section this month, I've added the full length romantic BDSM tale Reunion. The story has been published in several collections, but remains one of my favorites.

Starting in February, at the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website, I'll be writing a new column entitled Naught Bits: The Erotogeek's Guide for Technologically Challenged Authors. I'll be trying to provide enough background on computers, software and related topics to help authors cope with the demands of publishing and promotion in the Internet age.

And speaking of ERWA, we've revamped and re-energized the ERWA Blog. Every few days you'll find a new post about writing or life, romance or sex, from our top-notch authors. Check out my post from a few days ago, Intimacy with Strangers. It's not what you expect!


Thanks to all of you who entered my "Favorite Cover" contest last month, and congratulations to my randomly chosen winner Tammy R. Her favorite cover was Ruby's Rules. I was interested to see that there was a great deal of variety in people's responses.

For January, I'm doing market research again! I'd like to know how you feel about ebook prices. To enter, send an email to contest [at] LisabetSarai.com with the subject line "Prices Contest". In the body of the email, answer the following questions:

  • When you shop for ebooks, does the price make much of a difference in your decisions?
  • If you see a book priced at only 99 cents, does that influence your perception of its quality?
  • What do you think is a fair price for an ebook novella (20,000 words or 50 pages)?
  • What do you think is a fair price for an ebook novel (50,000 words or 150 pages, or more)?
If you have other comments about ebook pricing, I'm happy to hear them.

Around the 20th of February, I'll randomly draw a winner from all the entries. He or she can choose to receive either of my two recent romance releases, Hot Spell or Wild About That Thing.

Lisabet's Pick of the Month

My January Pick of the Month is Nicole Morgan's blog. Nicole writes satisfying, sexy erotic romance that will have you clamoring for more. Drop by and say hello - and tell her Lisabet sent you!

Sunday, January 22, 2012

A Kinky Snog from Reunion

Happy Snog Day!

I'm in the process of my monthly website update. I thought I'd post a snog from my BDSM story Reunion, which I'm adding to my free reads page.

Have you visited Snog Central yet today? I'm talking, of course, about Victoria Blisse's site, where you can find one of her delicious kisses as well as links to those from your other favorite authors...

Three years since I last saw him, and now his plane is late. I perch on the edge of the chair across from the American Airlines desk where he told me to meet him, tension winding me tighter with every moment.

It's always like this. My chest aches. It's difficult to breathe. My nipples are as taut and swollen as if he already had them wrapped in elastic bands. I try not to be distracted by the stickiness between my bare thighs. I glance at the arrivals screen. His flight has just landed. Ten minutes, fifteen at most, before I can expect him. I fill my lungs deliberately and try to slow my racing pulse.

I hover between joy and terror. It has been so long, too long. What will he think of me, the strands of gray in my hair, the new wrinkles? What will he ask of me? Will I be able to give him what he needs? I remember other reunions, too few, too short. No time for more than a few kisses, a few playful swats on my bared butt. I remember lying on his lap in Golden Gate Park, my skirt flipped up around my waist. I can precisely recreate my shame and my excitement. I recall slouching down in the front seat of his car in a dark, sweltering parking garage, while he unbuttoned my blouse and dabbled his fingers in my cunt, naming me as his slut. A few hours every few years is all we manage, a country and my marriage separating us even as our history and our fantasies draws us together.

Today will be different. I've booked us a hotel room, in this city where neither of us live. We have the entire day. My husband waits for me at home, while I wait here in the airport for my master.

I don't call him that to his face. He'd mock me, his voice bitter. "If I were your master, I'd simply order to you leave him and come to me, and you would." He doesn't give me that order, although I suspect that he's tempted. He refrains, out of respect for me and my choices, or maybe in fear that his power over me is not as great as he would like to imagine. He spares us both, and I'm grateful, though now, waiting, burning to see him again, I almost wish that he'd put me to that ultimate test and take away the awful yearning that I feel when we're apart.

Every one of my senses is on alert, yet he manages to surprise me. I'm looking toward the gates. He comes from the other direction and calls to me softly. "Sarah."

I start and then laugh nervously. When I stand up, my bag tumbles off my lap to the floor, toys clattering inside. "You're here!" I feel clumsy, silly, stupid, but when he bends to kiss me, everything but the joy disappears. I'm flooded with it, gasping, overwhelmed.

In his limbs I feel his pitiless strength. His lips, though, are gentle, questioning. Am I still his? I melt, open my mouth and my mind to him. Does he sense the answer? Sometimes I am certain that he reads my thoughts. He laughs ironically and calls me suggestible. I don't know what to believe, which suits him perfectly. He wants me a bit off-balance.

I struggle to act normal, as if I were just meeting an old friend. "How was your flight? Did you have trouble with your connections? What about your baggage? Is that the only jacket you have? October here can be kind of chilly..."

"Hush," he says, laying a blunt finger upon my lips. "Don't chatter. Take me to the hotel."


You can read the rest of Reunion here. Check out my January news and contests, too!

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Is Arrogance Sexy?

By Nicole Morgan (Guest Blogger)

We’ve all met the type right? Tall, dark and devastatingly handsome. They exude sexiness in everything that they do. Whether it’s their walk, their touch, their voice or heaven help us, their scent. We can’t help but be drawn to these men.

Unfortunately they have a dark side. They are cocky and unbelievably arrogant. They subscribe to the old caveman like stereotypes where they hoist the woman over their shoulder and carry her off to ravish her on a bear skin rug. They’re also the exact type of men who will order our dinner for us with a nod and wink rather than allow us to choose for ourselves. Everything about them is overbearing and drives us mad. Yet their bedroom eyes and seductive ways almost always make us fall for them.

