Sunday, December 31, 2017

Sizzling Sunday: A new release for the new year #pnr #bdsm #audio

Sizzling Sunday Banner

New Year’s Eve and I have new release to share with you—the audio version of Damned If You Do. Wordwooze had taken my BDSM paranormal erotic romance and given it new life as an audio book, narrated by the amazing Audrey Lusk.

Here’s the blurb:

Sometimes romance can be hell

Wendy Dennison is tired of being a starving author. The royalties from her critically acclaimed romance novels barely pay her bills. Her devoted agent Daniel Rochester may be smart and sexy, but he can't get her the sales she needs. Then a charismatic stranger appears at her coffee shop table, promising her fame and commercial success, as well as the chance to live out her dreams of erotic submission. But at what cost?

Nothing you can't afford to lose, my dear.

Seduced by the enigmatic Mister B, she signs his infernal contract. He becomes both her Master and her coach, managing her suddenly flourishing career as well as encouraging her lusts. Under her mentor’s nefarious influence, she surrenders to temptation and has sex with Daniel. The casual encounter turns serious when she discovers her mild mannered agent has a dominant side. As the clock ticks down to her blockbuster release and Mister B prepares to claim her soul, Wendy must choose either celebrity and wealth, or obscurity and true love.

And here’s a brand new excerpt, very hot. But believe me, it’s even hotter to listen to!

She couldn’t stand any more teasing. She craved the heat of his skin against hers. To be honest, she was also worried about her silk suit.

Topping from below, Pet?” he asked with a lascivious grin. She smiled back, recognizing the quote from last year’s novel, Twisted Temptation. “You know I’ll punish you for that.”

Sorry, Sir.”

I’ll make you really sorry, if you don’t behave.”

Yes, Sir.”

I’m going to release your wrists now. If you want to please me, don’t move.”

She did want to please him—almost as much as she wanted to feel that impressively solid cock of his plunge into her depths. She lay passive and motionless upon the bedspread as he sat up, straddling her, to unbutton her jacket and blouse. When he caught sight of her ripe flesh clasped in Mister B’s confection of black satin and lace, he let out a wolf whistle.

What a naughty girl you are!” He landed a stinging slap against the side of her right breast. “You really deserve a spanking.”

Ow!” Delicious heat spread out from the point of impact. The untouched left breast cried out for a symmetrical blow.

Instead, he snagged her swollen nipple between his thumb and forefinger and twisted hard, wringing a moan from her kiss-bruised lips. “That’s just a taste, girl. Stand up. Over there, near the window, with your back to me.”

Breathing hard, Wendy hastened to obey. The lights of Manhattan glittered on the other side of the glass as he lifted both jacket and blouse from her shoulders in a single move and tossed them onto a chair. “Now place your hands at the back of your head. Good.” He lowered the zipper at the back of her skirt, then pushed the garment down over her hips to her ankles.

Step out. That’s right.” He paused, close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. His hands came around to knead her tits, while he rubbed his cock along the crease between her rear cheeks. “Matching panties, I see. Semi-transparent. And those thigh-high stockings! Tsk! I never realized you were such a slut!”

He peeled the satin away, baring her ass. “Of course, given the books you write, I should have known. You are a nasty slut, aren’t you?”

Delivered in a seductive murmur close to her ear, his words made her shudder with lust. She was a slut, with a filthy, perverse imagination she kept hidden even from her readers. Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to admit it out loud.

Well?” With a deftness that amazed her, he flipped her breasts out of the flimsy bra, then pinched the nubs in unison. “Speak up!”

Oh God! The pain! And the pleasure. “Yes, Sir,” Wendy mumbled, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion.

Yes what?”

Yes—I’m—I’m a nasty slut. Sir.” Heat raged through her, fueled by shame and almost unbearable need. Juices overflowed her pussy and trickled down the insides of her thighs.

A slut who deserves to be spanked for her dirty thoughts. Right?”

Yes, Sir.”

Ask me to spank you, then. Tell me what you want.”

Another wave of arousal swept over her. She would have melted into a crumpled heap on the carpet had Daniel not been holding her hips.

What she really wanted was to be fucked. But she’d take a spanking if that was what he required.

Please, Sir. Spank me. Punish me for being a dirty girl.”

In another mood, she might have laughed at such cheesy dialogue. At the moment, she meant every word.

Buy Links (Audio)

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Saturday, December 30, 2017

Stocking Stuffer -- #romcom #holidayromance #guestblogger

Santa Slept Here cover

By Tim Smith (Guest Blogger)

We have once again survived the Christmas season, that time of year when romance mingles with the mistletoe. I’m not sure what it is about the holidays and romance, but every year, we’re overloaded with holiday-themed books and TV movies that appeal to the heart. Some are dramatic or sentimental, while some are more lighthearted.

I recently released one of my own through Extasy Books. My newest offering is called Santa Slept Here, and if you can’t guess it from the title, this falls into the category of romantic comedy.

Here’s the blurb:

Scott Burke wasn’t looking forward to spending his first Christmas alone after his divorce. His family was scattered over different parts of the country, his friends had plans, and he didn’t really want to partake of the annual community Christmas dinner with strangers. Add to that a general malaise he was feeling about a career that was going nowhere and you had all of the elements for a miserable holiday. A chance meeting with a former classmate on Christmas Eve changes things, when Scott runs into Lisa Berger, stranded on her way home due to a car breakdown. Can the two high school friends rekindle a flame that died out years ago, or will they say Auld Lang Syne when the holiday is over?

This is a fun little story about two people who were besties in high school, but with a twist. Scott had a crush on Lisa, the most popular girl in his class, but he could never work up the nerve to ask her for a date. Through a twist of fate and circumstance, they’re brought together fifteen years later and given another chance. I was drawn to the idea like I am with so many of my other stories. I thought
What if these two old friends just happened to run into each other on Christmas Eve and decided to throw caution to the wind?”

Here’s a brief excerpt:

Scott surfed through the channels until he found a holiday music special. They watched it for a few minutes before Lisa spoke.

Do you mind if I ask you something?”


She shifted to face him, then cradled her wine glass in her hands. “What you said before about not having the nerve to ask me out when we were in school. Were you really that shy or didn’t you find me attractive?”

Scott took a sip of wine while composing the proper response in his mind. If I say no, that wouldn’t be honest. On the other hand, if I tell her how hot I always thought she was, she may slap me. Here goes.

Lisa, I always thought you were one of the prettiest girls in our class, and you don’t know how badly I wanted to be with you. I was just too shy to do anything about it.”

Even though we were friends?”

I was always afraid you’d turn me down.”

She gave a playful smile. “Hmm, that’s interesting. When you say you wanted to
be with me, what does that mean?”

He looked into her eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Uh-huh. Did you mean be with me as in ‘Let’s go to a movie’, or did you mean ‘I’d like to rip your clothes off and bang your brains out’?”

Scott placed his palm on her neck under her long mane of hair. “I always thought you were the hottest girl in school, and I would’ve banged your brains out if I hadn’t been such a nice guy.”

She nodded slowly. “Honesty. I like that. Would it surprise you if I said that I would’ve let you do it?”

His eyebrows arched and his pulse picked up a few beats. “You would?”

Lisa traced a light pattern along his thigh with her fingertip while giving him a smoldering look. “Yeah. I always thought you were cute and funny, and I didn’t think you were an awkward geek.”

* * *

If you like watching the romantic holiday movies with a light comic touch on Lifetime, WE, or the Hallmark Channel, you’ll like “Santa Slept Here.” I’ll give you fair warning that it contains some sensual erotic scenes, but it’s all part of the natural flow of the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Tim Smith is an award-winning, bestselling author of romantic mystery/thrillers and contemporary erotic romance. His website is

Friday, December 29, 2017

Acoustics -- #singing #lyrics #stories

Music graphics

I love my kitchen. And it's not just due to the ample storage and counter space, or the Italian four burner gas stove my landlord installed when we moved in. The wall behind the double sink, under the overhanging cabinets, is ceramic tile - easy to clean, indeed, but better still, offering great acoustics.

When I'm washing the dishes, I sing. I always have. As kids, my brother and I were responsible for this task. We used to sing duets, while I scrubbed and he dried or vice versa. I remember teaching him the first and only song I ever wrote (a romantic ballad entitled "I'm Crying") while tackling some particularly stubborn spaghetti sauce. He's a professional song-writer now; he tells me I inspired him.

My musical opus reduces to that single tune (which I can still sing), although I've penned lots of poetry, which is music of a sort. Unlike my brother, I don't play any instruments, but I have a prodigious memory for lyrics, and to a lesser extent melodies. As a teenager, I dropped piano lessons partly because I never learned to sight read music. After playing a piece two or three times, I didn't need to read it. By the time I got to more complicated compositions, this talent had become a liability.

Anyway, singing in my current kitchen is akin to singing in the shower - better, because I don't need to worry about getting soapy water in my mouth. The wall and the underside of the cabinet create a resonance chamber. My voice sounds rich and full as I belt out my favorite tunes.

Isn't this rich?
Aren't we a pair?
Me with my feet on the ground,
You in the air...


You want to know
How it will be:
Me and him
Or you and me.


The blonde in the bleachers,
She flips her hair for you.
Above the loud speakers
You start to fall...


The minute you walked in the joint,
I could tell you were a man of distinction,
A real big spender...


Why don't you come to your senses?
You've been out riding fences
For so long...

Unlike nearly everyone else these days, I don't go around with wires sprouting from my ears. I do have a bunch of music on my phone, but I mostly listen to it only when I exercise. Nonetheless my mind hosts an extensive and rather eclectic mental play list. Torch songs from the nineteen forties, folk ballads from the sixties, musicals and G&S operettas, classic rock, blues - I sing them all. It's difficult to sing rock and roll - you need the voices of the instruments as well as the vocalists. But I try.

There are many songs that speak to me, about love and sex, time and loss, risk and reward: Melissa Etheridge's "Come to My Window", Meatloaf's "Anything For Love", Bob Seger's "Night Moves", Bruce Springstein's "Thunder Road":

Have a little faith, there's magic in the night.
You ain't a beauty but hey, you're all right
And that's all right with me.

I used to have a decent singing voice. I sang in my high school chorus, even auditioned for a state-wide choir. My siblings and I won second place on a TV talent show, doing a harmonized version of the Beatles' "Misery". I've always been an alto. Now my voice seems to have become lower and more gravelly with age. It's more difficult for me to follow a complex tune these days too. The words are still there, though, and when I'm singing to the kitchen wall, I sound great.

Lots of authors report that they listen to music while they write. Not me. I'm such a word girl that the lyrics will distract me from my own sentences. Even now, trying to pen this blog post, the songs I've quoted are ringing in my mind, clamoring for my attention.

Our love is an old love, baby.
It's older than all our years.
I've seen in strange young eyes
Familiar tears.

I'd better stop. I feel as though it's cheating to fill up my blog post with lines and rhymes of other people. I could do it, though - without doing a single Google look-up for the lyrics.

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Art for Art's Sake --- #bdsm #christmas #music

Give me your body,
Give me your mind,
Open your heart,
Pull down the blind...

The headphones you've given me as a Christmas present cocoon me from outside sounds, but you're speaking to me through the music. This is another gift, a live album by 10 CC, a band I've never heard of but whose name (you inform me with one of your arch grins) is based on the amount of seminal fluid in the average ejaculation. With you every choice is symbolic and every symbol is sexual.

It's morning, January. Chill winter sunlight reflects off the snow and spills in through the picture window, above the double mattress that serves as my bed in this low rent apartment. We're caught in the heart of a yellow diamond, glowing from the inside out.

My back is to the window and to you. I sit, naked, facing the Radio Shack stereo, hypnotized by the record's spin, acutely aware of your bare body behind me. You rest your big hands on my shoulders, leaving my nipples to tighten unattended and my cunt to ache. Your presence is warmth, power, potential without limits. You've already fucked me. You'll fuck me again soon, maybe tying my wrists first, or reddening my eager bottom. Right now, though, your deceptively innocent hands keep me grounded and urge me to listen.

Give me your body,
Give me your mind...

I'm claimed already, but still you ask, and I answer without words. These are my gifts to you, gifts you know well how to use. You're in my mind now, whispering of all the trials and delights to come, though all my ears hear is the music. The headphones make the music solid, visceral. I'm drowning in music.

Are you hard? Perhaps. I don't remember the tease of your cock against my spine. I'm focused on the lyrics, breathless with desire, eager to yield everything to someone so expert in getting inside my head. Later you call me “suggestible” and laugh, but at this moment, I have no doubt that magic exists, that you are its master, and mine.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Book Hooks: The Gazillionaire and the Virgin -- #MFRWHooks #BDSM #eroticromance

Welcome to the weekly Marketing for Romance Writers Book Hooks blog hop! Each week, a bunch of talented authors share snippets from their books for your pleasure.

Today I’ve got a bit from my contemporary BDSM erotic romance novel The Gazillionaire and the Virgin.

When you’re finished with my offering, I do hope you’ll visit some of the other authors participating in today’s hop. You’ll find links at the end of the post.


Trust can’t be bought—it has to be earned.

When Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she finds him strangely compelling. Theo is both arrogant and socially awkward, but he has an aura of power that speaks to Rachel’s carefully-hidden submissive side. Disturbed and aroused, she tries to focus on her original objective—a deal to incorporate his Artificial Intelligence software into her company’s popular virtual world. Rachel’s not a woman who lets pleasure interfere with business, but for some reason, she can’t resist Theo’s geeky appeal.

