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
Barnes and Noble
Add on Goodreads
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:
Here's the direct link to the Calendar Girls post: