Thursday, August 31, 2017

One steamy night ... an answer to their dreams? (@abbeymacmunn #EroticRomance #BlogTour #KualaLumur)

One Night in KL cover


In search of inspiration and excitement, successful artist, Ziva Clarke, takes a trip to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Her exhibitions in the UK have left her exhausted, she’s had no fun in ages and her creativity is at below zero—the exotic Far East could be just what she needs.

Charmer Sam Tempest is visiting Kuala Lumpur on business with his father, but behind the impeccable suit and the wicked smile, he’s not a happy man. Duty bound to join his family’s international business, Sam longs to follow his true passion—to carve wood sculptures.

The two lonely souls meet by chance on a crowded street, and when it turns out they might not be the strangers they first thought, so begins a night of confessions, shared dreams and hot sex.

Can one steamy night in Kuala Lumpur be the answer to both their dreams?

Buy Links



Squinting, Ziva tried to see who’d spoken in a deep, smooth-as-silk British accent.

A tall man stood before her and greeted her with an alluring, lopsided smile that exuded confidence. Kind eyes crinkled at the corners.

His broad shoulders were clad in a navy, tailored business suit. With his thick hair, a rich, burnt umber colour, slicked back off his forehead, and an angular, clean-shaven jaw, the guy could have stepped off the set of a TV advert for men’s cologne. And his lips… oh boy, his lips. Full, well-defined, and made for sinning.

Her mouth dried. Kuala Lumpur grew more interesting by the second.

Elise filled in for her temporary inability to speak. “No, we haven’t. My sister failed to mention Pavilion or Lot 10. I’m afraid she doesn’t share my love for shopping.”

Surprise flashed across his face before his smile widened then hitched higher in one corner. Yep, male model material. Just my luck if he’s gay.

Elise shifted from one foot to the other and adjusted her hold on her dozen or so shopping bags. “Are the malls far?”
No, not far. They’re near the Golden Triangle part of the city.”

Ziva stifled another groan. More malls, right near where they were staying.

The guy tipped his head. “I’m Sam, by the way.” Sophisticated charm oozed from every pore. “It’s lovely to meet two beautiful English roses so far from home.” Although he spoke to both of them, he directed an intense gaze at Ziva. Mischievous cobalt eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight then he winked at her. Hmm, not gay then.

Hi, I’m Elise,” her sister said, sticking out her chest. “Nice to meet you, too.” She shuffled her feet again. “My feet are roasting standing here.”

Ziva glanced at Elise’s unsuitable choice of footwear as she stood on a drain cover. “I’m not surprised your feet are hot. It’s ninety-five degrees and you’re wearing high-heeled boots. I told you to wear your flat sandals.”

Elise rolled her eyes. “Flat sandals do not go with this outfit,” she said resignedly. “Kuala Lumpur is home to some of the best shopping malls in South East Asia—who cares about a little discomfort?”

So, you were listening when I read out the tourist brochure and the amazing places I’d like to visit.”

No, not really.” Elise gave an apologetic shrug. “I heard ‘shopping malls’ mostly.”

Sam laughed. His attention never left Ziva. “And your name is…?”

The crowd surged forward to cross the road. Someone jostled past Ziva, accidentally knocking her elbow. Her tatty canvas handbag and her one and only shopping bag dropped to the ground. She gasped as her new lingerie tumbled onto the dusty pavement. “Oh, crap!”

Stooping to her haunches, she then hastily stuffed lacy bras and matching thongs back into the paper bag. Her blonde curls tumbled over her face, helping to hide cheeks that burned hotter than the pavement. A serious contender for Miss Tiny Tits UK, she’d been spoiled for choice when she’d seen that the malls in KL catered for smaller women, so she’d treated herself to a few items of sexy underwear. Not that she had an occasion to wear it, but still, the last thing she needed was to have it displayed for all to see.

Sam kneeled in front of her, picked up a black bra, and swung it on his finger. “Here, I think you missed one.”

Head still down, she reached for the bra, but he hooked his finger around the strap and held it firm. She tugged. “Let go.”