Theo Moore can’t be bought. His past battles with poverty make him deeply suspicious of the billionaire CEO. Still, with her voluptuous curves and brilliant mind, Rachel embodies his ultimate sexual fantasy. Too bad his knowledge about sex derives from extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world experience.

That doesn’t bother Rachel, however. In his bed—in his arms—in his bonds—she discovers the bliss of total surrender. Rachel may be Theo’s first lover, but Theo is Rachel’s first true Master—and the first man to truly touch her heart. It seems that love may harmonize their differing goals and values, until Rachel’s unwitting violation of Theo’s trust threatens to tear them apart forever.

The Hook

The minutes tick by, but there’s no sign of him. Should I climb up to his door and ring? Or wait for him to work up the courage to come out by himself? Does he realize I’ve arrived? Is he watching out his window? Or cowering in his room?

I get more annoyed by the second. I am considering honking the horn, which I know will embarrass him, when he appears on the second floor landing. I recognize him by his height and bulk. Otherwise, he’s transformed.

In the custom tailored tuxedo, he’s distinguished and elegant. The sleek black trousers cling to what are obviously powerful, muscular legs. The jacket highlights his broad shoulders and trim waist. Not fat, oh no! He moves with unexpected grace, as if the formal clothing bestowed a sort of gravitas to subdue his usual gawkiness. With his dark hair slicked back from his forehead, he looks like some international man of mystery. The spectacles just heighten the impression of intelligence and sophistication.

Holding the rail of the gallery that runs along the second floor, he scans the parking area.

Over here, Theo,” I call out of the open window.

He jumps at the sound of my voice. I think he’s about to bolt, to flee back into his condo and slam the door. I can practically see the struggle going on in his body. I hold my breath, waiting for the outcome. Finally he raises his hand in a feeble wave, and fumbles his way down the stairs. The strong, self-assured man of a few moments earlier has vanished. But I remember him. That’s the Theo Moore I need to cultivate.

He makes it to the car. I press the auto-release and the door swings open. “Hi, Theo. Come on, get in. We’re running somewhat late.”

He ducks his head, folds his long limbs and maneuvers his massive body onto the leather upholstery. After fastening his seat belt, he focuses his attention on the blinking, teak-inlaid instrument panel. He neither greets me nor apologizes.

With a shrug, I trigger the ignition and back out onto the road. “You look fantastic, by the way.”

I feel ridiculous. Like some performer in a circus. Or maybe a trained seal.”

I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable.” I swing the car out of his complex onto El Camino Real. “In a way, I guess this is a kind of performance. The tux really looks great on you, though. You’re going to impress the donors. And that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

I suppose so.” He slumps into the bucket seat, sulking.

Buy Links (Ebook, Print, Audio)

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Take a couple of minutes to sample the other hooks on offer today!

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Review Tuesday: The Wicked Sex by Lance Porter -- #femdom #mythology #ReviewTuesday

The Wicked Sex cover

The Wicked Sex: Tales of Female Domination by Lance Porter
Nexus. Kindle Edition 2010

Different strokes for different folks. Reviewing erotica has made me realize the truth of this aphorism. When I read a book for review and find that it does not arouse me in the least, is that the author's fault, or my own? Is it possible for me to honestly assess the erotic potential of a work that bases its appeal on some fetish that I find completely uninteresting or even disturbing?

This question reared its head as I was reading Lance Porter's collection of femdom stories. I'm sure that Mr. Porter thinks that his stories are titillating. Virgin Books/Nexus must think so too; this is at least his second publication with Nexus, the first of which was apparently nominated for an erotic writing award.

So when I find that five of the six tales leave me unmoved at best,annoyed and disgusted at worst, is this because I'm not a femdom enthusiast? Because I am too blind to see the erotic elements in a scenario where a woman uses and abuses a man or men for her own pleasure? Well –I've written such scenes myself, and thought that they were pretty hot. On the other hand, much of the femdom work that I've reviewed has left me cold, or worse. Is Mr. Porter the victim of my lack of erotic imagination?

I don't believe so. The Wicked Sex has some positive features, but I think that generally it lacks a critical characteristic that is a prerequisite for an erotic experience, at least for me: sympathetic characters with whom I can identify. Mr. Porter's characters, both male and female, are either stereotyped caricatures, or selfish villains, or both.

The first story in the collection, “Bound by a Woman”, is the worst. Gunther is a middle-aged German restauranteur who is waiting to meet his gorgeous Asian mail order bride. Bee, the bride, turns out to be a cruel and self-centered creature who, when she discovers that he's not as rich or young as she had hoped, binds Gunther with her stockings, stuffs her panties in his mouth, and hangs him from a hook on the wall of his apartment while she goes out shopping on his credit cards. Eventually she screws his younger and more virile neighbor, and then leaves, with Gunther still dangling from the hook.

