Caritas -- #FirstImpressions #Menage #FreeReadingFest #Prizes

 Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay

 

“Beanpole.” That’s what they call him, those designer-clad, perfectly-coiffed society moms over near the window. One of the kinder epithets they’ve bestowed, actually, but it fits him, poor man.

Awkward, skinny and at least six feet tall, he hunches over his laptop at his regular table in the corner, alternately pounding away at the keys and staring into space. His head’s a wild mass of straw-colored curls. His eyes are a watery blue behind the thick lenses of his wire-frame specs. His wrinkled shirt is half untucked and half unbuttoned. I catch a glimpse of his pale chest, sprinkled with blond fuzz.

He flashes me a vague grin when I bring him his double cappuccino. Not at all like the avid gaze he turns on the coeds and career gals who come in for their caffeine fix—all those tanned legs and painted toenails, flirty skirts and high heeled sandals. Not that I blame him; summer brings out the best in the local women.

With my buzz cut and tattoos, I guess he doesn’t realize I’m a girl. Still, I’d wager a triple mocha frappe with extra whipped cream that I could show him a better time than one of those little tarts.

He’s not really my type—I prefer both my men and my women with darker hair and more meat on their bones—but he broadcasts his need like an S.O.S. Plus I’m intrigued by his metier. He’s spent almost every weekday afternoon here, for the past month, and I’ve had plenty of opportunity to sneak glimpses at his screen.

He’s a writer—well, anyone could figure that out—but guess what he writes? Erotic stories. Kinky stories, if I’m not mistaken. I’d love to read them, but in my professional capacity I’ve only caught a sentence here and there.

“I’m willing to bet the price of this fancy ride that your pussy’s bare under your skirt.”

“Oh, but those rosy nipples just cry out for some clamps!”

“The belt slices into my flesh, less than an inch from my pubis.”

I’ll say one thing for Mr. Beanpole. He’s got a vivid imagination. Probably compensating for a lack of sex in his everyday life. In this image-obsessed town, especially, someone with such a total lack of style probably has a tough time getting laid.

What would happen if I came on to him? I can picture him stretched out on my futon, his desperate cock rearing up from the pale golden tangle of his pubes. I suspect it’s long and thin, like he is, just right for getting at those hard to reach places. Perfect for back-door entry, actually. That’s probably something he’s fantasized about a lot—most guys do, I gather. One of my specialities—both taking and giving.

Wiping the smudges off the massive brass espresso machine, I pause for a moment to close my eyes and imagine his solid, greased rod sliding into my anus. I feel the scary pressure against my tight ring of muscle, always there no matter how many times I’m butt-fucked. Then the painful instant when he breaches me, followed by the sweet, nasty sensation of his bulk filling me up. My clit tingles and swells as I mingle recollection with anticipation. My jeans are suddenly too tight.

When I shoot a glance in his direction, I discover he’s looking back at me. He points to his empty cup and with an apologetic grin, raises one finger.

Sure, baby. Whatever you want.

I grind the beans, set a pristine cup under the spout, and go to pour the milk while the head of steam builds. Inhaling the rich, complex scent of quality coffee, I flip the scene in my head. Now I’m the one reaming him, the straps of my harness biting into my hips as I bury my cock deep in his ass. His pasty white cheeks tense each time I impale him. They just cry out to be pinked by a slap or two.

Would he like that? Given what he writes, he just might.

He wouldn’t refuse me, certainly. If nothing else, he’d want the opportunity to research all the things he writes about. And I expect he’d be suitably grateful. After I make him come, I’m sure I could coax him into eating me out.

So what I’m not his ideal woman, all soft and feminine. Beggars can’t be choosers.

I scribble my phone number on a napkin and stuff it into my jeans pocket. Then, feeling playful, I sprinkle cinnamon over the foamy surface of his beverage, in the shape of a heart. When I place the cup next to him on the table, I deliberately brush the side of my breast against his arm.

He starts, looks up, snags my eyes. Oh, there’s fire there! A bolt of lust sizzles from my solar plexus to my pussy.

I’m just about to hand him the napkin when the door of the shop opens. His gaze snaps to the woman who enters.

He jumps to his feet, towering over me. “Layla! You’re early!”

She breezes in, silver bracelets tinkling, unutterably lovely. Ringlets black as midnight tumble over her shoulders and down her back. Ropes of colorful beads encircle her neck, nestling in the valley between her opulent breasts. A flowing rainbow-hued skirt drapes over her equally abundant hips and swirls around her sturdy ankles.

“Michael, darling!” I back away as she descends on the writer and sweeps him into a searing French kiss. His hands slide down her back to fondle her ass. As his tongue plunders her mouth, he grinds his pelvis against hers. The gesture’s definitely not family-friendly. I glance around at the other customers, hoping no one has noticed, but everyone appears to be transfixed by various mobile devices.

They make out for a shockingly long time, while I watch, becoming hotter by the instant. And I thought this guy wasn’t getting any! I thrust my hands in my pockets and crumple up the phone number, as a blush climbs into my cheeks. Talk about feeling stupid!

Finally, I tear myself away from the erotic spectacle, hurrying back to busy myself behind the counter. They’re still kissing, though the intensity has waned a bit. At last he releases her. She sinks into the chair next to him, licking her lips.

I’m still quivering with arousal when the writer—Michael—beckons to me.

“Can I get the check please, Nikki?”

I didn’t think he knew my name. “Oh—sure. Just a sec.” I have new respect for this guy. Despite his less than impressive appearance, he must be someone special, to have hooked someone as gorgeous as Layla.

He turns to the gypsy-like vision beside him. “This is Nikki. She’s been taking care of me over the past few weeks, while I’ve been trying to finish the novel.”

Layla snares me with eyes the color of French roast coffee. “Thanks, Nikki. I know Michael can consume a lot caffeine when he’s in the throes of a creative endeavour.”

“Um. Yeah. I noticed.” I’m burning up, though I can’t say whether desire or embarrassment makes the greater contribution.

She turns to her lover. The pair share a long, smoldering look, before she swings her gaze back to me.

“Looks like you work really hard.”

Is she mocking me? She must have noticed the cinnamon heart decorating her partner’s drink. “Well, you know. It’s a job.”

She fingers an inky tendril of hair before flipping it over her shoulder. Her full lips curve into a friendly smile. “So we were wondering, Michael and I, when you have a day off.”

What? My knees actually go weak for an instant. Does she mean...?

“I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for you, actually,” Michael adds. “Seems as though nobody here really appreciates you.”

“Except Michael,” Layla adds, stroking his arm. He shifts in his chair. Even though his lap’s in shadow, I glimpse the swelling in his crotch. “And me, of course.”

The beanpole hands me a twenty. Electricity sizzles between us when our fingers touch. “Keep the change, Nikki.” His smile makes me feel naked.

Meanwhile, Layla pulls a pen from her lover’s shirt pocket and writes something on the check. “Call us,” she murmurs. “We’ll be good to you.”

Blood roars in my ears. I have a lot of fantasies. I’m not used to having them come true.

I’m certainly not going to turn them down. Even if, for them, it’s an act of charity.

Today's the last day of my Free Reading Fest. I hope you've enjoyed it. I will announce the winners on Wednesday. (Of course, you can still enter today, by leaving a comment with your email.)

Charity Sunday: CARE for Mozambique and Malawi - #Africa #disaster #CharitySunday

March has been rough on the world. Earthquakes. Floods, Landslides. Collapsing buildings. Plane crashes. Terrorist attacks. Honestly, if you want to make any sort of difference, it’s difficult to know where to start.

Out of all the disasters and tragedies, I’ve decided to focus on the devastation wrought by Cyclone Idai on the desperately poor African countries of Mozambique and Malawi. On March 14^th, this powerful storm triggered horrendous flooding and mudslides that have completely destroyed much of the already fragile infrastructure in these two nations. At least a million and a half people have been affected, nearly half a million in the city of Beira alone, which was submerged until just a few days ago.

There are, of course, many organizations working to provide rescue and relief services in the face of this catastrophe. Today I’ve decided to support CARE, which is particularly focused on the needs of women and girls. 

You can find out more about the charity’s efforts to allay the suffering of Idai’s victims here.

Credit: Direct Relief.org

As usual, I will donate one dollar to my chosen charity for each comment I receive on this post. Furthermore, I’ll give away a copy my latest release, Valentine’s Visit: Four-Way Friend Swap, to one randomly selected commenter.

So please, do say something to let me know you’ve read this post!

As usual, I also have an excerpt to thank you for dropping by. Today’s snippet comes from Monsoon Fever, a MMF romance set in India just after World War I. It includes a disaster scene, which as is often the case affects the poorest and most vulnerable people.

It took nearly four hours for the auto to creep back to the plantation. Full night had fallen by the time they arrived. The rain had slackened, but it was still heavy enough to drench them, despite their umbrellas, on the climb up the path.

Jon must be terribly worried, thought Priscilla. She imagined him pacing back and forth on the veranda, peering into the night for any sign of them. Guilt weighed on her spirit, though she knew she was not responsible for the weather or the delay. Her intense reactions to Anil did not alter her deep love for her husband.

She had not, technically, been unfaithful. Still, she was honest enough to admit to herself that, if the storm had not interrupted, she would have gladly surrendered herself to Anil. In public, in a sacred space, she would have been willing—no, eager—to allow the seductive native access to her body. Her sex ached, remembering his intimate touch. She looked up at him, but she could not read his expression in the dark. Did he still want her? Would he try again?

Priscilla tried to compose herself, to think only of Jon and his concern. As the house came into view, she stopped short in surprise.

Normally at this time, Lalida would have lit the kerosene lamps and golden light would be spilling out from the windows onto the path. But the bungalow was completely dark, and silent too, no sounds of clattering dishes from the kitchen, no scratchy jazz coming from Jon’s gramophone.

“Jon? Jonathan?” Priscilla voice signalled her alarm as she and Anil climbed to the porch. The door was half open, definitely a bad sign. “Lalida?” Had they been attacked and abducted by some of bandits that occasionally roamed the hills? But there was no sign of any struggle or violence.

She clutched at Anil’s soggy coat. “What could have happened? Where are they?”

“Where are the lamps?” Before she could answer, he located a lantern and a box of lucifers on the mantel. In a moment he had it lit. They looked around the parlour, seeking clues.

Priscilla saw it first. The note was scrawled on a scrap torn from a ledger, and fastened to the dining room door frame with a nail.

“Landslide at the village. Gone to help.” The writing was barely legible, but she recognised Jon’s hand.

A landslide! Priscilla recalled the heaps of mud and rock piled by the road on the way to Gauhati. “We must go to them,” Anil insisted, reading over her shoulder. “A landslide can bury a whole town, or sweep it away.” He searched her face. “Do you have shovels or picks? And buckets, buckets would be useful.”

“In the utility shed, behind the house.” Anil was already on his way out the door.

Jon had taken most of the tools, but they found a short spade and a mattock. They grabbed them and scrambled up the slippery path toward the village, rain still washing over them in dense squalls. As they approached the site of the village, home to the plantation workers and their families, shouts filled the air. Lanterns flickered in the wet, black night.

Priscilla had visited the village several times, bringing sweets for the children and English soap for their mothers. She hardly recognised the scene of devastation before her now. There was no sign of the wooden huts that sheltered the workers. She saw only a vast sea of mud, with splintered planks and beams jutting out at odd angles. Half naked men dug frantically in the muck, looking like an army of demons in the shifting lantern-light. Children hung onto their mothers, wailing or watching the rescue efforts silent and wide-eyed. An elderly woman, tattered sari clinging to her wizened body, crouched under a tree half-crushed by a huge boulder.

