Fear of Flying - #mash-up #steampunk #risks

It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

Thus begins my sixth novel, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it's a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won't tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I broke rules right and left with this novel. Would the market embrace my mash-up? Or would readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon was like nothing I'd written before. Well, that's not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I've never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I'm pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I am not going to worry. That's out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually:

The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

~ ~ ~

Rajasthani Moon is available at all your favorite bookstores. 

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Rajasthani-Moon-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00D47R9E6

BN: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1115449469?ean=9781781846452

Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=2135

Character Development: Actions v. Words (#mm #giveaway #shapeshifter @KDahll)

By Kenn Dahll (Guest Blogger)

For me, character development has always been an issue. My first stories were consistently criticized for lack of depth in my characters. In fact, the stories were more porn than erotic romances−reviewers used words such as “raw” or “gritty.” The main character’s motivation was getting off, certainly not developing a relationship, although in some of them minimal interpersonal emotions were displayed. Taking the criticism to heart, I consciously tried to limit the sex and focus on character. As a result, I felt my stories were dull, lacking the erotic side of erotic romances. I tried several means of conveying character through sex. For example, using sexual conquests as a surrogate for seeking power or control. That too failed me as the characters became overly one dimensional.

More recently, I refined my storytelling technique following the dictum “Show it don’t tell it.” I developed my characters through various behaviors−sexual and non-sexual−but rarely entered their minds to examine their thoughts and motives. Some of my main characters−almost exclusively male−treated other characters with disdain, humiliated them, manipulated them, sexually dominated them, and crassly threw them aside−all to demonstrate their machismo, domination, or despicable personalities. Other of my main characters demonstrated kindness to the other characters, supported them, treated them with respect, their sex was lovemaking not lust gone astray, and, above all, they showed empathy for the other characters they interact with. These diametrically opposed types are exaggerations, far more frequently the main character was a combination of good and bad, or was submissive to another character−whether voluntarily as in a BDSM story, or involuntarily as when another character was unscrupulous.

Subsequently, I delved into using the main character’s thoughts to reinforce and/or supplement their development. Their contempt of others is both demonstrated through actions and encapsulated in non-verbalized thoughts. In those cases, the thoughts expressed don’t explicitly state motivation but implicitly, through disparagement of another character for example. Wonderment at the actions of others, feelings of mistreatment, biases, and many other thoughts are expressed that complement the characters’ actions to paint more complete portraits. I feel the following quote from a review of Irish Punk best reflects my success with this approach: “Is it possible for a story with D/s, bondage, incest, humiliation and masochism to result in a true love story?”

One final means of character development, one I rarely use as it seems too blatant a device, is to have the main character, another character, or the narrator verbally describe a character’s motives. The main character proclaiming a desire for a promotion would be an example of a character verbalizing his motivation and explaining his Machiavellian behavior. “He’s manipulating John’s emotions to get into his pants.” Might be the view of another character toward the main character and expressed to another character. It could also be the narrator’s comment on the main character’s actions.

I violate my own rules in my new book, The Reluctant Alpha. The word “reluctant” was carefully chosen and is explained though actions, conversations, and in deliberations. Rather than focus on the concept of shifting, or on the hierarchy expected in a pack, I opted to emphasize the humanity of the main character as communicated in Benjamin’s expressed reluctance to impose subservience “to another person for life” on a sex partner through bonding. That moral revulsion is first verbalized by Benjamin’s uncle, but eventually Benjamin states the same rationale for his behavior toward a romantic interest whom he pushes away.

Blurb

The story starts in pre-Civil War New Orleans when Benjamin becomes aware something is going awry; his body constantly betrays him during the day, and at night his mind plays games inducing troublesome nightmares involving running through the wooded areas of his plantation home. A conversation with a ‘confirmed bachelor’ uncle, Adair, enlightens Benjamin about the mysteries of puberty, and more particularly, on being a shifter−a silver fox when not human−and dealing with sexual awakening and the complexities of bonding with an Omega−a situation the uncle explicitly compares to involuntary servitude. The kindness and perceptions of his uncle guide Benjamin through a disappointing relationship with a handsome gen de couleur libres and influences his decision to seek refuge in the mountainous west to explore his nature as a shifter as well as to understand his sexual desires.

