Saturday, August 31, 2019

#SaturdaySpanks: Damned If You Do - #BDSM #Paranormal #humor

Saturday Spanks banner

I realized it has been a while since I did a Saturday Spanks post. Here’s a scene from Damned If You Do – a classic BDSM spanking.

Enjoy! (And if you really like the excerpt …. maybe you might buy the book...)


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.


Finally, he was back, his skin warm as he rubbed his lightly furred chest against her back. He held her close for a moment, his hardness nestling in the cleft of her naked buttocks, slippery with pre-cum. “Ready, Pet?” He licked at her earlobe, sending an exquisite chill down her spine.

Once more her knees turned to rubber. Once more his firm grasp supported her. “Ah—oh! Yes, Sir.”

Good.” She almost wept when he stepped away from her body. “Spread your legs and lean over, with your hands on the sill. Arch your back and present your ass.”

She assumed the position he described, arousal drowning out embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, with Dan of all people. It felt like a dream.

The sting of his bare palm on her butt was real enough though, a burst of flame followed by a smoldering ache that spread from the point of contact.


Count for me, Pet,” he commanded.

Um—one. How many, Sir?”

Twenty, I think, for this first time. Unless you try to escape, or cover yourself.”

The snap of flesh on flesh—like striking a match. “Ooh! Ah, two. Two!” His second blow hurt much more than the first. Wendy knew from her research and her recent experiences with Mister B that by twenty she’d be writhing, and in tears.

Yet she wanted this, yearned for it. She’d asked for it.

Ow! Oh, God!”

Count, girl!”

Three, Sir. Oh, please—wait, give me a moment...”

He put even greater force into his next slap.

Aaaah! Um, ah, four… please…”

He did pause, for a few blessed seconds. “Do you really want me to stop? If you can’t take it any more, just say ‘angel’, all right?”

Snap! “Ow! Five…” The pain faded momentarily in the glow of her astonishment. How could he have come up with the exact same safe word as Mister B? What were the chances? “Sir—Ow! Sir…”

If you don’t count, I’ll give you ten extra.”

Sorry, sorry! Six—oof! Seven.”

Dark suspicion touched her. Perhaps the individual spanking her was not Daniel at all. What if her unearthly Master was impersonating her agent? Maybe this was just another infernal game of his, designed to pull her deeper into perdition.

Aye! Oh! Eight.”

This didn’t have the same tone as one of her scenes with Mister B, though. This felt simultaneously more playful, and more serious.

It hit her suddenly. This wasn’t just her dream. It was Daniel’s too. Right now, she was fulfilling his heart’s desire.

She gasped and moaned under his assault, but the tumult of emotions raging inside distracted her from the physical agony. Affection for her partner —maybe even love— brimmed in her chest. She’d never suspected her agent had kinky desires. For the first time she truly understood how much they had in common. Meanwhile, a terrible sense of responsibility weighed on her. She knew, firsthand, how precious and important this was for Daniel. What if she screwed it up?

Meanwhile, he continued to wallop her ass, apparently oblivious to her consternation. Somehow she still managed to count, though pain seared her flesh and tears ran down her cheeks.

Tw-twenty. Oh, Sir!”

The last blow had scarcely landed when Dan seized her buttocks, spread them wide, and sank his cock into her drenched pussy.

Buy Links (Ebook)

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Narrated by Audrey Lusk

Friday, August 30, 2019

The Care and Feeding of Your Back List - #Publishing #ForAuthors #Backlist


A while ago a writer friend of mine included a wonderful excerpt from his first book in a blog post. I’d read (and loved) this book when it first released; perusing the post felt like meeting up with an old friend.

Then the author casually mentioned, in a post comment, that the book was out of print. I felt like shaking him in frustration. Why in the world, I wanted to scream, did you let that happen? Don’t you care about keeping your work available?

There’s so much in the world of publishing that we authors can’t control: Amazon’s latest tweaks to its ranking algorithms, payment schemes, and censorship policies; publishers being bought out or going bankrupt; out-of-the-blue bestsellers that have readers (and editors) clamoring for cookie-cutter copies. One thing we can control, however, is the disposition of our accumulated body of work. In my opinion, we owe it to ourselves to keep our backlog of books and stories out there in the world, where readers can access them.

