Sunday, March 31, 2013

Lisabet's March News

Exposure cover
New and Upcoming Releases
Okay, so it's the last day of March and here I am posting my newsletter... Honestly, I have a good excuse. Several, actually!

First of all I was hacked and I've been busy trying to make my website more secure. That's why Lisabet's Fantasy Factory (  has been down for the past week or so.

Second, and more pleasantly, I'm off on a long foreign trip starting next Tuesday, so I've been unbelievably busy getting all my responsibilities cleared away before we leave.

So this will be just a quick update, to let you know what's been going on and what you can win during April!
Since my last newsletter, I've published a newly edited version of my erotic thriller Exposure, which features my feisty stripper heroine, Stella Xanathakeos. 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.

If you enjoy erotic noir, get yourself a copy of this book.

April 9th is release day for the femdom anthology Under Her Thumb, edited by the award-winning D.L. King and featuring my story "Layover". And I'm counting the days until May 6th, the pre-release date Rajasthani Moon. I'll be doing a blog tour for the book in June, giving away a $50 gift certificate plus a book at every stop. Stay tuned for details!

Other News

One thing that has kept me busy over the past month is a relaunch of the new and improved Oh Get A Grip blog. We've expanded our roster to ten contributors, with fresh, exciting content every week day. New members include Desiree Holt, Cari Silverwood, Sacchi Green, Giselle Renarde, Amanda Earl and the infamous Daddy X. With this crew, I expect the Grip to be more outrageous than ever. As usual, we'll all be posting on the same general topic for a period of two weeks at a time. The next topic, starting Monday April 1st, is "Procrastination".

On other fronts, I've almost finished my story for the Tied to the Billionaire anthology, entitled The Gilded Cage. It's a bit different from what you might expect, set around the turn of the twentieth century when America first became a world power and huge fortunes were made by the likes of Andrew Carnegie, John Rockefeller and the other so-called "robber barons". My hero, Andrew MacIntyre, has more money than he knows what to do with. However, there's one thing his wealth can't buy - a willing partner to fulfill his perverse fantasies. Labor activist Olivia Alcott seems an unlikely candidate for this role, but appearances can be deceiving. The tale plays out in one of the fabulous Gilded Age mansions in Newport, Rhode Island. In case you're unfamiliar with these extravagant edifices, here's a photo, from Wikipedia, of The Breakers, one of the largest and most luxurious.


Congratulations to Jackie, who won my February Favorite Book contest. I'll be sending her a $25 Amazon gift certificate, as promised.

This month, I'm deviating from my usual pattern and running my contest here on the blog. I'll be traveling, as I noted above, for a big chunk of April, but I really want you to keep visiting Beyond Romance. I have some wonderful guests lined up for that period. On the days when I don't have visitors, I've set up a Back List Blast. Each day you can read a different excerpt from one of my back list books - everything from M/M paranormals to BDSM thrillers.

Every comment you leave on the blog between April 2nd and April 19th counts as an entry in the contest. (Don't forget to include your email address in the comment!) The grand prize is a $25 GC to the bookstore of your choice (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, All Romance Ebooks, or Total-E-Bound). I'll choose two runners up, too, each of whom will receive an autographed print book from my back list.
So please, visit often. Sample a wide range of my books, and help keep my guests from feeling neglected!

Lisabet's Pick of the Month

My pick of the month for March is the Four Seduced Muses group blog, run by Nicole Morgan, May Water, Maya DeLeina and Lia Michaels. I was a guest there last month and had a great time. Drop by for their Forbidden Fruit Fridays, Thirsty Thursdays, Wanton Wednesdays, Tempt Me Tuesdays... hey, I think you get the idea!

Saturday, March 30, 2013

An Interview with Murphy

By Jennifer Lowery (Guest Blogger)

Hi Lisabet and all you fabulous readers out there *waves* Thank you so much for having me today! My contemporary romance, Murphy’s Law, released this month so I’m very excited to be here! Thank you so much for sharing it with me!! 
Murphy’s Law touched a deep part of me. For many reasons. Mostly, because the heroine, Sara, had to face one of my biggest fears. Overcoming this fear was hard for her and Murphy was there to help her through it, but not without being forced to face his own demons. It was quite a journey for the two of them. For all of us. I didn’t come out of it untouched. I think writers face their own fears and hurts and needs when they write, even if they don’t realize it. Writing is therapeutic. And I love it even when I’m putting my characters through the ringer. I once read that you should put your characters in a tree and throw rocks at them. It’s a play off a formulation for a movie script, I believe. And excellent advice to add conflict and tension to your writing.
Well, Jon and Sara certainly had a lot of rocks thrown at them, but they weren’t always physical rocks. Many of them were emotional. I thought I’d give you a chance to talk with them and see how they handled some of those moments when I tormented them J Please welcome Jon and Sara.
Jennifer: Thanks for coming today. Did either of you ever think your life would end up in a book?
Jon: No, and I don’t like it.
Sara: *small chuckle* Not really, no.
Jennifer: Are you happy with the genre I placed you in?
Jon: *shrugs*
Sara: Definitely. I like contemporary romance. I’ve actually started reading it.
Jennifer: What are your favorite scenes in your book: the action, the dialog or the romance?
Sara: *blushes and smiles* Definitely the romance. Thank you so much for bringing Murphy into my life, Jen. Our love life is incredible.
Jon: *scowls*
Jennifer: Did you have a hard time convincing me to write any particular scenes for you?
Jon: No, you seemed ready to write.
Sara: I agree. You were very willing. I think we were more hesitant than you sometimes. But it all worked out in the end.
Jennifer: If you could rewrite anything in the book, what would it be?
Jon: *voice hard* I never would have let Sara leave the ranch on her own. What were you thinking, Jen?
Sara: *puts her hand over Murphy’s* Jon, you know why Jennifer wrote that scene. She had to. It was supposed to go that way. I wanted it.
Jon: You could have been killed.
Sara: But I wasn’t.
*Murphy scowls but relents*
Jennifer: How about an easy question. What do you like most about where you live?
Sara: *dreamy smile* The ranch. It’s beautiful. There’s nowhere like it in the world. Peaceful. Healing. It healed me.
Jon: *looks at his wife and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear* Both of us.
Jennifer: On that note, I’ll wrap up this interview and give the readers a blurb and excerpt from the book. *leaves the couple alone just as Murphy leans in to kiss his wife*
Murphy’s Law/Contemporary Romance
Nowhere to go. No place to hide.
Home is the last place Jon Murphy can go. After being held captive in Tazbekistan, he returns to the States only to find he can’t face his mom and sisters with what he did while he was a prisoner, so he retreats to the mountains.
Widow Sara Sheldon has made a lifetime of mistakes and is now running scared from her husband’s powerful family, who are determined to take her daughter away from her. When her little girl goes missing in the Rockies, Sara enlists the only help she can find: a gruff recluse with tracking skills to admire and a body to covet.
A storm strands Sara and her daughter at Murphy’s cabin, leaving her no choice but to hope her in-laws don’t catch up while she plans where to run next. Murphy resents the invasion of his privacy, but can’t seem to keep his mind--or his hands--off Sara. How can she stand to look at him, with all his scars? He’s not nearly as honorable as she might think…only enough to make sure she’s safe, and then he’ll go back to being alone, the way he should be.
CONTENT WARNING: Sexual content
A Lyrical Press Contemporary Romance
Murphy sat at the kitchen table, half in the shadows created by the soft light glowing above the stove, hair tousled from sleep. Naked to the waist. A bottle of amber liquid sat in front of him, an empty glass in his hand. Her gaze landed on his muscled shoulders and trailed across his tanned chest. So much for getting him out of her mind. Now she had the real thing to dream about. Looking at the dark hairs that veed down his chest and disappeared behind the table, she decided he’d been right. He was a dangerous man.
She tore her gaze away from temptation and looked at the granite lines of his face. Beneath the hardness of his expression, something haunting lingered. Drawn, she circled the table to the opposite end.
Murphy met her eyes with coldness that should have sent her running for the safety of her room, but she remained standing in place. He wanted to chase her away. This time she wasn’t running.
Mind if I join you?” She grabbed a glass and from the cupboard and reached over his shoulder for the bottle.
His hand snaked out and wrapped around hers, preventing her from pouring a drink.
I mind,” he growled.
Well, get over it. I need a drink.”
Scowling, he let go of her hand and allowed her to pour a glass for herself. She refilled his glass next, set the bottle on the table, moved to the chair beside him and sat, lifting her glass.
Cheers.” She brought the glass to her lips. His gaze as she drained the glass made her fight the urge to cough as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. Seconds later she felt the familiar warming sensation as it numbed her insides. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and reached for the bottle.
Murphy held it away from her. “What are you doing?”
Having a drink. I’m not in the mood for warm milk tonight.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed. “You don’t strike me as the drinking type.”
She wasn’t, but tonight it sounded good. Maybe it would soothe away her problems and make her forget how screwed-up her life was. Talking about Kent earlier had brought back painful memories. She didn’t want to feel that misery anymore.
Maybe you don’t know my type,” she said.
He studied her closely for a moment before rubbing a hand over his face. “Go back to bed, Sara. Sleep it off.”
I don’t want to sleep it off. I’m tired of thinking about it.”
Maybe it was the whisky, or his naked chest, or the part of her that had been dormant for six years coming back to life. More than anything she wanted to discover it with Murphy, her strong, scarred hero.
She rose to her feet. He watched warily as she stepped in front of him and positioned herself between him and the table. He leaned back in his chair and sent her a thunderous look.
You and I are alike in many ways, Murphy,” she said softly. “We’ve both lost pieces of ourselves we can’t ever get back and it has forced us into a life of loneliness and solitude. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being alone.”
He pinned her with a hard glare. “I’m not what you want. Go back to your room before I do something we’ll both regret in the morning.”
His harshly spoken words sent little electrical shocks through her body.
I’m tired of people telling me what I want.”
Author Bio:
Jennifer Lowery grew up reading romance novels in the back of her math book and on the bus to school, and never wanted to be anything but a writer. Her summers were spent sitting at the kitchen table with her sisters spinning tales of romance and intrigue and always with a tall glass of ice tea at their side.
Today, Jennifer is living that dream and she couldn’t be happier to share her passion with her readers. She loves everything there is about romance. Her stories feature alpha heroes who meet their match with strong, independent heroines. She believes that happily ever after is only the beginning of her stories. And the road to that happy ending is paved with action, adventure, and romance. As her characters find out when they face danger, overcome fears, and are forced to look deep within themselves to discover love.
Jennifer lives in Michigan with her husband and two children. When she isn’t writing she enjoys reading and spending time with her family.

