Monday, August 31, 2015

Sneak Peek: VIP Room Service by Zenobia Renquist

[Oooh! More hot contemporary erotica from Zenobia! And it's on sale now for 99 cents! ~Lisabet]


She offers satisfaction above and beyond what is requested.

Lexie's job as a maid at a five-star hotel doesn't normally include the unique and risqué form of room service that rich guest Mr. Malena has requested, nor the generous tip he's offered. Submission and exhibition and a ménage. Lexie can't resist. What should have been a one-time thing turns into an introduction into the sensual world of customer satisfaction. This is one workplace encounter that could get her fired...or will it?

NOTE: Title previously published as Wine Service (Professional Courtesy 1).

Lexie backed up a step.

Now, now. Don’t be frightened. Nothing untoward. I promise.”

She snorted. “What exactly is your definition of untoward? I just rode a bottle for your wanking pleasure.”

That’s all part of wine service. As is what comes next.”


I didn’t bring it up last night because of how skittish you were, but there is more to it than stuffing that beautiful pussy of yours with a five-hundred-dollar bottle of Chardonnay.”

Five hun—” She choked on the word. She’d been riding a bottle of Chardonnay that cost five hundred dollars. True, she knew nothing about wines or why one cost more than another—beyond age—but hadn’t known a single bottle could cost five hundred dollars.

Yes. In honor of you and your first night. I thought it appropriate a five-hundred-dollar woman should ride a five-hundred-dollar bottle.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Does it get you hot to think about it?”

You’re insane.” She laughed. “You’re also joking.”

I’m not. Call Franceska if you don’t believe me.” He gestured to the phone.

She looked at the bottle and then at him. “Five hundred dollars?”


Wow.” She’d never had anything that pricey between her legs. Her most expensive toy had barely broken the two hundred mark, and here she’d used a five-hundred-dollar bottle of Chardonnay to get off. “So what else is there? Sex, right?”

If you want, but not what I had in mind right this instance.” He chuckled. “I’m not as spry as I used to be. I need a little more time to regain my stamina.”

You look plenty spry to me.” She eyed his semi-erect dick. It hadn’t gone limp after he came. A few well-placed licks would probably have it hard again in an instant.

Bless you, dear girl. You are good for my ego.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Now then. After riding the bottle comes drinking the wine.”

I’m on the clock.”

Not you. Me. And a little shouldn’t hurt your performance.” He gazed into her eyes. “Unless you’re a lightweight.”

No, but I don’t want someone to smell alcohol on my breath either.”

True. True. But you won’t be drinking.”

So why do you need me?”

He kissed her hand again and ran his tongue up to her wrist. “You’re my glass.”

Want more? Read the full first chapter online at DRB1stChp Blog:

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About Zenobia

Zenobia Renquist is the alter-ego of D. Renee Bagby. Call her Zen or Renee, she answers to both. Air Force brat turned Air Force wife, she was born in Europe, has lived in Japan and in several states of the US, including Virginia, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, California, Maryland and Hawaii.

She moved a lot in her younger years and remembers all too well being the new kid in fish-out-of-water situations. But those experiences only made her better able to adapt, as well they gave her a love of travel, preferring road trips over flying.

Turning her favorite pastime into her career, Renee loves to build worlds and torture her characters for the enjoyment of her readers. She can’t fill everyday with writing alone, and also enjoys watching anime, reading manga, crocheting, knitting (yarn and mail), and binging shows on Netflix. She’s a Whovian (David Tennant for the win!), a trekkie (DS9 because Odo rocked), and a fan of pretty much every Marvel live action movie and DCU animated movie.

She has a wacky imagination and tends to write all over the place. In order to keep up, she only asks one thing—Leave Your Reality Behind to Discover Different and Unique Romance & Erotica.

Visit her website:

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Sunday, August 30, 2015

Sunday Snog #189: Exposure

My snog today is actually sweetscarcely more than PG.

Just for a change!

This one is from my erotic thriller Exposure, which as a whole is definitely not PG...

