Sunday Snog: Getaway Girl

My snog today comes from Getaway Girl, an early flirtation with British and light bondage themes.

All that Peg wants is a break, a bit of adventure, a relief from her mundane existence in the buccolic but boring Yorkshire hamlet of Kirkby Malzeard. When dashing, sophisticated journalist Lionel Hayes saunters into the pub where she's tending bar, Peg suspects that he was just the sort of man to fulfill her fantasies of escape.

The seductive Lionel, however, is not what he seems. Before she knows it, Peg is a hostage, roped and gagged, speeding away from the scene of a daring crime. Lionel is armed and dangerous, but somehow Peg still wants him - regardless of the consequences. 

After enjoying my snog, head on over to Victoria's for links to many more delicious kisses!

Jack slumped down on the couch. Within sixty seconds he was unconscious, snoring loudly. Lionel stuffed the gun into his waist and leaned down to shake his accomplice. “Jack! Wake up, Jack!” The growl of Jack’s snores didn’t alter. 
 

Peg began to edge backwards. Lionel grabbed her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. “What did you do to him?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

The thief slid his hands down and gripped her wrists, trapping them. “You minx! Don’t lie to me.” Holding her wrists behind her with his right hand, he leaned over and picked up Jack’s glass. A white sludge coated the bottom. He held it up in front of her face.

“Okay, okay. I dumped the remains of my gran’s sleeping pills into the whisky. It won’t hurt him. Meanwhile, while he’s asleep, I thought that you and I might talk.” Peg pressed her body up against Lionel’s, trying to be provocative while controlling her own arousal. “Perhaps I can convince you to let me go.” His grip on her wrists tightened ominously.

His heat penetrated the light fabric of her blouse. She rubbed her breasts against his blazer, wishing despite her best intentions that the two of them were naked. She could feel two hard lumps poking into her abdomen, the unyielding steel of the gun, and lower down, the equally rigid bulk of his erection. A shiver ran through her. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game.

“You’re not going anywhere, Margaret. For the time being, I plan to keep you right here.” Before she knew what was happening, Lionel had picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder again. She yelped in protest. His arm clamped down across the backs of her thighs.

“Put me down, you—imposter!” Peg tried to kick, but her legs were effectively immobilised. She beat on his back with her fists, but he ignored her assault as he carried her up the twisty, narrow stairs to the bedroom under the eaves.

Despite her anger and fear, she found herself amazed by his strength. She was nearly ten stone, yet he lifted her as easily as if she’d been a child.

Lionel tossed her body onto the bed. She sank into the old mattress, raising a cloud of dust that made her sneeze. Her captor turned the key in the lock, then returned to face her, grinning that outrageous, irresistible grin.

“We don’t want to wake poor old Jack, do we?” He held up the hank of twine from the bar. “I plan to make completely sure that you don’t escape.”

Peg was suddenly dizzy with desire. She fought for rationality.

“You don’t have to tie me up. I won’t try to get away.” But he was already removing her shoes and fastening her left ankle to the iron bedstead.

He paused and searched her face for a moment, then bent and ran his tongue slowly over her bare instep. The wet heat swept over her extremities, rose to her belly, turned her whole body to liquid. Peg writhed on the old bed, unable to hide her reactions.

By the time she had recovered, her thighs were spread and both feet were bound. Lionel leaned over her, once more grasping both her wrists in his large hand. He raised them over her head, looped the twine around them, then fastened it to the metal pipes that made up the headboard.

“You don’t understand, Margaret dear. I want to tie you up.” He fastened his lips on hers, those lush, soft lips of his that held such promise. Now those lips were demanding, urgent, stealing her breath, consuming her, claiming her. The kiss went on forever, yet ended too soon. Lionel nibbled at her earlobe, whispered in her ear.

“That’s what you want, too.”

Things That Go Bump in the Night

By L.M. Somerton (Guest Blogger)

I recently read an article by Susan Hill, author of The Woman in Black, about what makes a good ghost story. It made me wonder if the same principles would apply to an erotic ghost story. How do you create the atmosphere needed when the core of the tale is an MM romance?

It’s one thing to sit around a campfire spinning spooky yarns and controlling your audience with the drama of the moment. Unfortunately it’s not possible to rely on readers to create the appropriate atmosphere for themselves or to issue instructions in the preamble to the book:

1. 1. Do not read unless you are situated in an appropriately spooky setting. E.g. graveyard, abandoned asylum, haunted house.
2. 2. Weather must be atmospheric – fog, heavy rain, thunder and lightening are all acceptable.
3. 3. Watch a really good horror film to get yourself in the right state of mind i.e. ready to jump out of your skin at the least provocation.
4. 4. Switch off all lights and read with a torch.