Bee treats Gunther despicably, not because it arouses her, or him, but because she's angry with him and doesn't care in the least what happens to him. On the other hand, one can't really feel much sympathy for Gunther (at least I couldn't), who is a chauvinistic liar marrying strictly for sex (and the satisfaction of showing off his Asian beauty to all the German women who rejected him over the years). Since I really disliked both the main characters, how could I get emotionally involved in the story?

To compound the problem, this story in particular had some very sloppy writing, most notably a sudden and confusing shift in POV from Gunther to his neighbor Siegfried during the climactic cuckolding scene. Then there are sentences like the following:

He roared in response, squeezed her juddering ass cheeks between his clawing fingers and drove himself with ever-greater vigour. “

Juddering” may not be the least erotic word in the language, but if I were trying to paint a sexy picture, I'd avoid it!

Teen Tease”, the second story in the collection, is more tightly written. The narrator is an eighteen year old sexpot who gets her kicks tormenting her ex-gangster step-father and making her ex-stripper mother jealous. The tale offers some sly humor in its images of the narrator and her classmates in Catholic high school, trying to seduce the incorruptible Father John. I also found the unexpected twist at the end quite clever. But arousing? With whom am I supposed to identify? The truly wicked teen narrator, who delights in her cruel power? The disgusting mafioso pervert who drools at her feet? Sorry, but the only person for whom I felt the least concern was the beleaguered priest.
The third tale in The Wicked Sex is entitled “The Land of the Giant Supermodels”. The title says it all. A group of fifty or so men, applying to appear in a commercial with some famous beauties, are abducted to a world inhabited by women fifty feet tall. One by one the men try to escape and meet various horrible fates, until the narrator, the last remaining prisoner, is crushed to death in a supermodel's vagina.

This tale really is as ridiculous as it sounds. Actually, it's rather humorous, and again, has an ending that is more subtle than I had expected As erotica, though, it fails miserably, at least in my opinion.

Heartless”, the fourth story, is a rather incoherent tale of a young man driven mad by his lust for the woman who spurned him. “Imperatrix”, the last story in the volume, postulates a competition between two dominant woman to see which one can exhaust the most men. In this story, at least, the men are willing participants, well paid to service and satisfy Valerie Sales and her arch-rival Katerina Dominova. The story is fun, if not very original, with a few genuine fireworks set off between the two women. (The men here are no more than animate sex toys.)

The one story that did strike some sparks for me was “Mistress of the Hunt”. This tale, loosely based on the classical myth of Diana and Actaeon, succeeds in evoking an aura of mystery as well as a terrible sense of tragic inevitability. Young, virile Acton is hired to care for Mistress Delia's hounds. He suffers unbearable desire for her chaste beauty, yet at the same time resents the haughty manner in which she wields her power. When he spies on her bathing, she exacts the ultimate in punishment. Mr. Porter manages to suggest that this scenario has been played out many times in the past, and that the future would see new incarnations of the Huntress and her eternal prey. Although the exposition is a bit rambling and Mr. Porter throws in a variety of characters that distract from the central theme, this tale does merit the description “erotic”.

All in all, however, I cannot honestly recommend The Wicked Sex. Possibly a true afficionado of female domination would find something in this volume that I missed. I know from personal experience that if a work of fiction pushes your buttons, you're willing to overlook (or maybe don't even notice) the literary rough edges. Possibly the right reader would finish this book with racing heart and engorged genitalia. I'm certainly not that reader.

Monday, December 25, 2017

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Sizzling Sunday: Almost Home -- #holidayromance #mmf #freebook

Sizzling Sunday banner

It’s Christmas Eve, maybe cold where you are. Maybe even snowing. Here’s a bit of erotic romance to warm you up, from my MMF holiday short Almost Home.


Home is a state of heart.

Suzanne and Gino have history going back to high school, but for years Suzanne has been three thousand miles away, preoccupied with her challenging career.

A mistletoe kiss at a holiday party reminds her of their old bond and proves that some things get better with age. When Gino rescues her from a New England blizzard, though, she discovers that she's not the only love in his life. Gino shares his bed and his colonial-era farm house with taciturn painter Harris Steele.

Snowed in, without electricity or running water, the three explore the many shapes a triangle can assume. Although she's far away from her everyday existence, Suzanne realizes that she's almost home.

Merry Christmas to all!

The mug of tea cupped in her hands chased the last bit of numbness from Suzanne’s fingers. Propped up on a couch in Gino’s spacious kitchen, swaddled in quilts, she watched him toss another log on the roaring fire. He moved with easy grace, a man at home in his own skin.