When you’re done with my excerpt, I hope you’ll visit Victoria’sSunday Snog page, where you’ll find links to lots more sexy kisses.

Jimmy looks up from his notepad. He suddenly sees how upset I am.

Jeez, I’m sorry, Stella. Just doing my job. I get carried away.”

That’s okay. It’s just—I really don’t like to think about it.”

Jimmy comes around to my side of the desk. “I’m so sorry. God, Stella, it must have been horrible.” He gives me a brotherly hug.

His strength feels wonderful. I relax a little and let him comfort me. He strokes my hair back from my face, murmuring nonsense into my ear. “Poor girl, I’m so glad that you came to me. I’m sorry to be such a dolt. If there’s anything I can do...” Nothing has changed, but for a moment it seems as though the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.

Then I notice two things. First, his arm is around me and his fingers are brushing against the side of my breast. It’s casual, almost unconscious, but my nipples contract and throb in response. Second, there’s a hard protrusion pressed against my thigh, conflicting with the supposedly innocent nature of this embrace.

I’m sorely tempted to give in and accept more intimate comfort, but I have a feeling that would be a mistake, at least right now. Gently, I push him away, glancing down at his tented trousers as I do so. A blush creeps over his blunt features.

Thanks for your support, Jimmy. The main thing that you can do for me is to keep me out of this as much as possible. Keep it quiet. If Joey from the Peacock found out, he might not be too crazy about having me work there.”

There’ll be an investigation. There might be a trial. Will you testify?”

If I have to. But I hope that it won’t be necessary.”

I’ll do what I can, Stella.” He notes my limp as I stand up to leave, and grabs my hand. “Hey, are you hurt?”

I’ll be okay, Jimmy. Hazards of the profession.” He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I see that his erection has not subsided. I melt a bit at the sight. “Thanks for everything.”

Thank you, for coming out about this. You’ve made things a lot easier for us.”

There’s an awkward silence. He’s squeezing my fingers, hard, but I don’t think he realizes it.

You look fantastic, Stella.”

Thanks, Jim...”

Maybe we could get together some night, for dinner, or something? Catch up? Or talk about old times? I feel bad that we haven’t kept in closer touch.”

I pull my hand away. Simultaneously, I lean over and kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Maybe. You could always come by the Peacock and catch my show.” He blushes again, mottled crimson. “Or maybe I can arrange a special performance.”


Just teasing, Jimmy! I’ll see you around.”

I hobble out of his office, knowing that he’s watching my hips roll beneath my skirt. Sweet Jimmy.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

I’m Not Mary Fucking Poppins!

By Kayleigh Sky (Guest Blogger)

My name sounds sweet, doesn’t it? Kayleigh Sky. Do you see me skipping through fields of wildflowers and dancing under puffy white clouds?

I need to take out an advisory. Check with your doctor before starting this or any of Kayleighs books! Proceed at your own risk!

That last statement I kind of do advise. I put it point blank on my author bio, my Facebook page, my twitter profile, and my website that I Write Dark Intense Stories. What part of that statement makes it sound like I write fluffy little love stories? None, right? So if people pick up my book and still come out scared to death of the world they’d just inhabited, what does that say about my level of darkness? Darker than dark? Darkness squared?

Okay. Just so we’re on the same page here. I. Am. Dark. In high school, I was the kid who’d pick Fahrenheit 451 over Catcher in the Rye, or A Separate Peace over Pride and Prejudice. Not that there wasn’t lovely angst in all four books, but the first of each pair offered a world just like our own, except… not. I do that in Backbone. It’s a future world but still ours. Are you scared of your world? Probably not. Hopefully not really scared. Maybe a little uneasy. Imagine you’re walking down a busy street in a familiar city or town. You have errands, a job to get to, a friend to meet for coffee. You know this place. It’s broad daylight. Pedestrians surround you. A cop is parked on the street, maybe standing on the sidewalk, talking to a shop owner. The sky is clear. All is well in the world. Then you turn the corner and… it’s all the same. Shops and cafes and people. But there’s something slightly off. You slow and people flow around you. They look back as they move on. You see the knowing looks in their eyes. You can’t see what the difference is. Maybe the sides of the buildings lean imperceptibly. Or maybe the doors are a little too narrow, the parking meters slightly out of alignment, the colors a little dull or a little too bright. The changes are minuscule, but you can sense them. A feeling of terror crawls along your skin. The eyes watching you brighten in amusement. You whirl around and race back to the other street where everything was right and good just a moment ago. You breathe in incredible relief to be back in your world again.

Do you like that sensation of instability? Of being immersed in something that isn’t what you thought it was? Then I’m looking for you, my kindred spirits. I’m on a search for my tribe. The dwellers in the dark. I wrote a post for my own blog recently called Who Wants To Brave The Dark with Me? I write stories that distress people. I am grateful that I can pull people so deeply into a story that they emerge back into the real world with relief. That means that they have felt. Maybe not what they wanted to feel. Maybe they wanted a few more spoonfuls of sugar to go with their very dark coffee, but as the title to this post clearly states, I am not Mary fucking Poppins. We all don’t want the same things. I get that. But I also know that I’m not the only dark soul out there. Come out, come out, wherever you are. You are the ones who can bear the pain and the fear of a character’s dark journey because the experience of his salvation is so blessedly joyful. An exquisite pain! You, my fellow tribe members, celebrate the power of love to open the iron gates between heaven and hell.

Do I write romance? Yes, I do. I believe that love saves and redeems. That’s the kind of love I write about. I will take you to a world where salvation is always in doubt because that’s where my guys live. But I also write Happy Ever Afters! The guy always gets the guy and all he ever dreamed of. All he was afraid to dream of. All he never had the courage to believe in. The dark is the place where the heart purges itself of all but the essence of truth. What do you really want? When you turn that corner onto a world you never imagined, what is the thing you most long to hold onto? Will you fight for it? Will you rejoice that the struggle was worth the prize? Then welcome to my world… I’ve been looking for you. :)


Struggling to survive in a deadly new world, Brey Jamieson soon discovers that the man who holds his heart might not be willing to set it free.

A universal vaccine eradicates all known viruses from the human population, but in the wake of this miracle, a deadly new virus suddenly surfaces. As the death toll rises, people riot in panic and civilization collapses. 

Brey Jamieson, a convicted felon, is suddenly set loose in this violent new world. Desperate to reunite with his family, he sets out on a journey across the country but is captured by a brutal man who plans to sell him into slavery. 

Hank Kresnak is a cop in the new world. It is his job to preserve the law. But when he sees Brey, his belief in everything he has built his new life on begins to crumble. Memories of a dark and terrible time reawaken. He was the cop who arrested Brey, and with one look into Breys eyes, he knew his life would never be the same. He was a married man with two daughters, but he couldnt forget a man he barely even knew. Now his wife and daughters are gone, and he must struggle to save the man of his dreams from a nightmare fate.


The man was bent over inside the gas station. Naked. Tied down.

Fuck. A slave.

Hank gave a tug on Trixie’s reins and pushed on through scrubby brown hills. The sky was a high, flat blue and a dry, astringent smell filled the air. Hank breathed deeply, inhaling a faint tickle of dust. Below was a spit of a town—just a gas station and an unused diner.

All familiar.

His life now. But, fuck, he didn’t want to see this. He was a cop, for godsakes. He was supposed to break up fights and put bad guys away. In his old life, he knew the homeless man who rummaged in the alleyway behind the Thai Palace by name. He guarded a social worker named Joy who came to take a five-year-old in pink barrettes out of a crack house where her daddy knifed her mommy to death for forgetting to put ice in his Pepsi. He dodged a TV somebody tried to drop on his head out of a fifth floor window. He took complaints and made reports. He hauled in pimps, drug dealers and drunk and disorderlies. He went after bad guys.

Guys like Thom—who bounced and wobbled in the too-hot sun. Animated. A friendly salesman.

