Sunday Snog #146: Exposure (F/F excerpt)

The new edition of Exposure is now available from Excessica. I'm so impressed - they actually got Barnes and Noble to release it the same day as everyone else!

So of course I have a snog from the book for you today. My heroine Stella is bi, and this is an F/F excerpt. I hope you like it.

When you're done here, hop over to Victoria's for more sweet and sexy weekend kisses!

Oh, and to celebrate the release, I'm doing a giveaway. Leave a comment with your email address and I'll throw your name into the hat for a $10 Amazon gift certificate.

Get your copy of Exposure today:
 
Amazon US

Amazon CA

Amazon UK

Barnes and Noble

I smell her before I see her. She must have freshened her perfume when she changed. And certainly she has changed. Her stylish but severe suit has been replaced by a black velour lounging outfit, a loose tunic and flowing pants. Her hair is a mass of damp curls, as if she just toweled it after a shower. She has exchanged her fashionable mauve lipstick for bright red. She looks ten years younger, and I have to admit, incredibly desirable. The velvety fabric of her outfit just cries out to be touched.

She notices me looking at the folders. “Those are Tony’s files on the campaign. I left them out for you. There are draft speeches, position papers, notes on people and places, ideas for campaign activities.” She glides across the polished wood floor and stands behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders. “I always told him he should get a tablet or at least a smart phone, but in some ways he was very old-fashioned.” Her breath is warm on my neck. She lifts the heavy veil of my hair and brushes her lips over the sensitive skin behind my ear. Hot blood rushes to my earlobes, my nipples, my sex.

“For example, he liked old-fashioned girls, with plenty of curves.” Now her hands are cupping my breasts, her thumbs gently massaging the nubs that protrude even through three layers of bra, blouse, and jacket. She flicks her tongue along the line of my jaw. I gasp at the answering lightning that arcs through my body. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Stella?”

She’s taking control, gentle but determined. Oh, how I long to give in to her! I want to sink into her, drown myself in her kisses, lose myself in her strength. I’m so tense, vibrating between fear and desire, that I’m ready to scream.

She grasps my chin, turns my face to hers, her lips already parted and ready. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the pile of folders. This is not why I’m here, I think, as her mouth fastens on mine and her tongue probes me. But I can’t seem to resist her.

Her lipstick is cherry-flavored, which almost makes me laugh. Then I gasp as she slides a bold hand up the inside of my thigh. She finds the bare skin at the top of my stocking. “Mmm,” she murmurs, nibbling at my lips. “A garter belt. So traditional. So sexy. You’re such a delicious, old-fashioned slut.”

That word, from her, is too much of a shock. The tortured Barbie leaps into my mind. My whole body stiffens. Hoping that I am not insulting her, I push her away and stand up hurriedly. A spike of pain skewers my ankle at the sudden weight.

“No, Francesca. We agreed that our relationship had to be platonic if we were going to work together. You think today was bad, just think of the circus if the press found out that we were lovers.”

Francesca smiles weakly. “Well, we’d get the gay vote.” She sighs, and brushes my hair out of my eyes. “But I suppose that you’re right. For now we need to keep our hands off each other. It’s so difficult to resist you, though.” She gazes longingly at my bare throat, where my blouse has come unbuttoned. Then she straightens and smoothes her tunic. I watch her face rearrange itself, from eager lust to calculated firmness. The liquid warmth in her eyes freezes to a glittering hardness.

“I’m so lonely, Stella. I apologize for trying to seduce you, but since—that night—being alone has just been unbearable. I’m strong, though. You know that. I’ll make sure that it doesn’t happen again, if that’s what you want.”

“You know what I want.” I recognize her play for sympathy, but I feel sorry for her anyway. “I just don’t think that’s what’s best for us right now. For either of us.”

Don't forget to leave a comment!

Back List Blast: Bangkok Noir

Bangkok Noir by Lisabet Sarai

BDSM erotic suspense

Dark desires flourish in the glittering City of Angels...

