What Kind of Writer Am I?

By Mackenzie Lucas (Guest Blogger)

I’m what they like to call a Plan-ster. I do some initial planning, then I’m a pantser. I enjoy the discovery process that comes for me during the creative writing of a story too much to worry about planning out every little detail of my book first.

So what I usually do is I come up with the core concept of the story and write a little blurb about it, combining a Michal Hauge and a Bob Mayer type of process. Once I have my short paragraph--maybe twenty-five or so words. I’ll come up with a list of plot points. Things I know need to happen in my story from beginning to end. It’s everything I know about the story. It can be in order, or it can be out of order, it doesn’t matter. At times I’ve done this on the computer then printed the plot points out and taped them onto individual index cards. That way, I can shuffle the points around and move them as I need. These are the tent poles, as Jenny Cruise calls them--the plot points that hold up my story.

When I have my plot points written down. I sit and write an in-depth character sketch of my main characters, usually the hero and the heroine. So that I begin to get to know them. Understand their motivations and backgrounds and wounds. Something I’ve recently added to my process is that I write down each of their arcs. Where they are at the beginning of the story and where they are (usually emotionally) by the end of the story. This way, I know how they change. I may not yet know what changes them. But I see them at the beginning and the end. I’ve also begun to note the arc they have in their relationships with others beyond the main character. Say, for example, the arc my heroine has with her grandmother who is a secondary character.

Then, it’s time to begin writing in earnest. I open my word document (or sometimes Scrivener) and I begin … Chapter One. The beauty of my process is that it works for me (for now). Every book is a little different. And, sometimes, the process changes slightly. But I get down everything I know first. Then, I begin to write from one known point to the next, and as I do, fun and interesting things pop up to make my story richer and bring it alive. This is the part I love. It’s the dating phase. The discovery phase where we know each other well enough to go out and share a meal, but as we sit and have a conversation, we find hidden depths and fall just a little more in love with each other. So that by the time I’m finished with the story, there’s not a nuance I don’t know about the story I’ve just told.

So there you see how I’m a self-defined Plan-ster. ;0)

Blurb

All Haven Jameson ever wanted was to own a little piece of paradise. Now, she does, having established a successful luxury spa in St. Augustine, Florida. But when the property next door is sold to a mega developer and his pro-golf celebrity brother who design trendy, bustling playgrounds for the rich and famous, she fears her dream could slip away. Confronted by her late husband’s infidelity, Haven learns everything she believed about her marriage was a lie; so she finally sets aside her grief and opens her heart to loving the widowed pro-golfer who is her biggest professional competition. In the end, Haven discovers that living a safe, loveless life is far worse than embracing passion and taking a chance on a man who’s vowed never to love again. And that, sometimes, no matter how high the risk, the best paradise of all can be found inside our own hearts. 

Excerpt

Pace Daniels lay on his belly on a massage table, naked except for a thin sheet covering his backside. He rested his cheek on his hands and closed his eyes, and breathed in the calming scent of the room.

Light music played from the overhead speakers, not too loud, but nice. It sounded like a mix of music from India and the Southwest—Burma to Santa Fe. Pan flutes and bowl singing. Interesting.

He breathed deep again, taking air deep into his lungs, and pushed through the pain in his shoulder, the achiness that seemed to stick with him no matter what he did.

It was time to retire. Leave the circuit.

He'd known for a while now. Hell, he was a fairly young man for his profession. But one mistake. One stupid mistake had cost him everything. And now at the age of almost forty, he was facing a blank future. Filled with a lot of nothing if he didn't make some changes soon.

He had no idea what to expect when he'd come to Essence. A pretty brunette had given him instructions today for the massage, showed him the transition room—a fancy name for a locker room—and where to store his clothes and belongings. Of course, he'd had massages before. Mostly by sports medicine doctors.

Essence surprised him. Pleasantly. The atmosphere was different than he’d imagined. He'd expected fru fru and had been bowled over at every turn. The place wasn't just a female Mecca, as he’d feared. He'd anticipated salon chairs and manicurists around every corner.

Instead, the spa resort was a posh hotel.

A serene place. A spot he could see himself settling into to find some measure of peace in his own life.

He let out a deep sigh.

But, no. He wouldn't. He'd move on like he always did.

A knock sounded at the door and a moment later, the door opened on silent hinges. He opened his eyes to see the massage therapist.

The woman who entered wasn't the petite, curvy brunette who'd checked him in, but a tall, leggy blonde.

He stilled as he watched her.

Yes, she was beautiful. High cheekbones, wide, exotic pale green eyes, lush body. But there was something else. Something indefinable. Something more, he couldn’t explain. Maybe a sadness that clung to her that he recognized because the same sloe-eyed desolation dogged him, day after day for the past ten years.

He couldn’t be one-hundred percent certain to what extent, but on some level, he identified with her.

Then she spoke, and every cell in his body awoke at the husky tone of her voice. Sex liquefied. He'd die and go to Heaven if he could just have her talk to him for the next hour in that sweet, sexy, soft voice.

“I'm sorry. I must be in the wrong room.” She turned to go.

He pushed up from the table. “No. Wait.”