Find Jennifer:

Buy Murphy’s Law:
Thank you for having me today, Lisabet!! I just want to send out a big THANK YOU to all my readers out there! Without you I wouldn’t be here. My wish is to one day meet each and every one of you so I can personally thank you for your generosity and support! 
All my best, 

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Elementary, My Dear Kathryn

By Giselle Renarde (Guest Blogger)


There's a new book in Kinktown.  It's called Kinksters, and it's an anthology of fetish-focused group sex erotica.

Kinksters contains 10 kinky stories, which probably doesn't sound like a lot, but many of these stories are on the longer side of the "short story" scale--in the range of 5,000 to 10,000 words.  Some of them are available for purchase as existing e-books, including the first story in the collection:

Elementary, My Dear Kathryn is a lesbian ménage story.  Its fetish focus?  Why that would be anal sex. Okay, not just "anal sex" in a general way.  I wrote this for readers who (like me) find enemas and anilingus highly titillating.  It's not exactly a staple of lesbian activity in erotica, which is why I wanted to write it.

This story is not for the faint of heart.  In fact, it was banned by All Romance ebooks shortly after its release in ebook form.

Be warned--this is an excerpt wherein Melanie, under the tutelage of her Domme Pasha, cleans out sweet Kathryn's ass in a hotel bathroom.  Don't read it if that's your squick!

Excerpt from Elementary, My Dear Kathryn:

The bathroom door opened with a squeak and Pasha called, “Come here, my dears.”
Sliding off the high mattress, Melanie walked directly to her Domme and sensed Kathryn following behind.

“She is going to leave that dress on,” Pasha instructed.

Melanie offered a subtle nod and entered the bathroom. It was wonderfully large and sparkling white, in true hotel fashion. Pasha had pulled back the shower curtain. Her water bottle rested on the clean marble counter. It was full now, with warm water most probably, and the nozzle-lid was back on top. Pasha handed it to Melanie while Kathryn stood in the threshold. It was indeed warm. Not hot, but warm.

Come inside,” Melanie said. She never knew how she knew what Pasha desired. The expectations were inside of her. For Melanie, being a true submissive meant anticipating Pasha’s needs and wishes, and acting on them without direction.

Tonight Melanie would clean Kathryn out and eat her ass. All for Pasha.

Kathryn took a single step into the bathroom, and then paused. Her gaze betrayed nothing. She didn’t even seem confused. Could she possibly know what was coming? She seemed so innocent.

Watching the water bottle, Kathryn asked, “What should I do now?”

Pasha leaned back against the counter. It was very rare that she gave Melanie instructions anymore. Melanie knew what to do.

Pointing at the pristine bath mat lying across the rim of the tub, Melanie said, “Set your knees down there. Lean across the tub and press your hands down flat on the far side. Kiss the tile.”

It had been so long since she’d been the one giving instructions. After Kathryn left town, and years before she met Pasha, she’d fancied herself the one to give orders. And then, still before meeting Pasha, she’d been with a woman who taught her the joy of subservience. Now she was driven not so much by Pasha’s will, but by her own resolve to gift Pasha with obedience. The key was to obey before being told. That was Melanie’s specialty.

Though Kathryn needed to be told, she obeyed without question. When her forehead met the tile at the far side of the tub, Melanie set down the water bottle and pulled Kathryn’s tight white dress up and over her smooth bottom. What a sight!

Melanie glanced back at Pasha and smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an ass this fine.”

“Indeed!” Pasha’s laughter swelled.

Melanie gave Kathryn’s bum a few playful taps before hooking her index fingers around the band of a white lace thong. “This is coming off,” Melanie said.  She pulled it down all the way to Kathryn’s knees.

One shoe and then the other fell from Kathryn’s feet. Standing between them, Melanie offered the next instruction. “You’re going to reach back slowly, with one hand and then the other, and pull your cheeks apart for me. I want to get a good look at your asshole.”

Kathryn inhaled sharply, but she didn’t waste any time. Balancing awkwardly, she reached back with one hand. When she’d grabbed one cheek, she pressed her head against the shower wall and raised her elbow upwards, sending the other hand toward her bum at a snail’s pace.