Diana Fanning, aka the Professor, runs The Academy, the only genuine BDSM bar in Bangkok. She's the first person police colonel Apichat Weeranwongsakul consults when a bar girl turns up brutally murdered, tightly bound, with clamped nipples and every orifice stuffed with sex toys. The colonel figures the killer might be one of her customers. But he has his own secrets. He needs Diana to satisfy his shameful dreams of being beaten and abused. Meanwhile, a mysterious American named Sam stalks Nok, the lovely natural dominant who is the Professor's star performer. Nok is used to being the one in charge. She can't understand why she craves the discipline Sam administers.

As more women are slaughtered, always in kinky circumstances, the Professor finds herself in an exclusive world catering to the perversions of Bangkok's wealthy and well-connected. Simultaneously looking for evidence and satisfying her own lusts, she doesn't realize until too late that the power she's used to wielding won't save her from becoming the serial murderer's next victim. 

 

Excerpt 

I picked up the little whip that Ajarn gave me to use in my act and swirled the thongs lazily around above my head. Then I stuck it between my thighs and rubbed it back and forth. Mmm. I could smell myself, as I got more and more wet.

I checked my audience. Everyone was watching me. I chose first one man, then another. I stared at each one until he was too embarrassed and lowered his head. I didn 't smile, just stared. Letting them know with my eyes that I was in charge. The boss lady.

At the end of the row of benches, I noticed somebody new. A handsome farang with hair the color of straw, wearing business clothes that looked expensive. He smiled at me, a strange smile that made me feel like I was naked.

Of course, my costume doesn't hide very much. Normally, that gives me a feeling of power. Maybe I will allow them to see the hidden parts. Maybe not.

With this man, it didn't matter what I was wearing. I felt like he could see right through my clothing. Like he could see every bit of me, even if I wore street clothes. My nipples started to ache, and my G-string got more slippery than ever.

For the first time since I started working for Ajarn, I was nervous. I stumbled on my spiky heels. I almost lost my balance. Luckily, I was able to turn the mistake into a sexy dip that showed off my bare rear. Most of the customers didn't notice.

The blond man was not fooled.

My heart was beating so hard that it hurt. When I finished my dancing time, I ran into the toilet and splashed some water on my face. I crouched down, my back against the wall, listening to the chatter of the other girls. My eyes closed, I tried to follow my breathing, the way the monks taught me. All I could see was the farang looking at me, with that X-ray stare of his, like something from a science fiction movie.

I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. I knew Ajarn would notice if I was gone too long. Finally, I had to go back out. I peeked out from behind the curtains, trying to see if he was still there. When I saw that his seat was empty, I sighed with relief.

I headed toward the bar to get a Coke. My throat was tight and dry. Then I felt a hand on my arm. It was him. His skin was so cool, it made me shiver.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. His voice was kind, and made me think of music. Still, I felt something like terror. He stared at me without blinking. Now it was me who had to look away.

Ajarn was on the other side of the room, watching us. I couldn't refuse.

"Thank you, sir. Just a moment. I go get a Coke, come back right away."

"Let me go with you," he said smoothly. He took my arm and walked me to the bar. After we got our drinks, he guided me to a table in the corner.

"Sit," he ordered. I didn't want to, not really. But what could I do? I clicked my glass against his. "Chok dee," I said. "Good luck to you."

His smile made me feel like I had eaten a meal of live butterflies. "Same to you. What's your name?"

"My name Nok. What your name?"

"You can call me Sam," he said. "Nok is bird, right?"

I nodded. He brushed my long hair off my shoulders and down my back. Then he took my chin in his hand. He raised my eyes to meet his again. I felt like I was captured. Trapped.

"Very appropriate. You're as delicate and airy as a sparrow."

I thought of those caged birds they sell at the temples. You set the birds free to make merit, but they always return to their masters.

Without warning, he kissed me. His lips were as soft as his voice, at least at first. I thought I should stop him, though. I tried to pull away. His right hand held my mouth against his. His left arm wrapped around my waist. I couldn't move.

So I gave up. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth and suck the breath from me. The funny thing was, as soon as I gave in to him, I began to like it. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne. He tasted like his whiskey. I could feel that he was strong, much stronger than he looked, with his slim body and fancy clothes.
He kissed me harder, biting my lip. I felt like I was melting. He let go of my chin and played with my breasts through the stretchy mesh. My sex was on fire against the hot, sticky leather.

Suddenly, he pinched one of my nipples, digging in his fingernails. His mouth smothered my cry of surprise and pain. After the pain, though, I felt amazing pleasure, shooting up my spine like lightning.

"You like that, Nok." My English is only so-so, but I could tell he wasn't asking a question. He was telling me. And he was right.

I was terribly embarrassed. I wanted him to do it again.

He bent me backwards. My hair nearly brushed the floor. He put his mouth on the other nipple and sucked. I felt like his mouth was between my legs, sucking me there. It was heaven. I reached up, wanting to stroke him, but he pushed my hands away.

Then, when I was not expecting it, he sank his teeth into my flesh. Everything went dark for an instant. Then pain exploded in me, brilliant as the sun. I was burning up, but I wanted to burn.

When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. That strange smile was on his face, but he also looked worried. "That's enough for tonight, Nok," he murmured. "I have an appointment elsewhere. But I will come back for you, soon."

I was too dazed to say anything. He stuffed a thousand baht note into the cup with the bill, to cover two one hundred baht drinks, and stood to leave. I grabbed his shirt. Not thinking, but not wanting him to go.

"Please, sir..."

He flicked his thumb across one of my aching nipples. Delicious echoes of pain rippled through me. "Be patient, Nok. Be patient and wait. Now is not your time."

Before I could say or do anything more, he was gone. I sat on the stool, confused. Ashamed. Frustrated. Sticky and dirty and smelling like a whorehouse. I buried my face in my hands, almost ready to cry.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Your turn to dance again," said Lin. I nodded and stood up. I was still shaking.

"Who was that guy?" she asked. She knew that something was wrong with me.

"Just a guy," I said. I made myself sound uninterested. "Just a customer."

I paid my respects to the shrine in the corner, then climbed back onto the pedestal. I began to dance, showing off my whip to customers. Trying to look like I was in control. 

Get your hands on this dark, sexy novella today!

A F/F Snog from Nasty Business

Books We Love has just released Nasty Business, a BDSM erotic novel with something for everyone...!

The book includes M/f, F/m and F/f scenes - even a little bit of M/M. It also offers several romantic relationships, though it doesn't fit the classic romance mold because there's too much action involving secondary characters.

Anyway, I've decided to pull this week's snog from the new book. Furthermore, I'm giving away a free copy to one lucky person who comments! Don't forget to leave your email address.

Oh, and you can read another snog from the book - M/F - here!

Once you've read and commented, slide over to Victoria Blisse's page and sample the other snogs from this week's authors!

Blurb

All's fair in lust and business

Ruby Maxwell Chen, lovely and ruthless CEO of a huge British business empire, is used to getting her way. When she encounters the strangely charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match.

From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. Neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth the path to success. Neither anticipates that their mutual attraction will turn into something far more intense and difficult to control.

As their struggle for dominance escalates, they draw their employees and associates into their outrageous power games. The stakes could scarcely be higher, as Ruby and Rick play for the ultimate prize: a night of total physical surrender.
 
Excerpt

The sun bakes my skin. I can feel the rays tracing paths of heat across my shoulders, my buttocks, my calves. It is soothing, soporific. I find myself drifting, my thoughts comfortably vague, my body washed in appealing sensation. I'm half-dreaming, remembering Liu's caresses, hearing his suggestive whispers.

A sharp floral scent teases me awake. I turn toward Luna. She lies on her side, chin propped on her hand, watching me with an intensity that sends electricity up my spine. I trace the sinuous line of her body with my eyes, admiring the way her hips flow away from her waist and then recede into the gentler curves of her thighs. Her arms and legs are fleeced with golden down that stirs slightly in the moving air. One platinum tress hangs over her shoulder and dangles between her breasts.

My chest is tight with nervousness, yet there is a dream-like inevitability about all of this. Luna lets her hand trail over her body, brushing her nipples on the way down to the cleft between her thighs and sending a bolt of lightning to my sex. Her pubic hair is so fair that her mound almost seems naked. Her coral-hued lips are clearly visible, even before she parts them with her fingers.  Her gaze holds mine as her hand travels upward again, smearing her juices over her belly, pinching the swollen buds of her nipples. It is I who moans when she inserts one sticky finger into her mouth and sucks upon it.