Not until you tell me your name.” He tugged back, stretching the lace and elastic across the distance between them. “And not until you look at me.”

About the Author

Abbey MacMunn writes contemporary, paranormal and erotic romance. She lives in Hampshire, UK with her husband and their four children. She is a proud member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association.

When she’s not writing, she likes to watch films and TV shows – anything from rom-coms to superheroes to science fiction movies.

Contact links

Twitter @abbeymacmunn

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Love travels faster than light (#scifi #menage #MFRWHooks)

Bodies of Light cover

For today’s Book Hooks post, I’m sharing a very small excerpt from my science fiction ménage erotic romance novella, Bodies of Light. Like many of my books, this one began as a what if. What if your lovers had no physical bodies? What would making love be like for creatures of pure energy?

If you’re curious... the buy links are at the end!


Love travels faster than light.

Physicist Dr. Christine Monroe has devoted her lonely life to research on hyper-space travel. Her continued failure leads her to sign on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission aimed at establishing a colony in the Sirius B system. Waking from suspended animation, she discovers that the ship is wildly off course and the rest of the crew are dead due to equipment failure. At first she thinks the two handsome strangers who show up on the ship are figments of her imagination - erotic hallucinations created by isolation and stress. However, Alyn and Zed are solid, real, and ready to sacrifice their lives for the strong woman they’ve found stranded in deep space. As her ship begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the two alien beings she’s come to cherish. 


The Hook

Christine.” The voice rang like crystal and flowed like water, a far cry from the flat, synthetic tones of the Archimedes. “Do not despair, lovely one.”

Christine could not help smiling at the endearment. No one had called her lovely for a very long time. She kept her eyes closed, willing the dream to continue.

We are with you, Christine.” Deeper, richer, edged with laughter, another voice chimed in. “You are not alone.” A cool, soothing palm cupped her brow. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, drawing her upright, then slipped down to cradle her breasts. Luscious heat suffused her, focused on her suddenly-taut nipples. They were smouldering embers ready to burst into flame. Soft lips brushed her neck just below the hairline, sending shivers spiralling through her. Someone unknotted her hair and let the weight of it cascade freely down her back. She sighed as careful fingers eased out the tangles. Each gentle tug at her scalp was pure pleasure.

Voted Best Book of the Month at Whipped Cream Reviews!

Get your own copy!




Audio edition

Add on Goodreads!

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today's Book Hooks blog hop!



Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Review Tuesday: The Night Watch by Sarah Waters (#lgbtq #literature #ReviewTuesday)

The Night Watch cover

The Night Watch, by Sarah Waters
Virago Press, 2006

In 1999, Sarah Waters' first novel TIPPING THE VELVET caused a minor sensation. A rich, sprawling tale of Sapphic love in the world of Victorian music halls and secret "women's clubs", TIPPING THE VELVET managed to be outrageously sexy while retaining impeccable literary credentials. Ms. Waters went on to publish two additional books that vividly evoke the Victorian period, the FINGERSMITH (my personal favorite) and AFFINITY. Both focus on lesbian relationships, though they are generally less graphic than Ms. Waters' debut novel.

THE NIGHT WATCH is a very different beast. Set in London during and after the Second World War, it follows the tangled social and emotional ties among three women and one man. Kay is a dominant, mannish person who drives an ambulance during the Blitz, racing out bravely with her comrades to rescue the victims of the bombs that slam London every night. Helen is her submissive, feminine lover, rescued from a destroyed building and sheltered by Kay. Beautiful Viv is hopelessly faithful to Reggie, a married soldier that she met on a train. Duncan, Viv's younger brother, is a shy, sensitive person who might or might not be gay. Over the course of the book we get to know these people, learn their secrets and understand what each one means to the others.