Laughter floated in the air.

Christ, he wanted to go get that naked man. Wanted to grab him and run off with him.

Save him.

Like he couldn’t save anybody else.

He wanted his old life back. The life with the dance recitals, soccer, movies with Beth, game night with the girls, work, bills.

He liked that life. It was a good life.

Then a company called Bio-Gen Tech came out with a vaccine called Pox Vac and for only pennies a shot, almost all viruses—flu, colds, HIV—disappeared. Conspiracy theorists claimed that Pox Vac was really nanotechnology funded by corporations to control the purchasing habits of consumers. To them, that was the only way Pox Vac could make sense. Otherwise, it was un-American. There was no profit in cures. Hank scoffed at that. The girls got their shots. Beth too, but he didn’t. Lazy, he guessed.

It didn’t matter. Life went on—piano lessons, school plays, a trip to the Grand Canyon, work.

Then Beths affair.

He didn’t like to think about that, but it was a part of the end—like summer’s last barbecues and early twilights.

Then people began to die.

They called the new virus Eve. By spring, shell-shocked survivors scattered out of almost-empty cities. Now, three years later, he lived in a half-dead world with people like Thom Donnell, the bulbous, waddling former insurance salesman, because that’s what Thom was before—a salesman. Still a salesman. Gesticulating avidly to his customers between slaps to the naked man’s ass.

It made Hank’s blood boil.

* * *

Brey didn’t know where he was anymore. He thought he used to know. But now he wasn’t sure. His face scrunched up, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was that bar under his belly, and he wanted to get away from it, but he couldn’t. His position confused him. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t get a good breath in, and his legs shook. He was hot, too.

Lemonade, he thought. That would be good. Under the veranda by the pool. A ball game on TV.

Giants an’ Dodgers.”

No Dodgers.”

He didn’t like that voice.

Metal clanked.

Fuck, that bar hurt.

Sweat stung his eyes, and he blinked grit away. There was concrete beneath him. A concrete floor. Oil stains. Oh yeah. A garage.

His legs shook again. Fuck. Fuck. “I have to go!”

Nobody looked at him, though. His voice wouldn’t come out. Only a raspy breath that he couldn’t quite catch. Noise rang in his ears—booming, raucous, shrill.


He struggled, metal bit into his wrists, and the pressure on his belly made his head swim. He was tired. Too tired for this. He didn’t want to do it anymore. Shame flooded him like hot water—itching, burning and stinging. Surreal. Out of nowhere. His memories of getting here swirled with images of swimming pools, orange and yellow leaves, a cell with bars, a blue strobe light, bare dry hills and a fat man smiling brightly.


He couldn’t remember coming here, undressing or bending over the bar. Panic fluttered inside him, and he began to pant again. Please God, please. I don’t want this. I don’t. But he wasn’t really sure of that anymore.


His breath rasped, and that laugh came again. High-pitched. Shrill. “Wakey-wakey.”

He thrashed. No!

One of the men grabbed onto him and slammed him against the bar. Pain burst inside, and his thoughts scattered again. He tried to grab on. Imagined a pool, lemonade, Goldy chasing tennis balls.


The drone of a TV.

Beautiful things like autumn leaves.

His breath exploded. Oh please, God. Please. I wanna go home! Please, please.

But all that came out was a rasp, a whisper—“Help me”—followed by a voice that grunted in his ear. “Who’s gonna help you, pretty boy?”

Him, he thought, painlessly now, floating away again. Him.
About Kayleigh

Kayleigh Sky is a m/m erotic romance writer.

Kayleighs stories are tales of struggle and pain, loss and despair. Love is won in the battle to rise out of the depths of darkness. Victory is in the sweet bliss of happily ever after.

Once upon a time Kayleigh hid out in a cold dark garage reading a book her parents forbid her to read. She was nine years old. The book? Giovannis Room by James Baldwin, a story of love between two menwell, actually the story was a little more complicated than that, but hey, she was nine.