"You're so beautiful, Margaret," she murmurs, dipping once again into the well of honey between her legs. "I want you so much. Don't you want me?" She holds her hand out to me, appealing, almost waif-like. Without thinking, I take her proffered fingers into my mouth.

Her taste is simultaneously strange and familiar. Pungent, salty, rich, wild, embarrassing and forbidden. My own juices spill over in response. She sees the evidence of my excitement and smiles at my silent answer.  Lightly, she gathers a droplet from my thighs and licks it off her finger. Her eyes close as she savors me, and I am reminded of some flaxen-haired medieval angel, consumed by mystic ecstasy. 
Sudden, fierce lust shatters my dreamy composure. I want her, want to take her, use her, devour her.

Slipping off my chaise, I kneel at her side and take her face in my hands. Then I suck her into a long, violent kiss that leaves us both breathless. With one hand I am twisting her nipple, while the other probes her drenched pussy. I've never done anything like this before, and yet I know what I am doing, know from touching myself how to touch her.

Luna whimpers under my assault, arches her body and tries to force my fingers deeper insider her. "Oh, yes, please, yes…"

"You like this, Luna?" She can't answer, she's too far gone, but I know that I am giving her what she wants. I've found the slippery nub of her clit. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, kneading and twisting, pulling until her hips rise right off the chaise trying to follow. I am not gentle; she does not want gentleness.

I release her clit, giving her a moment's respite, then press my palm against her mound and push all four fingers into her cunt. She screams and I feel the shudders gathering in her flesh. I remove my hand completely. She whimpers in frustration, then sighs as I slip my index finger back into her folds and wiggle it playfully.

Her depths are lined with slick velvet. As I explore her, she shivers and moans. "More, please! More!" I lean down and take a cherry nipple between my lips, marveling at the nubby texture of the swollen flesh against my tongue. So sweet, so juicy, I cannot help biting down on that lush morsel. Luna yells and writhes against my hand. She grabs it by the wrist and tries to force all my fingers into her soaked cunt.

"Nasty girl," I say, pulling away from her. Her nipples pout insolently. On a whim, I slap one breast with an open palm. My own skin stings as I watch hers redden. Her eyes are closed, her lips half-open. As an experiment, I lay stinging blow on the opposite breast. Her pelvis jerks and grinds in response.

 She wants it hard, wants it rough. I see this with sudden clarity. And I want to give it to her.

Don't Fight Your Nature

After years of struggle, I've finally learned that lesson.

I always envied the girls with long, straight hair. Alas, that just isn't me. I am fortunate (I know now) to have thick, curly, sometimes frizzy, hair that just doesn't want to be tamed. I spent my high school years ironing my locks (yes, that isn't just an urban myth), though my mom drew the line at chemical straighteners (thank goodness). It didn't help much. Somehow my hair always grew sideways as much as down!

But what about my head shot?  Looks pretty straight there, doesn't it? Part of that is due to air brushing. (That picture was taken long before Photoshop existed!) Part was due to the fact that I was still recovering from anorexia, which caused a lot of my hair to fall out. So for a few years my hair wasn't quite as bushy.

Pretty soon, though, I was back to normal...

Anyway, in the last decade or so, I've run up the white flag. I now have my hair cut shoulder length or shorter, using techniques that enhance the curl. When I first come home from the salon, my head is a mass of ringlets. And I love it. It's easy to care for - I just wash it and let it air dry, and the curl reappears all on its own. I've finally found a hair style that's compatible with my natural endowment.

I think a lot of writers increase their stress level because they try to fight their natural tendencies. Some of my colleagues struggle to write explicit sex scenes because they believe that's what the market wants - but they really hate the process. They're not comfortable, but they force themselves, and lose the joy of the writing in the process. Then there are the authors who decide they must write BDSM, because that's what's hot, post-Fifty-Shades. Doesn't matter that they've never been spanked or bound, and never wanted to be - they feel compelled to write in that genre, usually with less than stellar results. I think this is misguided. Some people are naturally vanilla, I believe. There are plenty of readers who fall into that category too.