Priscilla saw Jon near the far perimeter, wielding a shovel and yelling orders to the other men. She stumbled across the ex-village, the treacherous mud sucking at her feet, and threw herself into his arms.

“Darling! I was so worried.” she cried. “Are you all right?”

Jonathan held her so tight she could scarcely breathe. His chest was bare and streaked with dirt. His blond hair was black with rain and soil. “Priscilla! Thank God! I’m so glad to see you!”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad—nearly all the houses were destroyed—but it could have been much worse. Most of the villagers were up at the shrine when the hillside gave way. We think that there are only a few people buried. We’re trying to find them before it’s too late.”

***

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Charity Sunday: National Multiple Sclerosis Society - #CharitySunday #MSWarrior #donation

Welcome to my first Charity Sunday for 2019. Today I’m focusing on the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. A number of my readers and my author friends are battling MS, a progressive neurological disease whose cause is not yet fully understood and which currently can be managed, but not cured.

The National MS Society is working to change that. Their vision is bold: a world without MS. The Society provides authoritative information, resources and support for people affected by MS, connecting them and helping them to lead more comfortable and more productive lives. In addition, the MS Society funds research - $40 million dollars worth, in 2018 alone - into fundamental causes, treatments and potential cures.

As usual on Charity Sunday, I will donate one dollar to my chosen charity for each person who leaves a comment. To give you something to comment on ;^), I have an excerpt from one of my books. I don’t have any titles featuring people afflicted with MS, but Lydia, the heroine in Dragon Boat Blues, is disabled and knows very well what it’s like to live with diminished physical capacity.

So please read my snippet below and tell me what you think. Then, if anyone you know is living with MS, share the post and get others to do the same. The more comments I receive, the more money will go toward eliminating this disease forever.

Oh, and if you want to do more – you might consider buying a copy of Coming Together Presents Robert Buckley. I edited this collection of tales, part of the Coming Together altruistic erotica project. The author’s daughter has MS, and all sales proceeds go to support the National MS Society.

Blurb

Take your chances as they come

My lost superhero Josh had jet black hair, movie star cheekbones, clever hands, the devil’s mouth, and an instinct for driving me crazy. Josh believed in his own myths. He was forty miles an hour over the speed limit that day, more powerful than a locomotive, when we smashed into the tractor trailer. He blew out like a candle. I sputtered in a sort of half life, year after year, marked forever by that brief dance with insanity.

I booked the dragon boat cruise on Ha Long Bay to use up a few free days at the end of my business trip, figuring my disability wouldn’t be a problem on the luxurious junk. I wasn’t looking for companionship, just a bit of peace. But when British honeymooners Stan and Phil welcomed me into their circle of love, I discovered how much healing I still needed. 

 

Excerpt

I didn’t have much difficulty getting into the dinghy—just handed my cane to the guide, sat on the pier, and eased myself down to sit with the rest of the tourists. Boarding the wooden junk anchored out in deeper water was another story. A ladder of planks and rope led from the open rowboat to the deck above. To climb, I would have to put all my weight on my bad leg. I knew that wouldn’t work.

I balanced precariously in the dinghy, surveying the situation. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Up you come, love.” The speaker leaned over the rail of the junk, offering a ham-sized paw. “Give us your hand.” He had a ruddy complexion and a curly russet mop threaded with gray.

“Are you sure? I’m not exactly light.” I’d never been petite, and since the accident, I’d put on quite a few pounds.

“No problem,” said his younger, sandy-haired companion. “We’re used to tossing hay bales.” He shot me a friendly grin and extended his arm in parallel with his friend’s. “Just hold on tight. That’s the way.”

I gripped their wrists. They did the same to me. As they began to haul me upward, the dinghy captain clamped me around the waist and lifted me off my feet. My good leg flailed, trying for a foothold on the rungs of the ladder. It was all very awkward and embarrassing, but in a few moments I was standing safe on the deck.

The guide passed me my cane, then scrambled up the ladder like a monkey.

