Monday, April 30, 2012

Celebrating Independent Authors!

Join Terri Giuliano Long for a week-long celebration of indie authors!

All our dreams can come true – if we have the courage to pursue them.”
Walt Disney

From April 30 to May 5, author Terri Giuliano Long will be opening up her blog for a celebration of indie authors. Terri is the author of bestselling novel In Leah’s Wake, and with sales of over 100,000 copies she’s proof that the indie model can work!

Now she’s inviting several prominent authors to share their thoughts on their journey, their favorite indie authors, and what they’ve learned along the way.

The week will include a host of features, from ‘featured authors’, sharing their thoughts and inspirations, to a live BlogTalkRadio call in. There will also be a live Twitter chat with author Terri Giuliano Long, plus guest posts from influential bloggers and indie promoters.

For a full schedule, please visit And don’t forget to enter the giveaway to win a $50 Amazon gift card, plus ebooks!

Join the celebration!


Sunday, April 29, 2012

Sunday Snog: Citadel of Women

My snog today comes from my multicultural erotica tale Citadel of Women. And okay - I'm warning you this isn't just a lip-to-lip kiss.
 When her lover severs their relationship just before a long-planned trip to Angkor Wat, Doa stubbornly decides to travel alone. The marvelous sights of the ancient Khmer empire do little to heal the rift in her heart. Che, the mercurial young tour guide, senses her loneliness and offers her comfort and passion. Their connection is far more than physical – but how can two people from such different worlds have a future?
By the way, Citadel of Women just got a wonderful review from Lin Holmes.
If you haven't been there already, be sure to drop by Victoria Blisse's Sunday Snog page and see what other goodies your favorite authors have posted this Sunday!

“Wait!” This time I listened to the inner voice, despite my arousal. “Do you have a condom?”
He sat back on his haunches, looking miserable and needy. “No. Don't you?”
“I'm a lesbian, remember?” I regretted these words as soon as they left my lips. Especially since they weren't strictly true.
Che's face turned bitter. “I'm sorry. I misunderstood. I shouldn't have bothered you.” He started to disentangle his limbs from mine. I grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer.
“No, don't go. I want you, really I do...”
“You don't trust me. Because I come from a poor country. You think I'm diseased.”
“Baby, it's not you.” I brushed his hair out of his eyes. “It would be the same with anyone. But look, even if we don't have a condom, you don't have to leave. Turn around. Let me suck you. And you can lick me. God, I'm so horny, just the thought is almost enough to make me come.”
“I don't know... are you sure?.” Che's uncertainty made him look young again.
“Take off your shirt.” He bared a hairless chest studded with rosy nipples. My mouth watered. “Straddle my face. That's right. Now just relax.”
His brown thighs cradled my head. His cock bobbed inches from my mouth, a bead of fluid gleaming at the tip. I pressed my pursed lips to the shiny bulb and flicked the droplet into my mouth. He shuddered. I slid my tongue along his length, marveling at the hardness, the maleness of it. His hips jerked forward, seeking more. Not wanting to tease, I swallowed him whole, sucking for all I was worth.
His cock pulsed wildly. I thought he would come, but he pulled mostly out, leaving just the head between my lips. Even with his back to me, I could hear him panting. “It's okay, baby. Just let go. Fuck my mouth.”
Tentative and unsure, he slid back between my lips. I welcomed him a steady suction. He stroked slowly, trying to maintain control. Gradually his thrusts became more confident. I tilted my head back, trying to take him all the way.
He tasted sour and salty. I could tell he hadn't showered. His dark male scent rose in my nostrils, novel and exciting. Liquid pooled in my pussy. My clit throbbed in time with his thrusts. I arched up, desperate, silently begging for his mouth.
Wetness. Heat. His tongue slithered through my folds, gathering my juices. His lips closed on my clit, sucking and twisting, rocking it back and forth. It was too much. I opened my mouth wide to scream. He rammed his cock down my throat.
He backed off, swirling his tongue around inside me. Pulling my lower lips apart, he burrowed into my pussy. I thrashed beneath him, grinding my clit against his nose, climax a mere breath away. His cock shuddered, ready to burst.
I was wound into a knot of pleasure that tightened by the instant. Che's energy was astounding. He sucked me, licked me, stabbing his tongue into my depths, worrying my flesh like a dog. It was so different from Laurel's sure, knowing strokes, the gradual way she led me up the slope and then pushed me off the edge.
All the while he fucked my face. With the riot of sensation churning in my cunt, I hardly noticed. The tension grew. My taut muscles screamed. The pleasure was so intense, it verged on pain.
Finally, I managed to let go. The knot unraveled, strands of delight whipping through me. Deep inside, my climax welled up, overwhelming, irresistible, rushing through my limbs, shaking me until I was limp and breathless.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

The Role of Dreams in Writing

By Jan Irving (Guest Blogger)

I often have entire books or parts of them play out for me in my dreams. This is very handy for a writer and I believe it has become more common for me because I am usually involved in plotting, creating characters and bringing a story to an end.