Then there's me. I'm polymorphous perverse, interested in sexuality in all its forms - gay, lesbian, menage, male dominant, female dominant, fetish, and lots of other niche interests that might shock you if I were to enumerate them.  And I like to mix it all up in the same story, when I can.

But readers have told me they don't want M/F interaction in a M/M story. I've gotten some feedback that the majority of romance fans, at least, find F/F interactions "icky". If they find that icky - good Lord, how would they react to some of my more extreme fantasies?

Lately, though, I've decided that I'm not going to fight my nature. I'm going to give myself permission to follow the dictates of my imagination. If I turn some readers off - well, they'd probably be lukewarm about my more restrained pieces as well. My best stories are the ones where I explore what I find intriguing and arousing. And that's pretty varied.

So I've given myself permission to include some F/F interaction in my current WIP, even though it's intended for a romance audience and is primarily a M/F/M menage. After more than a dozen years writing and publishing, it's time for me to follow my natural inclinations.

The Dom with a Safeword

By Cari Silverwood (Guest Blogger)

The Dom with a Safeword is out. We released it early due to the big US Hurricane Sandy. This is my first ménage story, first Mff story, and first completely fictional contemporary BDSM story. Well…fictional apart from the characters as they’re loosely based on people we know. This book was written with Leia Shaw, a best-selling PNR writer, and Sorcha Black. We each took a character. I was called on to be the ‘sexpert’ lol. Leia Shaw was the dialogue and humor expert – because she’s a natural smartass herself – and Sorcha Black was our new-to-publishing, but up-and-coming great writer. None of us are contemporary writers normally.

One of the joys I discovered was opening up the doc for the story and finding that the story had moved on without me. The quirks of the people we wrote slowly unfurled and crept out from under the bed without me doing much at all. It was like opening a birthday present most days and added to the whole experience of writing. It helped a lot that we knew exactly who these people were that we were writing. We knew how they ticked and what they’d do when faced by different dilemmas.

I wrote the Dom, Jude. Leia wrote the innocent submissive, Sabrina, who is new to both BDSM and girl-on-girl. And Sorcha Black wrote the bisexual switch Q, who hates her real name and rarely tells it. Both the girls are what is called a brat in the BDSM world – they tend to open their mouths and get themselves in trouble. To them, that adds spice and fun to the relationship.

Be prepared for a bit of humor with this book. We were determined to make Jude like a real man – with a proper sense of humor. He’s not perfect and he can laugh at his mistakes, sometimes. Which times those are may vary greatly so there’s an even chance you’d get your ass spanked for being all smartass to him.

Let’s hear from Q.

Q gave her an exasperated look then released her. “Smartass.”

“You already said that.” Sabrina collected her equipment off the ground.

“You go through life in a perpetual state of smartassery.”

Sabrina handed Q her photography gear, thankful her friend had experience and was willing, for the most part, to help her. “Only for you, sexy.” She winked.

Her extreme smartassery, even when she really needs to hold her tongue, means Sabrina gets around with a red backside for much of the book. But I don’t think she minds as much as she lets on.

Blurb

Late at night, on an amateur ghost hunt, Sabrina and her best friend Q are caught trespassing by the gorgeous, blonde Jude. The embers of attraction between them sizzle when they discover Jude’s kinks match their own. Jude is a Dom on his last summer of freedom before starting the prison sentence that is med school. Q is a badass bi switch who knows what she wants, and for years it’s been her cute, doe-eyed straight friend Sabrina. But the only way for Q to get into Sabrina’s heart and panties may be with Jude’s fist wrapped in her hair.

Domming the bratty Q and mischievous Sabrina isn’t going to be easy but Jude relishes the challenge. At the end of the summer, will they find a way to stay together when everything is tearing them apart?

So here’s an excerpt to show you a bit of the naughtiness and humor from the Dom with a Safeword.

***

“Do you think he’s ever going to take his pants off?” Sabrina whispered in Q’s ear. “Maybe he shares his penis with another guy and today wasn’t his day to use it.”

“I kept the jeans on so I wouldn’t rush things,” Jude replied, slapping Sabrina’s ass.

“Well it’s not exactly rushing anymore. Both of us are naked, so how is this fair?” she retorted, gesturing at the offending article of clothing.