Ben, as he becomes known, has a chance encounter with three trappers at the regional trading post. One of the trio is Caleb−a handsome young redhead with a slightly muscular physique, bronzed curls above his collar, and the suggestion of a beard−who attracts Ben’s attention. Before long Ben’s physical attraction to Caleb−who turns out to be a red fox shifter−conflicts with his moral aversion to binding. This reluctance to engage with Caleb emotionally, and thereby risk bonding, is severely tested when Caleb is attacked by several disreputable men who turn out to be wolf shifters, one of whom has his eyes on Caleb’s enticingly plump assets.

Salacious Excerpt

In the interim an older sister married and I was moved to her larger suite on the second floor, overlooking the roof of the entrance portico. Using the tall window for access, I often spread a quilt on the flat outside space with its decorative railing sheltering me from view.

On one of those occasions, the sun’s warmth and my adolescent hormones took over and I imagined myself naked with one of the sons of our nearest neighbor, Thaddeus. Tad and I were the same age and attended the same church. Thus we were in Sunday School together for many years. He was always on the scrawny side, but recently I’d taken note of his more strapping physique. Still shy despite his handsome appearance, he was uncomfortable whenever one of the local young ladies directed her southern charm in his direction. To escape his female admirers, Tad frequently sought me out for a day of fishing on the river or horseback riding through the countryside. On the rooftop I envisioned stopping the horses in a secluded grove of trees, spreading a blanket on the grass, and getting naked with Tad. As I fantasized doing obscene things with my enticing neighbor, I unfastened my trousers, reached a hand into my undergarment, and fondled my engorging shaft. Eyes closed I stroked my erection using a glob of spittle to facilitate the movements of my palm. Shivers of pleasure began in my ball sack and were precariously close to bringing me to orgasm when I heard a low voice.

“Master Benjamin, it appears you could use a helping hand.” Startled I retracted my hand from my trousers and looked toward my room. There stood Martin LeBlanc, the Creole tailor Mother had engaged to make and install more masculine drapery in my room. Stepping over the sill, he went out to where I lay stupefied by his materializing out of thin air. Looking around to check if anyone could see him, he knelt on the edge of the quilt and leaned forward to grasp my hard member with a firm, warm hand. “Let me take care of your problem,” Martin whispered as he slid his palm up and down my rigidity. Only a few strokes were required before my body tensed up and my breathing stopped. He was experienced enough to know I was about to shoot my juices on my vest and shirt so he covered my erupting weapon with his ample lips to catch my manly discharge. Delirious I moaned a little loudly necessitating Martin to put a hand over my mouth. “Quiet or we’ll be discovered. Are you recovered enough to pull up your trousers and return to your room?”

“But… you… I… ” Reaching out I clamped a hand on the noticeable bulge in the coffee and cream colored tailor’s crotch.

“We can deal with that once I get you inside and we have some privacy.” Numbly I did as he suggested and went inside. “Now we can finish matters.” Martin removed his clothing until he was as exposed as a classical statue on a pedestal, and as beautiful. As I stared at his naked body with the granite-like curved column of flesh rising from his nest of curly black hairs, the color of Martin’s member, and the hirsute sack suspended at its base, surprised me for it was much darker than the rest of his skin. The tailor gently undressed me until we were both stark naked. Then he led me to my bed, pulled back the covers, and, holding me in his strong arms, fell onto the mattress.

