Charity Sunday: Doctors Without Borders #CharitySunday #humanitarian #MSF

Welcome to another Charity Sunday blog hop. I’m glad you could join me and my fellow bloggers to enjoy a bit of reading and make a small contribution to the world. Last month, I received fifteen comments and donated $20 to Room to Read, an organization dedicated to worldwide literacy, especially for young women. I’d love to see this month’s Charity Sunday generate an even better response.

Every time I do a Charity Sunday post, I’m faced with the choice of a cause to support. There’s no shortage of worthy charities, of course. However, I find that there’s all too often a political dimension to charities. I definitely have quite strong political views. On the other hand, I don’t think it’s appropriate, in most cases, to impose my views on others. In any case, trying to change someone else’s political position is rarely effective. I also don’t want to alienate readers who don’t agree with me.

Today, I’ve chosen to support one of my favorite organizations: Doctors Without Borders/Médécins Sans Frontières. MSF provides humanitarian and medical assistance to victims of epidemics, disasters and conflicts, and increasingly, to migrants and asylum seekers. The doctors and nurses who volunteer for MSF put their own lives in danger to care for their fellow human beings. MSF is renowned for its policy of treating those in need, whoever they are, regardless of their nationality or position in a conflict.

Immigration and asylum have become political hot topics in the past few years. You will undoubtedly have your own opinions on the question of whether immigration is a threat to society and how migrants should be treated. MSF rises above these political considerations. The organization will try to help people who need help—regardless of the legal issues. We are humans first and foremost. All of us, regardless of nationality, race, color or religion.

So please leave a comment – even one that disagrees with me. Every one means a dollar for MSF.

For my excerpt, I’ve got a bit from my short story “Vampires, Limited”. This story appeared in the charitable anthology Coming Together: In Vein, which I also edited. All sales of this anthology benefit – yes, you guessed it – MSF.

When you’ve finished with my excerpt, and hopefully left a comment, please visit the other authors participating in this month’s Charity Sunday event. You’ll find their links at the end of this post.

Thank you!

Casually he trailed a finger up the side of her neck and circled her earlobe. A shiver raced through her, winding tight around her nipples, spiraling down to her sex. He nipped at her ear, playful, but hard enough to make her gasp. “As for me, you know who I am, don’t you? Or at least, what I am.”

Lara knew what he was saying. She just couldn’t accept it.

“Here.” Still behind her, he grabbed her hand and placed her fingers on his throat. His skin was cooler than the air, cool and smooth as marble. “Do you feel any pulse?”

“No—but—it’s just not possible. It’s just a myth. A fashion, a fad. Everyone these days pretends...”

He brought her wrist to his lips, flicking his tongue over the spot where the veins were closest to the surface. His mouth was hot, unlike the rest of him. A violent shudder of desire rocked her body. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.

I should call off this farce now, Lara thought, but she obeyed anyway. Something pricked at her flesh where he held it against his mouth, the tiniest sting, hardly deserving the name pain. Then there was heat, and a pulling, not at her wrist but somehow at her heart, which leaped up in response and began to pump at twice its normal rate.

Red flooded the space behind her eyelids, scarlet, crimson, three-dimensional eddies of color like billowing clouds. A brief icicle of fear stabbed at her, then melted as warm, sweet pleasure flowed through her limbs. Her nipples, her pussy, everywhere there was this hot, wet current, aching and yet somehow not urgent.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Let go.” She heard his voice, coming from a long way off. She saw his eyes, burning through the red haze. They had darkened from blue to empty black. She felt herself tumbling into their depths. Some last fragment of self-consciousness cried out for her to resist, but she ignored it. He was too strong, his will irresistible, the gifts he offered too precious to refuse. She let herself drift. He cradled then released her. She felt herself beginning to drown in the scarlet river of his blood lust.

The shock of separation drove black spikes of pain into her temples. She opened her eyes, gasping for breath. Motes of red swam in her vision. She twisted around to look at him, in wonder and terror.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I didn’t know how else to convince you.”

“You’re—you’re the real thing, aren’t you?” Lara thought her chest would burst. “Nosferatu. Undead.” She rubbed at her throbbing head. “I never believed...”