Now before any of you protest too much and insist you could never be so easily swayed by a man with such gall, let me tell you exactly who it is I’m referring to. I’m not talking about our mailman or the guy who smiled at your at the restaurant last night. I’m talking about those Heroes we read out in romance novels. I’m sure we have all read a book at least once which portrayed a man who we would never put up with in real life, yet when he comes to life amidst the pages of a novel we find ourselves weak in the knees and so jealous of his heroine for being the one swept up into his arms.

What I’m wondering is, what is it about cocky arrogance mixed with a deliciously sexy man that we can somehow manage to forgive those faults in him for the benefits he otherwise provides his leading lady? Have any of you read a book and thought, ugh what a jerk! And pages later you found yourself thinking, oh my, he is utterly delightful! LOL

If you’ve been fortunate enough to be transfixed by one of these Heroes who defied all rules of what we normally look for in a man, leave me a comment below and tell me who this hero was, what book he came from and which author brought him to life. Don’t be shy either. Let’s face it, no matter how sweet we are, we all have a bit of a penchant for the bad boy.

~ Nicole J

Beck and Call by Nicole Morgan

Available now from Total-E-Bound!


All Jenny wanted was to run her resort hotel without the constant interference from her boss. All Beck wanted, was her.

Jenny Somers is the General Manager at a resort hotel in the beautiful Caribbean. She loves her job, but she hates her boss. Constantly cutting corners to meet budget constraints she finds herself doing handyman work just to keep the hotel running.

Beck is a drifter who comes to Jenny’s rescue during a plumbing emergency at the hotel. He is arrogant, cocky and absolutely everything that Jenny despises in a man of his type.

Together Jenny and Beck find out just how real the term “opposites attract” is, and along the way find something that neither of them were expecting.


He was watching her. She could tell he liked it. She noticed a small bead of sweat on his forehead that she would lick off if he was close enough. He was holding her thighs apart and hadn’t deviated from his rhythm for several minutes when she felt him do just that. His pace slowed and he released one of her thighs from his strong hold. She was disappointed. What he was doing had felt so good. She didn’t want him to stop. Not for a second. He slid his hand up towards hers in what she thought was going to be a playful massage of her breast, but instead he surprised her when he pulled her hand away.

“Beck? What are you doing?”

She asked the question, but if she had waited the answer would have been clear. He took her hand down to where their bodies were connected and placed it on her saturated clit.

“Rub yourself, Jennifer. Touch yourself. Let me watch you.”

His voice. Again, his voice sounded deep and hypnotizing. Was there anything he could ask of her she would not do? Without hesitation she spread her lips further apart with her index and ring finger. Her eyes were locked on his as she flicked her middle finger across her swollen clit.

She gasped. The sensation was more than she’d expected. Something flashed in his eyes and his jaw clenched. She loved knowing she was driving him crazy. Wanting to make him just as hot as he did her, she continued to play with herself as he watched. He was still buried deep inside her and the feel of being so completely filled while touching and teasing her sensitized nub was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

“Taste yourself, Jennifer.”

Her eyes widened at his demand. Taste myself? She had never done anything like that before. How could she… As quickly as she’d asked the question she realized the choice was no longer hers. Beck pulled her hand away and raised it to her mouth.

“Suck your fingers, sugar. Lick all your juices off for me while I watch.”

Oh my God! She couldn’t possibly. Hesitation washed over her when her scent tickled her nose and her taste hit her tongue. She liked it? She wanted to question how it was possible, but instead found her lips closing over her fingertips. Unconscious moans escaped from her as she did exactly as Beck told her to, licking and sucking on her fingers.

Bio: Nicole Morgan was an avid reader who kept having one recurring problem. Ideas of stories kept popping into her head. Today Nicole is an author of erotic romantic novels, which more often than not have a suspenseful back story. Erotic romance mixed with a good old fashioned who done it. She tries to place strong emphasis on the characters' emotions while also throwing in some spicy and hot love scenes.

Nicole wants her writing to inspire you, the reader, and open your heart to feel the same things the characters are going through.

While still trying to stay true to her style, she is finding her writing is evolving as she takes on new and uncharted territory for her. There are many areas of erotica out there that she hasn’t had a chance to really delve into and is anxiously looking forward to doing just that.

Visit Nicole's blog at http://nicolemorganauthor.blogspot.com.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Life Without Wikipedia

By now, if you haven't been living under a rock, you know about yesterday's protest against SOPA, the anti-piracy bill currently being considered by the U.S. Wikipedia, YouTube, Reddit, and many other popular sites either shut down or organized protests and teach-ins against the bill. And the U.S. government, incredibly, is taking notice.

This post is not about SOPA. You can find far more authoritative columns than mine about the problems with the proposed legislation, pretty much anywhere right now. No, I'm considering what life would be like Wikipedia were permanently shut down.

It's a scary thought.

When I was growing up, we had a twenty volume set of the Encyclopedia Americana. I spent many happy hours pouring through its pages. By the time I inherited the massive set, though, it was sadly out of date. After all, my parents had bought it the year I was born. (They obviously realized they'd spawned an egghead and bookworm!) I still held on to it for the sake of nostalgia, as well as for the historical articles that (mostly) were still accurate.

When my husband and I sold our house and moved to Asia, the encyclopedia was one of the many possessions we jettisoned. Of course we didn't replace it - we don't have children ourselves, and in any case, there's always the Internet - right?

At one point I swore that I wouldn't get dependent on the 'net. Alas, that's one vow I haven't been able to keep, though perhaps my addiction is less serious than some people. I probably check facts in Wikipedia a couple times a day. It's not at all unusual for my husband and I to raise some point of dispute over dinner, and for one of us to run off to our home office to consult the online authorities. I've been known to get out of bed, just out of curiosity, to refresh my memory about something or to dig just a bit deeper with regard to whatever I'm currently reading.