“How are you feeling?” Melanie asked. “Comfy?”

Mm-hmm,” Kathryn affirmed, although comfy hardly described her position. In a breathy whisper, she asked, “What do you want me to do now?”

Without so much as looking in her direction, Melanie felt a smile growing across Pasha’s lips. “I thought I told you to pull your cheeks apart,” Melanie said in a slow, calm voice.

Kathryn gasped and her polished pink nails dug into her gorgeous marble flesh. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

Melanie’s heart fluttered as she watched that tight little asshole pucker. It looked so real. She loved that Kathryn’s ass wasn’t waxed, bleached, or perfect like porn star rumps. Faint wisps of blonde hair grew along the insides of her thighs, leading Melanie’s gaze down to the pink of her. Kathryn’s slit was wet and welcoming, and it made Melanie a little sad to ignore its appeal. But she had a Domme to please.

As Pasha looked on, Melanie said, “I’m going to fill you with water and rinse you right out.”
Though Kathryn’s breath hitched audibly and her fingernails dug harder into her flesh, she didn’t offer any verbal resistance.

No sense wasting time. Melanie amassed saliva on her tongue, leaned forward, and spit in Kathryn’s crack. Kathryn issued a high-pitched squeal, but she didn’t budge. When the dribble of spit kissed the crease of Kathryn’s asshole, Melanie pressed the tip of the water bottle nozzle against it. If that’s what Pasha wanted, that’s what she’d do.


So that's a taste of Kathryn.  There's more to the story, obviously, and you can read it now by purchasing Elementary, My Dear Kathryn as an ebook, or by picking up your very own copy of Kinksters.

If you like threesomes and group sex, and you like BDSM and fetish erotica, Kinksters is for you (and even though the sticker price is higher, it'll save you money in the long run!)

Get Kinksters today from retailers like Amazon.
Award-winning erotica writer Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, and author of numerous electronic and print books, including Anonymous, Nanny State, and My Mistress' Thighs. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Elemental Fire

[Today I have a sneak peek at the latest book by one of my favorite authors, K.D. Grace. Check out the third book in her Lakeland Heatwave series, Elemental Fire! ~ Lisabet]



Obsessed with revenge, Kennet Lucian makes a deal with a demon, a deal he comes to regret when he meets Tara Stone, head of the Elemental Coven, and a powerful witch with a desire for revenge at least as great as his. Even though the attraction between the two is magnetic and the lust combustive, Kennet must betray her to accomplish his goal, which is ultimately her goal as well; to put a final end to the demon, Deacon’s, reign of terror. But can Tara trust the man who has wormed his way into her heart and the heart of the Elemental Coven? Can she trust Lucia, the demon with whom Kennet is allied, a demon with her own agenda? The path to Deacon’s destruction is far from clear, and the price that must be paid to be free of him forever may be too high, even for Tara Stone.

The demon, Lucia, studied Kennet for what might have been ages, and he felt as though the pressure of her scrutiny would crush him.

I have never worn man flesh.’ She nodded down to his penis.

He blushed and surged and blushed again. His heart raced. ‘Does it make a difference?’

She shrugged, still studying his cock as though she’d never seen one before. ‘Not really. Flesh is flesh.’ On a whim, she reached out and stroked his erection, and he gasped as the touch of her shivered up his spine and blossomed bright inside his head.

She continued to touch him, but her eyes were now locked on his face, and he tried desperately not to thrust against her. ‘I am only touching your cock, Kennet Birch, and it is all you can do to keep from spilling your seed at my feet.’

That is the most sensitive part,’ he breathed. ‘Of a man, I mean.’

She moved closer and ran a splayed hand up over his ribs. And he did spill his seed with a desperate gasp as though he could never get enough oxygen again. And he was embarrassed and terrified and angry, and it was as though the whole range of emotions exploded in his head in an instant. Then she leaned in and brushed her lips against his, and for a split second the world flashed before his eyes more vivid, more perfect, more complete than he had ever seen it before. He knew things, he saw things, he felt things, things beyond him. 
And he would have dropped again to his knees, but he couldn’t, not held in her gaze as he was.

I have barely touched you and you are overwhelmed, Kennet Birch. Do you really think you can survive my possession of you?’

He forced himself to hold her gaze, trembling suddenly as though he were in the grips of some powerful illness. All of him ached, and he knew the real world was bleeding through. There was very little time. ‘I won’t survive if you don’t possess me. My coming to you has guaranteed that.’ He wrapped his arms around himself as the shakes became more violent. ‘You said it yourself, I have nothing to lose.’

And why would I want a sick and broken male body?’ She asked. Her eyes blazed in the dance of firelight that always seemed so close to her.

If you possess me, you can heal me,’ he said. ‘And anyway, if you possess me and I die, well it really doesn’t matter at this point.’

For an eternal moment she studied him. She studied him until he looked away. His head was fuzzy, his body ached even in the dream world. He couldn’t hold much longer.

She lifted his chin once again so that he met her gaze, and the shakes stopped. The pain went away. He felt his head clear.

If I do what you ask of me, even though you live, your life is forfeit. You know this?’

I know,’ he breathed. ‘It doesn’t matter.

You say that now in your hour of need. But when that passes, when you are whole and stronger and healthier than you have ever dreamed possible, when your heart heals and you learn to love again, you won’t be so anxious to let go of what is rightfully mine when the time comes.’

He suddenly felt more pain than he knew existed in the whole world, and none of it was physical. He inhaled breath that felt like shards of stone. ‘I’ll never know love again. I’ll never know life again, so there’s really nothing you can take from me that isn’t already long gone.’

Her gaze softened, and somehow he found that infinitely comforting. Then she moved closer and kissed him, slowly, languidly, as though they had all the time in the world, and his cock was hard again. She stepped back from him. One shrug and the robe of fire fell away, and the glow of her body flashed bright, then dimmed and steadied until he could see details, erect nipples atop high breasts, rounded hips, a golden splash of curls at the juncture of her thighs. ‘I am not like him,’ she said softly. ‘It gives me no pleasure to make those who dwell in the flesh my puppets. You will be, how is it you put it these days, you will be in the driver’s seat.’ She took him into her arms and kissed him hard, and when he feared he would disgrace himself again with his cock pressed up tight against the top of her belly, she pulled away. ‘However,’ she said. ‘If I grant your request, then I will possess you. All of you. You will belong to me, your life will mine.’ 

Her gaze was painfully bright. ‘And if you earnestly wish to be rid of Deacon, then you will do as I say for as long as it takes us to accomplish our task, and it will take time. I know him. You don’t. I’m his equal. You’re not. And one more very important thing, Kennet Birch.’ She stroked his hair gently and whispered against his lips. ‘Never, never forget how badly I can hurt you if you defy me.’ Then she guided his hand down over her pubic curls. ‘If my terms are not acceptable to you, then you must return to your body and face your fate.’

Boldly, brazenly, he slid a finger down low and circled her clit, and her eyes fluttered. ‘If it weren’t acceptable to me, I wouldn’t be here,’ he answered.

She took his hand and guided him back to a chair that appeared from out of nowhere. It looked like a golden throne with no arms. What? Was he to petition her? He didn’t understand. But it was no throne at all. She pushed him down on it and stood before him caressing her breasts until her nipples were stiff and swollen. Then she raised one perfect leg and set her elegant Botticelli foot on his thigh, affording him a view of her wet and fiery depths. ‘I do not enter through your breath, Kennet Birch,’ she said. ‘As sex is your magic, so is it mine. You will go in through me, inside out. And your hunger for me will pull me into you when your libido surges brightest.’

And he was so hungry for her. She filled his head and his body with an aching want that even if he were not a practitioner of sex magic, he would understand was not mundane. And in his case, the fear that he would die if he didn’t have her here and now was a very real one. That he might die even if he did, that her possession might be too much for him, well that was a risk he was more than willing to take.

Are you certain this is what you want, Kennet Birch?’ she asked him as she moved onto his lap, positioning herself, opening her sex with her fingers.

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.’ Even as he said it, he realized how silly that sounded, since either way his life as he’d known it was over.

Very well then.’ She settled to the point of contact, to the point at which he could just feel the head of his penis against the resistance of her opening. He reached for her breasts, and with the hand not busy between her legs, she cradled his head and drew him near so he could nurse. The electrical shock through his body caused him to jump and jerk, and at that very instant she settled onto him, sheathing him tightly, deeply, and he knew he was dying. This was the point of no return. It was as though the tight wet pull of her swallowed him whole. Then she cupped his chin and held his face again so he couldn’t look away from her shining eyes. Her voice was like warm honey, thick and sweet, and he felt the sound of it in his very marrow, in his very soul. ‘You are mine, Kennet Birch. No longer are you your own. I possess you, body, soul and life force. Even in name you are now mine, Kennet Lucian. You are mine until I have no further use for you, until I have used you up.’ She gripped him hard and he exploded inside her and the world blew a part into tiny particles and disappeared like flecks of dust in the darkness.

Bloody Hell! Dr Allen! Doctor Allen! Get over here. Now!’

Kennet inhaled delicious, abundant air as though he’d just remembered how to breathe. Then he fought his way up from under an unruly sheet to sit up on the bed. A woman and a man in hospital scrubs stood either side of him, holding him, and there was chaos and someone was yelling. It took him a second to register that it was him yelling over and over again, ‘Where the hell am I? Where the hell am I?’ And then the bright lights, the gurney with a body shrouded in a sheet next to him all came into focus. ‘Jesus! What the fuck am I doing in the morgue?’