The unconscious plays a huge part in writing. It’s where THE answer suddenly pops up and as a writer you are left wondering how it was just there, perfect, that solution to a problem in plotting or a snag you’ve run into while working on a story.

Dreams or daydreams can spin out into entire stories. I remember with my first ménage, A Pastry Princess, I had one scene which encapsulated both the conflict and the erotic tension in the story. I saw a young woman, an independent pastry maker with no interest in romantic entanglements who suddenly has two very gorgeous men in her shop—men who have been assigned as her lovers to help her continue her aristocratic line.

That scene came to me for over two years until I really had to write it. But here is where dreams can jump the gun—when I first began to have this story vision, I primarily had written m/m. I’d never done a ménage. So it took me a while to get to the story.

Recently I had a dream for a story I’m tentatively calling The Mating Hunt about a young woman who wants to be an enforcer cat shifter to help her shifter race. Unfortunately she can’t shift because she’s a half breed. She is also being courted by the alpha prince of their pack. He is stalking her but he could also play the role of her guide and help her to achieve her deepest dream—if she surrenders to him. Now in the initial dream I saw this story as a ménage but lately I’ve been wanting to write an m/f story so I’m not sure how this will—excuse the pun—morph.

Forbidden Fire came from an intense day dream that left me desperately wanting to see how my couple worked out their painful need for each other. Here’s the scene that hooked me.


Luke Cade knew Sian’s step, knew the sound of the exact stair that groaned under her feet as she sneaked into the house he shared with her.

Tonight he found himself holding his breath, holding it almost like the sound of the world falling still. It was a moment when anything seemed possible, when stars could collide, when the sand below the posh beach house where they lived could be engulfed by flood waters that would rise and take back the palm trees, the sprinkler-fed grass…

When she might walk into his darkened bedroom and lie down beside him on his lonely bed. Instead, she walked past his door.

Of course she did.

He let out a breath as the world realigned back to the same routine. It hurt, knowing she’d been out dancing with some guy. It always hurt so goddamned much. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he could endure another night, keep his secret.

It would be worse if he didn’t have her at all.

Sian Blaine was his stepsister. She could never be his girlfriend. She could never see herself as his lover. She was ten years older than he was and she thought of him as her little brother.

It didn’t matter that he was in his mid-twenties now and they’d lived in this house alone together since their parents had passed away. During the day, he worked at San Diego Fire Station 57 and she worked behind the counter of Coffee Dreams near Solana Beach. He often went in for coffee.

They practically spent twenty-four-seven together unless Sian had one of her dates.

So here was another Friday night and he was lying in a bed that might as well be a twin for all the action it saw and she was walking past his bedroom door. Yay!

Suddenly he erupted from that bed, stalking across the darkened room in his boxers, swinging open the door so he could glare down the empty hallway.

Weirdly, she was just standing there, looking over her bare shoulder at him, as if she’d somehow known he would appear.

Can you help?” Sian asked, solemn grey eyes on his face, her brown hair caught up above her neck. He told himself she was too skinny, the ‘bird bones’ she’d been called in high school, but her long arms seemed perfect as she tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. And he knew why she was having trouble. This wasn’t some kind of come-on, despite how his body immediately reacted.

Sian’s left hand was curled like a withered leaf. She automatically tried to hide it in the folds of her dress, which pissed him off.

She didn’t need to goddamn hide from him. Not ever.

Yeah, all right,” he grumbled, as if his heart wasn’t racing at the thought of touching her intimately. He’d have to pretend she didn’t move him, but her skin would be under his hands…

He couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Not that she needed to. She had small, delicate breasts. He knew when they were growing up she’d lamented her slight figure, but he liked everything about her—from the way she smelt to the way she walked.

I think it’s busted,” he said, after pulling her zipper up and down, trying to get it to unfasten.

Probably my slip got caught in it. Can you check?”

He looked up and some of her hair slid free of its clasp. The slinky bit of brown curled between them, caressing his neck. He caught his breath.

Sian stared at him and then jerked her gaze from his.

Just what had she seen in his eyes?

He swallowed around a dry throat. “What colour is this dress anyway?”

Why do you ask?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. “Going to splurge on one on Valentine’s Day for Maggie?”

Maggie. Luke had to search his brain to remember who that was while he was peeling cloth away from Sian’s back, his fingers actually—Christ!—touching bare skin. She had a mole just above her ass that he’d always wanted to kiss whenever he’d seen her in a bikini. Just put his mouth to it and suck until she laughed and turned around and he could put his mouth somewhere else…

The receptionist in the building next to the station, right,” he said. “She’s seeing someone.”

Oh. I thought you had a thing for her.”

Irritated, he said, “No. And if I did, why would I give her a dress?” The idea baffled him.

Sian laughed. “Because you actually asked me the colour of mine. I thought you liked it.”

I like it because it’s yours and tiny.”

Oh, shit. Way to be subtle. But he was kneeling at her feet and if she turned around his boxers weren’t going to hide just how much he liked her dress.

She was quiet until he cursed.