Meanwhile, Wikipedia is often my starting point for researching my stories. I spent days reading multiple articles about Varanasi, Parvati, and Shiva before writing my succubus story "Naked in Varanasi". I used Wikipedia extensively for research on the Mayans, while working on "Serpent's Kiss". And I'll often flip over to the site to look for photos of historical costumes, or maps of places where my book is set, or a million other little details.

What would I do if the site went dark? Well, obviously there are other sources of information on the Internet, some of them probably more authoritative, but a lot harder to find, I'll bet. Anyway, if Wikipedia were silenced by government legislation, lots of other sites would likely be affected too. Censorship has a way of spreading - like cancer. And the thing about SOPA is that it allows anyone to complain that your site infringes copyrights and force you off the 'net.

Hmm. I have no doubt that many people don't approve of what I write, considering it wicked, perverted, obscene, even criminal. What would it take for them to shut down my website or blog, if SOPA became law?

Not much, I gather. Which is a chilling notion. Without an online presence, an author today might as well not even exist.

Even if Wikipedia's still around, my site may not be.

I guess this post is about SOPA after all.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Kindle

By Elizabeth Kyne (Guest Blogger)

(Author Elizabeth Kyne embraces the surprising joy of ebooks and ereaders.)

How wonderful it is to hold a book in your hand. The joy of that new, untouched copy with its beautiful artwork and glossy cover. The feel of the crisp pages as you turn to find out the next step of the story, and the smell of the paper straight off the printing press. It is a pleasure which I have enjoyed since small.

Now, into this world of certainty, comes the book’s dreaded rival: the ereader.

This is an item that has no beauty. It is a rectangular grey gadget. It does not entice you in with a beautiful cover, turning the page feels like nothing, and it has no captivating smell (except, perhaps, the whiff of the factory when new). And yet this object dares threaten the supremacy of what has been the basis of the literary world since Gutenberg invented the printing press in the fifteenth century.

I say: let it dare.

This may seem heresy from an author, a reader and someone who studied literature at university, but hear me out.

First of all, the modern world seems to have gone gadget crazy. Almost everyone seems to have a smart phone, a tablet or an mp3 player – many have all three. Can you imagine the humble paperback book existing alongside all these electrical marvels, with their touchscreens and their wifi? Maybe you can, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But the advantage of the Kindle and its ilk, is that it bridges the gap between the old world of the book and the new world of the gadget. People are already listening to music, making phone calls and even shopping on their small mobile devices. How awful it would be if books were shut out of this new world.

And, even better than that, is the versatility of the ebook itself. You don’t actually need to have a specially-made reading device like a Kindle, because you can download whatever ebook you wish to read to your favourite device. People can read on their iphones, their ipads, their androids, their netbooks and even their desktop computers if they want to. Ebooks do not threaten literature, they allow literature to be accessed in more places. It makes books as much available to the teenager on the bus as they are to the retired librarian.

The dedicated reader, however, is more likely to be interested in a gadget especially made for books. As I explained to a friend of mine, who was thinking of buying a Kindle for her mother, they have some advantages over reading an ebook on, say, a phone.

eInk is the biggest advantage of all. It means that the words displayed on the page of an ereader are similar to ink written on a piece of paper, in that they are not back lit like a computer or a smart phone. Many people find reading on a computer screen for extended periods gives them eye strain, whereas the words on the page are much easier on the eye.

This, of course, doesn’t actually make the gadget better than a book. But – hang on – because that’s not the end of the story. One of the great advantages for my friend’s mum was the ability to make the ‘print’ bigger on the Kindle, a godsend for older eyes. Another good thing is the ease of ‘turning the page’ with the press of a single button and the fact that you don’t have to wedge the pages open as you read. Whatever device you choose is also relatively light and small, compared even to the average paperback. It can store hundreds, if not thousands, of volumes inside of it, which means choosing which book to take on holiday with you is no longer the dilemma it was once.

But, as more and more people turn to these devices (and read on their tablets and smart phones), there is no doubt that other aspects of our reading experience will change. Ebooks, it seems, will only hasten the loss of the book shop on our high street, which I agree is a great shame. But we cannot blame the ebook for that. It’s a trend that began with the rise of internet shopping in general which has also hit other retailers from craft shops to sport shops. Before that, there was the foray of books into supermarkets and, before that, chain bookstores competing with the independents.

The biggest change, I think, will be in the way we use sampling to decide which books to buy. In the olden days, you might buy a book based on its back cover blurb, a flick through the pages and possibly a favourable review. This would result in bringing home some fabulous books. It would also (at least in my case), result in bringing home some duff’uns. Those books that you wade through and wonder why you picked it up in the first place. Readers like me would give up after fifty pages; while more assiduous readers would plod on ’till the end in some sort of obligation or belief that the story would eventually pick up.

Sampling has the ability to change all that. Now, if you like the sound of a book, you can download a sample onto your gadget for free. That way, you get to read a nice chunk of it at your leisure and decide if you want to continue. If it’s a duff’un, you can give up without guilt because it hasn’t cost you any money; and if it’s a fabulous find, you can part with your cash knowing that reading the whole book is likely to be worth it. This means, more and more, that books are going to have to grab the reader early on if they are to be successful. Other than authors like Stephen King or PD James who can rely on a loyal following, there will be little room for the slow build. Stories will have to engage the reader from the very start. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Another great think about the new ebook age is that it allows every reader to have an almost infinite bookshelf at their fingertips. It wasn’t so very long ago that if I fancied reading, say, a detective novel, I would either have to hope that I had something on my shelf that fit the bill, or I had to travel half an hour into the nearest town to buy something, only to have squandered the day’s reading time by going to the shops. In recent years, I might have ordered a copy of the book I fancied reading off the internet and, but by the time it arrived in the post, I actually felt like reading a good romance instead. With ebooks, I can go online and pick out almost any book I fancy, download it and read it there and then. How brilliant is that?