Despite the bombs and the emotional cataclysms, THE NIGHT WATCH is a quieter book than any of Ms. Waters' previous work. Ms. Waters makes the audacious decision to tell her story backwards in time. The book begins in 1947, three years after the war. Kay is a lonely ghost, haunting the streets of London. Helen and Viv work together at a marriage agency, while Duncan is the star performer at a factory for the disabled and the companion of a fussy older man who believes in Christian Science. Over the book's 472 pages, the story retreats to 1944, and then to 1940, when the Germans bombed London for fifty seven nights in a row and killed more than 40,000 civilians. Only at the very end of the novel do we discover how Kay met Helen, and understand the intensity of Kay's need, a need that leaves her empty and haunted when Helen forsakes her for another lover.

THE NIGHT WATCH does not include much explicit sex; it really does not qualify as erotica. However it overflows with desire, hidden and overt, especially the desire that links women even when society forbids such connections. Ms. Waters understands how the physical stirs the emotions, how some quirk of appearance or manner can catch the heartstrings.


Kay whistled. 'How glamorous you look! Just like Greta Garbo in Grand Hotel.'

She didn't look glamorous really, however; she looked young, and small and rather solemn. The room was cold, and the satin chill; she shivered and blew on her hands. She worked again at folding back the sleeves, almost fretfully - gazing once, as she did it, into the mirror, and then turning quickly away.

Kay watched her, with a sort of ache about her heart. She felt her love, at moments like this, as a thing of wonder - it was wonderful to her, that Helen, who was so lovely, so fair and unmarked, should be here at all, to be looked at and touched... Then again, it was impossible to imagine her in any other place, with any other lover. No other lover, Kay knew, would feel about her quite as Kay did. She might have been born, been a child, grown up - done all the particular, serious and inconsequential things she'd done - just so she could arrive at this point, now; just so she could stand, barefoot, in a satin pyjama-suit, and Kay could watch her.


THE NIGHT WATCH is not as flashy a book as FINGERSMITH, but as a writer I found myself awed by Ms. Waters' mastery of her craft. Even in the first pages of the book, I was struck by how vividly she could evoke the gritty, tired, ruined world of London after the war.


A train ran by, two streets away, heading into Clapham Junction; she felt the thrill and shudder of it in the sill beneath her arms. The bulb in a lamp behind her shoulder sprang into life, flickered for a a second like an irritated eye, and then went out. ...

The room was dim. Some of the window glass had been lost, and Mr. Leonard had replaced it with lino. The bed was high, with a balding candlewick bedspread: the sort of bed that turned your thoughts, not pleasantly, to the many people who must, over the years, have slept on it, made love on it, been born on it, died on it, thrashed around on it in fevers. It gave off a slightly sour scent, like the feet of worn stockings. But Kay was used to that, and didn't notice.


The description simultaneously shapes one's view of the world surrounding the character, and with a single sentence, reveals the character's dark and empty state of mind.

Not everyone will enjoy THE NIGHT WATCH. If you are looking for the brilliant twists that made FINGERSMITH such a tour de force, you will be disappointed, though you'll find much of the same irony. If you miss the free-wheeling sexual exploits of TIPPING THE VELVET, you'll have to look elsewhere. Nevertheless, THE NIGHT WATCH is an achievement, and demonstrates that Ms. Waters' expertise is not limited to Victoria's time.

In a haunting sequence which I view as the centerpiece of the book, Helen and Kay's ex-lover Julia set out on a night journey across blacked out London. They pass demolished homes and deserted churches. All is still and dark, as if they were the only people alive in the world. When they kiss, you are almost ready to believe that this is true.

THE NIGHT WATCH is a serious and only occasionally sexy novel, but in my opinion, one not to be missed.

Monday, August 28, 2017

Touched by the flame of love (#pnr #giveaway #eroticromance @CarisRoane)

Touch of Flame cover

Caris is giving away a purple PNR bracelet (International Winner Receives Gift Card), A $25 Amazon Gift Card, A $15 Amazon Gift Card. to randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

WOW! Something extra from Caris Roane!

Just leave a comment for a chance to win!