“Believe,” he said, his voice low and solemn. Then all at once was back in his chair, leaving her heart slamming against her ribs. He smiled at her, that wide open, American country-boy smile. Lara worked to catch her breath, to calm herself to some semblance of normalcy.

Please leave a comment. And please visit the other bloggers participating in today’s event.

How to Help Nepal

It has been six weeks since a 7.8 earthquake devastated the mountainous, impoverished country of Nepal. The horrific stories and shocking photos have mostly disappeared from the news, replaced by fresher crises. But the Nepalese continue to suffer, trying to rebuild their shattered homes, schools and hospitals while mourning the thousands who died in the catastrophe.

Faced with disasters of this magnitude, I at least tend to feel a bit helpless. Perhaps you have the same reaction. However, as a reader of erotic romance and erotica, there is in fact something you can do, something that you will not find the least bit painful.

As soon as you're done reading this post, go buy yourself a copy of my erotic vampire anthology, Coming Together: In Vein. Every penny you spend on this book goes to Doctors without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières ), who are currently working, in very difficult conditions, to help meet the health and humanitarian needs of the Nepalese victims.

http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/country-region/nepal

The 200 page collection features fifteen marvelously different vampire stories that break the stereotypes of the ever-popular genre. To whet your appetite, I’ve included mini-excerpt from four of them below.

I hope this post stimulates both your libido and your conscience.

Coming Together: In Vein is available in print and all popular ebook formats. For a full list of buy links, visit the Coming Together site.

http://www.eroticanthology.com/invein.htm 

Enjoy the excerpts!

 

In the pitch black sanctuary, iron nails popped from the knotted planks and dropped to the floor like heavy tears. The casket slid open with a whisper and the raven-haired woman sat up. She gazed around the room, her eyes easily distinguishing objects despite the lack of light. The smell of piety assaulted her senses, singeing her nose. The life-sized cross above the pulpit caused a hiss to sizzle from her ruby lips. But she had been invited in, and none of the trappings of religion could hurt her tonight.

She jumped from the coffin, her landing graceful and cat-like, and then Mab slipped silently through the church.

Michael tossed to and fro on the bed, his sleep tortured. She watched him for many minutes, savoring the long-awaited sight of him – reveling in his imminent capture.

Her arms had not been enough to hold him when she was human. Her love was no match for the love of his God. But she had waited patiently, allowing his guilt and celibacy to wear on him. This night was destined. The moment tasted finer than blood. Her body would be the only altar he would worship at from this point on. The excitement humming through her was akin to the pinnacle before an orgasm. She knew bliss was moments away, but planned to draw it out. She would enjoy every succulent morsel of Father Michael’s corruption.

~ From “My Soul to Take” by Kimber Vale

I stride to a shadowed corner and watch for food. The rhythm of the music brings a booming to my brain as my eyes slide along the flesh exposed, watching for that look, that swiftly beating pulse in his throat.

Whispers begin as I am glimpsed by the regulars, and I know all it will take is a crook of my head and a smoldering gaze. It's too easy here. I am not seen. I am simply a fantasy come true, made all the more fantastic by my refusal to be showy in dress or demeanor. A growl of disgust rolls through me. I choose my meat, a tall broad-shouldered goth boy with long black hair and a carefully trimmed beard. I draw him to me, and lead him out to the alley. He thinks this is a quick fuck, and drops to his knees. My hand grips him by that delicious hair and yanks him up, tossing him against the wall. I want to savor this meal. He needs to last.

I pull out my blade and show it to him. His eyes widen and he whispers, "My safeword is chocolate." I am surprised. Most who frequent the fetish scene know nothing about real BDSM. That these are the first words out of his mouth shows that there may be more to this boy than I thought. I stand still, watching him. He is older than I had first surmised, at least twenty four. The little leather he wears is well kept, his belt clearly conditioned and his boots cared for by a loving hand. He is motionless, knees slightly bent, shoulders back, offering me his chest. His pulse is not rapid, but his eyes eat up the knife and his lips are slightly parted, as if all he wanted was to take my blade down his throat.

~ From “Willing” by Xan West

In the narrow alley behind the saloon I moved along stealthily, listening, trying to make out which upper room held Jess and her customer. A forced giggle through the first window was clearly from one of the other girls. On the far end, though, sounds so urgent and guttural they made my innards clench struck me like a brutal blow. They were hard at it. Jess’s soft, high moans that I remembered so well could be heard in between the man’s deep grunts of extremity. When those finally tapered off I could still hear Jess, her cries oddly muted now, as if her mouth were pressed to him.

I was in such a state of heat that I could’ve rubbed myself off right there, but my need to get to Jess was even greater. The alley was so narrow here that the low shed in back was scarcely more than an arm’s reach from the window, so I hoisted myself onto its roof and looked across.

The light of an oil lamp showed Jess’s bowed head as she knelt beside the bed, and just a glimpse of the now-quiet man. By the tremor of her naked back and shoulders she seemed to be sobbing, whether in grief or pleasure, but at that moment I didn’t care which. I just hungered to feel her touch on me, her mouth crushing down hard where my pounding need was so intense it burned, her fingers squeezing into flesh demanding to be unbound, her rounded buttocks filling my hands.

Then she raised her head, and I saw her wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. The brute had hit her! She saw me at just the same time, sprang up, and threw open the window. “Oh God, Lou…help me!”

I was through and into the room so fast I had no time to think about it. The man on the bed didn’t stir. What help did she need, whoever…whatever…she was now?

~ From “Jessebel” by Sacchi Green

She didn’t see him move. Yet all at once he was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, murmuring in her ear. “Barbara was her name. She was my girlfriend, back in college. A terrible mistake.”

He was so close, she should have felt the heat of his body, but it was as if a mannequin was pressed against her, instead of a living person. She could smell him, though, a sharp grassy scent that made her think of the country and wide open spaces.

Casually he trailed a finger up the side of her neck and circled her earlobe. A shiver raced through her, winding tight around her nipples, spiraling down to her sex. He nipped at her ear, playful, but hard enough to make her gasp. “As for me, you know who I am, don’t you? Or at least, what I am.”

Lara knew what he was saying. She just couldn’t accept it.

“Here.” Still behind her, he grabbed her hand and placed her fingers on his throat. His skin was cooler than the air, cool and smooth as marble. “Do you feel any pulse?”

“No—but—it’s just not possible. It’s just a myth. A fashion, a fad. Everyone these days pretends...”

He brought her wrist to his lips, flicking his tongue over the spot where the veins were closest to the surface. His mouth was hot, unlike the rest of him. A violent shudder of desire rocked her body. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.

I should call off this farce now, Lara thought, but she obeyed anyway. Something pricked at her flesh where he held it against his mouth, the tiniest sting, hardly deserving the name pain. Then there was heat, and a pulling, not at her wrist but somehow at her heart, which leaped up in response and began to pump at twice its normal rate.

~ From “Vampires, Limited” by Lisabet Sarai

Ebola - What Does that Have to Do with Snogs?

Assuming that you're not living on a desert island, you're probably aware of the Ebola epidemic raging in Africa. The scary thing about this disease is that it is fatal about 90% of the time. This makes it more dangerous than bubonic plague, the Black Death that ravaged Europe during the Middle Ages.

You can find out more at the World Health Organization website. 

As of August 1st, more than 700 people in Liberia, Sierre Leone, Guinea and Mali have died from the disease in this latest outbreak. I suspect that the number has risen since I found that statistic. 

What does this have to do with erotic romance or my traditional Sunday Snog?

If you're like me, you feel powerless. You want to do something to help. Sure, Africa seems far away, but in today's highly connected world, it wouldn't be hard for the disease to find its way to Europe or America.

Well, there is something you can do. Buy a copy of Coming Together: In Vein, the altruistic anthology of vampire erotica I edited back in 2012. All proceeds from this book benefit Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières), which is on the front lines fighting the epidemic. MSF is hard at work providing emergency health services in other disaster and conflict zones as well, including Iraq, Syria, Gaza, the Central African Republic and Myanmar.

Turn your love of sexy fiction into something productive ;^) by purchasing the book, which is available in both ebook and print form from a variety of outlets. To whet your appetite, I'm offering a snog from my contribution to the collection, Vampires, Limited. 

Of course you'll find lots of other snogs over at Blisse Kiss Central. Hop on over there after reading my excerpt. But first, leave a comment. I'll donate 50 cents to MSF for each comment on this post, up to a total of $50.