That’s not to say it isn’t a scary world out there. Any change is scary, especially as you get older, especially as it impacts on something so valued as reading. But I say, don’t be scared, embrace the new opportunities that the new world brings. Paperback and hardback books still exist, and will continue to do so for a long time, in my opinion. In fact, as an author I am proud to have my books in paperback as well as ebooks. If that is how you prefer to read, you have as much opportunity to do that as you ever had.

The most important thing is, however, the words. One of the greatest things about the rise of the ebook and the ereader is that people are buying into them because they still want to read. Despite the allure of video games, the internet, Skype, texting, Facebook and all the rest, people still want to sit down and enjoy a good book. And if that means downloading it to their Kindle or their ipad, then I say let them do it.


If Wishes Were Husbands by Elizabeth Kyne

Rachel re-invents herself when she moves back to her home town of Aylesbury; with a new job, a new house and a new haircut. But people’s eyes glaze over when she tells them about her life as a forty-something singleton who works in accounts. So why not spice things up a bit? Why not tell her new hairdresser and her new friends about her fantastic husband? Everyone wants to hear about Darren, the man who cooks her amazing meals, cleans the house and takes her to bed for orgasmic sex three times a night! What a shame he doesn't exist…

…Until she comes home one night and finds Darren sitting in her lounge. And everything she said becomes true: from his sensuous food to his skill in bed. So real, that she believes it.

Not as if living with a perfect is man is… well, perfect…

She can’t find anything because every time she puts something down, he tidies it away. Then there’s the shock of the credit card bill from buying all that gourmet food. Not to mention the sex! Three times a night is great at first, but sometimes all she wants at the end of the day is a sandwich and some sleep.

Then Rachel decides that Darren has to go - and that’s when her troubles really begin.

Elizabeth Kyne takes the absurdities of the modern woman's quest for love and turns them into an enjoyable romp. She finds the comic in everyday situations, from buying a dress to experimenting with hair dye at home. While, underneath, she comments on the pressure to find the perfect husband and how that quest is doomed for us all.


Amazon UK

Amazon US


Amazon UK

Amazon US


iTunes UK

iTunes US

Barnes and Noble

All Romance EBooks


Bio: Elizabeth Kyne trained to be a radio journalist and spent her early working years reading news bulletins and writing for magazines. Later, after learning the meaning of “mortgage” and “gas bill”, she decided to do the sensible thing and drop the freelance lifestyle to get a proper job. The job, however, all went horribly wrong and she returned to her first love of writing, and worked on several novels before finding success with If Wishes Were Husbands.

Website: http://www.elizabethkyne.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.kyne1

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Body and Mind

I realized recently that I'm one of those people who live more in the mind than in the body.

That's neither good nor bad. It's just who I am. When I was a kid, I spent most of my leisure time reading - exploring new worlds in my imagination. As a teenager, I concocted lavish scenarios involving my latest crush and wrote poetry dripping with adolescent desire. In college and grad school, I had lovers - maybe more than many women - but looking back, it's not the physical pleasure I recall. No, it's the emotional and intellectual connections I shared with those special men that fills me with nostalgia and gratitude.

I was always drawn to men with a rich fantasy life. My grad school lover once "picked me up" in a bar, pretending on the spur of the moment that we'd never met. I immediately fell in with the role. That was one of the most intensely erotic experiences of our three year relationship.

And of course I've written many times about my history with the man who initiated me into Dominance and submission. He poured his kinky fantasies into my mind for months before we actually got together.

Those days with him marked me forever. They're directly responsible for my erotic writing. Yet I don't remember much of the physical pleasure - or the pain, for that matter - at all. It's the mental part that got me hot then, and still does. It felt as though we were reading each other's minds, and that total communication completely blew out my sexual circuits.

Did I orgasm when we were together? Honestly, I don't know. I do remember, even then, not caring. (He probably did care; that is the sort of guy he is.) For me, the connection was the point, not the climax. He could fuck me forever, as far as I was concerned, or do anything else he wanted. Pleasing him pleased me. It was, strange as this might seem to more physically inclined individuals, enough.

I still live in my mind, sexually in and in other ways, too. Someone could fondle my breasts or manipulate my clit with no effects whatever, if I weren't in a sexy frame of mind. I can't come, even with a vibrator, without an erotic fantasy to push me over the edge.

My writing shows this, I suspect. I spend far less time than some authors on the physical details of an encounter. My prose is (sadly perhaps) less focused on the senses than that of some of my colleagues. Try as I might to do things differently, my heroes and heroines have some tendency to be like me in this regard. The situation, the setting, the emotions - the sense of transgression or liberation - the feeling of communion with one's lover - these are what arouse my characters.

My tag line is "Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac". Actually, for me, it may be the only aphrodisiac.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Sunday Snog: Exposure

Exposure cover

Greetings! My Sunday Snog today comes from my erotic thriller Exposure. Here's the blurb:

Stella is just minding her own business and having a bit of fun, working as an exotic dancer at the Peacock Lounge. Through no fault of her own, she witnesses a double murder and gets pulled into a shady dance of deceit with political bigwigs, mob bosses, dirty cops and scheming widows. Now she's everyone's target; her only chance is to sift through the lies and expose the truth.