“You alright?” The burly older man shot a wry look at the tangled rope contraption the guide was pulling over the gunwale. “Not exactly accessible, that.”

“Thanks for your help.” My long shirt had bunched up below my breasts. I smoothed it down over my leggings, feeling flustered and sweaty. “Probably I should have thought about that before I booked the cruise.”

“C’mon! And miss this?” My other rescuer made a sweeping gesture, indicating the lavishly appointed ship. “All this carved teak and polished brass?” The crimson sails over our heads snapped in the wind as the junk began to move. “Ha Long Bay’s supposed to be one of the wonders of the world. We’ve been saving to take this trip for three years.”

His enthusiasm made me feel so old. “I’m in Hanoi on business. One of my meetings got canceled, so I had a few free days. My hotel suggested this would be a good way to spend them.”

“You’ve got to take your chances as they come.” The stocky fellow smiled down at me and took my elbow in a gentlemanly fashion. “Why don’t we go up front, so we can see where we’re headed? I’m Stanley, by the way. Stan, folks call me. And this is Phil.”

I nodded, warmed by their friendliness despite my sour mood. “A pleasure. Lydia Sutton. You’re from England, I gather?”

Phil gave an energetic nod. “Dorset. Stan and me run a dairy farm now. Before, though, I worked as an insurance clerk in London. Before we met.”

He flashed a look of pure adoration at his companion.

Oh. I hadn’t pegged them as gay.

Stan saw the light dawn in my face. “We’re on our honeymoon. We always dreamed of traveling in Asia.” He paused, peering at me with a puzzled expression. “You look so familiar. Lydia, you say? Any chance we’ve met? Ever spend any time in London? Or done a Brighton weekend?”

I fought my sudden panic. No one was about to recognize me. I’d changed too much. “I visited London once, but that was long ago, when I was in college. These days most of my trips are here, or to Shenzen.”

Please don't forget to leave a comment!

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BJJTHQF

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07BJJTHQF

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/804710

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dragon-boat-blues-lisabet-sarai/1128233847?ean=2940155178255

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/en/ebook/dragon-boat-blues-asian-adventures-book-5

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39330037-dragon-boat-blues

Charity Sunday: Doctors Without Borders - #CharitySunday #DoctorsWithoutBorders #giveaway

Welcome to my last Charity Sunday of 2018. I asked the members of my VIP Readers list which charity I should support today: PlannedParenthood, Doctors Without Borders or Amnesty International. All three of these organizations are favorites of mine, and all of them got votes, but Doctors Without Borders was the clear winner. Readers also offered suggestions for several other charities—which I will support in future Charity Sundays.

In case you’re not familiar with them, Doctors Without Borders, also known as Medecins Sans Frontieres, works to provide health care and humanitarian assistance to refugees, people in conflict zones and victims of disasters. The medical professionals involved volunteer their time and knowledge, often in perilous circumstances, to help other human beings, around the world. MSF is currently active in Yemen, where civil war has devastated the population and millions are on the verge of starvation; in South Sudan, where new violence has erupted; on the U.S. border, where Central American migrants deal with hunger, squalor and disease as they wait for word on asylum petitions. What I particularly love about MSF is the fact that they never take sides. They will help anyone who needs it, regardless of their affiliation. In fact this courageous position often puts volunteers on the ground in severe danger, but the organization will not compromise its principles.

Anyway, as is the case for all Charity Sundays, I will donate one dollar to MSF for each comment I receive on this post. I’ll leave this open until January 2^nd. In addition, I have an excerpt from my holiday BDSM erotic romance tale Silver Bells, which is one of the stories in my Coming in Costume volume. I will give away two copies of this book to randomly selected people who leave comments.

May your days be merry and bright!

“Tinkle, tinkle.”

I nearly dropped my cup into the punch bowl. Under my loose black velvet tunic, my clamped nipples throbbed with fresh heat. Blood rushed to my cheeks as well as to my steel-pinched clit. Embarrassment and lust mingled until I didn’t really know what I was feeling. It was simultaneously awful and delicious.