About the Author

Mackenzie Lucas is a lover of story in any form. She’s an avid reader of genre fiction, she writes contemporary and paranormal romance, and she listens to an eclectic mix of music that spans from pop/rock to country to gospel. She loves a good story whether it’s an erotic short, a full-length romance novel, or the narrative slice-of-life found in country music. In any story, emotional integrity and authenticity are most important to her as well as a big dose of romping hot sexual tension. She enjoys smart-mouthed, sexy heroines, hunky alpha heroes who know how to take care of their women, and plot twists that surprise her, but most of all, she just wants to experience a satisfying emotional arc of a character falling in love and finding what he or she needs most in life.

Mac is a small-town country girl with a world-traveler’s soul. She grew up in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania and she’s lived in Dublin, Ireland, within spitting distance of New York City in Long Island, and now in the Washington, D.C. area. She obtained her undergraduate degree in English Literature from Dickinson College and received her M.F.A. in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She’s currently an author, writing coach, a mother, and a wife.

With Mackenzie Lucas--whether you’re reading her light paranormal romance, her small-town-based contemporary romance, or her steamin’ hawt erotica--you’ll always get a story about connectedness, community, and emotional authenticity, and, at its core, love. No, and it doesn’t hurt that all her heroes are panty-melting gorgeous alphas and all their sexy, sensually aware heroines know how to stand up to them, give no quarter, and love them just as they are.

Links

Website: http://www.mackenzielucas.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MacLucas_writer

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MackenzieLucasAuthor

https://www.facebook.com/MackenzieLucasFanPage

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6915570.Mackenzie_Lucas

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Sunday Snog #113: Forbidden Kisses from Her Secret Weapon

Forbidden? Oh yes. I generally make it a policy never to post excerpts from books that haven't been contracted yet. It's like tempting fate. However, I'm so excited about Her Secret Weapon - and it contains so many juicy kisses - that I just couldn't resist.

If you missed the blurb for this new book, you can find it in my post from Friday. And if you are curious about the history of these characters, snag yourself a copy of the prequel, Her Secret Ingredient!

After you're done with my snog, click back over to Victoria's for more sweet and sultry kisses!

***

“Of course, we’d never do anything without your consent.” Harry’s velvet-brown eyes sparked with mischief. “You’re the boss.”

“Consent? I didn’t consent to – this!” My limbs were too entangled with theirs to make the sort of dismissive gesture my protest required.

“You didn’t exactly object.” Harry captured my other nipple – Etienne was still massaging the first – and delivered a moderately vicious pinch that set my juices flowing.

“But you two – you conspired against me, didn’t you? Etienne, you didn’t seem the least bit surprised when Harry showed up!”

“Well, you told me yourself that you and he were lovers.” The chef released my breast and feathered his way down my belly in the direction of my rapidly dampening pussy. I tried to ignore the sparks he kindled when he brushed his fingertips over my pubic fur.

Gathering every ounce of will I could muster, I tore myself away from his caresses and pulled myself into a sitting position. I glared at the chef lounging beside me, trying to reclaim my authority. “Tell me the truth. Did you and Harry plan this three-way scenario?”

Etienne and Harry exchanged a meaningful look. Their coziness suddenly infuriated me.

“Damn you both! I’m not some piece of meat to be carved up between you!” All at once I wanted to get out of this too crowded bed. I wanted to throw on my clothes and storm out of the room in righteous indignation. To do so, though, I would have to clamber over Etienne’s magnificent body. It would be difficult to avoid touching the eager erection jutting up from his groin.

“Calm down, Emily.” Harry’s hand clamped around my wrist and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. “We did confer about tonight, I admit. We agreed that sharing you was the best approach to a situation that was bound to become awkward very soon.”

“Awkward? Things were going very smoothly. You dominated me. I dominated Etienne. Everyone was happy.”

“You weren’t happy, love. Admit it. You felt guilty and confused. When you were with Etienne, you felt as though you were betraying me. Meanwhile Etienne’s devotion had you worried about his reaction when he learned you belonged to me.”

He was right, of course. I remembered my tête à tête with Etienne at the café that afternoon. I’d been terribly concerned about his reaction to the news about Harry. Meanwhile when Harry made me recount my exploits with Etienne, I’d always tried to conceal my excitement, to play down the thrill I got acting the role of his mistress.

“You’ve got nothing to hide now.” With his lanky frame, mussed hair and crooked grin, Harry almost looked like a teenager. A very horny teen, considering the substantial erection bobbing hopefully at his groin. He flipped back onto his side and gazed up at me, his eyes slightly out of focus without his glasses. “Everything’s out in the open.”

“But it’s all so – complicated!” As usual, my objections began to melt in the warmth of his smile. He danced his fingers up my outstretched thigh and my pussy clenched in anticipation.

“On the contrary, I think this considerably simplifies the situation – Ms. Wong.” Etienne’s voice was deferential, but I read a mirror of Harry’s mischief in his expression. “I serve you. You serve Harry. Each of us gets what he or she wants.”