When you're done here, click on over to Victoria's for more snogging fun. Not only does she do the most luscious kisses around, you can follow the links on her site to more sexy snogs by her author friends!

Jimmy stops talking suddenly and stares at me. "You're a thousand miles away, Stella! You haven't heard a word that I've said." He shrugs. "Guess I should have known that you wouldn't be interested in an ordinary guy like me."

Guilt hits me in the gut. "No, Jimmy, that's not it. I just have a lot on my mind right now." Should I tell him about Layla? That I had a brief but torrid affair with Haji's other waitress? That she disappeared one day without a word of goodbye? He strikes me as incredibly straight; I don't want to frighten him away. "I haven't been sleeping well since – the other night. I find myself distracted by all sorts of disturbing thoughts."

He nods, instantly sympathetic. "Of course, I understand. I shouldn't take it personally."

I reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly. "No, definitely not. I really enjoy your company. Really. I'm incredibly glad that you got me out of the house tonight. Otherwise, I think I might have gone crazy."

He's wearing some kind of cologne. I can smell it from here, something fresh and nautical. He rubs his thumb gently over mine. It is a gesture of affection. Maybe an invitation. His skin is warm and dry. I'm the one sweating with nervousness.

Jimmy signals for the check. Suddenly he's confident and in control. He gives me one of his crooked smiles. "Feel like a walk? It's still early, and it's a lovely night. We could go up to Schenley Park."

I mentally check the status of my ankle. The throbbing is hardly noticeable. "I'm supposed to stay off my feet," I reply, smiling into his eyes, "but it's very tempting."

"We won't go far. And if your ankle begins to bother you, we'll turn back."

We leave the car at the edge of the park and stroll along the paths to the crest of the hill. We seem to have the place to ourselves. New leaves whisper on the oak branches that arch over our heads. The spring air is like wine. It seems totally natural that we should be holding hands. I feel my heart quicken as we emerge from the trees and see the lights of the city spread out before us.

This place is breathtaking. The broad lawn slopes downward nearly half a mile. When I was a child, I rode my sled down this incline, screaming with excitement as we gathered speed. Past the grove at the foot, we see the lights of Oakland, violet and orange, and further to the west, nestled between the rivers, the glittering towers of downtown.

The night is moonless, so clear that even with the urban brilliance below, the stars are visible. There is some kind of perfection here. I breathe deeply and feel the knot of tension in my chest soften. Peace, for the first time in two days.

We don't speak. Jimmy leads me to a bench where we can fully appreciate the view. His arm is around my shoulder, his fingers warm on my bare arm. I welcome his touch. For a moment, I just let go, close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. His after-shave mingles with his natural odor, a luscious masculine scent that I find amazingly comforting. Yes. This is what I need.

I am not surprised to find his lips on mine, firm but undemanding. Again, this feels natural and right. I sink into his kiss, opening myself to his tentative tongue, tasting the beer he had with dinner. "Stella," he murmurs, his hands wandering over my body.

My nipples spring to attention as he brushes them with his fingers. My sex swells and dampens when he lays his palm across the curve of my belly. He has not stopped kissing me. Our tongues dance like familiar partners. With each twirl, I grow more aroused.

I realize that he is unfastening my dress, one slow button at a time. Part of me wants him to rip it off, to take me without any warm-up, but I also appreciate his measured, gradual approach. He's afraid I'll stop him, I realize. Suddenly I feel that I must reassure him.

"Just a moment, Jimmy," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. I stand and face him, continuing the work he began on my buttons. One hand unfastens them from neckline to waist, the other from waist to hem. He's transfixed, watching me. I see the fabric between his legs stir as he grows more excited.

My timing, as always, is perfect. The delay at each button is painful and yet he savors the wait, the building suspense. I don't try to get into Jimmy's head. I merely watch him as he watches me. His excitement feeds mine, and mine his, in a hot loop spiraling tighter with each breath.

I shrug my dress onto the grass. "Take out your cock, Jimmy," I murmur. "I want to see you. Touch yourself for me."

Jimmy needs no second invitation. In a flash his fly is open and his erection is swaying in the night air. The taut skin on the shaft shines pale in the dim light. The knob is much darker. Without taking his eyes from mine, he cups the bulb in one hand, rubbing the swollen flesh against his palm. With the other hand, he grips himself near the root and begins a slow stroking.

"That's lovely, Jimmy." Exposed by the half-bra, my nipples throb each time he squeezes himself. I roll them between thumb and forefinger, wishing I could take them in my mouth.

There's no point in removing the brassiere; he can see all my charms, and the black lace contrasts nicely with my dusky skin. But the thong is definitely in the way. I can feel myself blooming, unfolding in anticipation of having that hardness inside me. I suddenly lose patience with my gradual progress. Without ceremony, I push the panties down to my ankles and step out of them.

In twinkling city-light, I think, I must look like a goddess: breasts like globes, thighs like columns of marble flanking the dark entrance to the mystic grotto. Jimmy is hugely erect now, but he almost looks frightened, confronted as he is by the awesome mystery of womanness. I feel a surge of affection that nicely seasons my lust.

"It's OK, Jimmy," I whisper in his ear as I roll a condom over his hardness and sink my pussy down onto his cock. That is the last thing that either of us says for some time.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Welcome to River City

By E. Ayers (Guest Blogger)

Ready for a change of pace? Want to move to a mid-sized city in the eastern United States? It's a nice place to live, work, play, and fall in love. It's also fictional.

When I first started writing I was told to anchor the story. If I chose a real place, I had to be careful where everyone went, where they ate, and that happened to them. I didn't want to be accused of portraying a place in a bad light. Every city has its good points and its bad ones. Yet, I wanted that special energy that is in every city. I also wanted to be able to fire the city manager.

Ever notice when approaching a city and the tops of the skyscrapers come into view how our skin prickles with excitement? I'm not sure why that happens but it does. I wanted that pace, that flow, and that vibe of a bustling city. There also something else about a city - a plethora of people!

Cities are melting pots. I like that diversity. A city also provides a mixture of people who come in different sizes, shapes, and colors. There are those who are newcomers and those who grew up together. There's lots to do and places to visit. Staying home on Friday night being bored is a preference because a city provides plenty of other options.

I don't think heroines need to wear a size two, have blue eyes, and blonde hair. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. When does an ordinary man become handsome and sexy? When the right woman falls in love with him. And what is ordinary? What is normal?

Very slowly, River City was born. It sprouted a university and a major hospital, a historical area, congestion, expressways, bypasses, interstates, railroads, a water supply, businesses, shopping areas, markets, parks, a museum, an orchestra, an airport, and the suburbs. It's still growing! I built a city and in it are young people building careers and trying to make their world a better place.

Most series must be read in order and it's difficult to jump into the middle of one. I didn't want that. Some of my character do show up in other books mainly because people who are active in their community tend to know the other people who are also active. Some are friends and some are acquaintances. The glue is the city.

I have only three requirements for my River City characters: they must be young, they must be actively doing something to make the place better by either financially contributing, volunteering, or their job has a direct impact on the community, and most importantly, they must be good people. They have juice, they are ones who get things done and make things happen.

I strive for realism in what I write. I allow the characters to dictate what they want. Everyone is different. I write about falling in love. Making it last usually isn't easy. When two people have careers, and most young people have careers, it's difficult to find time for another person. People shouldn't have to give up something for love. A couple should enhance each others lives and make it fuller. It's about complimenting and balancing each other. Team work. They both must respect each other and themselves.

That doesn't mean there aren't sacrifices. What are you willing to do for the person you love? There's also an issue of trust. Communication is a huge element in any relationship. Sometimes you have to agree to disagree, and sometimes it takes a little extra work to see the other side of the issue. Falling in lust is easy, but falling in love is very special.

In my writer's mind, a city becomes fertile ground with an infinite number of characters who need me as a matchmaker. I built a city, with a proud history, it isn't perfect, but I hope you'll enjoy your stay.

Thanks, Lisabet, for having me as your guest. I'm going to give away copies of my River City books to your commenters. They need to leave a comment on your blog and email me with their River City book choice to be entered into the drawing.



If you ask businessman Mac McGuire, he'll tell you this is his story. He fell head over heels in love with Amanda Conner, an unfettered beauty with a turbulent past. Wanting her is one thing, winning her trust is another. From the violence of River City’s housing projects, to the glamorous digs of the downtown, and out to the lake district, this is one time that his money isn't working in his favor.

A New Beginning

When Dallas Nixon's parents throw her out, she seeks a safe haven. She arrives on the doorstep of the one person she always trusted, except Patrick Makowllen isn't looking to adopt a foul-mouthed waif with blue hair and yellow contacts. He reluctantly shelters her. The last thing he wants is someone sharing his life - he's a meat and potatoes guy, and she's a vegetarian. Against his own better judgment, he opens his heart and kisses his well-ordered, mundane life goodbye.

A Challenge

Tate Zaro has a black belt in TaeKwonDo, a career, and doesn't yearn for a man in her life. So why does she take a lousy paying job with a boss she dislikes, to be with a guy who spends his Saturdays coaching soccer? Life does not always give you what you want. Sometimes you get more than you ever expected.

The next River City book should be available Spring 2012.

Here's a snippet from Wanting.

Silence filled the air again. He took a sip of his coffee and then looked at Amanda. She was wearing the same knit top she had worn on their first date and he suspected it was either the best thing she owned or the only thing she owned.

His mind raced. He wanted to talk to her about her past. The only way he'd know for certain was to ask, yet molestation wasn't something normally discussed, nor was it considered polite conversation. His brain was telling him to deal with it, as if she were a client who needed to be told unwelcome news.

''Amanda, at some point in your life something has happened to you. There's something very wrong, and I'm fairly certain I know what it is, but we can't discuss it until I know specifically, so you need to start talking.'' He knew what he said was lame, but he was trying to open the door for her to tell him rather than accusing her of being a victim.

''I have no idea what you're implying.''

''Yes, you do.''

''No, there's nothing. I'm going to bed now.'' She started to stand, but he was on his feet in a flash.

''No, Amanda, you're going to sit here and talk. Whatever has happened to you is affecting us, and I want to know what it is. So have a seat and get it out.''

She got that icy hard glare on her face, and her pale blue eyes had turned to a cold gray. ''I don't know what you are insinuating.''

''I had one class in psychology in college and to me it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.'' He took a breath, ''If you want to discuss stocks, options, markets, mortgages, and commodities - then you'd be on my playing field, but not psychology. I do know if you keep things inside and allow them to fester, they only get worse.'' He watched her body stiffen. ''Sometimes you have to drag up the past, take a good hard look at it, and then move on. Something happened to you, something that's now having an impact on our relationship. We need to talk about it, but we can't discuss it until you tell me what it is.''

She sat quietly and stared into her lap. The ticking of the clock on the table seemed twice as loud.

''Take my hand and tell me what happened. What has made you so scared to be near me, so fearful? You know deep down inside of you that I will never do anything to you, yet you are still frightened.''

She ignored his hand, but he could see the tears welling in her eyes. He found a box of tissues, and laid it upon her lap.

She composed herself and said, ''I can't talk about it. I don't remember.''

''How old were you?'' he asked, in a quiet voice.

''I don't know, maybe six or seven the first time.'' She wrung her hands as she spoke. Her shoulders hunched and slowly she drew herself into a ball and wrapped her arms around her legs.

''Who was it?''

She closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed to a grimace. ''I don't remember. I really don't remember. I just remember all the pain.''

He shook his head.

She sobbed and blurted out bits and pieces of the story.

He remained silent and listened. Occasionally, he reached over and touched her shoulder or her knee. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her that no one was ever going to harm her again. The more she rambled, the more the story's fragments came together. Her eyes were now wide open but unseeing. The realization that her mother wasn't just hooking, she was also selling her young daughter to the highest bidder, wrapped around his stomach. Half of what Amanda said didn't even make sense. It was a child's perception of a hideous crime against her.

At one point she quit talking, uncurled from her knot, put her head back, and closed her eyes again. Her face was now red and puffy from crying, and although it was not hot in the condo, her hair was damp around her face from sweating. He retrieved a washcloth from the little bathroom, wet it, and brought it to her. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he wiped her face and watched her breathe.

He wanted to kiss her lips, but he knew he'd better not do anything she could misconstrue as taking advantage of her. Instead, he sat quietly beside her. After a few minutes, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Wringing the washcloth under cold water, he brought it back, folded it, and placed it on her forehead. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but that would have been stupid because she wasn't, so he stayed near her until she was ready to talk again. There was no sound other than her breathing and the rhythmic tick of the clock.

He reached over and was taking the washcloth from her face when she opened her eyes, looked up at him, and said, ''No man will ever have me again, never. I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.''

He leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. ''No, Amanda, you're not a little girl anymore. You are a grown woman. The difference is now you can control your life and your body.''

He touched her hot, rosy-red cheek with his thumb. ''You have the right to make your own decisions. Giving yourself and your body to another person is not a light decision. It should only be done if you truly love the other person and there's a commitment between you. I have fallen madly in love with you, and I think you know that. But I will never take from you what you are not willing or ready to give.''

She closed her eyes again, and took a deep breath. He went to the kitchen and brought back the freshly dampened cloth. He picked up their cups of cold coffee, and refilled them with a fresh supply then sat on the arm of the sofa and gently touched her face. ''Sit up and drink some coffee. Do you want to talk some more?''

''I feel horrible.'' She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. ''You must hate me.''

''Never. No. You were the victim of a crime.'' He tucked her wayward lock of hair behind her ear. ''You are not responsible for what happened to you. The crime that was committed against you was hidden, and your wounds healed, but it left mental scars.'' Her gaze locked with his, staring deep into the very fiber of his being. ''Drink your coffee.''

''But you have to understand that I could never allow another man near me. I can't go through that ever again.''

Thursday, January 12, 2012

A Snippet from My New Release

Greetings! I'm trying to get the word out about my new BDSM short story collection, Just A Spanking, which is now available on Amazon Select. That means that if you're an Amazon Prime member, you can borrow the book for free. It also means that I'll be having more free promo days for everyone in the future. I'll try to give you more advance warning next time!

So some readers have asked me whether there's a lot of pain in this book. It is, after all, BDSM. Well, pain in not the main point. The core of BDSM is what's called "power exchange". The submissive willingly surrenders her will and her body to the care of the dominant. The dominant has a responsibility to take care of the submissive, both physically and psychologically. BDSM is not about abuse - quite the opposite. In fact, it's about being cherished (as a submissive) and worshipped (as a dominant). It's about trust.

Here's a quick snippet from the title story, "Just a Spanking". I hope you like it.


We manage to meet at least one weekend a month, despite the distance and the demands of our regular lives. Sometimes I fly up to visit him. Sometimes he comes down to see me. Either way, as soon as we are together, we're swept into some alternate existence where every sensation is magnified and every emotion has the weight of revelation. The so-called real world simply evaporates. For me, for those two magic days, his voice, his fingers, his cock are the only realities. Plus the implements of pain and pleasure that he uses so imaginatively as an extension of his will.

He meets me at the airport with a kiss tender enough to reassure me that I'm more than just his slut. His lips wake every inch of my flesh. By the time he releases me, I'm flushed and tingling all over. After that initial embrace, however, he doesn't touch me at all.

He leads me to the parked car. I remember him taking me once in a sweltering parking lot, his fingers crammed into my cunt while he whispered all the indignities he planned to inflict on my poor body. As I fluttered helpless around his hand, I knew that he could ask anything of me and I'd obey. Now he is asking something new, a kind of restraint that I find more difficult than any bondage.

I am dressed as he requires, short skirt with no panties, silk blouse with no bra, and my favorite lace-up boots. I fidget on the seat as he drives up 101. The plastic is sticky against my bare skin and getting stickier by the minute. He stubbornly keeps his eyes on the road.

I part my thighs. The car fills with the ripe scent of my pussy. His nostrils twitch but otherwise he ignores me. My nipples feel as huge and hungry as they do when he winds them with rubber bands. I try to keep still. Each whisper of silk across my breasts makes my cunt clench and weep.

He opens the car door—a gentleman Dom—and helps me out. The brief contact of palm on palm makes me shudder with want. I follow him up the stairs to his apartment, watching his strong buttocks shift in his trousers as he climbs. I think about how they tense and relax when he fucks me. I'm panting by the time we reach the third floor, but not from exertion.

The door swings open. He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. Normally he'd have me pressed against the wall, knee in my crotch and hands under my blouse, before the lock clicked shut. Today he simply stands beside me, a half-smile on his full lips, as I survey the familiar room.

He has already set things up. In the dining area, the table has been pushed out of the way. Two of the chairs face us, side by side, flanked by the ottoman that normally sits in front of the armchair. That armchair is the usual location for his spankings, but I can see that tonight will be different. He's trying to minimize my contact with his body. Clever man.