I didn’t dare whirl around to discover who had whispered the taunt in my ear. The tiny silver bells Greg had affixed to the thumbscrews above and below might ring more loudly. Swallowing my moan and gathering the shreds of my dignity, I turned at a stately pace to find Greg’s old friend James standing behind me, sporting a naughty grin.

“Did you say something, James?” I managed to hold his gaze with some degree of poise, though I knew my face must be flushed. Wearing my party heels, I was only a few inches shorter than my guest. Behind his wire-framed spectacles, his brown eyes gleamed with mischief. For the hundredth time I wondered how much he knew about the nature of Greg’s and my relationship.

“Just that it’s a lovely party, Isabella,” he replied. Was he laughing at her? “Simultaneously elegant and festive. You’re a very talented hostess.”

“We’re glad you could make it.” I was astounded at how cool and in control I sounded. The ache from my tortured nipples and clit was nothing compared to the fear that my perversity might be revealed to the outside world.

“Well, when I found out about the conference here in Manhattan, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Especially since it was close to the holidays. I’ve been wanting to visit you two for quite a while. Seems like ages since the wedding.”

“Just a year and half.” James had been Greg’s best man. Apparently they’d known each other since college, and kept in touch through grad school. Greg had implied more than once that James had kinky interests that paralleled his own, but I thought it was unlikely he would have shared the thrilling and sordid details of our sex life, even with his closest friend.

My husband was a very private person. We didn’t go to clubs or play parties. He enjoyed threatening me with exposure, and we’d occasionally engaged in some semi-public scenes (the sudden recollection of one spanking in Central Park set my pussy flowing), but most of the time he preferred to test and torment me at home. To be honest, I was the one with the exhibitionist fantasies. Greg understood my warped mind only too well. Hence the bells.

“California’s quite a ways from New York. And of course, I’ve been really busy with work.” James looked exactly like the Silicon Valley super-nerd he was: unruly black hair too long to be fashionable, geek glasses, a sensitive mouth, penetrating eyes, a complexion without the slightest trace of a California tan. He was well built, though, neither flabby nor too skinny. The company he’d founded must have had a gym. “I’ve thought about you quite a bit, though.”

About me? About us? I didn’t have the nerve to ask.

Don’t forget to leave a comment! Help MSF help others. And please include your email address, obfuscated if your prefer, so I can find you if you are my winner.

The Gift of Reading - #literacy #UnitedNations #charity #RoomToRead

The other day I went to a big city hospital for an evaluation. It was a huge, crowded place, busy enough to be rather confusing. Everywhere on the walls were signs, telling patients where to go, what procedures to follow, which windows were to be used for submitting prescriptions, which ones for picking up XRays, which for making same-day versus future appointments, and so on.

I managed to accomplish my objectives without too much of a problem. As I sat waiting for my turn to speak to the doctor, though, gazing at all the signs, I suddenly realized how much more difficult the entire process would have been if I had been unable to read.

My parents taught me to read when I was five. I haven't stopped since. I generally read several books a week for entertainment. That doesn't include the newspapers, technical documents, research papers and professional journals I read—nor all the websites and blogs. I tend to take reading skill for granted. But my experience at the hospital reminded me that not everyone is fortunate enough to be literate.

The 2008 film “The Reader” vividly depicts the limitations imposed by illiteracy. Kate Winslet plays a woman in her thirties who somehow never learned to read. She seduces a younger man by asking him to read aloud—never revealing the true reason that she needs his services. Her shame causes her to ultimately push him away, though he loves her deeply. Being illiterate makes her life difficult and ultimately results in her being sent to prison for crimes that she did not commit. Ultimately she teaches herself to read while she is imprisoned, providing a ray of hope in what is otherwise a rather dark movie.

As it happens, today, September 8^th, is International Literacy Day. This event, established by the United Nations and observed annually, is an opportunity for governments, civil society and stakeholders to highlight improvements in world literacy rates, and reflect on the world's remaining literacy challenges.