This is not caught on anything! It’s broken, Sian.”

He pulled away and had to let his hands drop. He balled them into fists so he didn’t just give into temptation and yank the thing off her like a wild man. Sian liked charming men, he knew. Men who were smooth and educated. Nothing like Luke, who had always been so physical, so rough-hewn.

Okay, thanks.” She paused, looking down at him. “I saw you’re Mr February this year.”

His cheeks heated. “Yeah. I’m also Mr April.” He’d posed with his surfboard and nothing else. “I didn’t know you’d seen it.”

Are you kidding? It’s up in the kitchen at work.” Sian’s cheeks were also flushed now, he noticed. “Since we’re all gals, we’re shamelessly exploiting hot young men in our calendar art.”

Hot young men? Wait, forget the young part, she thought he was hot?

Well, sorry I woke you up,” she said. “I’ll try to be quieter next time.”

You didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t sleeping.”

Her body swayed as if she were on the verge of heading into her own room, closing the door and leaving him on the outside again. Tonight he just couldn’t let it happen.


I’m not the street kid who moved in when your dad married my mom,” he said. “I’m…” He spread his fingers, wanting her to see him. He was an adult now. He’d made something of himself. He helped people.

And some part of him knew it had been for her. He’d worked so hard, wanted to be someone she’d respect. For her, all for her.

"Sometimes…you’re so quiet, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I wish you’d take me to see where you come from. You never talk about it, but I know you think about it.” He could have told her, but then she’d run from him and lock her door. The dirty things he wanted to do to her…

I’m proud to work with the guys at Station 57.”

Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, reaching out to grip his hand. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Luke… You’ve come so far. You broke my heart, even my Dad’s heart. We both wanted you to have opportunities.” She studied him, her gaze running over his shoulders, his chest. He hoped like hell she liked what she saw since he worked out like a maniac. “Now you’re a hero.”

He blinked. “Did you just call me a hero?”

A crooked smile touched her lips. “I’m so going to pay for being sappy, huh?”

You totally are.” He liked the hint of green in her eyes. They were large in her small face and her mouth was a little off-centre, the top lip fuller than the bottom. He liked it, he wanted to kiss it.

It feels like forever since we really talked,” she said. “Why is that?”

Maybe because you’re always out with some guy. Who was it this time? The architect or the gym owner?”


Don’t tell me it’s none of my business, Sian.”

She climbed to her feet, her dress sagging like a sail without any wind, putting her back on display. Firm skin, small bones, strong. Strong like the way she’d been when his mom had had cancer—holding him, letting him know with her body against his that he would never be alone.

Then why do you still live here? Why are we both living under the same roof?” Fuck it, he was pushing things, he was probably ruining things, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was on his feet, hands on his hips, looming over her.

It’s just easier—”

That’s bullshit. It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I still live here because I need to be close to you.”


Blurb for Forbidden Fire:

Sian Blaine grew up as firefighter Luke Cade’s caring older stepsister-it is forbidden to want his body covering hers-but when Luke takes her against the wall of the house they share, she can’t turn away from this persistent younger man.
Coffee shop owner Sian Blane is firefighter Luke Cade’s stepsister. He knows the shy older woman will never allow herself to see him as her lover, even after a sexy calendar is hung in the back room of her work place with Luke featured as Mr February sporting nothing more than his surfboard.
Luke has always been forbidden to Sian, but one night when she comes home from another endless, empty date, he stakes his claim, making her his woman. Now Sian must deal with the consequences of giving in to the beautiful, persistent younger man she's always wanted.
You can find Forbidden Fire here:

I'll be giving away a copy to one lucky person who comments! So don't forget to include your email address in the comment text!

And my website here:

Happy dreams!

Jan Irving has always been a creative person, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing is her passion. Her perfect day she’s writing a chapter and also painting a yoga mat or dyeing silk with marigolds.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

From Sex Therapist to Erotic Romance Author

By Robert W. Birch (Guest Blogger)

I have often said, I grew up in the country living in the city of Pittsburgh. Our house sat on what was then the western edge of the city, and we had no front street. A cinder alley led to our back yard. I walked through woods from three directions to get home, passing farms on two of these wooded paths. When I was fifteen (1952), my family moved to rural Ohio. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that several of my novels have a country setting. In one, the path that looked down on a farm found its way into my story. In another, it was the farm in the valley down the dirt road from my brother’s hunting cabin in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania that became the home of my main characters. In another the setting was the basement of my Pittsburgh home, back when we still had a coal burning furnace. The chicken house from my uncle’s farm made it into that story also.

But each of these, and several others, fall into the sci fi genre. So, imagine a country boy going off to college for two years, majoring in a beautiful girl named Carolyn and minoring in the consumption of beer (back then “low” beer was legal in Ohio for those having reached their eighteen birthday). I felt I needed to grow up, and enlisted in the army. Eventually I ended up stationed in Korea (after the conflict had ended) and spent long nights alone, sitting in a radio hut surrounded by rice paddies. I passed the time writing sci fi short stories. I was twenty-one at the time (1957). These stories sat in a box in my attic for over fifty years before finally being published.

Many years passed during which my writing was confined to term papers, research reports and journal articles. I received my Ph.D. in psychology 1967, eventually specializing in marital and sex therapy. In 1996 I published my first non-fiction book, an illustrated manual on cunnilingus. ORAL CARESS was an immediate success, as it was one of the very first written on this delicious topic. Sex manuals on premature ejaculation, sex and aging, and female orgasm followed. It was not until retirement that I launched my late-in-life career as an erotic romance writer.

I will admit that my first 400+ page novel, published in 2002, was more erotic than romantic. One reviewer wondered if I had used my case files to come up with the characters and some of their kinky behavior. Another reviewer wondered if a reader would learn anything reading fiction by a retired sex therapist, answering her own question by stating my book was full of "novel" advice. To date, I have published eight adult novels, and a four-book series of erotic-romance sci fi novellas. I also have two collections of erotic short stories in print.

Most of my stories have science fiction plots. There are those involving aliens and some involving time travel. All are heavy on the erotic end of the continuum and most are sprinkled with a bit of humor. One reviewer was disturbed by the blue tongue that slid out of an alien female’s genitalia that was located high on an inner thigh. Why would one expect an alien’s genitals to resemble those of humans?

I am guilty of using strong sexual terminology and describing the sexual encounters in graphic detail. One female reviewer felt I should have left more to the reader’s imagination. I am also guilty of staying realistic. In my books you’ll never find sexual marathons with a dozen encores. I am also guilty of not always having a budding romance and watching it grow, but all my books have love and commitment woven into a strong plot with a happy every after ending.

STRIPPED AND SNATCHED: Abducted for Harvesting

Young men and women are vanishing into thin air, leaving clothing behind, layered just as though their bodies evaporated. Julie, a virginal farm girl, is on of the abductees. She suddenly finds herself naked and surrounded by dozens of other naked young adults. She has been snatched and transported into the year 2510, where she is subjected to propaganda and mental manipulation. She soon discovers that the women are their for their fertile eggs and the men for their sperm.

Physical contact between the abductees is forbidden. As a control, twice daily the abductees are ushered into the Palace of Pleasure, a room in which intense orgasms are computer generated without human touch. Abductees who have been there the longest have had their memories erased, but Julie fights to retain hers. When her boyfriend Fred arrives they join with other newcomers and plot their escape.

Why do those in the future need to harvest eggs and sperm? How has the appreciation of sensual love and erotic touch been lost? Can the abductees find a way to travel back in time and return to their homes, and will Julie and Fred finally get to make love?


The door opened and naked young people, white, African American and Latino, began walking in from the dining area. Sheep having been fed and now filing into the breeding pen, Julie thought as she looked at the variety of breast and penis sizes and the distribution and colors of pubic hair, but what struck her most were the excited expressions on the faces.
My gosh, they’re actually looking forward to this.

The group of nudes was followed in by six tall uniformed technicians wearing what looked more like slippers than shoes. Each carried a metallic container. From these containers they handed each man a collection bag that he then pulled over his penis. To Julie there appeared to be something stimulating about these thick condom-like collection devices, for each man hardened as he pulled it on. She was surprised, however, to feel herself begin to turn on and lubricate. She looked around at the other females lying on the mat and between their spread legs noticed that each pussy glistened with moisture. Julie’s heart actually raced with anticipation. I’m feeling so excited. What’s happening here? She looked around at the different angles of the erections and wondered if it was the visual stimulation that was turning her on.

After sliding what looked like rubber sheets under several of the young women’s hips, the technicians left the room and closed the door behind them. Why’d they do that and why’d they leave? There was a barely audible hum coming from behind the walls, but the sounds that grew louder were the moans and groans emanating from the aroused naked occupants of the room. As Julie’s own sexual excitement grew she found herself begin to moan also. It was an involuntary response to her escalating arousal, which was amazingly intense and extremely pleasurable.

Suddenly an orgasm began and the series of powerful contractions that followed caused her to yell out with pleasure, her cries blending with the orgasmic cries of all the others, male and female. All the orgasms in the room occurred simultaneously with each wave of pleasure synchronized. Julie felt the Earth move, or so she thought. Her powerful orgasmic contractions seemed also to fade in synch with others, timed just as precisely as was the simultaneous initiation of the climactic responses. Julie now understood the purpose for the rubber sheets, for the technicians had obviously identified the female ejaculators in the group. The gushers gushed, the squirters squirted, and Julie witnessed something she had only heard of in the vaguest of terms.

The collective feeling of shared afterglow in the room was almost palpable. Julie felt all warm and snuggly. Briefly she sensed she was really quite alone in this post-orgasmic glow, but this fleeting moment of loneliness was replaced by a wonderful feeling of ultimate internal satisfaction. After a few minutes of quiet purrs and other sounds of contentment, those in the room began to stir and put their feelings into words.


Kindle format at
Ebook format at
Print copies at

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Call for Submissions: Vampire Erotica Anthology

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Vampire Snog from "Vampires Limited"

Since Victoria has posted a vampire snog today, I thought I'd do so too. This snippet is from my short story "Vampires Limited", in the Black Lace collection Lust at First Bite.
Be sure to visit Snog Central for links to lots of other sexy snogs.  And tune in tomorrow, here at Beyond Romance, for an exciting announcement related to vampires!

Lara knew she should be frightened. She should get out his seductive presence before she made a final, incorrigible mistake. The risk, the pure reality of it, only made her want him more. He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her lips, on her throat, on the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath quickened.
She glanced around the bar, filling up now that it was after five. Donnie’s was not known as a “blood” bar, but still, she noticed half a dozen men wearing capes and pale make up, plus two or three women in slinky black dresses and wigs. It was pathetic, the way they all craved a fleeting taste of inhuman power, a brush with immortality. And here she sat, thigh to thigh with the genuine article.
‘I don’t fully understand it,’ Jim said, obviously catching her thoughts once again. ‘Why would they want to be me? Power’s nice, but overall, I live a pretty lonely and miserable existence.’
‘Maybe – maybe I can make you a little less lonely. For a little while.’ Lara cradled his cheek for an instant, then pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were soft as any flesh, warm and muscular as they met and molded to her own lips. She tasted the wine he had been drinking, with background flavours of iron and salt. His tongue, too, felt human, jousting against hers, exploring, questioning.
Her rigid nipples pressed rudely through the stretchy fabric of her top, pleading for his attention. Of course he knew what she wanted. Without breaking the kiss, he cupped both breasts, tracing symmetrical circles around the tips. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs opened involuntarily. She rocked back and forth on the bench, rubbing her clit against the hard wood.
‘Please,’ she moaned against his open mouth, and then was silent, realising that she did not have to say anything. He broke the kiss to throw a twenty pound note on the table, then pulled her to his chest.
‘Imagine your apartment,’ he said, close to her ear. ‘Think about your bedroom. And hold on tight.’
She took a breath and was swallowed by sudden, utter darkness. She could feel the bulk of Jim’s body pressed against hers, but she could see nothing. A howling wind tore at her clothes. Her ears rang with the clang of a hundred untuned bells. Fear rose in her throat, but before she could scream, it was over.
Light returned. She stood on the shag carpet in her room clutching at Jim’s shirt. Her knees buckled. He held her up, held her against him.
‘I – what – how – ’ she babbled.
‘Hush, Lara. There’s no need for talk now.’ He bent to kiss her again, and this time she felt the fire stirring deep within him. She sensed his unnatural strength as he lifted her onto the bed and knelt between her legs. He peeled off her tights and drew down her soaked knickers without comment. She felt the air stir as he bent his mouth close to her yearning pussy, but no breath. Her clit beat like a tiny heart, swollen with blood. She knew that he could smell the blood through her skin, that for him it overwhelmed the tidal scent of her sex.
Take me, she thought. Before the idea was fully formed, his tongue was gliding through her slit, slithering among her folds, lapping at her juices as if they were in fact the fluid that he most craved. She arched and twisted under him, opening herself to him body and mind. He stabbed his tongue into her depths, then pulled back to suck hard on the aching bead of flesh at the apex. Sensation rippled out from that center to all her extremities.

Saturday, April 21, 2012


By Paige Turner (Guest Blogger)

You can’t possibly have missed it – the sinking of the Titanic has been everywhere on the hundredth anniversary of the disaster. From the re-release of James Cameron’s blockbuster film, to television series and documentaries, to books both factual and fictionalising the event, including my own MM erotic romance Unsinkable .

A hundred years ago, yet the disaster remains fresh in our imaginations, perhaps because there are so many surviving eye witness accounts that one can easily read about what it felt like to be aboard the doomed liner as she disappeared with frightening rapidity into the waters of the Atlantic.

And yet little more than a decade earlier, the longest-reigning English monarch died . Only two years after the Titanic sank, the globe was plunged into the Great War , two years of bloodshed that took some twenty million lives. It was in 1903 that men first took to the skies and in 1915 Typhoid Mary unwittingly infected twenty-five people and was placed in quarantine for life.

The early twentieth century was full of incident – sometimes tragic, sometimes fascinating, sometimes surreal. So many things happened that don’t necessarily get the same attention as the sinking of the Titanic – but perhaps they should. What incident, event or personality from the early twentieth century would you like to see explored in print? Let me know in the comments for a chance to win a copy of Unsinkable and a pack of replica Titanic ephemera.

Blurb for Unsinkable by Paige Turner

The world had never seen anything like the RMS Titanic - enormous, opulent...and unsinkable. The Ship of Dreams.

Ted Dorley, confidence man, is looking for a new life in the New World, and relishes the opportunity to mingle with the great and the good of the day on board the RMS Titanic.

He expects to find fortune, and perhaps to find fame, but he doesn’t expect to find love in the arms of dark-eyed cellist Robert Briceaux, one of the Titanic’s band of dedicated musicians.

When the ship strikes an iceberg close to midnight in the middle of the Atlantic, passengers panic and the crew try to keep the band plays on. As the Ship of Dreams disappears into the calm, black waters of the deep, has Ted lost his new-found love to the icy embrace of the ocean?


The White Star Dock, Southampton
Wednesday 10th April, 1912
10 a.m.

Robert was spun around in the crowd as a steward barged past him, so loaded down with cases and hatboxes that he could barely see over the top of them. He held his cello case closer to his body, protective of the instrument in this monstrous crush. His cello-and his hands-were the most precious things he had. So many people had wanted to see the launch of the RMS Titanic that tickets had had to be issued to keep the crowds under control. Robert could quite see why.

It was a bright, brisk April morning, and Robert had to squint against the sunlight as it struck off the myriad windows of the magnificent ocean liner. She was immense, making the other ships docked nearby look like toys beside her elegant bulk. The sheer size of her was enough to turn Robert into a bundle of nerves, and he peered anxiously through the throng, looking for the upright figure of Wallace Hartley, the band leader, with his long face, always composed, and his dark hair. Robert liked Wallace-most people did. He was a friendly, gentlemanly sort, and Robert would feel more at ease once he had found him. Failing that, though, he'd be pleased to see anyone clutching a violin case, because that would mean he'd found one of the other professionals who would be providing musical diversion for the passengers on the Titanic's maiden voyage.
He'd been performing since he was a boy, but suddenly, amongst these hundreds of people, he felt a queer sort of stage fright that made him feel slightly ill.

Even a stranger would be a welcome sight. There was a kind of brotherhood among the musicians who played on the liners. They looked out for one another. They had to, with the agents giving them as few rights as possible and the White Star Line washing its hands of the whole affair. Still, there were dozens of cellists who would have jumped at the chance to take Robert's place on board the Titanic.

The porters were bustling around the dock. Near where he stood, a harried-looking pair were loading crate after crate of lettuce—what must be thousands and thousands of heads of the stuff. He thought about the other supplies that they must be loading—magnums of champagne, barrels of oysters, sides of beef. As he watched in wonder, a small boy tried to sell him a postcard of the ship. It was a picture of the liner sailing out from Southampton, tinted with watercolours. He shook his head and the lad scampered away, unperturbed, to tug at the skirts of a stern-looking elderly woman in old-fashioned black bombazine.

The passengers and crew were all sorts, from babes in arms to the very elderly, and grubby-faced stokers still smelling of beer from their celebrations the night before to debutantes decked out in furs and jewels. But Robert couldn't see the other musicians anywhere. How could he expect to find anybody in this insane crush?

As Robert pushed his way towards berth forty-four, he was startled when a pleasant voice called his name and he turned to see a young man juggling the handles of two violin cases in one hand and extending the other in enthusiastic greeting. Robert fidgeted where he stood, like an excited kid.

A gangling kind of chap, with curly blond hair, pale eyes and a friendly grin, he seemed to give off a sort of contagious energy that Robert immediately found appealing.

Still, he heard the caution and reserve in his own voice when he confirmed, "I am Robert Briceaux." He felt a little self-conscious about his French accent, which was still very pronounced even after his time with an English orchestra. Still, he'd been told he'd been selected for this voyage partly to add a sense of authenticity to the Café Parisien, where he would play as part of a trio, so perhaps it was just as well that he'd never been able to get his tongue around the plummy vowels and clipped consonants of the British upper and middle classes.

"John Hume," the curly-haired youth went on gaily, "only do call me Jock-absolutely everybody does. I'm first violin. I've already met Wes—that's the other cellist-so when I saw you struggling with your kit I knew it must be you."

Robert found himself swept along in Jock's wake. He envied him his effortless, effervescent self-confidence. The crowds seemed to part for him as he gestured expansively with his free hand, babbling with good-natured excitement about the expense and glamour of the ship they were about to board, from the thousands of pieces of silverware to the fully-equipped gymnasium and the heated, salt-water swimming pool.

Robert didn't suppose there'd be a great deal of time for them to explore the ship in between playing, and in any case he wasn't the best of swimmers, but Jock's excitement was palpable and Robert found his spirits lifting. Jock seemed like somebody who'd be easy to get along with. He hoped his other companions would be as agreeable.

He was a bit flustered and out of breath by the time they reached berth forty-four. His cello was bulky and as he tried to keep up with Jock's long, energetic strides, he limped slightly, the legacy of a motor bicycle accident. He was only glad it had been his leg that had been injured, not his hands. He hadn't ridden on one of the machines since.

By the time Robert and Jock had found the other members of the ship's on-board orchestra, the first of the passengers were starting to board, swarming up the second- and third-class gangways in excited, chattering groups, pushing perambulators or scolding children.

Wallace Hartley greeted them warmly and presented them to their fellows. The other cellist was Wes Woodward. He had a soft, unexceptionable sort of face, small, round eyeglasses and a moustache that was waxed into points at the end. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, and a little stiff in his bearing, though not unfriendly.