“There’s no more need for secrets, love. Or for surreptitiously administered enhancements to the libido, either…” Harry slipped a fingertip between my moist lips and grazed a fingernail across my clit. My annoyance paled next to the flare of pleasure kindled by his touch. Before I could clamp down to hold his hand in my crotch, however, he’d snatched it away.

“Oh no!” I groaned, fighting arousal and disappointment. “You told him…?”

“I had my suspicions in any case. It doesn’t matter. Your methods might have been dubious, but I’m grateful for the results.” Etienne glanced down at the livid marks of my chopstick, marching up his lean thighs toward his rearing cock. His voice held quiet pride. “I might never have had the courage to act on my desires if not for your – um – intervention.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed, Emily. All we want – both of us – is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”

Harry hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner. Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave, glamorous chef?

I relaxed and let him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender. His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss, pouring from him into me.

Warmth pressed against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then smoothed his palm down my side to my waist and the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness increased the thrill engendered by his touch. You’ll pay for this, I thought, giddy with desire, as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll trash your butt until you can’t sit down.

Etienne knew he’d be punished. That was part of his motivation.

Only part, though. I felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.

A Tour with Fur

By Kendall McKenna, Jambrea Jo Jones and Cherie Noel (Guest Bloggers)

This experience has been a wonderful, if exhausting one. The blog tour for Big Bone Lick Pack is coming to a close. We’ve learned a lot while on tour. It helps to have three people along for the ride. If someone gets sick (Kendall and Cherie), make sure the calendar with all the tour and due dates can be accessed by all three. Don’t freak out at the last minute when you can’t remember when the next blog post is due (Jambrea), just check the calendar! Having three people on the team also kept the load of writing and submitting posts, off of one person. Along the way, we reaffirmed that the brain is a fabulous thing. Three writers of disparate personality, who managed to write interlocking stories for an anthology, turned around and collaborated on a long series of blog posts. As a team, we managed to draft a series original posts, without repeating a single one! Whew!

We hope that everyone who has followed the three of us on tour have enjoyed it as well. Our favorite parts of the tour were the character interviews. It was something fun that we came up with out of the blue when Kendall was sick and Cherie and Jambrea were struggling to find a topic. We hope you all enjoyed those as well.

This entire project taught each of us different lessons. All three of us learned that we’re capable of an easy and successful collaboration with each other. We learned how creatively fun it is to build a fantasy world that is set in a real world location, and mixing the best of both reality and fantasy. Jambrea and Cherie learned firsthand just how super organized Kendall is, and just how much of a lifesaver a calendar can be.

BIG BONE LICK PACK (ANTHOLOGY)

Bad Wolf and Devil Dog by Kendall McKenna

Big, Bad Bear by Jambrea Jo Jones

Shifty Fox Shenanigans by Cherie Noel

Blurb

Welcome to the Big Bone Lick Pack: A more friendly and hospitable group of werewolves you’ll never meet! Visit with; 'Devil Dog and Bad Wolf', a 'Big Bad Bear' and enjoy some 'Shifty Fox Shenanigans'. Watch yourself, 'round the state park, 'cause we had a grizzly on the loose, just a bit ago. Our brave men and woman of the Boone County Sheriff's Department have everything under control. (Except maybe their own love lives!) But if you find yourself needing a doctor, head on down to Rabbit Hash clinic, or St. Elizabeth's Hospital is just up the road a piece. We hope you enjoy your stay.

Excerpt

At the sound of the barking dog, Seth sat straight up in his grave. He reached for his sidearm before he remembered where he was. He laughed at his own overreaction. Yeah, it could be a wolf, but it was probably just someone's pet dog.

The dog barked again, raising the hair on the back of Seth's neck. He scrambled out of his grave, unsheathing both his weapons. There was something about the barking that had Seth on alert. He quickly flicked the lantern on, but its dim circle of light was little help. He turned in a slow three-sixty, peering into the darkness, trying to assess possible threats among the shapes and shadows.

A growl carried from the far side of the river, loud enough the rushing water didn't drown it out. The dog was getting closer and it sounded like a damn big one. Seth flicked the safety off and tightened his grip on his sidearm. He'd need it if the dog turned out to be a wolf. Wolves avoided humans, though, so there wasn't much chance of that.

Seth snorted derisively. "There's no such thing as werewolves," he said under his breath. "You asshole, Chad. You can't be right about this."

The growl came from across the river again. It was deep and ferocious, full of menace and hostility. That was a damn big wolf.

"Just 'cause it's big, doesn't mean it spends half its time human." Hearing the words out loud reminded Seth how ridiculous the idea of werewolves was. Christ. Why had he let Chad talk him into this?

This time, the growl was almost a roar. Something large and heavy-bodied crashed through the trees, headed right for Seth. Okay - not a wolf. He raised the Smith and Wesson in the direction of the rampaging animal, adjusting his grip on the Ka-Bar. 

A shadow moved quickly through the trees. It ran on four legs but was too tall at the shoulders, too wide in the chest to be a wolf. When it wove its way between two trees, Seth caught sight of its profile. His knees went weak and his heart slammed in his chest.

"Jesus Christ, a bear," he muttered through clenched teeth.

The bear reached the riverbank. It didn't even pause before plunging into the rushing water, splashing its way across. The bear didn't swim, it kept running. Seth realized the river was shallow in that spot. This thing was going to be on him in seconds.

The bear charged up the near riverbank and panic gripped Seth. He scrambled backward, his hand trembling as he tried to hold his sidearm steady. Despite the darkness, the bear was close enough now that Seth could see the giant, round head, and the thick ridge between its shoulders.

He'd rather face down a werewolf than a grizzly bear.

The bear ran straight toward Seth, its mouth open wide, frighteningly long teeth clearly visible. Seth fired several rounds at the grizzly, knowing it would have no effect on an animal that large. He was right; it didn't slow the rampaging bear at all.

Throwing the gun aside to free his hand, Seth fought the urge to turn and run. That would excite the predator even more. If the bear attacked him, Seth's only hope was to bury his Ka-Bar in one of its eyes, or its nose. If he lived through this, he was going to be totally fucked up.

When the enormous bear hit Seth, it felt like he'd been slammed into a brick wall. Seth hit the ground hard, all his breath knocked out of him, sharp pains shooting up his back. His head struck something hard and Seth saw stars.

The grizzly's hot breath blasted Seth's face. He stabbed the Ka-Bar into thick fur. He tried to reach the bear's eyes. He had no effect on the rampaging animal. Seth screamed when claws raked his arm. His side was on fire as claws sank into his stomach.

The last thing he saw was wickedly long teeth descending over his face.

****

The Big Bone Lick Pack, an anthology was released January 24^th by MLR Press. http://www.mlrbooks.com/ShowBook.php?book=ANTHBBLS

It features stories written by Kendall McKenna (www.kendallmckenna.com ), Jambrea Jo Jones (www.jambrea.com ) and Cherie Noel (http://talesfromthewritingcave.blogspot.com/p/my-books.html ).

Thank you again for joining us here! If you’ve lasted this long, now you can enter for a chance to win a stuffed, plush wolf and bear, that represent Jambrea’s characters, Dov and Kane, from her Big Bone Lick Pack story.

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Why Don't You Write a Serious Book?

I just sent off the manuscript for my ninth novel to Totally Bound. I feel elated and exhausted, as I always do when I finish a book. I'm not worried about being accepted, since this tale was specifically commissioned by the publisher. However, as always, I worry about whether readers will like it, whether it will sell.

Her Secret Weapon is a novel-length follow-on to my short piece, Her Secret Ingredient. Here's the tag line and blurb.

One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster? 

Accomplished cook Mei Lee “Emily” Wong knows exactly what she wants: her own show on the Tastes of France food channel. But life is full of complications. First, her deceptively nerdy producer Harry Sanborne initiates Emily into the delights of submission. Then her boss, legendary chef Etienne Duvalier, begs her to dominate him, and Emily can’t resist the opportunity to have her way with the suave and sexy Frenchman. Fortunately Harry’s too horny to be jealous and Etienne will do whatever she asks, in the bedroom if not in the kitchen. Somehow Emily manages the balance of power to keep both men satisfied.

When the network sends the trio to France to shoot a series of cooking shows on location, Emily knows her career is on the upswing. Her plans fall apart in Marseille as a Hong Kong drug syndicate kidnaps both Etienne and Harry. The Iron Hammer Triad mistakes Etienne for notorious French gangster Jean le Requin, who has stolen their drug shipment, worth millions. Emily realizes she must find the real Le Requin, retrieve the purloined dope, and bargain it for Harry’s and Etienne’s lives. But what chance does one Chinese woman whose knife skills are limited to chopping vegetables have against the ruthless cruelty of two criminal organizations? Even her secret weapon may not be powerful enough to save her two lovers.

Warning: includes both female dominance  and female submission, anal sex, outrageous lingerie, and chopsticks used as instruments of erotic torture. 

I'm pretty happy with the way the story turned out, especially since I wrote and sold the blurb long before I'd figured out how the plot was actually going to work. And I have to warn readers that in addition to adventure and French local color, the book includes lots of delicious sex. 

Anyway, during a recent email conversation with my younger sister, I mentioned I'd just finished another novel. She replied:

Wow! You are so talented. Have you ever thought about writing something more mainstream ... with a just little vavavoom... Why not make some substantial money.  Or maybe some fantasy sci fi.  You know better than I, but I think the teen market ... ie hunger games type stuff is pretty hot right now.  You are such a great writer, you should consider it.

  

I've gotten the same line from my  brother. "Why don't you write a serious book?" he asks. The implication being, of course, why am I wasting my time writing this erotic stuff?

If money were my main object (which it isn't), I might point out to them that aside from a handful of people like J.K. Rowling and James Patterson, romance authors are the ones doing the best with book sales at present. Or I might note that writing what is "hot these days" almost guarantees that by the time the cookie-cutter book is done, the content won't be so hot any more - because there will be a thousand other copies on the market.

But I'm not writing to get rich in any case. If I were, I'd have to quite my job and really focus on the process, because despite the mythology of the instant best seller, you have to keep putting out one book after the other in order to actually make a living as an author. 

Meanwhile, how can I convey the fact that for me, erotica is serious?  Okay, I'll admit that Her Secret Weapon isn't deep. Perhaps it won't win any awards for literary excellence. Still, it deals with some real issues like honesty, ambition, jealousy, and the balance between heart and mind. And it's a great, fast-moving, sexy story.

I believe that it's important to write about sexuality and sexual pleasure - and to write well. People are so conflicted about sex. Reading a frank, explicit story that celebrates the sexual can have beneficial effects. I hate to bring up FSOG, but the infamous trilogy has opened the eyes - and the minds - of many readers. They should try my work, which actually offers a much more positive message. 

However, erotica is routinely dismissed as trash or (heaven help us!) "porn". I view this as a symptom of how much our society actually needs erotic literature. 

I write sexually explicit fiction because sex interests me, because I think sex is important, and because I'm good at it. The fact that my writing is not considered "serious" is society's problem, not mine. 

 

In the Footsteps of the Brontës…

By Ashe Barker (Guest Blogger)

I live on the edge of the Brontë moors in West Yorkshire, UK. Haworth is about four miles away, a mecca for international tourists and locals alike. The Brontë’s birthplace in Thornton is even closer, just down the road. I walk, quite literally, in the footsteps of the Brontës every day, and couldn’t help but be influenced by them. I defy anyone with so much as a passing interest in the written word to remain aloof.

And like the Brontës, I choose to include the stunning local scenery in my stories. It’s almost another character, making its own unique contribution to the action of the other players. They can only be what and who they are because of where they are. Like Cathy, like Heathcliff, Eva and Nathan, Tom and Ashley are products of their place.

And what a special place it is. This picture, taken about a year ago by a friend of mine when we went for a hike up there, is Top Withens (© Steve Swis Photography). This ruined farmstead high above Stanbury is generally accepted to be the inspiration for the Earnshaw home in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. 

Although the house Emily described bore no resemblance to the farm, now in ruins, the location may have influenced her. It hasn’t changed much in the last couple of hundred years or so.

I like to describe real places in my stories, and Top Withens is one of the locations mentioned by name. It’s 

close to this remote spot that Ashley becomes trapped in Unsure, when she’s taken ill up on the moors and needs to be rescued. By Tom of course, who else? Top Withens is also a stopping off point for hikers on the Brontë Way, which is the scene for some of Nathan and Eva’s al fresco adventures in Darker. Eva’s first view of this landscape is described in the early chapters of Darkening and this marks the start of her love affair with the moorland setting. Mine started many years earlier and I think this picture explains why.

So, how far does the Brontë influence stretch? The Dark Side has been likened to Jane Eyre though I’m not in a position to comment really, never having read that particular masterpiece (hangs head in shame). 

Nevertheless, I do believe that we are all influenced by our environment, we are all products of our place. These moors are wild, passionate, changeable and timeless. Those qualities can be seen in the people who live and work here today, and whose stories I try to tell. It’s those qualities, and the passionately evocative lure of the Brontë genius which continues to draw visitors from all over the world – even the signage along the Brontë Way is in English and Japanese! And this same wild beauty will inspire artists, writers, musicians for many more years to come. I’m just one in a long line, I suspect.

I do write about other places – this is a huge world we live in and our perspective is now quite rightly a global one. But I’m always drawn back here. I find roots are important to me, and to my characters. They make us what we are.

The Dark Side and Sure Mastery are both set in this atmospheric location. Here’s the blurb:

 

The Dark Side trilogy charts the sensual journey of academic musician Eva Byrne as she struggles to overcome painful shyness, sexual inhibition and personal tragedy. Lonely, unsophisticated, desperately seeking love and approval, Eva is easy prey for sensual and experienced Nathan Darke. 

He wants her submission, and he knows how to go about getting it. Eva is quickly caught up by the whirlwind of his effortless seduction, though she has her own reasons for agreeing to join him in his world of pain and pleasure, on the dark side. 

Inexplicably fascinated and at the same time totally frustrated by his new submissive, Nathan is increasingly drawn to her as she opens up in his hands and he realises there is much, much more to his latest playmate than he ever could have imagined. 

The Dark Side charts the turbulent relationship between Eva and Nathan as their mutual fascination builds. They both discover what surrender truly means as together they explore the fragile bonds of desire, trust, risk and reward, and the destructive power of betrayal. 

The Sure Mastery trilogy charts the sensual and emotional journey of petty thief turned photographer Ashley McAllister as she struggles to overcome personal tragedy, loss and grief to rebuild her life in the wild beauty of the West Yorkshire moorland. 

Resilient and determined, independent and courageous, Ashley has no qualms about cutting her old ties and starting again. Intent on establishing her landscape photography business, she is horrified when her turbulent past comes crashing back to haunt her, threatening to overwhelm and destroy her fragile new beginning. 

Ashley needs Tom to guard her secrets and allow her to stay. He just wants her. He wants her submission, her surrender, but he’s already destroyed her trust in him. Will his seductive charm and sure mastery be enough to rebuild her fragile faith? Can he teach her the difference between the violent abuse she’s experienced in the past and his much more exquisite approach to pain? And where does pain end and pleasure begin? 