Many of us take the ability to read for granted. In many countries and societies, though, literacy is the beyond the reach of many individuals—especially girls and women. The notion of living my life without the pleasure of books horrifies me. Meanwhile, I recognize how much of a handicap illiteracy can be for someone trying to function in our modern world.

That’s why I support the charity Room to Read. Room to Read works in countries like Bangladesh, Laos, Nepal and Zambia, countries where poverty is rampant and both practical and cultural obstacles to literacy exist. The motto of this charity is “We believe that world change starts with educated children”. I couldn’t agree more. 

Today, in honor of International Literacy Day, I’m making a donation to Room to Read. Would you like to join me?

Maybe you don’t have the funds to spare. That’s okay. You can help in many ways: by donating used books you’ve already read to your local library or community center; by volunteering as a tutor or mentor; by reading to your children or grandchildren.

The ability to read is a precious gift.

Meanwhile, I'm newly grateful that my parents helped me to acquire my lifelong love of reading. As I get older and I can do less physically, I reassure myself with the notion that when I'm really ancient, I'll finally get the chance to tackle all those books that I haven't gotten to yet. This may be naive, but I find the thought extremely comforting.

News flash! I just got an email from Room To Read, indicating that all donations between now and the end of September will be doubled by an anonymous donor!

Book Hooks: Serpent's Kiss -- #Guatemala #paranormal #MFRWHooks #charity

 

For my Book Hook today, I have another excerpt from Serpent’s Kiss, my paranormal erotic romance set in Guatemala. I’m hoping that I can lure you over to my Charity Sunday post and convince you to leave a comment. For every comment I receive, I’m donating two dollars to relief efforts for victims of the recent volcanic eruption in Guatemala.

Please take an extra minute or two and make a difference in the lives of people left homeless, hungry and at risk by nature's fury.

Blurb

Ancient mysteries control a modern woman's destiny.

From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gates of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power.

Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos. She and Jorge fall in love, despite his dire predictions.

Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind - and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.

The Hook

“Help me…please…”

The moan was barely audible above the chatter of the birds greeting the dusk. Elena paused, key half-turned in the padlock, listening closely.

“Por favor…”

This time, she could hear the pain in the man’s voice. The sound came from the mass of tangled vegetation framing the gate of the clinic. She stuck the lock in her jeans pocket and tried to part the curtain of lianas that cloaked the young fir tree. The tough vines resisted, but she finally managed to tear them apart, exposing a clearing created by the tree’s drooping branches.

He lay on his back on the damp ground, gasping for breath. A doctor first, Elena immediately noted the terrible wound that ripped across his chest. The rough trousers that were his only garment were black with blood.

She crawled into the concealed space and knelt beside him, examining the awful gash more closely. The flow had begun to clot, but if she moved him, the bleeding might start again.

“Aye…” The man gave an inarticulate groan and struggled weakly to rise.

“No! Stay still!” Elena spoke to him in Spanish, hoping he’d understand. “You mustn’t move. You’re seriously hurt. Stay here quietly. I’ll get some of the village men to carry you to the infirmary.”

He grabbed her shirt, holding her back. His strength was surprising. “No, please! Don’t bring anyone. No one must know…”

“Then how will we get you inside?”

“I–I can walk.”

“With your chest torn open like that? And all the blood that you’ve lost?”

“I can do it. I am strong, still.”

* * * *

You can buy Serpent’s Kiss at Amazon, BN, Totally Bound, and most other online bookstores.

Don’t forget to visit the other authors participating in today’s blog hop, too!

Charity Sunday, New Release and Giveaway! #blindness #CharitySunday #newrelease

Today is the second Sunday in February. That makes it Charity Sunday. Once a month, I highlight a worthy cause on my blog. For each comment I receive, I donate one dollar to my chosen cause.