Can we reach 100 comments? That would make a big difference!

“Tell me about Barbara,” she asked finally. “The woman in the photos.” As soon as she saw his ravaged face, she was sorry for the question.

“I was stupid, inexperienced. And we were so much in love. When I realized what I had become, I crawled to her on my hands and knees and begged her forgiveness. I was so terribly sorry to have ruined our plans for a life together. Barbara, though, had other ideas. She pointed out that, according to all information, we could now share eternity. All I had to do was turn her, make her into a vampire too.

“I was reluctant, but she convinced me. She was so beautiful, I couldn’t bear the notion that she would eventually age and die while I’d live forever.

“We planned the ritual carefully, almost as if it were our wedding ceremony...”

“The photos–” Lara interrupted.

“Right.” Jim laughed bitterly. “I set up the camera to record it all. The initiation of my beloved into the realm of the undead. But it all went terribly wrong.” He choked back a sob. Lara felt a sympathetic lump in her throat.

“What happened?”

“Everybody knows how you make a new vampire. First you drain the victim’s blood, bringing her close to death. Then you allow her to drink your blood. That’s what we planned. That’s what we did. It was incredible, terrifying and ecstatic.”

“But?”

“But she died. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t turn her. Since then I’ve learned the truth.”

Lara was silent, waiting.

“To create a new vampire, you must suck the victim’s blood while you’re physically connected. While you’re having sex.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, it’s no joke. That’s why I ended up this way. That girl at the party—all she really wanted was my blood. But one thing led to another, and eventually we were fucking. I don’t think she really understood either.”

No wonder his little demonstration had produced such an intense effect. For him, blood lust and sexual desire were inextricably entwined. The instinctive drive to reproduce, to bring more souls over the boundary of death into the shadowy world that he inhabited, this was something he could not deny, and could only imperfectly control.

Lara knew she should be frightened. She should get out his seductive presence before she made a final, incorrigible mistake. The risk, the pure reality of it, only made her want him more.

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her lips, on her throat, on the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath quickened.

She glanced around the bar, filling up now that it was after five. Donnie’s was not known as a “blood” bar, but still, she noticed half a dozen men wearing capes and pale make up, plus two or three women in slinky black dresses and wigs. It was pathetic, the way they all craved a fleeting taste of inhuman power, a brush with immortality. And here she sat, thigh to thigh with the genuine article.

“I don’t fully understand it,” Jim said, obviously catching her thoughts once again. “Why would they want to be me? Power’s nice, but overall, I live a pretty lonely and miserable existence.”

“Maybe—maybe I can make you feel less lonely. For a little while.” Lara cradled his cheek for an instant, then pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were soft as any flesh, warm and muscular as they met and molded to her own lips. She tasted the wine he had been drinking, with background flavors of iron and salt. His tongue, too, felt human, jousting against hers, exploring, questioning.

Her rigid nipples pressed rudely through the stretchy fabric of her top, pleading for his attention. Of course he knew what she wanted. Without breaking the kiss, he cupped both breasts, tracing symmetrical circles around the tips. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs opened involuntarily. She rocked back and forth on the bench, rubbing her clit against the hard wood.

“Please,” she moaned against his open mouth, and then was silent, realizing that she did not have to say anything. He broke the kiss to throw a twenty pound note on the table, then pulled her to his chest.

“Imagine your apartment,” he said, close to her ear. “Think about your bedroom. And hold on tight.”

Celebrating the Snogging Tradition!

Greetings everyone! It's Sunday again, time for those kisses you all love. But today is not just any Sunday. Today Victoria Blisse is celebrating her 100th Sunday Snog (it's my 94th!) with a bit of a blog hop, and I'm celebrating too!

Every single participating author is giving away a prize. Here at Beyond Romance, you can win a $10 bookstore gift certificate, just by leaving a comment with your email address. Visit Snog Central (http://blissekiss.co.uk) for links to lots more authors with prizes (and kisses) for you to savor.

However, our Hundreth Snog Hop isn't just about lip locks and swag. Kisses are for sharing, and we're trying to do our part. Our chosen charity for this event is one of my favorites, Medecins Sans Frontieres. (In fact, I edited a book entirely to benefit MSF. You might consider picking up a copy...!) So after you've left your comment, why not go over to our page at Just Giving (http://www.justgiving.com/sundaysnog) and make a donation. Even the smallest amount is welcome.