Caris Roane here and I'm so glad you're touring with me. Be sure to visit as many blogs on my tour as you can and leave a comment at each one to be entered into this WOW giveaway! Don't worry if you miss a couple of blogs, visiting every blog isn't required, it just increases your chances of winning! I'll be creating a second bracelet for the WOW giveaway (International winner receives gift card) similar to the bracelet in the Rafflecopter. I will choose the winning blog then choose the winning comment some time after midnight, September 5th, Arizona time. I will use Random dot org to make the selection. Let's support our bloggers who give us so much! Hugs, Caris


A powerful alpha wolf. A gifted witch. Each haunted by death. Can passion drive them to an everlasting love? Or will the enemy forge a hopeless chasm?

Braden should have died in the Graveyard, but the witch, Maeve, saved him. The call of his wolf is on him and he wants her. She can be his alpha-mate. But she has powers that can destroy him and a disrupted memory that holds the answers to his wife’s murder. Can he ever trust a woman who can kill with the power she streams from her bare hands?

Maeve has known only horror, death and destruction since her arrival in Five Bridges as a transformed alter witch. She goes to the Graveyard nightly to rescue those left for dead by the evil rampant in all five territories of her new world. She fears the power she possesses and the gaps in her memory frighten her more than anything else. But when she rescues Braden from an attack in the Graveyard and she realizes she’s drawn to the handsome wolf, the nightmare really begins.

Buy Links:


Maeve held Braden’s fur tight. She didn’t want to let him go. The moment he’d pushed her onto the floor in his massive wolf state, desire exploded. Somehow, all that black fur and the sight of his fangs got to her.

She knew then he’d spoken the truth. Though she was a witch, she could bond with this Border Patrol officer and serve as his alpha female.

Slowly, he shifted back to his human form, a seamless process reflecting his decade in Five Bridges. She released his fur as it disappeared through her fingers.

His green eyes held hers tight. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. He said, “I need you to understand what you’re getting into here. This will be without one shred of emotion. What happens here is strictly physical, very physical. I have no interest in you otherwise, despite your alpha-mate capacity.”

She smiled. “Got it. No strings and yes, I’m game.”

He leaped to his feet, reached down and plucked her off the floor like she was feather. He lifted her into his arms then carried her into the bedroom, slamming the door shut with his foot.

She’d been wanting this for weeks. Months, maybe.

He took her to the bed but before he let go of her, he pulled the covers back. Then he dropped her so she bounced on the mattress.

She would have been happy to get her clothes off, but he went to work like a madman. He tugged off her shoes and jeans, then flipped her onto her stomach.”

You’ve got a beautiful ass, Maeve...”

Read More of the Excerpt Here

About the Author

Hi, Everyone! Caris Roane here! I'm a NY Times Bestselling Author and I write super-sexy paranormal romance books. With every book I create, my goal is to take you away ~ far, far away ~ from the difficulties and frustrations of your life.

I began my career with Kensington Publishing and wrote Regency Romance as Valerie King. In 2005, Romantic Times Magazine honored me with a career achievement award for my Regency work. To-date, I've published eighty-nine books. Thirty-nine of those are paranormal romances, some self-published and some with St. Martin's Press.

Though my stories conjure up hunky PNR warriors, like vampires and wolf-shifters, the romance is everything, including a satisfying Happily Ever After. My hope is that you'll become engrossed in the lives of my tortured heroes and my worthy women as they wage war, as they make love, and as they face the tough issues of life and relationships!

I live in the Phoenix area, in the city of Buckeye. When not writing, I’m a real homebody. I love gardening, sewing, and cooking. (Um, cleaning, not so much!) I also enjoy creating jewelry and I frequently offer my handcrafted, PNR bracelet giveaways to my newsletter and blog subscribers. You can sign up for both on my Home Page.

My motto: Live the Fang!

~ Caris Roane

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Sizzling Sunday: Rajasthani Moon (#bdsm #electricplay #steampunk)

Sizzling Sunday banner
Happy Sunday!

All the Sunday memes I used to followSunday Snog, Smut Sunday, etc.—seem to have stopped. So I’ve decided to start a new meme of my own (though I may be the only person participating LOL!) I hereby declare today to be Sizzling Sunday!