As it happens, today I’m also celebrating the release of the fourth book in my Asian Adventures series, Butterfly. I’ve included the blurb and an exclusive excerpt in this post. In addition to donating for each comment today, I’ll also enter you into a drawing for your choice of Asian Adventures Book 1, 2 or 3. (If you want to be considered for the drawing, be sure to include your email address in your comment.)

Back to today’s charity. This month I’ve chosen to support the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB). CNIB works with individuals who are blind or partially sighted to help them gain the confidence, skills and opportunities to fully participate in life. CNIB also disseminates educational material about visual impairment, to assist people who might be at risk of losing their sight.

You might be wondering why I’ve chosen CNIB (aside from the fact that I strongly approve of their mission). After all, I’m not a Canadian (though I’ve been occasionally been mistaken for one). I was moved to dedicate this month’s donations to CNIB by this post by my friend Giselle Renarde. Giselle is Canadian. CNIB has been a lifeline for her beloved eighty six year old grandmother, who suffers from macular degeneration. In fact, Giselle is donating the proceeds from her most recent book to CNIB (though the book is free until Valentine’s Day).

Anyway, I hope you’ll check out Giselle’s post and her book. Please take a minute or two to leave a comment here, to push up the total of my donations. And if you want to be included in my free book giveaway, don’t forget to add your email.

Finally – here’s a bit from my latest Asian Adventure.

Blurb

Love never lies.

My job makes it hard to have a real relationship. I never know where my next project will be, but I can bet that it won’t be in America’s heartland. So I read a lot, and seek my own five-fingered companionship. Busy with my construction gig in the Thai northeast, I didn’t think I needed what Bangkok had to offer.

Then Lek stepped onto the stage at the Butterfly Bar and began to dance. I fell for her during the first five minutes of her set. The weekend we spent together was pure heaven. How could I know our love would drag me through hell?

Excerpt

She was a natural dancer. Her fluid gestures held me transfixed. She grasped one of the poles leading from the bar to the ceiling and arched backward until her hair brushed the floor. Waves flowed through her, sweet undulations that began in her pelvis and shimmered up her spine. By comparison, the other girls appeared clumsy and coarse. She was not trying to entice, it seemed. She was lost in the music. Yet there was something supremely sexy about her performance. I found myself hardening as I gazed at her, turned on for the first time since entering this den of flesh.

As if she felt my gaze, she released the pole, turned and looked in my direction. Her red-painted lips curved in a smile of invitation. Her eyes locked to mine, she unhooked her bikini top and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing sweet, small, firm-looking breasts, capped with almond-hued nipples that surely were erect. She brushed her palms over them, closing her eyes as if savoring the sensation. My penis throbbed uncomfortably in my jeans.

The song changed to something more upbeat. She shook her hips, did the same bumps and grinds as the other dancers, but the effect was totally different. She was listening to some inner voice. Every now and again her eyes would meet mine, and that luscious smile would light her face. I found myself holding my breath, willing her to turn again in my direction.

Finally, her set ended. She slipped away into the crowd before I could call to her. I felt a sense of loss totally out of proportion to the situation. Then, suddenly, she was beside me. I discovered that I was blushing.

“Hello,” she said, her smile even more intoxicating close up. “You like me? You like my dancing?”

“I certainly do.”

“You buy me drink?”

“Of course.” She waved over another bargirl. “Saengsom coke,” she ordered. “And you, mister, you want one more beer?”

“Sure, why not?” I looked over at Charlie, hoping for some guidance. He had one girl in his lap, and another whispering in his ear. All three of them were giggling. Charlie caught my somewhat desperate glance and shrugged.

“Go for it,” he said. “We are. Come on, girls!” He stuffed two thousand baht notes in the bamboo tube holding our bill, then headed for the door, one girl on each arm. “Have a great time, Pat,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.” Damn him, leaving me alone like that!

Buy Links

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079KR62XL

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B079KR62XL

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/787824

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/butterfly-lisabet-sarai/1127922517?ean=2940155120964

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38456644-butterfly

Please leave a comment and support CNIB! 

Include your email if you want to be entered in the drawing!