* * *

Bio: Paige Turner is an Englishwoman who believes very firmly in the restorative power of tea. Paige likes to write MM love stories with a difference—whether it’s boy-meets-boy in a hot historical or mortal-meets-monster in an erotic otherworld, she thinks that everyone deserves a happy ending.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Odds and Ends of News


I have a couple of news items to share with you.

First, I got a very nice review of Hot Spell on Romance Junkies, Four Ribbons. Chrissy writes:

Lisabet Sarai’s descriptions of the nature surrounding this couple seem to blend in perfectly with the sheer eroticism of their actions

You can read the full review at:

Second, I now have the release date for Quarantine. If all goes according to plan, Total-E-Bound will publish my M/M sci fi novel on July 9th! I'm planning a big release blitz, with lots of prizes (of course), so stay tuned!

Third, I just got my first month's royalties for Just a Spanking and while I don't want to brag - I was pretty blown away. If you're one of the folks who bought the book - THANK YOU! And if you're not...well, what are you waiting for?

Finally, I'm going to be editing an charity anthology of vampire erotica and erotic romance called Coming Together: In Vein, to benefit Doctors Without Borders. I'll have the details for you soon!

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Stupid Pills

By J.E. Taylor (Guest Blogger)

Before I get into my guest post, I want to thank Lisabet for having me on her blog today for my Crystal Illusions release tour. I’ve decided to talk about something other than writing today, something that happened recently and warrants a mini-rant…

Ever wonder if your husband or significant other has started taking "stupid pills"?

Well, I began to think my other half has started a regiment of them after the following conversation…

Him: “Don’t go grocery shopping until I get home.”

Me: “Okay. Any particular reason?”

Him: “Yes, I want to go. I want to teach you how to shop.”

I had no snappy comeback, just went completely blank at the gross stupidity of that statement.

I have been the one grocery shopping for our family for at least twenty years because he hates to shop.

He’s very lucky I wasn’t near any sharp, deadly projectiles because I’m fairly sure he would have received a lethal dose of something after those words tumbled from his lips.

Instead of reacting, I just said okay and watched him leave for work. You can bet I was on the phone with my sister within minutes, ranting about his sheer lack of intelligence. But I decided to try to see the humor in his statement and keep an open mind. What exactly could he teach me?

Interesting experiment.

He wanted me to use coupons.

I used to but then the benefits started to diminish. When they started requiring you to buy three or more items to get a dollar off and when double and triple coupons went by the wayside, I stopped using them. So, he clipped coupons and wrote out the grocery list and off we went. He really had no concept of what groceries cost now-a-days, and his little adventure in couponing didn’t net as much as he thought. Yes, we saved enough to pay for a couple gallons of gas, but it wasn’t in the realm of extreme couponing like he thought it would be. I also had to keep him in check every time we passed sale items, because we didn’t need the “buy one get one free” items.

I never mentioned how irritated I was at this, but it’s not the only sideways thing he’s done lately and I’m beginning to wonder if this is some sort of weird mid-life crisis or if it’s just the reality of college sticker shock. Yes – our oldest is heading to college in the fall and I think this is the root of his intelligence lapses.

Either way, I still love him - despite the sudden onset of stupidity.

Hopefully his little antics will pass and he’ll get back to the even-keeled man I’m used to. If not, I might just have to hit him upside the head with an iron pan.

Thanks for swinging into this stop on my Blog Tour and I hope you’ll stop by Bitten By Books on the 20th for a chance to win a $50.00 Amazon gift certificate and if you’d like to check out Crystal Illusions, you can purchase it here on Amazon.

Amazon Link:

Until next time,



Tuesday, April 17, 2012

REVIEW - The Master's Prize by Maggie Nash

The Master's Prize by Maggie Nash

Total-E-Bound, 2009

Anyone who's had any contact with me or my work will know that I love BDSM. Nothing turns me on like a well-written tale of dominance and submission. The ecstatic release of surrendering to a powerful master or mistress; the intimacy of revealing your most secret and perverse fantasies; the thrill of breaking down emotional and physical barriers, pushing to ever greater extremes of sensation and trust ... Simply describing the attributes of a great BDSM story is enough to make me damp!

Unfortunately, it's more difficult than you might think for me to find BDSM fiction that I truly enjoy. Too many books focus on the physical trials the dominant sets for the submissive, when what interests me is the emotional dynamics of their power exchange. Some authors appear to believe that BDSM is about abuse or humiliation, and I guess that some readers enjoy that – but not me. I also find myself getting annoyed by so-called kinky erotic romance where basically vanilla couples introduce bondage or spanking into their relationship just to spice things up. Please don't misunderstand – I don't think there's anything wrong with erotic play that borrows the trappings or activities of dominance and submission. However, the sine qua non of D/s has to do with the interaction between the top and the bottom, the sub's willing release of control and the dom's assumption of power over (and responsibility for) the sub's experiences. The ropes, blindfolds, whips and nipple clamps are merely external tools to enhance that experience.