That means I’m going to post an X-rated excerpt so hot it will fry eggs. (I have a lot of those...) Today’s excerpt comes from my outrageous multi-genre erotic romance Rajasthani Moon.

Hope you like it!

He lifted Cecily’s tangled locks to drape them over her shoulders. When his fingers grazed her back, tiny shivers of delight raced along her skin. His half-smile told her that he’d noticed.

Shall we continue, then?” That question, at least, seemed rhetorical, since he disappeared without waiting for an answer.

When he returned to her field of view, he carried a cylindrical device as long as his forearm, fashioned of the same greyish metal as the robotic shackles. An oval of glass adorned one end of the tube. The other fit comfortably in his hand.

Amir brought the glass close to her bare shoulder. Something sizzled like water falling on a heated skillet, then a burning needle pierced her flesh.

Cecily jerked in her bonds, as much from surprise as from the sudden sting. “Ow!”

The air smelt sharp, metallic. Grinning, Amir let the globe hover near her upper arm. This time, she saw the spark that leapt from the glass to her tingling skin.

What in heaven…?”

A little invention of mine, adapting the principles of our stun guns, which I believe you’ve seen, to more pleasurable purposes.” Another bolt crackled across the gap between the device and her naked flesh. Yes, the shock hurt, but now that she’d got over her surprise, she found the prickling sensation that followed quite enjoyable.

Of course, the effects are more dramatic when my electrostimulator is applied to more, um, sensitive areas. And if you know anything about electricity, you’ll understand that moisture enhances conductivity, intensifying the sensations considerably.”

You can’t mean…?” Cecily shuddered at what he was implying, even as her juices welled up and trickled down her thighs.

I’ve been told that agents of the Empire are trained to endure almost any level of pain. I’m quite curious to evaluate that story myself.”

He vanished, busying himself behind her. “First, though, we need the clamps.”

No, please…!” A surge of pleasure stopped her. Amir had plunged his fingers deep into her hungry channel. He stroked her inner walls, generating pulsing waves of delight. Something brushed across her clit, a touch so light it was barely there, yet enough to make her whole being knot into pre-climactic tension. There it was again, the faintest trace of his finger or thumb, not quite enough to send her into release, but almost, almost…

Cecily arched back, trying without success to rub herself against those teasing fingers. Her bonds forbade even this slight movement. Amir was in complete control of her body. He could do whatever he wanted.

The realisation should have dismayed her. Instead, she felt a perverse thrill. A finger grazed her bud, more firmly than before. Climax coiled in her belly, drawing tighter with each breath. He refused to set it free. So be it. She closed her eyes, focusing on the storm of sensation raging in her sex.

He caught her clit between two fingers and squeezed. Before she could come, he released his hold. Cecily groaned in frustration. He tugged on her sex lips and her clit pulsed in time. If only he’d concentrate on that swollen, needy nub, instead of playing with her in this way!

Something hard and cold bit into the soft flesh of her labia. Agony arced through her world like a meteor streaking across the night sky. At the same time, relentless fingers clamped down on her clitoris.

A scream tore itself from her throat. Her climax ripped through her, swirling ribbons of sensation exploding from her shuddering cunt. As she shook in her bonds, barely conscious, she felt the jaws of a second clamp seize her, and she came again.

You are not nearly as self-controlled and stoic as I would have expected,” Amir commented as she trembled with the aftershocks of her crisis. “Perhaps your reputation has been inflated by rumour.” He flicked at one of the dangling clamps. She bit her lip as pain raced through her, determined not to cry out, but she couldn’t halt the juices trickling from her twitching quim.

Saturday, August 26, 2017

A Viking Noblewoman and a Celtic Slave (#dominance #spanking #Vikings @AsheBarker)

Her Celtic Captor cover

By Ashe Barker (Guest Blogger)

I have always been fascinated by Vikings. Strong, sexy warriors, ruthless, dominant and determined – what’s not to like? It was only a matter of time before I wove a series of stories around these fierce raiders who rampaged through Scotland and England for over three centuries, eventually settling and leaving their indelible mark on our history.