Some of you may ask, why bother? Everyone knows it’s only new releases that get any sales (as demonstrated by the thirty-day cliff phenomenon). Who’s going to want to read a book that’s a year, or five years, or ten years old? Anyway, no publisher will be interested in a dingy old reprint. If some of your back list dates from before the ebook revolution, you might not even have the manuscript in digital form.

Examined carefully, none of these arguments (excuses?) holds up to scrutiny.

First of all, though your book may be “old”, there are undoubtedly millions of potential readers who’ve never encountered it. Sure, your fans (whether you have five or fifty thousand) may have read your earlier work, but for lots of readers, your book will be a welcome discovery. If someone picks up an old book of yours and enjoys it, he or she is going to want more. You need to make sure you can give these people what they crave.

I did a survey back in 2015, trying to better understand my potential market. Out of the 200 or so people who completed the survey (, 30% had never read one of my books, and another 25% weren’t sure. That’s over one hundred people for whom everything on my back list will be new and exciting. I want those readers!

Even for readers who know your work well, it’s important to keep your older stuff available. What if they want to reread one of their all-time favorites?

My brother and I often share our favorite books. For my his birthday last year, I went to Amazon, looking for two books I'd read—and loved—decades ago: Winter’s Tale by Mark Helprin and Little Big by John Crowley. My copies of both books date from the eighties. They’re falling apart. I was delighted to discover new editions of both titles. I sent them off to my brother, and you know, I just might replace my tattered volumes with new ones.

Make sure that readers who love your work can do that, too.

You may be interested in re-releasing your out-of-print opus, but think publishers won’t want it. Think again. These days, especially, publishers who are trying to satisfy the market’s insatiable desire for fiction are more than willing to look at your back list titles. In fact, they may recognize that they’ll have to invest less time and effort in a previously released book because it will have already been through one or more rounds of editing.

My debut novel Raw Silk has been through three publishers and four editions. My second novel (now re-titled as Miranda’s Masks) has had four editions, my third novel (The Heart of the Deal) three, my fourth novel Exposure, three. I’ve had publishers go bankrupt and others decide they didn’t want to publish erotica after all. In a few cases, I’ve reclaimed my rights because I wasn’t happy about my sales or the way the publisher was run. My goal has always been to keep all my novels available—whatever that required.

But I write short stories”, you may respond. “Nobody wants those.”

Not true. I recently published a 5K tale (a reprint) through an indie publisher who was actively seeking short fiction. You can also self-publish your stories, either individually or as a collection. In fact, since most anthologies ask for only one-time rights, you may be able to publish a short piece in multiple places.

If you really can’t find anyone to publish your tale, you can still make it available free, using it to introduce readers to your published work. That’s better than letting it languish in the dusty recesses of your computer memory! For instance, I just self-published Crowd Pleaser, a whole volume of free shorts from the vaults.

And what if your book was published so long ago that you don’t have the source in electronic form? As long as you have a physical copy, you can subject it to Optical Character Recognition (OCR), a process that uses image analysis to recognize typescript and turn it into digital text. OCR may produce a significant number of errors, so you will need to carefully review and revise the output. However, this process will allow you to create both ebook and print versions of a book that was previously available only in hard copy form.

One other outlet for your back list that you might want to consider is audio. If you create an audio book version of an old book, you'll have a new release to shout about. This might lead to some ebook or print sales as well.

Once your older work is available, you should spend time promoting it, at least occasionally. I’ll never forget the time in 2015 when I posted an excerpt from a book published way back in 2010. One reader told me in a comment that after reading my blog, she’d gone out and bought herself a copy. Talk about encouragement—I felt totally energized.

In short, there’s no reason why you can’t keep all (or most) of your back list in print and available to readers. The only real barriers are emotional. These days it’s sometimes hard to muster the motivation to do anything related to publishing or marketing. The obstacles seem insurmountable. Don’t allow yourself to become discouraged. There are legions of readers out there, searching for great fiction. Help them find yours!