The woman in scrubs standing next to him looked pale and her hands were unsteady. ‘Mr. Birch,’ she said, doing her best to stay calm. ‘You were pronounced dead almost fifteen minutes ago.’
Available from:

More buy links added here as they become available:  

About the Author
K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she, 'cuz otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband recently walked the Coast to Coast rout across England. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots.
K D has erotica published with Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, books one and two of her Executive Decisions Trilogy are now available.
Find K D Here:

Sunday, March 24, 2013

BDSM Snogging from "Never Too Late"

Some people think that BDSM is about abuse and humiliation. I beg to differ. For me there's nothing as romantic as having giving over total control to someone you trust. It might be someone you've known for a long time, but then, it just might be the stranger you've been waiting for, to set you free...
Never Too Late is available as part of my short story collection, Just a Spanking
When you recover from this excerpt (;^)  - click on over to Blisse Kiss central and savor more sexy Sunday kisses!

He lounges in a chair by the window. The drapes are open. The lights of the Inner Harbor sparkle on the other side of the glass. The room is dim and I'm briefly grateful. Perhaps he will not notice my flaws.
"Good evening, Elizabeth." He doesn't rise. He makes me come to him. I stand before him, eyes cast down, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. Sweat pools under my arms, spoiling my best silk blouse. Moisture gathers in my pussy.
"Um―I don't even know your name," I stutter.
"Yes, you do. Think."
I recreate my memory of him, from that fateful moment when I stepped into the lift and found it occupied. Tall,a bit overweight, but distinguished in his tailored charcoal suit. Black hair, dark eyes, brows that arched in appreciation as he surveyed me. I struggle to recall his badge. Even before he had spoken, I'd been flustered and aroused. Distracted. "Mark?" I say finally, a half guess.
"Good girl. You see, you know more about me than you think you do. You know you can trust me, don't you?"
"What?" Before I understand what's happening, he's looming over me, taking possession of my mouth, rolling my rigid nipples between his finger and thumb and kindling sparks. He tastes of the after-dinner mints they offer in the hotel coffee shop. His hands explore my body, weighing my breasts, groping my ass. Helpless, beyond rationality, I melt again.
"You know instinctively," he murmurs in my ear. "I'm the master you've dreamed of." He nips the tender flesh of the lobe hard enough to make me cry out. "I'm the one who will make you beg for mercy and scream with pleasure."
"No," I say. "I haven't. I can't. I'm married." My pro forma protests are weak, even to my own ears. He is already tearing the clothing from me. The first time his fingers graze my bare skin, electricity sizzles along the surface, down to my cunt. I moan, pressing against his still-clothed body. He chuckles and steps away.
"Turn around. Let me look at you. Especially at that fat ass." My face burns with embarrassment as I follow his instructions. It never occurs to me to object. I feel his eyes on the butt that I can't seem to shrink no matter how many hours I spend on the Stairmaster.
"Lovely," he says and I glow with pride. He is pleased. That's all I seem to need. He strokes my ample backside. When he moves away again, I nearly cry from the loss.
"I want you across my lap. I want to turn that pale flesh of yours a nice, rosy pink."
I obey. I can't believe that I'm doing it, but I stretch myself along his thighs. The fine wool of his slacks is distended at the groin. I rub my damp bush against the hard mass of his erection, the emotional pleasure almost trumping the physical. He wants me. That's all that really matters.
"Be still, slut!" He slaps my ass cheek with terrible force. The pain is a shock. He brings his palm down again on the other side, even harder. I whimper and try not to move.
He rains blows down on my tender flesh. Sometimes he lands a stinging smack at the back of my plump thighs. Sometimes he catches me across the crevice between my cheeks. The pain builds and builds until tears blur my vision, but still he spanks me, again and again, with the same ferocity he showed me in the elevator.
My ass feels as though it's bleeding and raw, yet still he beats me. His strength and stamina appear to have no limits. Floating in a red sea of pain, I sense his jubilation. As much as he has me in thrall, I'm also giving him what he needs. I know somehow he would stop if I told him to do so. I can't bring myself to that point. I don't want to disappoint him.
When he finally does stop, I hardly notice. I've grown accustomed to the sharp sting and the deeper ache from earlier strokes. It's all I've ever known, all I want to know.
He brings his mouth to my battered ass, licking and kissing his way from the base of my spine to the delicate crease where my butt joins my thighs. After the agonizing spanking, it's too delicious for words. He parts my cheeks and circles the knot of my anus with his agile tongue. I shiver and arch up, begging for more.
"Well done, my slut. You've earned a reward."

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Not Your Average Theme Park

By Lara Nance (Guest Blogger)

What if there was a theme park based on the legend of Dracula? And what if it was built in the heart of Transylvania as a way to bring floods of tourists to Romania?

Sound interesting?

That’s the story within the story of my new paranormal romance series, DraculaVille.

What would it be like, you ask?

It would be built in the Carpathian Mountains just outside the city of Sibiu, the capital of Transylvania. The focal point will be a dark castle perched on a craggy hill. The doors open at dusk and it stays open all night. This is a park for adults, not children.