“Strip,” he orders, as he has so many times before. My heart somersaults in my chest, as it always does. He seats himself in the middle chair to watch me remove the few clothes I'm wearing.

I can feel the weight of his eyes, tracing my curves, lingering on my swelling breasts. I move as slowly and sensuously as I can, working to arouse him, to undermine his resolution not to touch me. His pants are loose. I can't really tell whether his cock is hard, but his lips are parted and there's a flush on his cheeks.

“Behave yourself, Becca,” he warns. “No teasing, or you'll get the cane after I'm finished with your spanking. In fact, you're guaranteed the cane if you're not naked in ten seconds.” His threat has the desired effect. I tear off my blouse and a button goes flying into the corner. I don't care. I stand naked before him, awaiting his instructions.

He makes me wait. Heat shimmers through me . Blood pounds in my ears. I study my toes and listen to my breath. Fear and excitement co-mingle, until I can't tell one from the other. My bratty determination to make him touch me fades away, although my clit still throbs and my juices trickle down my thighs. All I want is to please him. I'll wait forever if that is what it takes. Indeed, a part of me would rather wait than know what comes next.


By the way, my offer from Tuesday is still open. If you review Just a Spanking on Amazon, I'll send you a copy of my other e-collection of short stories, Body Electric. Just send me the link!

Wednesday, January 11, 2012


By Marie Sexton (Guest Blogger)

Envy. We’ve all felt it from time to time. It’s not pretty, but it’s part of the human condition. We work so hard to achieve something, only to look around and see that others are somehow ahead of us, or getting greater rewards for their efforts. Well, folks, I’m here today to make a huge confession. I’m envious of my good friend Heidi Cullinan, and of our fellow authors Christopher Koehler and KA Mitchell.

Why do I envy them? Well, you probably think I’m going to say it’s because of their fantastic writing skills, or their sales, or their fabulous reviews. I could envy them all for those things too, but no. What I really envy is…

Their phones.

That’s right. I admit it: I have smartphone envy. Show of hands, who has a smartphone? I envy you all. I envy you your instant access and your fun little apps. So, you may ask, if I want one so much, why don’t I have a smartphone?

Because I’m cheap.

It’s not the price of the phones themselves that bother me. It’s the price of the plans. I don’t actually use my phone for calling. (Does anybody?) I use my cell phone for what God intended: texting. And for checking my email. Even though I don’t make calls, I have this dire need to be CONNECTED at all times. I use it to chat with Heidi and Ethan Stone and my friend Wendy, and even my husband when he’s at work. But I can’t stand the fact that I have to start with a base package of $40 per month for calling alone, when I don’t EVER call. All I want is data.

Like I said. I’m cheap.

I do have a cell phone. It’s actually a pseudo-smartphone. I call it the Ghetto Phone. It has a little slide-out keyboard like a real smartphone. It’s a no-contract, pay-as-you-go plan. I have 300 minutes of talk time (which I barely use at all). The cool thing? I have unlimited messaging and data, and I only pay $25 per month! What a rockin’ deal, right?


Because you see, it really is a Ghetto Phone. It’s a poor-man’s smartphone. It has a browser, but it can’t seem to load the most basic pages. I can check email, but only one account at a time. There are no fun apps to download. I can’t ask it where the nearest Starbucks is. I can’t use it to find my way home. I can take pictures, but the resolution is terrible, and I can’t instantly upload them to anyplace in the world. I also own an iPod Touch -- one of the old ones without a camera -- so if I happen to end up somewhere with WiFi, I can pretend I have a real smartphone. On my trips with Heidi, I shamelessly beg her to use her smartphone hotspot to hook me up. “I need my fix!” I tell her.

Most of the time, I get by. I can check my email, although it’s cumbersome. I can chat with online friends, but only if cell reception is good. At Mile High Stadium, where I spend many Sundays from August through January watching the Broncos play, the reception is awful. I sit there with my Ghetto Phone in one hand, searching for a signal, iPod in the other, searching for an unsecured hotspot I can jump on.

It’s pathetic, I know. Someday, I’ll find a way to justify spending more on my monthly cell phone bill. Someday, I’ll be one of the cool kids, with games on my phone, and cool little apps that can land the space shuttle or tell me the secret of life. Of course by that time, smartphones will probably be a thing of the past, as irrelevant as a Sony Walkman. Until that time, I’ll continue using my ghetto phone. Pity me, my friends. It is a terrible burden to bear.


Just released by Silver Publishing!


Captain Tristan Kelley enjoys the luxuries of Regency service, as well as the pleasure of his prince's bed. It's an easy life, if not a happy one. When the prince decides to take a trip through the perilous Blind Space, Tristan must go with him, but somebody in the prince's guard is a traitor.

Blind and held prisoner, Tristan finds himself at the mercy of Valero, a pirate who bears no love for the Regency. Valero is determined to seduce Tristan, and Tristan fears his resolve won't last. His duty is clear, but so is his desire. As the days tick by without word from the Regency, Tristan begins to question his loyalty to his prince, the Regency he's sworn to, and the man who holds him captive.

Tristan begins to realize that being a prisoner may actually set him free.

Bio: Marie Sexton writes male/male romance. She lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband, even if her Ghetto Phone doesn’t get reception there. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.

Me, out and about:

My website/blog: www.MarieSexton.net

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MarieSexton.author

Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarieSexton

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3292500.Marie_Sexton

Goodreads group: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/48765.The_Heidi_and_Marie_Show

And be sure to join me for Coffee and Porn in the Morning: http://cupoporn.wordpress.com.