Tom guides her into his world of pleasure, desire, trust and reward. His gifts to her are beyond price, the rewards of submission. But will it be enough, and can the shadows of her dangerous and violent past be left behind them? 

Excerpt:

This is taken from Darkening and describes Eva Byrne’s first view of the Yorkshire moorland surrounding Black Combe.

****

I push back the duvet and swing my legs out onto the floor. I slept in just a long, baggy T-shirt, which I had remembered to screw up in the bottom of my holdall, and now it swishes around my thighs as I head for the window to check what the weather is doing today. Pulling back the heavy yellow curtain, I gasp. I can only stare in awed silence.

The scenery stretching out before me is absolutely breathtaking. Stunning. I have never seen any place lovelier. Or more austere. My mental image of the Brontë moors didn’t remotely do justice to the real thing. As far as I can see, in every direction, lies unbroken, undulating glorious moorland. The colours are vibrant, sparkling, still wet from the previous night’s downpour. The near to middle distance is a glittering kaleidoscope of reds, purples, olives, browns, greens and golds as the heather and bracken, grassland and wildflowers blend into one, seeming to move and rotate, still glittering and shiny from the dampness in the air, catching and reflecting the morning sunlight. In the farther distance are soft pale greys, darker smokiness and pale blue smudges of wispy mist circling the higher peaks, a variegated canvas of softly muted beauty. My eye is caught by the glint of light reflecting off water in the bottom of the valley over to my right—a glittering, dark, deep grey, the surface rippling gently in the slight breeze. A lake, perhaps, or maybe a reservoir.

I remember the strong impression of height and distance, and of wide open vastness surrounding me as Miranda chugged on and up through the inky blackness and driving rain last night. That was no illusion and the sense of limitless space overwhelms me now, as the bright daylight washes the expansive wildness before me . Even though all this beauty, the colours and textures of this grand and timeless landscape , was invisible to me, I recognised its aura last night. I felt the essence of it all around me then, unseen, and I am drenched in it again now as I open the window and breathe deeply, let it pour in, filling my senses.

It is irresistible, timeless and yet constantly changing as the light and shadows shift, as clouds flit across the sky, interrupting the sunlight as they pass, then releasing it back to fall across the moorland once more in dazzling rays. A hazy rainbow starts to appear across the clouds, coming into sharper focus before my eyes as the light refracts through the rainwater still hanging there in the air. Nature’s mysteries and wild beauty combining to wrap around my soul. And I am lost.

The confusion and uncertainty I felt a few moments ago evaporate in an instant. This is home. My home, and come what may I am not giving it up now. I am staying. I know it. I recognise it even though I have never been here before, and I know it knows me.

My light-bulb moment is broken by deep, booming barking starting up somewhere a way off to my left. A suitable bark to match a dog the size of a sideboard. Leaning out of the window and straining my neck, I try to peer around the side of the house to see what has set Barney off. I can just make out his huge shape bounding uphill through the bracken about half a mile away. He is followed by a small, skinny little girl in a bright red, shiny coat and blue wellies, her waist-length, straight, dark hair loose behind her. She runs to keep up. Every few yards the dog stops, turns to wait, sometimes rushes back at her to bounce at her side, then the two go on together, leaping and striding through the wet bracken.

Opening the window, I shiver in the sudden damp chill from the outside air, and can just hear Rosie’s voice carrying across the distance. Laughing, she is calling to Barney to wait for her as she battles on in his slipstream, thigh-deep in the moorland undergrowth, wellies flashing.

I watch them until they disappear over the brow of the nearest hill, then turn and head for the en suite shower. Driven by a sudden rush of energy and exhilaration, I want to be down there with them, running across the moor, soaking up my glorious first morning in this glorious place.

Author Bio

Until 2010 I was a director of a regeneration company in Leeds, in the UK, before becoming convinced there must be more to life. I left to work as an independent consultant, and still do some of that though most of my time is now spent writing. At last I’ve been able to realise my dream of writing erotic romance myself. I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres, and I still love reading historical and contemporary romances – the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse for my guilty pleasure – research. 

 

In my own writing I usually draw on settings and anecdotes from my own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to my plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea. But ultimately my tales of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of my own lurid and smutty imagination.

When not writing – which is not very often these days - my time is divided between my role as resident taxi driver for my teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises. And most recently a very grumpy cockatiel. I’m a rural parish councillor, and I’m passionate about evolving rural traditions and values to suit twenty first century lifestyles.

I’ve completed my third trilogy in the Black Combe ‘family’ which is due for release later this year and I’m well on with writing the fourth. I also have a novella coming out soon, and have written a stand-alone novel for Totally Bound’s ‘What’s Her secret?’ imprint. I have a short story in Totally Bounds Paramour collection, and another in the Jolly Rogered anthology which is due for publication in July 2014. I have a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keep thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from me.

Buy Links:

All the books in both The Dark Side and Sure Mastery series are available from the usual places. 

Amazon.co.uk 

 Amazon.com  

Totally Bound  

Barnes and Noble  

All Romance  

Sony 

Kobo

BookStrand

Contact me:

I love to hear from readers. You can find me on my blog, and on the Totally Bound site. I’m on Facebook, twitter and Pinterest, and on Goodreads too. And there’s also my author page on Amazon

Sneak Peek: AFTER THE RAIN by Daisy Harris

[Greetings! Usually I host sneak peeks on Mondays, but since I had a blog hop yesterday, I'm doing one today. Check out Daisy Harris' latest sexy, funny M/M erotic romance, After the Rain. And see the end of the post for information about prizes! ~ Lisabet]

Blurb

They’re going to need a bigger tent.

Henri’s list of bad exes is as long as his arm, but nothing prepared him for his latest, heart-stomping breakup. He thought he couldn’t feel more abandoned, until his ride for a group camping trip bails, leaving him stuck driving for hours with a guy who is absolutely not his type.

After breaking up with his girlfriend of five years, firefighter Logan is working up the nerve to explore his interest in men. He knows he’s gay. He just hasn’t had the guts to do anything about it…until now.

Henri’s big-city attitude and tight jeans push every last one of Logan’s buttons, and when he and Henri have to share a tent, Logan is thrilled. He should have realized Pacific Northwest weather would get wet—forcing them to strip naked. Though the steam between them is thicker than coastal fog, Henri’s not sure he can let himself fall for another man. Not even the guy who finally treats him right.

Warning: Contains bad ex-boyfriends, even worse weather, and more than your average amount of sex in a tent. May not be suitable for those with germ phobias, outdoor aversions or fear of damp shoes.

Excerpt

Logan pulled off his helmet, and Henri did the same. There was a moment when their eyes met, Logan grinning and Henri grinning right back. Henri realized Logan was going to kiss him a split second before it happened.

Henri jerked to get out of the way before their lips touched, and though Logan’s kiss landed at Henri’s hairline, a thrill of panic still ran through him. No way. Herpes! Logan couldn’t kiss him, and Henri definitely couldn’t kiss Logan back. Plenty of other guys would have taken the risk—especially if it was just a kiss—but Henri couldn’t.

“Oh.” Logan froze, his breath still in Henri’s hair. Slowly, he stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” Henri held his hands palms up, wishing he could explain in a few words, but the guys on the ridge above were already calling to them, hollering that it was time for lunch.

“I didn’t mean...” Logan turned away, hiding his expression. “I just mean it’s no big deal.” Shoulders curled forward, Logan headed up the stairs.

“Logan,” Henri called after him. He hated this. If things were different, he would have been on Logan from the second he saw what he was hiding under his shirt. He would have kissed him and even given his dick a squeeze for good measure. Now he’d be stuck with half explanations all weekend. “Wait up.”

About Daisy

Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn't sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris's dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she's never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

Want to learn more about new releases, general news and my latest inappropriate boy band crush? Sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/b96xX

Daisy’s site: www.thedaisyharris.com

Daisy’s Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Daisy-Harris/185042351535537

Daisy on Twitter: https://twitter.com/thedaisyharris

After the Rain on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/After-Rain-Fire-Daisy-Harris-ebook/dp/B00EKJGRJA

Leave a comment and you'll be eligible to win a $20 Amazon gift certificate. You can follow the rest of Daisy's tour here:

http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/11/virtual-book-blast-after-rain-by-daisy.html

Love, Sex and Submission

Welcome to the Valentine's Day Gift Hop as we celebrate love, sex, and all things books! Our grand prizes are a Kindle Paperwhite and a digital new adult romance basket. Every comment on every blog in the hop will count as an entry toward either of the grand prizes. Each blogger will also be giving away an individual prize. For information on what you could win from me, read on!

So Skye Warren, the marvelous organizer of this hop, has suggested we discuss something related to love and romance as a way of getting you all in the mood for Friday. When I considered what I personally find most romantic, the answer was easy: dominance and submission. 

I'm not a part of the BDSM "scene". I don't practice "lifestyle" BDSM. However, I've experienced one extremely intense, long-term D/s relationship that profoundly changed my world view and that influenced me to begin writing erotica about  fourteen years ago. Since then I've written many books that feature elements of dominance and submission, as well as dozens of short stories. (For a categorized list, visit http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books_index.html).  With my friend S.F. Mayfair, I also co-edited  Sacred Exchange, a collection of stories exploring the spiritual and mystical aspects of dominance and submisssion.

Why do I think love, sex and BDSM go together?  For me, the essence of a D/s relationship lies in the emotional bond between the dominant and the submissive. The physical trappings and conventional activities - the riding crop and the gag, the handcuffs and the nipple clamps, the whippings and the binding - are side issues, merely the methods chosen to express, explore, and strengthen the bond. Others may associate BDSM with humiliation, cruelty, abuse, and agony. In my view, BDSM is about devotion, commitment, trust, and ecstasy.

In a true D/s relationship, there is no coercion. The submissive voluntarily gives up control to the dominant. In return, the dominant accepts responsibility for the submissive's well-being and ultimately, for his or her pleasure. The sub surrenders herself to the Dom, in devotion and trust. (For now I'll assume a female submissive.  I've written both male- and female-dominant tales, as well as some lesbian D/s, but it gets awkward to keep using multiple pronouns!) The Dom can do whatever he wants with the sub; she has, after all, given her consent. He has the intoxicating knowledge that by taking what he desires, he will also give his sub what she most craves: the satisfaction of pleasing her master and the freedom to experience her most intimate fantasies of ravishment and abuse.

Let me give you an example, from my very first novel Raw Silk.

****

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down on her back. "“Lift your arms above your head,"” he commanded.

As she complied, her hand brushed against something, dangling from the headboard. She turned to look at the braided ropes of red silk, fastened to the rattan spokes, and suddenly understood why Gregory had disappeared when she first arrived. A few things to attend to, he had said. So he had left her with his lady co-conspirator, trusting his comrade and the performance to inflame Kate”s senses and imagination, while he came and installed these bonds.

 Gregory watched the comprehension dawning in her eyes. “

"Yes, Kate. I prepared these for you. Only for you."
”
He leaned closer. "“I want to tie you here, hand and foot, so that you will be more completely at my disposal. I believe that you want that, too. But you must tell me so. I will not do this without your permission.”"

Kate was silent. She had never been so unsure in her life. Fear, suspicion, shame, and distrust warred with curiosity and desire. In his arms she had felt both sheltered and helpless, and she longed for those feelings again. Yet he was essentially a stranger, she reminded herself, a stranger with a shady profession and an unsavory reputation.

When she looked him, though, she saw concern and attentiveness in his eyes, even though his cock still pulsed hugely from his fly. The sight of his manhood sent a delicious weakness through her limbs. I must be crazy, she thought to herself, as she nodded her assent.

“"Do it," she murmured, and did not trust herself to say anymore.

With expert skill, he bound her wrists with the silken braids. "“Silk is a marvelous substance,"” he commented. “"So soft, but incredibly strong. Like you, my little Kate. I know that you can endure much, Kate.  Much more than you would believe.”"

***

But what about the pain? Intense emotional connection, trust, devotion, that all sounds wonderful, but is it worth suffering beneath the lash, enduring the ropes biting into your flesh?

I don't particularly seek out pain (though I understand that some BDSM practitioners do). In any case, pain is a strange thing. It depends on expectations as much as on reality. I have read that native American women did not experience any pain at childbirth because their culture viewed labor and delivery as joyous and easy. (Those of you who are mothers might be skeptical.) In any case, during a D/s scene, when you are unbelievably turned-on,  pain does not necessarily feel bad. For one thing, elevated levels of endorphins  decrease pain sensitivity levels. Whip strokes and spankings stimulate the senses - it is the mind that translates them as pleasure or pain, or sometimes both at once.  

Here's another  excerpt, from "Body Electric", in my collection of stories with the same title, that demonstrates this.

***

My legs were spread wide, my cunt-lips stretched open, baring my throbbing clit to tremble in random air currents. The sheet beneath me was soaked with my secretions. Do something, I thought. Anything.

He returned to his attaché case. There was a strange noise, a kind of hissing or snapping. "I thought we might begin with this little gadget."

The thing in his hands looked like something from a 1940's horror film. It had a handle, topped with a mushroom-shaped globe of glass that glowed with a malevolent purple light. Inside the glass, bright sparks danced. Their images flickered on the wall next to the bed.

Slowly, he brought the bulb closer to my bare flesh. The crackling noise grew more intense. He hovered above my nipple. "Don't move," he whispered.

All at once a rain of sparks shot from the tube to the taut node of flesh. I was being pierced with a thousand needles. I screamed, as much from surprise as from the pain. Ryan pulled the device away, as I tried to catch my breath.

"Colette?"

"Sorry, Doctor. I wasn't expecting..." Before I could finish, his mouth was on my recently assaulting nipple, lapping and sucking, soaking my skin with his hot saliva. I felt every movement of his tongue deep in my cunt.

When he brought the glowing globe close again, I thought I was ready. This time, though, the sparks were stronger, hotter, more painful. Electricity crawled over my breast, wherever he had left traces of wetness.

Before I could recover, he was sparking my other nipple. I jumped and squirmed. My cunt contracted with each contact.

He stroked by stomach. "You're all sweaty," he said. The thing sputtered and popped. Miniature bolts of lightning showered down on my navel. "And your thighs are smeared with cunt-juice..." He swept the wand slowly over my body and a long trail of sparks stitched up the sensitive skin toward my gaping sex.

"I've always been fascinated by electricity," he said in a conversational tone as the bulb approached my cunt.

I tensed, waiting for the jolt I knew would come. Nothing could have prepared me for the raw sensations. Sparks danced on my clit and sputtered among my wet folds. I screamed again, overwhelmed, confused as to whether I was in terrible pain or close to climax.

***

Have I convinced you that dominance and submission can be  romantic? If not, perhaps you'd like to read my free story, "An Old-Fashioned Valentine".

Yeah, yeah, I can hear you thinking. That's great but what about the prize?

To make up for having such a long post, I'll give away two prizes:: an autographed print copy of Raw Silk, and an ebook version of Body Electric. Just leave a comment to enter (as well as to enter for your name for the grand prize, of course). I'll draw winners on Sunday the 16th of February.

Happy Hopping! And Happy Valentine's Day!