“I’m the dominant, so I get to make the rules.” His head tilted in a look of smug amusement.

“Fuck that!” Q knelt up on the window seat, leaned over Sabrina and pulled at the button of his jeans. “This is a mutiny, Captain!”

After wriggling free, Sabrina tried to hold him still while he batted away Q’s hands. They had just managed to get the button untied, when he dragged both of them over to sit on his lap. They didn’t quite fit, but he didn’t give them the option of getting up.

“Hold your hair up, both of you,” he ordered.

Looking askance at each other, they complied. The sensation of his breath rippling over Q’s neck sent shivers up into her hair. His mouth latched onto the place where her neck and shoulder met, and Q sighed in contentment. Sucking and nibbling on their necks and shoulders, he held them still for his enjoyment. Eventually he let them go so they could participate.

Sabrina sucked on Q’s bottom lip then trailed tiny kisses down to her chin, past her neck, to her breast. She paused as though she was having an internal debate. Slowly, she backed off Jude’s lap onto the cushion. She shifted onto her hands and knees, grazing Q’s nipple with her lips and making her groan. Her pink tongue darted out, licking the very tip. She looked up at Q mischievously, her ass wiggling.

Both she and Jude eyed Sabrina’s backside with interest, smiling at each other when they realized they were doing it simultaneously. Q’s smile became a gasp as something warm and wet engulfed her nipple. She watched in fascination as Sabrina’s sucking and nipping mouth alternated between her breasts. Her tongue investigated Q’s piercings. Enraptured, Q ran her fingers though Sabrina’s silky hair, the slide of it through her hands sensuous. The elastic that had been holding it when they were painting hung tenuously onto the bottom of a lock of hair, and she tossed it aside.

***

You can find buy links and a longer excerpt at:

http://www.carisilverwood.net/the-dom-with-a-safeword-sample.html

Link to my website: http://www.carisilverwood.net/

My facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/cari.silverwood

Sunday Snog: An F/F Scene from Exposure

Hello, everyone!

I was working on another blog post, when I came across this very sexy scene from my erotic thriller Exposure. This book is not romance - it has an ambivalent ending and includes both M/F and F/F sexual interactions - but I still think it's one of the best things I've written.

After you've finished here at Beyond Romance, click on over to Victoria's Snog Central for more lip-to-lip action!

"Tell me more, Stella. I want to know everything." She leans forward, her tears gone.

Her eagerness makes me suspicious. Why in the world should I trust her? She has every reason to hate me, the floozy who was with her husband when he was murdered.

"That's it. After that – there was just two dead bodies and a lot of blood." I remember how Tony looked, empty, all his life and power gone. At the time I was too shocked to know I was afraid, but now the horror hits me, full force. I am confused and dizzy, and suddenly I am shaking again, my breath coming in gasps, close to hysteria.

I feel her arms around me. She's comforting me now; my head is on her chest. "Hush, Stella, it's okay. Don't worry. It's over. You're safe. It's terrible, but now you're safe."

I'm sobbing, gulping in air, trying to get control of myself. Still I notice that her breast is pleasantly round and firm beneath my cheek. Her scent envelops me in a sensuous cloud. She runs her fingers through my hair, working out the tangles, while she croons in my ear. I begin to feel a bit better, and then suddenly, she slips her hand inside my robe and begins to stroke my breast with cool, delicate fingers.

I raise my head and look into her eyes. Her lips curve into a half-smile. She leans down and kisses me, open-mouthed. I kiss her back.

It is as if I am watching myself from a distance. I feel the sensations, her smooth skin, her minty taste, the tickle of her hair as she bends to suck on my nipples. I can't understand why her touch arouses me so much. I'm still afraid, still suspicious, but the sensation of her tongue prodding my swollen flesh pushes everything else into the background. She nips at me. My cunt contracts into a tight knot, aching to be undone. She laps more gently, circling my nipples with her tongue. My sex relaxes, opens, trembles waiting for her next assault.