To encourage you - I will also give $1 to MSF for every comment I receive on this post.

Tell your friends! The hop runs until the 27th of September, and you've got dozens of chances to win.

For my snog today, I've got a snippet from my paranormal erotic romance Rough Weather. It won't be out until 2014, but that's no reason not to enjoy a bit of it now! 

Destiny hides in the tempest’s heart

Ondine has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world. She concentrates on her work as a marine biologist, spends her weekends relaxing among the waves, and worries about human threats to her beloved ocean environment. Fears of a deadly pregnancy like her mother’s make her cautious about sex.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents – aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. He informs Ondine that they share a supernatural heritage and claims she is his destined mate. She responds with scepticism and tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately her scientist’s training won’t permit her to deny the evidence of her senses – and her heart. As a brutal northeaster batters the island and Marut’s life hangs in the balance, Ondine learns that true power lies in surrender to her elemental nature.

The sun beat down, hotter than ever. Sweat gathered under her arms and at the back of her neck. Ignoring the proffered permit, she planted her fists on her hips and summoned eve ry ounce of authority she could muster.

“This beach is private, reserved for Katama residents. What’s your business here?”

Stuffing the permit back into his tight pants, he sank into a crouch to pick up a piece of equipment that he had propped against a rock, next to a two meter steel pole. His thigh muscles flexed against taut denim as he rose. Her mouth felt dry and her pussy, wet. “I’m installing a temporary meteo-hydrographic monitoring station.” The device bristled with lenses, buttons and dials, the pinwheel of an anemometer, the tongue-like extrusion of a rain gauge. “Come on up, take a look.”

“Just a minute.” She stepped into her shorts, then pulled her shirt over her head, trying to ignore the sensation of fleece brushing across her naked breasts. In her bare feet, she clambered up over the knobby, rust-coloured stone until she stood beside him. He towered over her. She caught a whiff of sandalwood and coconut oil and was washed by sudden desire.

He pointed to a white plastic rectangle. “This is the hygrometer – the humidity sensor.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. You’ve got a laser ceilometer for cloud height, I see, and an infrared camera for thermal imaging...”

“What...?” She found his surprise gratifying, as he realised she wasn’t just a naked, blonde beach bunny.

“I’m a marine biologist. We use similar devices in my lab at Woods Hole. But Vineyard Airport has a full suite of weather instrumentation. Why are you installing this system here?”

“I’m working on the design for an offshore wind farm.”

“Wind mills?” Her indignation returned, blasting through her with hurricane fury. “Those spell death for sea birds!”

“We’re doing research...”

“And the awful, endless hum disorients cetaceans. They swim in circles until they starve to death!” She snatched the apparatus and held it above her head, threatening to smash it upon the rocks.

“Don’t! Please!” Seizing both her wrists in one massive hand, he pried the delicate gadget from her clutches with the other.

She did not fight him. Because when he touched her, her anger fled as quickly as it had arisen, to be replaced by irresistible, irrational lust. Her pussy was instantly molten. Her clit pulsed between her thighs. Electricity zipped along her limbs. Her modest breasts felt huge and heavy, aching for contact.

The stranger’s eyes grew wide. Sweat beaded his forehead. She dropped her eyes to his crotch. A visible bulk distended the fabric there, evidence that he shared her reactions.

Without releasing her, he placed the weather station upon an outcrop, then dragged her into a rough embrace. Their lips mashed together as they grappled, tearing at one another’s clothing in a desperate quest for bare skin. The rusty taste of blood flooded her mouth – she’d bitten her own lip in her hunger for him. His flavour was spicy with a burnt edge, like an autumn breeze. His brazen tongue mirrored the frantic dance of his hands on her flesh.

She wormed her hands into his trousers so she could grip the smooth, solid curve of his buttocks. The muscles tightened and shifted under her palms as he ground his hardness against her. Her shorts hung loose on her hips. He dragged them down to her knees and plunged his fingers into her drenched cunt, smothering her moan of delight with another fierce kiss. 

 

Call for Submissions: Vampire Erotica Anthology

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