A Viking raid was indeed a ferocious affair. They relied on what would nowadays probably be termed ‘shock and awe’ swooping in from the sea on their fast dragon ships to attack with vicious and deadly effect. The Nordic raiders would be gone almost as swiftly as they arrived, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The modern equivalent would be a helicopter attack on a sleepy rural village by SWAT teams armed with automatic weapons– the local people would hardly know what hit them.

Her Celtic Captor is the third in my Vikings series of stand alone stories. It offers glimpses of characters from the first two books, but essentially it charts Brynhild and Taranc's turbulent journey. She is a Viking noblewoman, he a Celtic slave taken in a Viking raid on his Scottish village. The tables are turned when a tragic mistake places her in his power, and then the sparks really fly. 

I have employed a certain amount of poetic license, but in creating my stories I was determined to recreate the Viking era to the best of my ability – their homes, their clothing, what they ate, how they lived. I hope readers will be as entranced as I am by these creative and charismatic raiders, and perhaps forgive them their more outrageous little foibles.

Taranc might lust after the Viking noblewoman, he was a male and drew breath so how could he not? But he did not like her, and he had never yet fucked a woman he disliked.


As the sister of a powerful Viking chief, Brynhild Freysson is used to giving orders and having them obeyed, which makes it all the more difficult to accept when she suddenly finds herself at the mercy of a Celtic warrior intent on bringing her back to his village whether she likes it or not.

Taranc was a leader of his people before he was taken captive by Viking raiders, and now that he is a free man once more he has no intention of allowing a headstrong Norse woman to slow down his journey home with her stubborn disobedience. When Brynhild refuses to do as she is told, he wastes no time in baring her bottom for a thorough switching, and he makes it quite clear that she can expect even more painful and humiliating punishments if she continues to defy him.

Though her hatred of the Celts runs deep, Taranc’s stern dominance awakens desires in Brynhild that she thought she would never feel again, and when he takes her in his arms and claims her properly it is more pleasurable than she would have thought possible. But though her passion for him grows by the day, can she ever truly love a man whose people are enemies of her own?

Publisher’s Note: Her Celtic Captor is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking and Her Dark Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book

Buy Links


Yes, she was scared, and Taranc believed this was real. Her submission might be forced, but she recognised his power over her however much she might deplore it and had abandoned her attempts to resist, to refuse to cooperate. She might yet learn a valuable lesson this day.

Taranc took the blanket and tugged it away from her body. Brynhild flinched as the cool morning air caressed her naked back. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, her expression fearful. "Please..." she mouthed.

Taranc moved in close and lifted the heavy length of her unbound hair which cascaded down her back. He draped it over her shoulder and on impulse bent to kiss the top of her head. "This will be quick, Brynhild. I promise. And you will come to no harm."

She closed her beautiful azure eyes again, and nodded.

Taranc wasted no time in retrieving his belt which had been flung to the deck in the scramble for the knife. He removed the empty sheath and folded its length so he could grasp the metal buckle within his fist. He walked back to where his captive leaned against the solid wooden pole, her body shivering. The marks of her previous punishment still streaked her pale buttocks, and Taranc believed he had never seen a sight more beautiful. Brynhild Freysson might be the most difficult, complicated and frankly demanding woman he had ever encountered, but she was without doubt the most lovely. If their circumstances were different...

He gave himself a mental shake. The circumstances were not different. They were what they were—awkward, dangerous and bloody inconvenient. He would do what must be done, and she would bear what she could not avoid. What came next he had not the faintest notion, but he would feel his way through this…somehow.

"Are you ready?"

Her lips tightened into a grimace. She made no further response.

"Ten strokes. I shall count. You may make all the din you like since we are far out of port and none but the gulls will hear you."

A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and snaked its way across her pale cheek. Despite her reluctance to embrace the mast a few minutes ago he noted that she gripped it like a devoted lover now.