I am eager, wet and ready when her fingers find my cleft. I clutch desperately at her dress, arching my back and humping myself against her hand while she plays with my tits. She finds my rigid clit and works it with her thumb while her fingers play in my pussy. I squeeze my eyes shut, grinding against her, reaching for the climax that seems only a breath away. Pleasure washes over me, each wave more powerful than the last. Her fingers strum and stroke. My whole body vibrates with sensation, ready to shake itself apart, as I teeter on the edge for what feels like forever.

I feel all this and yet I am far away, wondering who this woman is, wondering why she wants to give me pleasure and why I am allowing her to. My orgasm is shattering and yet it seems to occur behind a wall of glass. I am divided from myself in a way that is totally foreign to me. It's a little frightening.

None of it seems real again until I find myself slumped in the chair, still panting, my robe hanging open, my thighs sticky. The kitchen reeks of sex. Francesca seems cool and collected. She smiles enigmatically and finishes her scotch.

Weekend at Wilderhope Manor

Today I'm featuring a new release by my good friend Lucy Felthouse. Weekend at Wilderhope Manor is a spooky, sexy F/F story - just in time for Halloween!

Blurb:

When Stephanie and Jenny go to a Murder Mystery Halloween weekend at Wilderhope Manor, they’re expecting fun and games. But following creaky floorboards, spooky noises and an alarming encounter in the Manor’s grounds, the girls begin to wonder if there’s more to Wilderhope Manor than meets the eye. As they find frequent comfort in one another’s arms – and their bed – will the girls discover what’s causing the bumps in the night, or will they run scared?

Excerpt:

The car trundled up the long driveway, the crunching of gravel beneath tyres the only sound as Stephanie and her girlfriend, Jenny, peered out of the windows at their surroundings.

Even at dusk the tree-lined driveway was impressive with perfectly maintained parkland, spanning for acres on either side of it. As Stephanie steered the Fiesta around a bend in the track, they both gasped. Their destination, Wilderhope Manor, had come into view and it was stunning. The Tudor style property was huge, with no less than three frontages visible from where they were. Chimneys with intricately built patterns jutted into the darkening sky, with tangles of ivy climbing parts of the manor, giving the place an appearance that was both beautiful and foreboding.

Presently, the driveway opened out into a gravelled area, which as far as Stephanie could tell, doubled as a car park for the weekend. Stephanie manoeuvred into a spot between two vehicles and killed the engine. As she turned to Jenny, she jumped, startled. Her girlfriend had leaned in close, making a scary face with her hands mimicking claws.

“Are you ready to be scared out of your wits, young lady?” Jenny rasped, wiggling her eyebrows and fingers theatrically.

Stephanie shoved her playfully, laughing. “Come on, you silly cow. It’s a murder mystery weekend, not a monster hunt. There will be no ghosts, ghouls or vampires involved.”

Stephanie got out of the car and closed the door. She’d already popped open the boot and started unloading their bags before Jenny appeared alongside her, pouting petulantly.

“But it’s Halloween tomorrow,” Jenny insisted. “Anything could happen. The veil between the living and dead will be at its thinnest, and this place is meant to be swarming with ghosts.”

“If you say so, sweetheart,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She was used to Jenny’s crazy beliefs by now. “Grab your bags and let’s get inside. It’s cold. You got the tickets?”

Jenny nodded, brandishing her handbag in response. Jenny picked up her overnight bag as Stephanie slammed the boot lid before locking the car, then followed her toward the grand entrance to Wilderhope Manor.

* * *

A little while later, they were installed in their room. They’d each been handed a “Welcome Pack” by the staff member who had attended to them at Reception, which consisted of their itinerary and instructions for the weekend.

As they unpacked, she voiced one of the thoughts that had run through her head. “Have you ever noticed how places never bat an eye at two girls sharing a room, and yet, if it’s two guys, they automatically assume they’re gay?”

“They’ll soon change their tune when they see your outfit for tonight!” Jenny replied, grinning cheekily at her. “It screams ‘lesbian’ with every stitch!”

“Whatever do you mean, you saucy wench? Someone with girl parts dressing as a distinguished gentleman does not a lesbian make.”

“True, but I wonder what it’ll do to you? Perhaps it’ll work in reverse and turn you straight!”

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*****

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. You can also find her on Facebook and Twitter.