The heat from the blaze matched the desire simmering in her belly. She felt her body expanding, unfolding. Her tension and fear evaporated. In their place came delicious comfort edged with arousal. Gino poked at the glowing timbers piled on the hearth. She admired the line of his broad back and the curve of his buttocks under the stretched denim.

Gino,” she called softly. “Come here.”

He gave her a smile that rivalled the blaze he tended. “Suzanne?” He sauntered over to sit beside her half-prone form. “How are you feeling?”

Much better, thanks to you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.” She grasped his hand, entwining their fingers. He laid his other hand on top. It might have just been a gesture of friendship, but it sent sparks swirling through her. Her nipples tightened into hungry knots.

You know, Suzy, I had this strange feeling. Jack and I had just settled down to our annual game of chess—one of our traditions—when suddenly I knew I had to leave. I told them I had a headache, and actually, it felt a bit that way—some kind of urgent need pounding in my skull. When I saw the car burrowed into the snow bank, I knew right away that it was you.”

I’m so grateful.” He was close enough now that she could smell him, wood smoke with an undercurrent of wintergreen. “I was pretty scared.”

You should have let me drive you,” Gino scolded. “But then you always were stubborn.” He leaned back, away from her, and released her hand. Suzanne wanted to pull him closer. Why did he hesitate? Didn’t he know she wanted him?

I’ve got to be back in California by Monday morning,” she murmured. “Important meeting. But I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of getting to my hotel tonight, is there?”

Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Gino replied triggering a laugh that relieved some of the strain. “The governor’s called for a state of emergency. The Mass Pike is closed to all but emergency vehicles. Latest forecasts say we’re going to get two feet.” He caught her eyes as though trying to read her thoughts. “Lady, you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future.”

Suzanne reached for him. “In that case, why don’t you kiss me?”

He allowed her to bring his lips within inches of hers. Then he stopped her. “Are you sure? I got the idea back at the party that I made you nervous. That you still weren’t interested in being more than friends.”

You do make me nervous—but in a good way. I feel like a teenager when you’re around, hot and bothered, excited and embarrassed. You’ve always made me feel that way.”

And that’s good?”

I’m beginning to think so. Why don’t you kiss me and we can find out?”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Sliding his hands under the blankets, he gathered her to his chest and planted his firm lips on hers. Even though she was expecting this kiss, it still shocked her. Sudden heat swept through her like a forest fire. Any last reservations burned to a crisp. He took possession of her mouth, scarcely allowing her to take a breath. Meanwhile his hands roved over her curves, sending waves of electric pleasure shimmering down to her sex.

The velvet transmitted every brush of his fingertips. She might as well have been naked. It hardly mattered that she was wearing a bra or panties. He rolled one brazen nipple between his thumb and forefinger, waking tremors in her clit. She gasped into his mouth. He cupped her damp mound through her clothing, his lips still glued to hers. She spread her legs, begging for more, and he obliged, rubbing the velvet back and forth along the groove of her pussy.

His groping made her increasingly desperate. As though he read her thoughts, he broke the kiss. “I want to see you naked,” he breathed. “I always have.”

She flung the quilts away and pulled her dress over her head in one fluid motion. He watched, clearly fascinated, eyes gleaming in the firelight. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her crimson bra and set her ample breasts free. She cupped them like an offering, her own hands feeling almost as wonderful on her flesh as his. He fastened his mouth on one taut nub, pinching the other. The sight of his dark head suckling was almost enough to make her come. Gino, she thought, buffeted by a confusing mix of emotions. After all this time.

His hand snaked between her thighs, wriggling into her soaked panties. A finger stroked her clit. Lightning jolted her. Her back arched, sending the finger slipping into her folds. “Oh please! I can’t take this!” she moaned. “I need you inside me.”

Don’t forget to claim your free copy of my BDSM erotic romance A Contract for Christmas. My holiday gift to you! Details here!

Saturday, December 23, 2017

Something REALLY naughty to upset Santa! @AuthorHKCarlton #twins #spouseswap #taboo

Xmas Spouse Swap cover

Thank you so much for hosting today, Lisabet. I'd like to wish you and your readers a Happy Holiday filled with all the Blessings of the Season.

Today, I've brought along, twins Siri and Iris, who decide to give their husbands the ultimate gift — a festive spouse swap.

Here's the blurb:

Meet the twins who take share and share alike to a whole new level

at the age of sixteen by selfish battling parents going through a bitter divorce, twin sisters Iris and Siri Beaulieu vow to never be apart on Christmas Eve, which is also their birthday.

grown and married and perhaps a bit bored with their husbands, the twins decide to give each other the ultimate birthday present by switching identities.

one tipsy Christmas Eve leads to a twin swap the husbands will never forget. 

Although its been done, many times, many ways Merry Christmas to you!

If you decide to give this story a read and you enjoy the twins and their hunky husbands—and I hope you do—you might be interested to know, I'm working on a sequel.

When I started writing this story, I intended for it to be, a simple smutty switcheroo with a Christmassy setting. Some fun escapism for holiday-weary readers. But as often happens, I found there was more to this story than I'd originally planned and there's nothing simple about swapping spouses. Especially when there is already a sister connection to begin with. You'll have to tune into the sequel to find out how that plays out and the aftermath that follows the twins and their hubbies.

I also learned there is a fine line—at least in this genre—as to writing sex scenes when there are siblings involved and there should be zero arousal or attraction between the two. It's a no-no. That's a whole other kettle. When I was working on this story, it never occurred to me how it might be construed, until my lovely editor pointed it out. Always learning.

Here is the cut, unedited scene, from the original version of Xmas Spouse Swap... which was just too taboo to keep in the story. Even after it was pointed out to me, I still thought the way I wrote the scene, it might still be passable. You be the judge.

Hey where are you two lovely ladies going?” Kyle called after them.

“We’re going to put our jammies on,” Iris replied, over her shoulder.

“I like the sound of that.” Kyle grinned.

“I’ll just bet you do,” Iris shot back.

“What’s not to like. Gorgeous twins, in lingerie. I mean, come on.”

“Who said anything about lingerie?”

“Well, a guy can dream, can’t he? Christmas miracles and all that. You’re the one who says anything can happen at Christmas.”

This time, Iris rolled her eyes.

“Crank up the tunes, Ky,” Siri said. “We won’t be long.”

“You see, why can’t Brett be more like Kyle?” Siri said, as soon as she closed the bedroom door.

“Aren’t you being a bit hard on him? You know sometimes, I’d like Kyle to be serious about something. Anything, actually.”

“Maybe if we combined them, we’d have a perfect man.” Siri rifled through her suitcase and quickly changed into a deep burgundy colored chemise that barely covered her ass or her breasts.

“Wow, am I gonna look plain next to you,” Iris said.

“Why, what did you bring?” Siri peered over.

“Shorts and tank top with candy canes and gingerbread men on them.”

Siri rolled her eyes and tossed a green nightie, in the same style, to her.

“I don’t know, Sear, I’m not sure I feel comfortable parading around in front of your husband…”

“Just say thank you and put it on, Eye.” Siri said through clenched teeth.

As Iris changed, she said, “Hmm, seems to me, Brett’s not the only one wound a little tight.”

“You’ve no idea,” Siri responded. “Are you ready?”

“Hand me your brush.” Iris combed her hair while Siri merely scrunched her long blonde tresses with her fingers.

“Here, don’t forget your hat.” Siri handed Iris the red one.

“Mine’s the green one, remember?” Iris corrected, with her hand out.

“Wait.” All of a sudden, Siri stilled.

“I’m having trouble keeping up with your mood swings here, Sear.”

“What if we…” Siri raked her lip with her teeth.

“Oh no. I know that look. What are you plotting and how is it going to get me in trouble.”

“No-no. It’ll be fun. I promise!”

“I’ve heard that before. Right before I got either grounded, earned detention, or got sent to the principal’s office. Oh and once landed us in the back of a cop car.”

“Oh stop. I meant well.” Siri grinned and Iris was relieved to see a genuine smile on her sister’s face. She’d been starting to get worried. Whatever she had planned, she’d probably go along with, just to keep her smiling.

“So?” Iris prompted.

Siri planted the green hat on her head. “Let’s switch.”

Iris’ excitement, dimmed. “I… I don’t know, Sear.”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!”

In her opinion, it was asking for trouble with a capital T.

“There’s no way, they’d fall for it, Siri, they know us too well.”

Her sister’s shoulders sagged and for a moment Iris was about to acquiesce.

“You’re probably right. Here take your silly green hat.” She headed for the door with the red one.


Siri turned and held out her hand. The excitement in her eyes was gone. “Let’s dance and rub all up on our husbands. That was your suggestion, remember.” She opened the door and dragged Iris with her.

“Check it out!” Kyle cheered when he got an eye full of the two of them in their similar low-cut, shorty nighties, topped off with the Santa hats.

“How about a little holiday hoe-down, fellas?” Siri invited, seductively, doing a full body roll.

“Merry freakin’ Christmas!” Kyle bellowed and cranked the music.

Siri seemed to perk up at his exuberance.

“How about we give them a twin show, they won’t ever forget.” Siri pressed up against Iris’ back and she tempted them, with the most sensually fluid arm gestures, using her wrists and her fingers to beckon them closer. “We'll get them so hot and horny they won't know what to do with themselves."

Kyle all but floated over to them. “What have we here?” He placed one hand on Iris’ hip and his other on Siri’s and he began to move with them rhythmically.

Both women sidled up to Kyle. Greedily, he wrapped his arms around each of them.

“Fuck you Brett, my Christmas wish came true!” he called. “I got both Beaulieu sisters.”

For a few minutes, Brett sat in a chair across the room, with his snifter of Brandy and simply watched the girls dance provocatively with Kyle.

Iris couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to Brett. Yes, he was keeping close tabs on his wife and Kyle but Iris could also feel the heat and intensity of his gaze on her as well. It made her want to move more sensually, just for him.

“Your husband likes to watch,” Kyle said to Siri.

“Indeed he does,” Siri replied in a sultry voice.

For some reason the thought fascinated Iris.

Iris pried her attention away from Brett to look at Kyle. His eyes were heavy with arousal. He was definitely getting off on dancing with the two of them. Siri was feeding off him too.

Wickedly, Iris wanted Brett to take pleasure in them too.

“Come, Brett, join us.” Iris tried to imitate the same dramatic gestures with her arms as Siri had when calling Kyle over.

She was pleased when Brett set his glass down and made his way over.

To her delight, he didn’t immediately go to his wife, instead he placed his hands at Iris’ waist and moved with her.

Gradually, the guys moved in, practically sandwiching the twins between them. Iris and Siri ended up, back to back.

Yet soon, Kyle, who was still holding Siri, reached for Iris. Skimming with his hand, he followed the curve of her neck and shoulder and part way down her arm. He then detoured around front where he cupped her breast and fondled it. She was both mortified and turned on at the same time. Especially when Brett lowered his gaze and watched Kyle’s hand at work. Brett ever so slowly trailed his hand up her side and rested his palm at the side of her other breast. He caressed her side boob with his thumb. The soft gesture sent the most delicious tendrils of sensation straight to her pussy.

Iris had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Her nipples hardened to aching points as Brett and Kyle double-teamed her. Yet she wanted more, much more. What would it be like to be touched by both men at the same time? She tried to resist the urge to fidget hoping to direct Brett’s hand where she craved it most.

Not to be outdone, Siri turned her back to Kyle, yet kept him close. Iris wondered if her sister could feel her husband’s erection nudging her ass. For there was no doubt that all four of them were equally aroused at their spontaneous play.

“Move your hip just a smidge, Eye,” Siri whispered.

The flutter of her warm breath on Iris’ neck, made her shudder, in the best possible way.

Shamelessly, Siri reached around Iris and palmed her husband’s cock through his trousers.

“Ohhh, aren’t you nice and hard!” Siri crooned.

Iris fisted her hands. Her fingers itched to touch him too, and find out for herself just how hard he truly was.

Iris peered up at Brett, wondering at his reaction.

But to her surprise, he wasn’t even looking at Siri, his focus was squarely on her.

Siri chuckled. Iris was sure the low devious sound went through them all. It certainly did her.

“Seems Kyle isn’t the only man who has a twin fetish.” Siri all but purred. She was enjoying this and not only in the physical sense. She was pushing Iris right out of her comfort zone and if she wasn’t mistaken, she was doing the same to Brett.

Just when she thought there was nothing left Siri could do to shock her, her sister proved her wrong. Siri lowered her head and kissed a slow path up Iris’ neck.

Iris was more than aware that she’d done it purely to excite the men, but in her highly aroused state, it did crazy things to her, too.

“Oh, god,” she murmured. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to maintain eye contact with Brett. That connection in and of itself was stimulating her on a whole other level. Yet what she really wanted to do, was let her head fall back on Siri’s shoulder and let them all go at it.

A nerve in Brett’s jaw ticked rapidly.

All of a sudden there seemed to be a cacophony of heavy breathing assaulting her from all sides, along with an orgy of hands.

Oh god, yes!

Too much? Yah or nay? Let me know your thoughts. If you want to find out how the scene was finally adapted for approval, buy links are provided below.

Thank you again, for inviting me back to Beyond Romance, Lisabet! 

Wishing you all a Happy Christmas and a bright and prosperous 2018!



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About the Author

H K Carlton is a multi-published Canadian author of romance and its varied sub-genres. From naughty to nice, historical to contemporary, time travel to space travel, and everything in between.

Variety is creativitys playgroundIts where youll find me.

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