In the dark of the garage, a light, a passion, a sheer joy for love in all its manifestations awoke.
And love between two menHot!

Kayleighs men are often broken, always brave, and always memorable.

Social Media Links [at] gmail [dot] com

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Sneak Peek: The Memory of Mermaids by Spencer Dryden

[I’ve got a very special sneak peek today, from my good friend Spencer Dryden’s new release, just out from Fireborn Publishing. I know you’ll love this romantic fantasy novella. In addition to previewing the book, I’m giving you a early peek at the great prize he’s giving away in his blog tour next week! ~Lisabet]


After he rescues a mermaid from a sea monster, Max Weiss falls into a world of pirate treasure, dolphin whisperers, murderous mobsters and a forbidden love.

Troubles multiply in the already-troubled life of Max Weiss after he rescues a mermaid from the clutches of a sea monster. Drawn by the allure of the enchanting mermaid, Azzaria, Max agrees to help her find her lost mermaid sister. Max is pulled into a world of missing drug money, pirate treasure, murderous mobsters, dolphin whisperers and a forbidden love.


Their bellies full of fish and rum, Max followed her in the skiff to one of the many little islets dotting the Matanzas River. He turned the skiff sideways to the shore and dropped an anchor on each end. They lay in the warm shallow water; direct sight lines to the river were blocked by the boat. She played with his hair as they talked. They lay side by side almost spooning, his one arm around her shoulder supporting her, his other hand tracing her face. Small talk finally gave way to the challenge she set before him.

"Azzaria, how do I go about finding your sister?"

"The dolphins say she is nearby, Max Weiss. She is a landwalker now, with no memory of me or the sea. You must search for her and bring her to me so I can whisper memories to her. When she slips back into her tail, she will remember all."

Max nodded. "What's her name? That might be a start."

"I don't know her landwalker name. Her mermaid name is Bekkaul."

"Bekkaul," he said, not quite able to match the smoothness of Azzaria's voice. "That's a beautiful name, just like yours. If I shout out her name everywhere I go, will she know it?"

"No. But if you can get close enough and whisper, it might sound familiar."

Max flashed an impish grin. "That'll probably get my face slapped."

Azzaria took his hand and gently nibbled his fingertips while staring deeply into his eyes. "Max Weiss, you are a powerful warrior and a seductive man. A mermaid would melt to hear you whisper her mermaid name."

Max snickered. "You should tell that to the women who think I'm a worthless slug."

She bit harder on his fingers. "Max Weiss, the daughters of Eve do not know the hearts of men."

Get your copy today!

About Spencer Dryden

Spencer Dryden is a new writer, but an old guy on the threshold of draining any reserves left in Medicare and Social Security.

In real life he is a handyman, an at-home dad, inventor and web videographer living a quiet life in the frozen tundra of Minnesota (USA).

Like all writers he has a cat but they don't get along well. He can be found at the usual writer hangouts:

Please note: This post is not part of Spencer’s blog tour, which starts next week. I do hope after this sneak peek that you’ll hop over to the official tour sites and enter to win!

Tour Schedule

Blog Tour Prize:

Mermaids and Seashells Gift Basket valued at $100.00

Basket Contents:

Memory of Mermaids gift basket includes;
Seashell Gift Box that looks like a Book
Bamboo Fiber Bath Scrub
Mermaid Ornament
Mermaid window decal
Starfish Glass Soap Dish
Sea Clay Dry Body Scrub 5 ounce
Shimmering Mineral Bath 5 ounce
Soy Milk Bath scent Mermaid Dreams (2 standard tub uses or 1 garden tub size) scent Mermaid Dreams
Bath Melts (2 standard tub uses or 1 garden tub use)
Shimmer Body Powder scent Memory of Mermaids
Cocoa Butter Lip Balm – passion fruit
Organic Sugar Lip Scrub- passion fruit
Sea Urchin Massage Bar Soap
Mermaid Olive Oil Soap
Nautilus Soap
Conch Soap
Sand Dollar Soap