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

First Kiss - #MFRWHooks #BDSM #EroticRomance #MFRWAuthor

Book Hooks Banner

For today’s hook, I’m sharing the first kiss from my favorite romance, The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. Be warned: even my first kisses tend to be at least R-rated!

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


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

Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky is not a woman who lets pleasure interfere with business, but when she meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she can’t resist his geeky appeal. Though Theo’s knowledge about sex derives from extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world experience, he is Rachel’s first true Master—and the first man to truly touch her heart.


The Hook

I told you to go easy on the champagne.”

I should have listened to you,” I admit. “But I was so nervous.”

I know,” she says. “I know. I think the stress had as much to do with your collapse as the alcohol.”

I nod. “I used to faint, back when I was at school—when things got really bad. When I couldn’t handle a situation, that was my final escape. Finally my parents pulled me out and got me a tutor. It hasn’t happened since.”

I’m sorry I pushed you so hard, Theo. I should have known better.”

Her hand claims mine, in a gesture so casual and natural it seems unconscious. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me? Still, remarkably, I have no urge to pull away.

You were doing so well, though. I was so proud of you.” She gives my fingers a squeeze. I squeeze back, amazed that I can be so comfortable with her touching me.

But now I’ve disappointed you, I imagine.” I try sitting up straighter. It’s awkward with only one hand free. I want to adjust the swollen lump pressing against my zipper, but of course I don’t dare. “And the donors—they’re probably all laughing their millionaire heads off at poor, pathetic Theo Moore.”

Not at all. Everyone was quite worried about you. Roger Varley wanted to call an ambulance, but I thought you’d really rather go home.”

You were right. Thank you. But how did you get me up to the second floor and into bed?”

It wasn’t easy.” Her whole face lights up when she laughs. “You’re a big guy. The gardener helped me bundle you up the stairs. I fished the key out of your trouser pocket.”

The concept of her hand wriggling into my pants, her heat warming my body—it’s too much. My cock surges, threatening a premature explosion. I’ve got to get Rachel Zelinsky out of here, before I really embarrass myself.

As gently as I can, not wanting to offend her, I pry my fingers away from hers. “Thank you for your help, Rachel. You can leave now. I’m fine. And it must be late.”

Only ten thirty. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere just yet.” She rises from her chair and perches on the edge of my bed, leaning in my direction, her bare shoulder mere inches from my tensed body. Her musky perfume envelopes me.

I draw a desperate breath. My cock quivers. Clearly my expensive, custom-tailored trousers are doomed.

No, Theo. You and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

I don’t know how she manages it. It happens too fast for me to analyze. Before I can react or protest, roll off the bed or wriggle away, she has straddled my waist, bent herself double and pressed her soft, firm lips to mine.

I freeze. I don’t dare move a muscle. My hands become claws as I fight the urge to seize her hips and thrust up against the warm fullness of her satin-clad bottom. It’s pure instinct. Nothing could have prepared me for its power. My only recourse is to tighten every muscle in my poor body and hold on.

Her mouth is gentle at first, teasing, exploring. She tastes like the champagne in which I overindulged. As she kisses me, joy bubbles up in my chest, despite the precarious state of my cock. I’m drunk on her nearness. When her agile tongue prods at my tightly compressed lips, I open to let her in, craving more of the scent, the flavor, the texture of Rachel Zelinsky.

My surrender appears to inflame her. Gathering me from the pillow, clutching me to her breast with surprisingly strong arms, she delves deeper. She sucks my tongue into the juicy recesses of her own mouth. I can’t help but think of her other warm, wet places.

Oh my God! I’m leaking into my boxers, poised on the edge of annihilation. It’s glorious, terrifying, sweeter and darker than I’d ever dreamed it could be. Rachel’s kisses steal my breath and my will. Meanwhile she’s swirling her hips in slow circles on my belly, her ripe ass brushing my hardness on each cycle.

The Gazillionaire and Virgin is available in ebook, print and audio.

Kinky Literature

Amazon US

Amazon UK

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Google Books


Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Review Tuesday: Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls by Debra Hyde - #Lesbian #SherlockHolmes #ReviewTuesday

Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls cover

Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls by Debra Hyde
Riverdale Avenue Books, 2013

In 1880’s New York, a dead body dumped in a Chinatown alley, outside an opium den, is nothing unusual. This body, however, belongs to a popular western doctor who has been treating the impoverished Chinese population for years. Furthermore, the murder seems especially vicious – an ice pick impaled at the base of the skull.

Still, the police have little interest in the case; they’re happy to let the yellow-skinned inhabitants of the Asian ghetto deal with their own problems. So the exotic Miss Tam, who was secretly married to the victim, is forced to seek the help of unconventional detective Charlotte Olmes.

Charlotte is a brilliant renegade who accepts cases only from female clients. She’s ready to venture into the foulest corners of the city in order to ferret out the truth. Though cross-dressing is viewed as scandalous in the late nineteenth century, Charlotte has no compunctions about donning male clothing, even sporting a mustache. Her assistant, companion, and lover Joanna Wilson is less bold, at least in public. In private, though, Miss Wilson proves to be as daring as Charlotte herself.

Together with their dedicated, gender-flexible manservant, Charlotte and Joanna unravel the clues, track down the villain who killed Miss Tam’s husband and help bring him to justice. The victory is bittersweet as Miss Tam is forced to conform to the constraints of her gender and culture. Charlotte and Joanna, on the other hand, enjoy an enviable freedom.

Of White Snakes and Misshaped Owls is the first book in Debra Hyde’s Charlotte Olmes mystery series. As suggested by her name, Charlotte is intended to be a female, lesbian version of Sherlock Holmes, with Joanna as her Dr. Watson. When I first heard about this series, I was very eager to sample it. I was first introduced to the Sherlock Holmes adventures in primary school, and I’ve been an avid fan ever since. Sherlock Holmes is one of those larger than life characters who invite riffs and spin-offs. Ms. Hyde’s premise seemed to hold great promise.

Unfortunately, Charlotte has little in common with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s immortal detective. In this book, at least, she doesn’t really demonstrate any exceptional powers of observation or deduction. Of course, this might be a consequence of the fact that the “mystery” in this novella is rather light-weight and indeed quite easily solved.

Furthermore, she’s not nearly moody or irascible enough to be compared to Holmes. Indeed, both she and Joanna seem too young to carry the weight of the Sherlock Holmes mythos. A female Holmes, to be convincing, should be in her forties, weathered and a bit cynical.

In short, I was a bit disappointed by this book. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it. The author does a fine job bringing 1880’s New York to life. She has captured the cadence of Victorian era English as well as the rough slang of the streets. I also liked the intense erotic interactions between Charlotte and Joanna, edged as they are with power exchange, although the sex scenes felt strangely isolated from the rest of the book. Charlotte and Joanna are lovers in the privacy of their home; elsewhere, they treat one another with rather unbelievable propriety.

I would have loved to see Joanna take Charlotte while they’re out on the streets gathering clues. I can imagine them in some seedy cul-de-sac, Joanna unbuttoning the fly of Charlotte’s trousers to slip her gloved hand inside. Or perhaps Charlotte would lay Joanna out on the chaise in some opium parlor in order to indulge in a different sort of drug... My imagination suggests endless lascivious possibilities.

Alas, none of these scenes appeared in this book of the series. I’ll admit to being somewhat curious about the others.

Monday, August 26, 2019

Heart and soul - #ContemporaryRomance #Giveaway #LifeLessons @lsimpsonauthor


Ben McTavish is besotted when he sees a vixen in striped leggings own a cringe-worthy moment and turn it into a hilarious bit. He can’t stop thinking about her even though he puts his foot in his mouth every time he tries to get to know her. Ben would love to spend some time with this woman who has captivated him, but he needs to get his farm established before the bank takes back the land.

Kate Bloomington is all about whipping her life into shape, including getting to know her grandmother who she is now caring for. When she meets Ben, also known as Saint McT since he helps all comers, she pushes him away. Somehow, he shows up at every inopportune moment, mortifying her and enticing her at the same time. She learns that he needs help as much as she does, and together they create a love that is unbreakable.