About Kenn Dahll

Kenn moved from the gay ghetto of Wilton Manors, Florida to the much more dynamic, yet still extremely gay, District of Columbia area. More than twenty-five years ago he submitted a short story to a “one-hand magazine” contest and won a year's subscription. Since then he has written many stories, none of which he submitted for publication until 2008 and was published in Alyson Books’ Island Boys that August. He is thrilled to be published in eXcessica.com and recently in Torquere Press with over thirty titles. He is also published in two additional Alyson Books anthologies: Best Gay Love Stories 2009 and 2010.

Generally, Kenn says he sees a hot male and constructs a fantasy story around him−how he is dressed, what he might be thinking, what is his relationship with the other males around him be it in a bar, a bus, a restaurant, a bank, or even a church. Sometimes a situation encountered in his daily routine, on vacation, or simply on a casual stroll around the neighborhood inspires him and a story will take shape in his mind, which is then populated from his vivid imagination. Kenn claims to find few outlets outside of gay erotic fiction for his innate creativity and is pleased others are interested in reading what he writes.

Connect with me on Twitter (@KDahll) or on Facebook (Kenn Dahl).

Buy Link:  Get your copy of The Reluctant Alpha at Excessica, or other great retailers!

Leave me a comment with your email address, and you could WIN a copy!
 

Sunday Snog #96: A New Snog from Cat Toy

Greetings, readers! Today's snog is a bit special. It's part of the Blisse Kiss After Dark blog hop event, a mini-fright-fest of Halloween-themed kissing fun.

I just uploading my October newsletter to my website. For my traditional free reading feature, I've written a sensational new chapter in my Cat Toy shifter serial. I realized that a black were-cat was absolutely perfect for a Halloween celebration.

Of course I can't do a blog hop without a prize. Leave a comment with your email below and I'll enter you in a drawing for a copy of my Halloween BDSM tale, Rendezvous.

After you've savored my kiss, hop on over to Victoria's Blisse Kiss page for links to lots more sexy snogs!

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I found my apartment door locked. Had Tom not returned yet? The studio was dark, all the lights out and the blinds drawn as I'd left them. “Tom?” My voice was hoarse with fear. She found him. She's caught him.

A man-shaped shadow rose from the chair near the window. “Shaina! Thank the gods you're safe!” In an instant, I was wrapped in his strong arms, with his face buried in my hair. Peace and comfort flooded in, washing away my worry and uncertainty. This was where I belonged.

Unerring even in the darkness, his lips found mine. I opened automatically, drinking in his sweet, wild flavor. He smelled of smoke and earth, crisp nights and growing things. The tension that had sustained me through my encounter with the sorceress vanished, so that for a moment I felt limp and weak. Taking advantage of my lassitude, he drew me closer, the rigid bulk in his trousers rooting in the gap between my thighs and making me gasp. As he boldly probed my mouth, his hands roamed over my curves to my ass and pulled me tighter still.

Fierce need swept through me like a forest fire. I threaded my fingers into his wiry curls and took over the kiss, sucking his tongue into my mouth, gnawing on his lips, devouring him. With a growl, he sank his fingernails into my butt – I could feel the bite even through my jeans - and ground his erection against me. The friction kindled sparks in my swollen clit. They shot through me, lighting up my body like fireworks.

His muscles shifted like bands of steel under his shirt, under my hands. My fingers itched to feel his nakedness. At the same time, I was unwilling to release my hold on him so that we could get undressed. Desperate with desire, clutching and writhing, we rocked against one another like boats caught in a storm.

“Now,” he groaned into my mouth. “I want you now!” We managed to separate long enough to tear off our clothes. Tom seized me around the waist and dragged me to the floor. He flipped me onto my stomach as though I weighed nothing, then grabbed my hips to haul me up to my hands and knees. His nails dug stinging crescents into my bare ass and his coarse pubic hair scratched the back of my thighs.

“Tom...?” I peered over my shoulder at his looming figure. His roughness both thrilled and scared me. He was so much stronger than I was. I could never fight him off.

But why was I thinking about fighting? I wanted everything he had to give me. 

*****

Want to read the rest of the story? Click here to read starting at the beginning, or here for just the new chapter. 

 

 

Hot Off the Presses....

I've just got to share my latest news. Rajasthani Moon has been contracted by Total-E-Bound! My multi-genre marvel (or monstrosity!) will pre-release on May 6th (available exclusively at the TEB site) and go to general release on June 3rd.

Like BDSM? You'll find it in this book.

How about steampunk? Yup!

Menage? Check!

Shapeshifters? I've got a tortured, sexy werewolf I think you'll definitely enjoy.

Like your heroines with plenty of curves? Cecily Harrowsmith is a Rubenesque Victorian lady who just happens to be a top-level secret agent for Her Majesty the Queen.

Oh, and if you're a Bollywood nut, Rajasthani Moon is set (duh!) in Rajasthan, India, and is full of colorful ceremonies, lush costumes, drumming and dancing.

I'll be sharing a kiss excerpt this Sunday - and probably doing a giveaway, too!

Stay tuned.

Very New Indeed

Today's the start of our Something New, Something Naughty Blog Hop. You could win one of our grand prizes – a $60 gift certificate from EdenFantasys, or one of two $25 gift certificates from your favorite bookstore. Every comment you leave on a blog hop post between today and the 13^th of January counts as an entry toward the grand prizes.

In addition, every single one of the thirty five authors participating is offering a prize to one person who comments on her particular post. In fact, if you visit all the authors, you're almost guaranteed to win something. You find links to all participants blogs at the end of this post.

 

For my personal prize, I'm offering your choice of three recent anthologies in ebook form, each of which includes a story by me:

Switch – BDSM, includes my M/F tale Mastering Maya.

Treble – Music themed ménage, includes my M/F/M story Wild About That Thing.

Seeing Stars – Science fiction, includes my award winning M/F/M ménage Bodies of Light.

Just tell me, in your comment, which you'd prefer.

So today I have something quite naughty, and extremely new, to share with you. I just finished (yesterday!) my latest novel, entitled Rajasthani Moon. And I suspect it's quite different from anything you've read before.

Those of you who follow my blogs know that I sometimes rail against genre labels as being too restrictive. Readers come to have specific expectations for a particular genre and they get upset if those are violated. Furthermore, some readers stick to only one or two genres, never bothering to find out what they are missing.

Rajasthani Moon began as a lark. I wanted to see how many different genres I could combine in a single story. I didn't expect the effort to turn into a novel, but the more I wrote, the more ideas I had. I just couldn't fit them into the ten to fifteen thousand words I originally thought I'd produce.

What genre is this novel? Steampunk – Bollywood – BDSM – Ménage – Shapeshifter – Rubenesque. I considered adding some M/M interaction but I've found that readers of M/M really get bent out of shape when I mix gay romance with heterosexual romance.

I'm usually superstitious about sharing excerpts from unpublished (or at least uncontracted) work. However, I'm making an exception for purposes of the blog hop. Here's the blurb and an unedited naughty excerpt from Rajasthani Moon. After you read it, leave me a comment telling whether you think I'm crazy or not, writing a book like this. Be honest! I promise to draw the winner at random.

Blurb

Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.

When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality has not knuckled under. Cecily Harrowsmith,secret agent extraordinaire, undertakes a difficult journey to the rugged, arid land of the Rajputs to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire's embrace. Instead, she's taken captive by a brigand who turns out to be the ruler's half brother and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.

Cursed before birth by Amir's jealous mother, the prince/bandit Pratan changes to a ravening wolf on every full moon. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen's hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual – offering her body to the beast. In return, the half-brothers reveal Rajasthan's amazing secret source of energy. Cecily has accomplished her mission. But can she really bear to leave the virile brothers and their colourful land behind and return to constraints of her life in England?

Excerpt

“Stop there, Miss Harrowsmith.” The voice was deep and mellow, with a lazy, smoky quality that reminded her of full moons and autumn bonfires. The man’s English was practically perfect. His lilting accent only added to the charm of his utterance. She found herself almost eager to obey orders delivered in such a lush voice.

“Kneel up. Let me look at you.”

Cecily tried to keep her gaze averted as she complied, though she was desperately tempted to see if the ruler was as handsome in the flesh as in his portrait.

His chuckle sent a shimmer through her, something like shame but hotter and sweeter. “Very nice indeed. If all of Queen Victoria’s minions were as delectable, we might be more willing to return to her fold.” He laughed again at his own pleasantry. “Guard – the shackles.”

One of the male attendants flanking the throne strode forward, holding two cuffs of embossed leather. A slender, silvery chain about a foot long trailed between them. In a few breaths, the restraints encircled her ankles, leaving her hobbled.

“Well, Miss Cecily Harrowsmith – look at me, woman, don’t stare at your hands like some servant girl – what have you to say for yourself? Are you ready to confess? Do you admit you’ve infiltrated our realm to spy out our secrets and force us back under the thumb of your ambitious Queen?”

The Rajah leaned forward in his chair, no more than a half-dozen feet from her. A welcoming smile lit his clean-shaven face, but his eyes were black as coal and sharp as obsidian. Jet curls adorned his forehead, peeking out from under his turban of gold brocade, and jewel-studded ornaments stretched his earlobes. His sensitive mouth and smooth cheeks made him seem somehow softer than his brother - younger, fresher, less jaded. However, the intelligence she read in his gaze quickly dispelled any notion that she was dealing with a callow youth.

Cecily struggled to muster her thoughts in the face of such outrageous male beauty.

“Sir – ah – Your Highness – I must beg your pardon and ask for your indulgence. It’s true that I came to Rajasthan to discover how your country has managed since your ill-advised refusal to share your revenues with the Crown. Her Majesty was concerned that without a steady supply of viridium, your people might well be suffering.”

Amir burst into a merry laugh. “The Queen is concerned about us poor Rajasthanis, is she? Well, as you can see, we are not suffering in the least. You can report back that her concern is misplaced. Better she should be concerned for your well-being, my lady spy.”

Cecily remained silent, suspecting that the clever Rajah would twist her words regardless of her excuses.

Amir rose from his throne to loom over her kneeling figure.

“You may know that Rajasthanis are renowned for their ferocity. The usual punishment for espionage or treason involves a distinctly unpleasant combination of branding, disembowelling and then being left out in the desert to die.” He cupped her chin and raised her eyes to his. “It would be a pity to subject such a lovely creature to that sort of - indignity – but still, there’s no question that you deserve it, is there?”

His smile grew broader but his eyes remained hard.

She swallowed her rising terror, striving for a rational, conciliatory tone. “Please, Your Highness – I’m not a spy, merely the Empire’s envoy. The Queen sent me to reopen diplomatic relations. She would like to re-establish contacts with Rajasthan, a connection between equals...”

“Really? If you’re on an official diplomatic mission, why were you travelling in disguise?”

“As you note, Sir, your countrymen are known for their violence and lawlessness. A woman openly journeying as Her Majesty’s representative would be especially vulnerable to attack by brigands and highwaymen...” Cecily stopped short, overwhelmed by memories of her time with Pratan. Her nipples knotted under the thin silk of her bodice and moisture painted her thighs. Once again embarrassment heated her face. She tried to tear her eyes from the Rajah’s but he would not allow it.

He shook his head. “I really don’t know what I should do with you.” He flipped the gauzy train of her sari off her shoulder, exposing the swollen nubs that strained the fabric of her top. “Though I imagine I’ll think of something.”

For an instant she expected him to reach for her brazenly erect nips, to pinch or twist them. She knew he’d be cruel. A shudder of anticipation raced through her. She sucked in her breath, expecting – no, craving – the debasement.

He didn’t touch her. Instead, he favoured her with an ironic grin and settled back into his chair. “Sit here, then.” He indicated a nest of pillows piled to one side of the throne. “For now, I shall pretend that you’re telling the truth, Cecily, and treat you as the honoured representative of a foreign monarch.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Cecily released the air she’d been holding in her lungs. A bit awkward, she crawled past Amir’s feet to curl up among the cushions, her legs tucked under her. The silver chain tangled in her sari. As she tried to remedy this, she gave it a quick tug to test its strength. The delicacy of the chain was misleading. It seemed as unyielding as the robotic bonds Pratan had employed.

“The festival will begin as soon as the crescent moon rises above the palace walls.” He favoured her with another brilliant smile, his eyes softer now. “It’s quite a spectacle.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she answered, since he seemed to expect a reply. Leaning a bit closer, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his silk-clad form, she lowered her voice and loaded it with honey. “But Sir – is it really necessary that I be shackled like some common criminal?” After all the effort I made to get to Rajasthan, to obtain an audience with Your Highness, do you really think it’s likely I would flee?”

“I don’t plan to give you the opportunity, my lovely. In any case, I like seeing you in chains. They suit you.” And now he did touch her, flicking a jewelled finger across one of her still-taut nipples.

A blade of pleasure sliced through her. She couldn’t control her gasp.

“You’ll find that’s one of the many things my brother and I have in common – a fondness for rendering beautiful women helpless.”

As if conjured by the Rajah’s words, a door swung open behind the thrones – Cecily could see now that although the canopy was temporary, the tiered viewing platform was built into the wall – and Pratan stepped onto the platform.

“Amir! I see that you’ve already made Miss Harrowsmith’s acquaintance, Your Highness.” Apparently heedless of royal protocol, the bandit prince bestowed an enthusiastic hug on his brother. “Be careful. She’s a caged tiger. Good evening, Cecily...”

Pratan crouched in front of Cecily and without the slightest warning, fondled her breasts.

“I – you - release me this instant, you...” Cecily sputtered, fighting the arousal that flooded her. “How dare you?” she added when he didn’t obey, only too aware of the contradictions between her words and her reactions. She gripped his arms, trying to tear his hands from her hungry flesh and noticing despite herself the way his biceps flexed under his satin tunic. He simply ignored her, crushing her aching nipples in his palms. One hand traced the line of her hips then wandered across her belly, finally coming to rest near the juncture of her thighs. All the while, he held her eyes – challenging her to deny her irrepressible lust.

Amir could scarcely contain his laughter. “Ah, brother, clearly you know our guest far more intimately than I do. But I plan to remedy that soon.”

Pratan cupped Cecily’s pubis for a moment longer. He teased a finger back and forth along the damp fabric covering her cleft before he rose to seat himself beside his brother. Cecily choked down her cry of frustration. “You’ll find it well worth your while, Amir-ji, but don’t let down your guard.”

***

Let me know your thoughts. Don't forget to leave your email address as part of your comment, and also to tell which anthology you would prefer.

Participants in the Something New, Something Naughty Blog Hop

Adriana Kraft Adriana Kraft	Alisha Paige/Ruby Vines Addicted to Genre Bending	Ann Cory Ann Cory
Cassandra Carr Hot Blogging with Heart	Cherie Noel Great Expectations	Diane Thorne Diane Thorne - Erotic Romance Author
Donna George Storey Sex, Food, and Writing	Donna Michaels Romaginative Fiction-Donna's Dish	Elise VanCise Gladiator's Pen
Harlie Williams Harlie Williams, Writer	Helena Harker Open the Door to Your Fantasies	Jennifer Wright Jennifer Wright's Blog
Justus Roux Where Love and Erotic Know No Boundaries	Kayelle Allen Unstoppable Heroes	Kelli Scott Lip Service
Kendall McKenna Love and Dog Tags	Lisabet Sarai Beyond Romance	Lisa Carlisle Lisa Carlisle's News
Lyndi Lamont Lyndi's Love Notes	M. S. Spencer M. S. Spencer Tale Spinner	Marie Sexton Marie Sexton
May Water May Water's Erotica	Michelle Moon Ink Dipped Moon	Mona Karel Mona Karel Blog
Naomi Bellina Naomi Bellina Adventurous Erotic Romance	Nicole Morgan Bringing Passion To Life	Rose Anderson Calliopes Writing Tablet
Roz Lee Roz Lee	S. Dora S. Dora	Sapphire Phelan Sapphire Phelan's Passion Corner
Stormie Kent Stormie Kent's Musings	Suz deMello Fearless, Fast-paced Fiction	Synithia Williams Synithia Williams
Victoria Pinder Victoria Pinder Romance Author	Virginia Nelson Virginia Nelson, Author

Volcan de Fuego

If you've read the news in the last week or so, you might have heard about the recent eruption of Volcan de Fuego (or "Volcano of Fire"), the most active volcano in Guatemala. I've always been intrigued (and a bit scared) by volcanoes. I remember visiting the Mount St. Helens museum half a dozen years after the 1980 eruption. The devastation was astonishing - humbling. The closest I've come personally to an active volcano was in Bali, where I saw plumes of smoke belching from Gunug Agung, one of the three volcanic mountains that dominate the island. (The Balinese consider them gods, and I can see why.)

Anyway, I was excited to see Volcan de Fuego in the news, because believe it or not, the mountain plays a crucial role in my paranormal novel Serpent's Kiss. At the book's climax, the forces of good and evil engage in an epic battle near the crest of the volcano, complete with fire and ash galore. I thought I might share a snippet with you - but not too much since I would rather you read the entire book LOL!

***

The ground lurched under her feet, throwing her down on all fours. A deafening roar welled up from the earth. Thunder answered. Lightning shot through the cloudbank, painting the grey walls a lurid white before plunging everything into blackness. I’m too late, Elena thought, her body tossed about like a rag doll by the unsteady ground. It’s already the end.

Her knees and palms stung, lacerated by the coarse surface beneath her. She opened her eyes. A cloud of sparks exploded into the night sky. Hot ash rained down on her bare arms. The earth shook itself and bellowed like a wounded beast. Red and yellow tongues flared up, hissing, silhouetting the black edge of a ridge in front of her. The air reeked of sulphur.

Volcán de Fuego. She had made it.

She tried to stand, but the frenzied earth kept casting her down. She finally had to crawl to the lip of the crater, ignoring the sharp pumice that abraded her skin. An explosion tore at her eardrums. Flames snapped above her head. New sparks pelted down. Burning embers landed in her hair, but were smothered by her thick mane. Blisters rose on her skin.

Warily, she peered over the raised edge into the broad, shallow bowl of the caldera.

This depression, perhaps fifty metres across, was the remnant of an old eruption that had blown off the top of the mountain. At its centre, a cinder cone belched sparks and flame from the active vent. Clouds of steam and ash swirled above the basin, stained a dirty orange by the seething fires below. The sulphurous stink clung to her nostrils.

The concave space was paved with grey pumice and black ash, interrupted by basalt boulders metres high that had been ejected in past ages. It reminded Elena of a Roman amphitheatre. Within its confines, gladiators fought to the death.

They wore their beast forms. The enormous jaguar, orange as the volcanic flames, circled the winged snake. Quetzlcoatl hovered above the ground, his wing-beats sending sparks circling around them. The were-cat’s roar of challenge echoed across the basin; the earth growled in answer. He lashed out at the serpent with a vicious paw. Even from her distant vantage point, Elena saw the claws flash.

Jorge darted out of the way. The cat’s talons sliced through smoky air. Remorros roared again, this time in frustration. Meanwhile, Jorge drew back his massive head, then struck like lightning. The jaguar tried to evade the strike, but the snake’s fangs raked a pair of deep grooves across his flank. Blood gathered in an opaque pool on the glittering black sand.

Remorros backed away, not taking his eyes off his opponent. Jorge stilled his wings and settled to the ground, awaiting the next assault. The cat limped slightly. He bent to lick at his wounds. Suddenly, he gathered himself into a crouch and launched himself into the air, toward his opponent. His jaws closed on the serpent’s throat.

Elena struggled desperately not to cry out. She knew that distracting Jorge now could be fatal. The snake did not seem badly hurt, however, perhaps due to his scaly armour. He unfolded one of his bird-limbs and ripped into the jaguar’s belly with a dagger-like talon.

Remorros bellowed in agony. Jorge shook him off and whirled away to a safer distance. His wings beat slowly as he watched his antagonist. Elena did not see any wound, but it seemed from Jorge’s tentative movements that he too was in pain.

The jaguar lay on its side, panting. Had Jorge won?As she watched, hardly daring to hope, the cat-form blurred and shrank. The naked body of Teodoro Remorros stretched out on the floor of the caldera, a gaping hole in his abdomen.

He can’t possibly survive such an injury, thought Elena, rising to her knees in order to get a better view. This must be the end. But even as she watched, the man pushed himself to a sitting position, then to a hunched stand. He placed his hands over the terrible wound - Elena could see the blood seeping between his fingers. —and he began to chant in some alien tongue.

The volcano rumbled and belched cinders. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. Remorros stood tall. He took his hands away from his belly. The wound was gone.

Remorros’ laugh rang out in the sulphurous air. “Kulkulcan! See my power! My god-flesh is indestructible

***

Want more? You can purchase Serpent's Kiss from Total-E-Bound or Amazon.com.

Review: Base Nature by Sommer Marsden

Reviewed by Lisabet Sarai

(You can buy Base Nature from Ellora's Cave.)

Wolf-shifter Garrett Gustafson has left his pack. He can't accept the death of his beloved mate at the hands of a drunken hunter, nor the decision of his pack not pursue vengeance. Still grieving, he never expects to find another woman who calls to him, body and soul--especially not a human.

Liv McCoy spends her life in fear. Daughter of a battered mother, she finds herself attracted despite herself to men like her father, men who threaten and abuse her. At first, when Garrett protects her from her angry boyfriend, she doesn't dare trust the big, handsome carpenter. Before long she understands that even though Garrett is half-beast, he will protect and nurture her in a way that she has never experienced. For Liv, however, that is not enough. Having spent her life without power, now she wants the power that only Garrett can give--by turning her into a wolf like him.

Sommer Marsden's Base Nature is a classic shape-shifter romance with all the traditional elements of the sub-genre: a massive, strong, noble but emotionally tortured hero; an irresistible attraction between him and the heroine; a quirky but supportive shapeshifter clan; an excruciating change from human to other; and of course, a happy ending. As one might expect from a writer with Ms. Marsden's credentials, the book offers a well-crafted development of the relationship and plenty of hot sex scenes.

What sets this book apart from the dozens of other wolf-shifter novels available, in my opinion, is the character of Liv. Especially in the first half of the book, her emotions blaze off the page. I remember reading a scene where she is being stalked by her abusive boyfriend and suddenly realizing that adrenaline was flooding my body. My heart was pounding; my mouth was dry. I was there with her. Ms. Marsden has vividly evoked the tangled psychology that draws the abused to her abuser.

As the tale developed, I found Liv's changed personality somewhat hard to accept. It seemed to me that she trusted Garrett a bit too quickly to be plausible. By the end of the book, though, when she and her wounded lover are holed up in the deserted house where she saw her mother abused, I was ready to believe that she had truly found a reservoir of strength within, power that had nothing to do with her beast nature.

The novel also appealed to me because the wolves are portrayed as powerful but not invulnerable. Their hyper-keen senses and muscular strength are believable extensions of real wolf abilities. They can, however, be hurt or even killed, including by careless humans. As I've written in other posts, I prefer a paranormal world in which the magic is clearly defined and limited. I dislike worlds where anything can happen, where the author can pull out some new, unexpected power at any time in order to save the day.

If you're a fan of were-wolf romance, you'll enjoy Base Nature. The book has all that you expect, and more.