The belt whistled through the air. Brynhild let put a startled yelp even before the leather connected with her quivering rump then danced on the spot as the stripe bloomed on her skin.

"One." Taranc shifted his stance to lay the next stroke a little lower and swung again.

"Two," he announced as Brynhild gasped and whimpered against the mast. She clung to the beam as though drawing comfort from its solid warmth.

"Three." He paused to allow her to take several much-needed breaths as she hopped from one foot to the other. Her bottom glowed red and he could almost feel the heat from where he stood.

"Are you all right?" He was impressed at her fortitude thus far, but felt compelled to ask even so.

Her answer was a tight nod and a flattening of her lips. Her body was rigid, her punished buttocks clenching hard as she anticipated the next stroke.

"It is less painful if you soften your bottom," he advised.

"How do you know? Is this something you learnt from your betrothed? How often did you tie Fiona up and whip her naked bottom?"

A fair enough question, he surmised, though he considered it ill-judged of her to ask it right now. He was tempted to increase the punishment by a further two strokes but decided that might be unduly harsh. "No, I never had occasion to do so. I always found Fiona to be sweet-natured and compliant. You, lady, are an entirely different matter."

And privately, he thanked the sweet Lord for that.

More about Ashe Barker

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research. 
Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

Or you can email her direct at ashebarker1 [at] gmail [dot] com

Friday, August 25, 2017

Lilith (#flashfiction #erotica #stories #spirituality)

fantasy image

He’s searching for God. She’s just looking for a fuck. But that’s not quite right. She knows, somehow, that you don’t have to seek God. God’s already there, inside. You just need to figure out how to open yourself and let divinity out.

For her, sex is the way, the consummate opening. When she’s writhing in a lover’s arms, the barriers crumble. For a few glorious moments, she can experience first hand the communion she normally has to take on faith. The bliss and the certainty are as brief and fragile as they are transcendent, She’s left with mere memories that fade the more she tries to clutch at them—scraps of joy, glimmers of magic. She’s learned over the years to let them go, the same way she releases her lovers when it’s time for them to move on. There are always new bodies, new hearts—new truths.

He doesn’t understand, thinks she’s been put there to tempt him him from his path of purity and righteousness. He’s not pure, though. He knows very well he’s not. If he were, he wouldn’t want her so badly.

She loves his youth, his shyness, his awkward innocence, his cleverness with words and with his hands. His intuition astounds her; the depth of his feelings humble her. When they meet for coffee and intricate conversations, she aches to touch him, but he’s armored in self-denial. The most casual brush of her hand makes him flinch away.

A veteran of many couplings, she can read his desire like the books he cherishes. It’s in his darting eyes, his flushed cheeks, the sweat she can smell, even across the cafe table. It’s more than lust. It’s like a prayer.

He stares into his coffee cup to escape her bold stare, even as he speaks of Japanese folk tales or dissects King Lear. In the fragrant and bitter dregs he reads his fatean instant of forbidden indulgence then a long, hard fall. He vows to be strong, but her magnetism draws his traitor body. His stubborn cock is a pillar of iron between his tensed thighs.

Iron, and salt, the destiny of sinners.

Every Monday they come together to pace out the same steps in this dance of frustration. What can she do? Perfume and decolletage don’t dent his desperate resolve. If only she dared make a first move—but she knows terror and need will send him skittering away. She cares too much to cause him that distress.

She dreams of him, imagines the magic they’d create in connecting. He might be the one to finally set her free. No virgin, still she succumbs to the seductive promise of a soul mate. And if that promise fails, the mystery of opening remains, illusion vanishing like fog in the white-hot flare of pleasure, incandescent truth shining forth for a few seconds before the curtain falls. That’s what he craves, too, or so she believes.

But how to reach him? She ponders the conundrum as she twists and tosses on ocean-scented sheets, her fingers an unsatisfactory substitute for his maleness. His aspirations to holiness make her feel like a whore, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except her need to wrap her legs around his waist and pull him inside her.

Finally, she writes him a story.