What’s on your mind?” he asked after I’d been standing at the kettle long after it had boiled.

Ah…” I muttered, caught off guard and not able to come up with a ready answer. Sensing my indecision, he turned me around then lifted me onto the kitchen bench, coming to stand between my legs. In this position, I was at his height, and I appreciated how handsome he was at this angle. His hair was even more mussed than usual, and I remembered I’d had my hands in it, holding him close as he’d made me come. His eyes looked into mine, and they were open and appreciative with a hint of a smile. He wasn’t laughing at me, but I sensed he knew the direction of my thoughts.

Tell me what you want, Kate,” he said quietly as his gaze dropped to my lips.

You. I want you. And I want you to stay, but I don’t know what to do about it.” The words fell out of my mouth as I looked at his lips that were now giving me a sexy smile.

Why don’t you know what to do? Ask me.”

You might think I’m easy.”


You might think I’m going to put out, and I want to but I… maybe… don’t know what I’m doing. And I think you do,” I said. I didn’t see the point in lying. He could be trusted with the truth.

Well, what happens if I say yes? Do you think I’m easy and will put out?” he murmured as he rubbed my thighs.

Of course not,” I answered.

And how do you know I know what I’m doing?”

Because I’m on fire when you look at me, and when you touch me, I’m only seconds away from coming apart.”

As I said this, he sucked in a breath, like what I said hit a target he didn’t know he had.

Will you stay with me?” I whispered right before I kissed him. It started slow and sweet, until his tongue slipped into my mouth, and tangled with mine. Then he increased the intensity. Before long I was clinging to him, needing more, desperate for contact.

About the Author

As a girl growing up in Australia, Laura was lost in the world of Anne of Green Gables and Little Women. During high school, volleyball dominated her life. There had to be something positive about being 6’1” with red hair. Representing Australia from a young age she eventually took a scholarship at the University of Iowa. Living in America and being a full time athlete in a college town was an eye-opening experience and lots of fun (from what she can remember). #gohawkeyes

Returning from the States, her career took a different turn as she started working at the Red Cross and completed her Masters of Law in Human Rights. As one of the few non-lawyers in the class, her essays were far more floral than the rest, something that caused the discerning professors to shake their heads. Through working and studying, she realised there are other ways to win hearts and minds.

While she’s spent the last 14 years as an advocate against poverty and homelessness, the desire to change the world through storytelling has only got stronger. She now lives in the Alpine Valleys of North East Victoria, Australia with her husband, daughter, son, two dogs and seven chooks. When she’s not doing the whole mum thing, working at a homelessness agency, renovating her farmhouse, or trying to do laundry bleary-eyed at midnight, she is writing.

Say G’day to Laura:

twitter: @lsimpsonauthor

instagram: @lsimpsonauthor

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L. Simpson will be awarding $10 Boroughs Bucks to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Sunday, August 25, 2019

Charity Sunday: Room to Read - #CharitySunday #Literacy #BlogHop

Charity Sunday banner

Nearly two years ago, I dedicated a Charity Sunday post to Room to Read.

Room to Read is an organization promoting literacy, education and gender equality worldwide, but especially in lower income countries. Since it was founded in 2000, Room to Read has constructed over 1,900 schools and established more than 17,000 libraries. The charity has published more than 1,100 original local language children’s titles and distributing over 15.5 million books. More than 31,000 girls have received enhanced educational opportunities and life skills training. Overall, Room to Read has impacted the lives of more than 10 million children, in places like Laos, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tanzania, Cambodia and South Africa.

I got an incredible response to that post. I’m guessing this is because people who follow my blog love to read as much as I do, and deeply appreciate the importance of literacy. Books are our joy; we want to share that joy.

So my post today is a reprise. For each comment I receive on this post, between now and next month, I will donate one dollar to Room to Read. If you’re here, reading this – please take a minute or two to comment. It doesn’t cost you a penny to do a bit of good for the world.