Instead of rides like Space Mountain, you’ll zoom through frightening dark nights, escaping vampires and werewolves. An interactive village will house shops, restaurants and nightclubs, all manned by appropriately frightened and superstitious Romanians, who’ll constantly urge you to leave before something...bad...happens. You’ll never know if the handsome man who invites you to dance is a vampire until it’s too late.

Men can play virtual games fighting vampires and women engage in role-playing games being seduced by them. Want to have dinner with Dracula instead of with the Disney princesses? Just make an appointment and pay the fee. All visitors are urged to dress in Victorian costume for the greatest effect.

Rooms at the castle-like resort will be lit by candles and oil lamps. Tapestries cover the stone walls, and dark elaborately carved furniture features velvet cushions in shades of burgundy and dark green. There are no mirrors...

Sound like a spooky good time? It is. Right up to the minute you realize your fantasy vacation is really a front for Romanian vampires to bring new “blood” into the country.

DraculaVille – New York, is book one in this paranormal romance. Here’s the synopsis of this story:

Super advertising and publicity agent, Talia Quinton, is poised at the top of her career to receive a much coveted job representing the world’s largest advertiser. She’s shocked and humiliated when the account is given to a rival agent with much less experience. Instead, Talia is ordered to come up with a publicity plan to bring tourists to Romania. An account not worth a tenth of the one she’d hoped for.

But she’s not called Talia the Tiger by the New York ad world for nothing. When she discovers a newly made and abandoned vampire named Drake, she takes on the job of healing and grooming him into the face of her new campaign.

Instead of touting the ancient country's rolling hills and historic castles, she turns the advertising world on its head by bringing Romania’s dark past to the center of the presentation. She proposes they build a fantasy themed amusement park/resort for adults called, DraculaVille, right in the heart of Transylvania. And Drake will pose as Dracula, their spokesperson. A vampire pretending to be an actor, pretending to be a vampire.

Talia’s disturbing attraction to Drake is only one obstacle in her path. She soon discovers New York fairly swarms with warring vampire communities and she and Drake have landed right in the middle of their biggest conflict. On top of that, the odd members of the Romanian National Publicity Committee begin making strange demands that keep Talia constantly on the edge of losing the account and her reputation as New York’s most formidable Account Executive.

As a last straw, Talia and Drake are kidnapped by a ruthless vampire gang and forced to fight for their lives as the clock ticks on completing the assignment necessary to retain the DraculaVille account. Their only hope of gaining freedom is to consent to an ancient vampire bonding ceremony. There's one problem. To complete the ceremony, Drake must kill Talia and turn her into a vampire. But despite her unavoidable attraction to the hunky vampire she saved, Talia's not ready to die.

I hope you’ll enjoy this novel and the rest of the series, which will be coming later in 2013. Available now in print and electronic versions on Barnes & Noble, Amazon and Kobo. Audio will be out in the next few weeks at Amazon and Audible. Enjoy! 

Meanwhile, you could will a copy of Dracula Ville, here at Beyond Romance. Just leave me a comment, with your email! 

About the Author

Lara Nance grew up and lived in many cites throughout the South. She loves to write in a variety of genres, but the basis of all of her stories is a great tale that will take you on an adventure of imagination.

If you want to escape and lose yourself in a novel, you've come to the right place. Choose your genre and settle in to be entertained. From thrilling mysteries and steampunk tales, to paranormal romance and adventure, she's willing to explore a variety of compelling stories full of danger and suspense, along with a touch of romance.

Having been on the fencing team in college and now living on a sailboat convinces her that she was a pirate in another life, or possibly kin to Errol Flynn… However, due to the unfortunate demise of the romantic pirates of the past, she lives out her fantasies, thrills and adventures in her stories. Lara loves to weave interesting true historical tidbits into her fiction which invite the reader to explore further after the novel is finished.

Currently docked in Norfolk, Virginia (until the wind changes) Lara enjoys living on her sailboat and spends time reading, of course writing, indulging a variety of artistic endeavors, cooking and sailing with her husband, Joe and their Yorkie, Rio.

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Wednesday, March 20, 2013

The Line of Consent

By Teresa Noelle Roberts (Guest Blogger)

Maybe you’ve caught some of the buzz recently about romance novels and feminism. My most recent release, Knowing the Ropes, was used as an example in this ongoing discussion, and I’m proud of that. I’ve read a lot of romances over the years, and I have to agree that some of them are problematic from a feminist point of view. I’m not talking about the dubious consent fantasies I see played out in some of them. Sexual fantasies aren’t always politically correct. Hell, sex itself isn’t necessarily politically correct. And that’s fine. The way I see it, as long as everyone involved is of age and consenting to the activities, have fun—even if they involve pain, power play, humiliation, age-play, consensual non-consent or other practices that make many people uncomfortable. Even if they involve clown suits or the end products of digestion, which make me uncomfortable, and I’m pretty damn open-minded when it comes to sex.

The key word is consent. My emphasis on informed consent in Knowing the Ropes is probably why it was used in talking about BDSM and feminism in romance novels. My heroine, Selene, is a domestic violence counselor who happens to be kinky. She’s working to reconcile her sexuality with her professional passion, and consent proves to be the answer to that dilemma. Nick, the hero, is a dom I created after reading a few too many fictional doms (and alpha male heroes who were almost pathologically dominant, if not strictly speaking practicing BDSM or D/s) who blurred the line of consent* with abandon that can be hot in fiction, but would be dangerous, not to mention illegal, in real life. In contrast, I wanted Nick to be the kind of dominant partner I’d want a younger, less experienced friend to meet. A good human being who happens to be kinky. A dom who talks things through when necessary, who knows the difference between hurt and harm, and who understands that informed consent is critical to kink. In contrast, Nick’s ex Natalie finds herself with a dom who pushes her far beyond her limits (which are basically “don’t do anything likely to kill me”—she’s an extreme player) and beyond the bounds of harm. I think of consent as basic human decency. It shouldn’t have to be a feminist issue, just something that sane people take for granted as a base line for sexual interactions.

The fact that it needs to be an issue is part of why I’m a feminist.

Who writes erotica and romance, much of it kinky.

Teresa Noelle Roberts writes erotica and romance—“doing what comes (super)naturally.” She loves slightly writing more than gardening, but can’t survive without either. Learn more at or follow her on Twitter, where she’s @TeresNoeRoberts

Knowing the Ropes

They’ve got the sex factor in spades. But can love survive the “ex” factor?
Selene has harbored kinky, submissive fantasies most of her life, but her experience as a domestic abuse counselor leaves her leery of giving up that much control. Case in point: the ex-fiancé she didn’t love quite enough to test the limits of trust.

At a BDSM meet and greet, she sets out to learn how far is too far. Nick seems like the ideal dom to show her the ins and outs of ropes, floggers, and paddles—with no commitment clause.

After losing a sub he loved too much, Selene’s country girl common sense and smoking sensuality is like a dream that Nick never dared to have—a perfect blend of kink and long-term domestic bliss.

Yet it’s tough to figure out just how far they can push their limits when they’ve both agreed to a no-strings affair. Especially when an ex needs Nick’s muscle and Selene’s newly discovered skills to get out of a dangerous situation. And it may be too late for love to survive all the things they’re afraid to say.

Warning: Sexy, kinky, geeky dominant guy. Smart submissive woman. Crazy ex. A little experimentation between girlfriends. And lots and lots of kinky sex.

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Mesmerized, Selene reached around and started to unzip her dress. He reached behind her, caught her wrists. “Oh, I’m glad you’re as eager as I am, but we need to talk a little more—with our clothes on. Things we should have talked about before, really, but dammit, woman, you make it hard to think.” Another devouring kiss, and then he steered her toward the couch.

“Pull up your skirt before you sit,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Being naked would distract us both too much—but a little distraction will keep you honest.”

And then he proceeded to ask her a series of no-holds-barred questions that made her squirm on the leather couch in a combination of embarrassment and lust.

After they’d gone over her experiences (fairly varied in the vanilla area, but limited in the kink department to light, playful spankings and a few experiments with silk-scarf bondage) and the things that were absolutely off-limits (she asked about his absolutely nots as well and was relieved to hear they agreed on the things they’d never, ever want to do), the subject turned to her fantasies.

“What draws you to BDSM?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. There’s so much… It’s always been part of my fantasies, ever since I was little and made my brother’s GI Joe do unspecified evil things to my Barbie.”

That cracked him up, but once he stopped laughing, he encouraged her to go on.

“Part of it is the idea of giving up control. The couple of times I’ve been tied up were heavenly, even though the guy who did it to me was probably a bigger sub than I am. He was just doing it so I’d tie him up and have my wicked way with him the next night. I’d love to be restrained more, more severely.” And how. She was getting wetter simply talking about it, imagining Nick spread-eagling her on the bed or putting her into some of the exotic rope-bondage positions she’d drooled over while surfing the Net. “And I’d like to take that further, to give up mental control once in a while, to put myself into good hands and say, ‘You’re in charge now.’ To please you if that’s what you want, or to take what you give me, your choice.”

“How far are you willing to go with letting someone else make the decisions for you? How about…erotic dares, maybe? Like would you want to be told to have sex with someone else?”

“Maybe. Depending on the circumstances. Especially if it’s a woman. I’ve had my bi fantasies, and I’ve kissed women before. The idea turns me on, but it never seemed like the right time go further than kissing. So being ‘ordered’ to do it…might be hot, as long as it was something she’d do anyway.” She grinned and felt herself flushing.

“Consent’s definitely key, even if we’re all pretending we’re forcing you. How about erotic pain—my flogger or cane or paddle against your skin, alternating with caresses? Because I know I’d love to redden your ass before I bent you over and fucked you.”

The words touched her core like skilled fingers. She squirmed, the leather couch tantalizing on her ass, but she couldn’t form words to answer.

“I take it that’s a yes?”