Clean Slate: Excerpt

Engaged to a wealthy, solicitous businessman, Ally is putting her old life in the gang behind her. But Luisa, the voluptuous laser technician who removes Ally's gang tattoos, makes Ally wonder whether she's making the right choice.

****

At first, she'd been Ms. Sanchez and I'd been Ms. Wells. Now, after four months, two days a week, she was practically a member of my family. Hell, I trusted her a lot more than family. Not that she'd told me much about her life or questioned me about mine, but I'm sure she recognized the Gothic letters inscribed at the back of my neck, the designs on my knuckles and in the crook of my elbow. She was an expert. She didn't need to ask.

Those tats were long gone. For the last four weeks, Luisa had been working patiently at the image that sprawled across my right shoulder and breast. My devil woman.

I called her Lilith. She had huge tits with red-grape nipples and a glorious fat ass. Her skin was black velvet. Her pomegranate lips parted to show pointed teeth that gleamed with my natural paleness. Lilith lounged naked on my chest, luxuriant jet curls tumbling across my shoulder, the globe of her butt coinciding with the meager swell of my own tit. Lilith grasped a steel-blue sword in one hand and a hank of chain in the other. Nobody fucked with Lilith.

I remembered her birth, long hours staring at the grimy ceiling, listening to the hum of the freeway traffic above, trying not to flinch as the needle bit into my flesh. No anesthetic in that joint; I was lucky if they sterilized the needles. Not that I cared, back then. The Westwood clinic where Luisa worked was a different world. It had private rooms with spotless white walls and peach upholstery that matched the towels. One session here cost more than my old mates would see in six months--unless they pulled a job.

Richard was paying, of course. I scrunched up my eyes, forcing back the returning tears.

"Too much?" Luisa's cool hand settled on my brow. Her low, liquid voice flowed over me, soothing the hurt away. "Want a break?"

"No, no, keep on. Thanks." Luisa was probably no more than a year or two older than I was, but she had the nurturing spirit of someone far more mature. I wondered sometimes if she had kids. She would be a great mother. If it hadn't been for Luisa, this whole thing would have been even more difficult.

I was the only white girl in the gang. They let me in anyway, when they realized how angry I was and how much I could take without breaking. They saw what we had in common: my dad who hanged himself when his deals went sour, my mom who tried to drink herself to death, my brother who raped me. So what if it was in the front seat of a BMW?

They gave me my first tat when I was sixteen. I'd chosen Lilith myself a year later. She was the woman I wanted to be. Voluptuous and tough and mean as hell. A predator. Not some pale, fashionably skinny blonde with tiny tits, hazel eyes and a perfect WASP nose.

Now Luisa was erasing her, dot by dot, using bullets of light to dissolve and scatter Lilith's bitchy beauty. Lilith didn't have a future. Neither did I, if I had insisted on keeping her.

"There. That should do it." Luisa switched off the chrome-circled exam light. I shivered in the suddenly cooler air. She swabbed my shoulder with a soft wipe soaked in antiseptic. My skin still numb from the anesthetic gel, I felt as though she was touching me through a layer of plastic wrap.

The damp cloth slipped down over my breast, an area Luisa had finished more than a week ago. The contrast pulled sensation into sharp focus. Tingling electricity danced across my flesh, raising goose bumps on the tan circle around my nipple. The nipple itself stood at attention, twice its normal size.

Luisa swished her wipe across that peak. Lightning arced from there to my pussy. Wetness bloomed there but did not quench the fire she had kindled. I searched her lovely dark eyes. What was going on?

Tension crackled between us. I saw raw desire flicker across her face, shattering her usual calm. My body tightened, nipples in aching knots and pussy clenched like a fist. My heart slammed against my ribs. Adrenaline coursed through me. I wanted to grab her. I wanted to run.

Then the moment passed. Her mask slipped back into position. Her ripe lips curved into a polite, professional smile. "It's finished, Ally. Come see." She snapped off her gloves, grasped my hand and pulled me to a sitting position.

No. I didn't want to look. For the last two months Richard and I had made love in the dark, at my insistence. I had dressed in the closet, away from the mirror. I didn't want to see the changes in my body, my past evaporating week by week, dot by dot.