Today is also our first attempt at making Charity Sunday into a multi-author event. After my usual excerpt, you’ll find a list of links to the sites of other authors who are participating today. Note that each individual author chooses his or her own charity to support, and decides how much to donate. I’m just the organizer!

Speaking of excerpts, here’s a sexy bit from my recently released erotic romance The Heart of the Deal. Not much reading going on here – but it’s definitely about female empowerment!

My father always recommended physical activity as an antidote to stress. So, here I am at Proscenium, lately my favorite club. I need to move, to dance, perhaps to indulge in more specialized exercise.

Proscenium is housed in a remodeled movie house from the forties. The stage has been extended out to become a dance floor. A carved and gilded ceiling arches high overhead, crisscrossed by multicolored lasers. With the seats removed, the sloping orchestra pit gives one a slightly dangerous feeling of vertigo. Like the stage, it is packed with writhing bodies clothed in vinyl, spandex, fake fur, and leather. I see a good deal of bare skin as well.

The main balcony is equipped with a bar and crowded with wobbly tables and chairs. The curtained side balconies are also open, available for more private encounters.

I am in my Asian bitch goddess mode. I have pulled my hair back into a long, tight ponytail that hangs down to my waist. I am wearing butter-soft, black leather: laced vest, miniskirt, stiletto-heeled boots, broad studded belt. From that belt hangs an elegant little flogger, a statement and an invitation. My eyelids are silver and my lips are scarlet. I am gorgeous, I know, an exotic vision of female power.

I stride into the churning mass of dancers on the stage and begin to dance. The music pulses, alien and compelling. Techno is not usually to my taste, but tonight it suits my mood.
Swirling, grinding my hips, flicking my hair from side to side, bathing in the heat of the flesh around me, I am beginning to feel better. Richard Martell had best beware if he plans on crossing Ruby Chen.

Part of me is lost in the beat and the movement. But I am also scanning the crowd, seeking an appropriate partner. I notice him just as he sees me. He is a bear of a man, with lush black hair and a beard. He’s dressed in medieval mode, a flowing shirt of royal blue whose open-laced neck shows more hair on his chest. Riding boots, leather wrist-cuffs, a chain-mail bag at his waist. Despite his size, he moves well. His tight suede leggings show off his muscled thighs. As I hold his gaze, I also can see the telltale swelling at his groin.

With the slightest motion of my head, I summon him to me. He towers above me, despite my four inch heels, but when I fix my eyes on his, he cannot sustain the contact. Instead, he looks down at the instrument of punishment on my belt, half-fearful, half-eager. He licks his lips.

Let’s dance,” I say, more a command than a suggestion. He nods, and we begin to move together.

I shake my shoulders, my hips. Thrust my breasts forward, so that the thong lacings part and he can see the shadowy valley of my cleavage. My body is close to his, close enough for me to smell his nervous sweat, but I do not allow us to touch. My crotch dampens. That familiar, demanding ache rises in my sex. I trail my fingers through the air, across his body, a hair’s breadth from his bulking erection. So little space between us—does he catch the musky scent of my desire?

I lean a little closer, so that he can hear me over the whine of the synthesizer. “You were staring at my whip. Do you like it?”

Underneath his beard, he blushes. He nods, reluctant but obviously excited.

Do you want it?” I ask, pushing him further. “You will have to earn it, you know.”

The music is too loud for me to catch his response. But I see his answer in his face.

Come with me, then.” I turn and slink toward the side corridor, heading for one of the private balconies. I do not look back, but I can feel him following me, sense his eyes on the tight leather that sheathes my hips.

When he parts the velvet curtains, I am already ready for him, sitting on one chair, legs apart with a booted foot on each of two others.

Remove your shirt. And kneel.”

He does not require more explicit instructions. He pulls his lovely blue tunic over his head. His torso is powerful and darkly furred. His bulk making him a bit clumsy, he lowers himself to the appropriate position between my thighs, then looks up at me for further orders.

Buy Links for The Heart of the Deal

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Please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts, and share the gift of reading. Then I hope you’ll visit the other authors who are participating this Sunday.

Here's the direct link to the Calendar Girls post: