By Willa Edwards
Lisabet and I have many things in common. We love and write very sexy books, some BDSM and ménage stories. And we also love our cats. Today I thought I’d talk about our other loves.
Cats and writers go hand in hand, like peanut butter and jelly, or tuna and cheese. You only have to type the words cat and writer into Google and it will bring up a hundred sites of writers talking about their cats, pictures about authors with their cats, even cats talking about their author human caregivers.
I think the reason writers and cats get along so well is because we’re so similar. We have a lot of the same foibles, personality traits and behaviors.
We’re interested in everything. From the light and shadows reflected across the ceiling to the physics behind time travel and the type of socks eighteenth century men wore. Everything that comes in front of us we find interesting, until we’ve decided it can be of no use to us and then we neglect it like last week’s trash.
We live on crazy schedules. We take a nap in the middle of the day, and stay up till three am writing that scene. We live in our time, on our own schedules, and don’t see the need to change for the real world (except for us poor writers who need to go to a day job).
We’re always watching, observing, internalizing. You might think you’re just having a nice time outside, enjoying a day with your friends, but we’re on the other side of the window, watching and one day one of your conversations may end up in our books.
We go crazy over the weirdest things. You may think that’s just a bottle cap, an old shoe lace or a fluffy human interest story on the news, but we think it’s our new favorite toy or great new plot point.
We may seem aloof, but we’re actually quietly plotting. The story for our next book, or a scheme to take down the neighbor’s dog, you’ll only know after it’s all done.
We love rediscovering old toys. Whether it’s the catnip filled mouse that rolled under the couch three weeks ago and we forgot about, or the great idea we wrote in the corner of notebook years ago, we love rediscovering treats we’ve abandoned and seeing the new potential in them.
We can go long periods of time without going outside or seeing other humans. Who needs the outdoors, with all those dogs and their droppings, there’s no wifi access out there. And who needs other humans when we’ve got the cast of characters in our heads.
We can remain focused on the same thing for long periods of time. Yes to you it might seem like only a flash of light or a mostly empty computer screen, but we see all the potential it has to offer, and we’re going to sit there for hours trying to find it.
We’re always chasing that light of inspiration, that little red light of inspiration. Sometimes we catch it quick, sometimes we have to chase it for hours, and sometimes it gets lost high above our heads, but we’re always chasing it.
We’re independent thinkers. No way we’re going to kowtow to what others have said can be done. Can’t jump from the counter to the top of the cabinets, we’ll make it happen. Can’t write a romance that’s six hundred pages, or write about vampires that sparkle, we’ll find a way. No one’s going to tell us what to do.
And of course…
If you bother us at just the wrong time, when we’ve decided to give ourselves a nice tongue bath or when we’ve just found inspiration for the scene that’s been bothering us for weeks, watch out. You’re likely to get scratched bloody and hear an awful lot of screeching.
As you can see, writers and cats are like two peas in a pod, or two tunas in a can. We have the same need for time and space, the same independence, and the same ability to be cuddly and sweet one minute and fierce the next. So any cats out there reading this, and I’m sure there are a few, if you have the ability, adopt a writer. We’ll be the best friend you never knew you wanted (and we’re easily trained, just swat us with your nails a few times, we’ll get it).
Michaela is thrilled to get home after the tense drive from work on the snow covered highway. And she may be just a little bitter that her boyfriend and teacher, Ben, spent all day in bed, on a snow day from school.
But she's relieved to be let out of work at least a few hours early. That is until she hears noises from her bedroom, that in no way resemble monster trucks or football announcements, and sound way too close another woman's moan.
Michaela can't help but investigate. She never could have guessed what she finds in her bedroom would be just as stimulating to her as it is for Ben. With a little bit of sexy help, Michaela plans to show Ben exactly who he belongs too, and make him wish every day could be a snow day.
Snow Day by Willa Edwards now available from Whiskey Creek Press!
Krista Matthews has been in love with James for two years, but he's never mentioned commitment. After she plans him the ultimate naughty Valentine’s Day surprise, and he doesn't say those three magical words, she knows it’s time to move on. She may be plushy and curvy, but she still deserves someone who loves her for all she is.
Wounded by the past, James Peterson became principal at a new school to escape his mistakes. What he never anticipated was meeting someone as amazing as Krista. She fits him in every way—except her need for a ring. When she dishes out a Valentine's Day ultimatum, give her more or end their relationship, all those old fears come racing back. Does James have the courage to face his past for the woman he loves? Or will he lose her on principal?
The moist tip of his cock rubbed along the sensitive engorged lips of her pussy, stealing all her worries with its tantalizing brush. He teased and tortured her with his slow, methodical movements.
“I could never want anyone the way I want you.” His voice was low, primal, demanding, and her body surged with life from his rough words. If only he could say words of love instead of lust they could do this until they both were too old and gray to care who saw them.
Krista bit her lip so hard she tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue, but she didn’t care. She’d bite through her arm if it prevented her from screaming out, from begging James to slam into her hard and fast. She’d do anything to prevent herself from telling him again those words she desperately wanted to hear from his lips.
But she didn’t have to beg. It was only moments before James positioned himself against her slick cunt and slammed deep inside her. He plunged into her, so fast and hard it hurt a little, but it felt so damn good Krista feared she might pass out. He was so thick and hot and hard inside her, it overwhelmed all her other senses.
Krista leaned her forehead against the cool Formica countertop, needing to ground herself in the moment. Feeling too much like a hot air balloon filled with all the love she felt for James, the pleasure he gave her clouded her mind until she forgot the rest of the world. Her entire being focused on his cock buried deep inside her. His arms wrapped around her, right where they were supposed to be. Her insecurities floated away like smoke from a candle flame.
“How can you give this up, Kris?” he groaned into her ear as he pulled out of her and slammed back in.
She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to scream at him she wasn’t the one giving up anything. He’s the one who’d thrown in the lingerie, who’d sacrificed everything they had. But his demanding, dizzying rhythm stole her breath and her wits. She gripped the edge of the counter as his speed multiplied, his body slamming into her so hard, as if he wanted to imprint the memory.
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