I'm pleased to say that Maggie Nash's novella The Master's Prize offers just the sort of story I enjoy. Elise Blake is a confident career woman, a local radio personality who doesn't allow herself to be pushed around. Nevertheless, she's drawn to notion of sexual submission, though she scarcely knows what that means. Mitchell Collins, a wealthy hi-tech entrepreneur who's also a Master and trainer, first sees Elise when she visits his regular BDSM club as an observer. He reads the excitement on her masked face and becomes obsessed with the goal of possessing and mastering her.

He pursues her, practically kidnaps her, and coaxes her into admitting her desire for submission. He then begins to train her in obedience and trust, using a combination of pleasure and pain that's heavily weighted toward the former. When Mitch brings Elise back to Club Fetish, upon her request, he realizes that he doesn't have nearly the control over her that he thought – and that his feelings for her go far beyond anything he's experienced with any of his former conquests.

At first I found Mitchell's cockiness and his no-holds-barred pursuit of Elise a bit creepy and unappealing. I prefer dominants who cleverly seduce their slaves as opposed to overpowering them. Mitch's behavior borders on stalking. However, he makes it clear Elise must willingly consent to be mastered, if she wants to explore her submissive side, and there's no doubt that Elise enjoys the process. Ultimately, it's Elise who turns out to have the upper hand in the relationship. Mitchell comes to understand he has actually misjudged her nature. Despite her readiness to surrender, she's more of a switch than a pure sub. By the time Mitch realizes this, he's so in love with her that he really doesn't care.

The sexual connection between Mitch and Elise is deliciously hot. The story begins with a kiss, which Mitch buys from the reluctant Elise by making a donation to charity. The intensity of that kiss makes it clear that regardless of Elise's ambivalence, the two have great physical chemistry. The promise of that kiss is more than redeemed in their later scenes. Indeed, Mitch is so aroused by Elise he has some difficulties maintaining his Dom persona.

The Master's Prize slides back and forth between Elise's and Mitch's points of view. It's a tribute to Ms. Nash's writing skill that these shifts feel completely natural, never disorienting or confusing. The reader gains insight into both characters' minds and hearts.

The book's plot is pretty simple. I think Mitch and Elise could have used a longer story, to explore their connections in a more leisurely fashion. However, that's just my preference. After all, who wouldn't enjoy more sexy, kinky scenes between two people obviously made for one another?

If you like BDSM fiction that emphasized emotion over the physical trappings of kink, you're likely to enjoy The Master's Prize.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Sex. Art. Insects?

I recently found out about this amazing book of photography by Natacha Merritt. It's due out in May, but I was lucky enough to get some advance photos. Bizarrely beautiful - disturbingly kinky - I thought it worthwhile to showcase her press release on my blog.

In 2000, Natacha Merritt released Digital-Diaries (Taschen), the first ever book to feature exclusively digital photography. What was the 21 year old San Francisco native photographing? Her sex life with her friends, masturbating with and without accessories, in bed, in the shower, in hotel rooms, from every imaginable angle and with the camera usually at arm’s length. Digital-Diaries allowed the reader a no-holds-barred insight into Merritt’s fantasies, desires, exploits and realities. Her controversial work was soon featured in diverse publications across the world from Rolling Stone to The Observer, from Playboy and Der Spiegel to Dazed and Confused. The book went on to become an L. A. Times and Amazon bestseller, moving over 300,000 copies.

Merritt’s new book Sexual Selection is in many ways even more captivating. She applied her distinctive vision to a subtle and complex art, creating astonishing and surprisingly lyrical images as she compares and contrasts the sexual intricacies of plants and insects with her own elaborate sexuality. She returned to higher education to study evolutionary biology, noting “The leap makes sense when you are passionate about sex. All roads lead to evolutionary biology, speciation and genetics.” It wasn’t long before she became transfixed with arachnid genitalia, peering down a microscope for hours on end in order to capture the perfect images of a spider’s erect penis, one of the photos featured in her new book Sexual Selection, published in May 2012 by cult Berlin arthouse Bongoût.

Each image is unmistakably a work of art that transcends easy categorisation. Lush and eerily intimate photographs capture the fleeting moments of arousal and grant us a rare insight into our universal sexuality. With the questions she asks as a scientist, she answers as an artist with photography and writing; why are some sexual practices and organs so detailed, complex and downright bizarre when this gets in the way of basic survival? As Natacha explains, “Sexual selection is the sensual side of evolution. It explains the ornate, the creative and the beautiful, it can explain arousal. It’s what gets us laid.”

By exposing the often over-looked sensual and sexual behaviour of other species as well as our own, Sexual Selection is guaranteed to broaden the readers’ sense of beauty and arousal regardless of their vantage point.

Her eerily intimate depictions of fucking and sucking transcend smut. Even literate smut.” Rolling Stone (about Digital-Diaries, 2000)

“The juxtapositions are exceptional… Of course I like the real people having sex, and to put them next to these other biological forms is really original and leads one's imagination to places it hasn't been…” Richard Prince (about Sexual Selection, 12/2011)

Pre-order your copy here: &