I have to confess that when I wrote The Portrait I wasn’t consciously considering which elements would work when it came shivers of fear. I was more worried about shivers of desire between the two main characters. In either case there is a fine line between giving your readers a thrill and sending them into fits of laughter. How do you avoid the traps and pitfalls of stereotypes but still give your readers what they need to really feel the atmosphere you are trying to create? In this day and age we are exposed to every imaginable take on the supernatural. Films and computer games bring our worst fears to life at the touch of a button. Is it even possible to create that kind of atmosphere any more or are readers immune to anything that isn’t in 3D?

I think the same thing that makes a story erotic can make it scary. Imagination. It’s the author’s job to put the pieces in place, to lay the foundations for the reader to then build their own picture – to really see, hear and feel what the characters do.

By happy accident, many of the ‘required elements’ of a ghost story snuck their way into The Portrait, so all those 18^th century gothic novels I’ve read must have been lurking in my sub-conscious. Hints of a spectral presence, unexplained noises and shadows, an old house where the memories of past horrors linger – they are all there, aided by the natural atmosphere provided by the wonderfully gloomy British weather.

It only takes the smallest hints and suggestions to capture an intelligent reader’s imagination and I think that works so much better than launching into a full-blown terror-ride from the first line. Shakespeare put it well in the Scottish play:

 By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.

My characters, Garrick and Tristan, know that something evil objects to them being together. Finding out why and working out what to do about it is intertwined with the story of their developing relationship. I wanted my characters to tingle in all the right places; the fear and anticipation of what might happen adds something unpredictable to their romance and turns the heat up just a little bit higher!

So if you like your erotica with a hint of the supernatural, I think you’ll enjoy The Portrait – here’s the blurb to tell you a bit more:

When Tristan Lindsay takes a job cataloguing the library at Faversham Park, home of rock star Marcus Balen, he also accepts a role as companion to Balen’s artist son Garrick.

Garrick is beautiful and talented, he’s also demanding and infuriating. He uses Tristan as an unwilling model, shamelessly manipulating the shy boy’s emotions to draw out his submissive tendencies.

Drawn in to the enigmatic artist’s world, Tristan discovers a side of himself that he didn’t realise existed. Afraid of his own feelings, he learns to trust Garrick and falls deeply in love.

But Garrick has a secret that could tear them apart. A ghostly rival objects to Tristan’s presence in Garrick’s life. As the spectre’s malevolence increases, the young lovers must search for clues to the haunting and find a way to exorcise the jealous ghost. What they find leads them down a path that challenges the dynamics of their relationship. Will their love be strong enough to overcome its supernatural opposition or will there be no happily ever after?

And a short excerpt to tempt you:

Garrick was bent over a large drawing board, skimming over creamy paper with a soft-leaded pencil. His strokes were confident and he was utterly focused on what he was doing. Suddenly he looked up, his breath steaming in the unnaturally cold air. He cringed and swiped at his neck, rubbing away the sensation of clammy fingers exploring his skin.

“Leave me alone.” His voice was tight with a tension that was mirrored in the set of his jaw. After just a few seconds, the temperature reverted to its normal level and Garrick relaxed with a sigh.

He sat back and took a critical look at the drawing in front of him. A perfect likeness of Tristan stared back and Garrick licked his lips. The image captured the expression that appeared on Tristan’s face every time Garrick looked at him—a cross between fear and desire. A calculating smile curled Garrick’s lips as he pinned the picture to the wall. “You’re mine, Tristan Lindsay. You just don’t know it yet.”

Order your copy of The Portrait by L. M. Somerton here: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1902

Bio: Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

You can read more about L.M. Somerton at her blog http://lmsomerton.wordpress.org or write to her at lmsomertom - at - aol.com.

Don't Fight Your Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November Newsletter

New and Upcoming Releases

I'm sorry to have deserted you last month! I was away for much of October, so I figured I would just defer my next newsletter until November.

Mastering Maya is available now as a stand-alone title at Total-E-Bound. It will be at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and all your other favorite booksellers next Monday, November 19th. But if you buy it this week, as a VIP pre-release title, you get 10% off the list price!

Meanwhile, the Switch anthology, which includes "Mastering Maya" as well as great stories from Desiree Holt, Elizabeth Coldwell, Wendy Zwaduk, Amy Valenti and Lauren Gallagher, is out in print. Want to win an autographed copy? Enter my monthly contest!

I've been working on edits for Coming Together: In Vein, my charity vampire anthology scheduled for December release. It is - if I may humbly say so - a sensational book, and will support one of my favorite causes, Doctors Without Borders. Did you know that DWB are running clinics for victims of Hurricane Sandy? For more information about their critically important work, click here. Are there any fans of the undead on your holiday gift list? This volume may be just the thing!

And for zombie fans... Check out the latest Coming Together collection Coming Together: Hungry for Love, edited by Sommer Marsden. I don't have a story in the book, but it features some of my favorite authors and benefits a wonderful cause - the American Diabetes Association.

Other News

My last free read was M/M, so this month I'm sharing a sizzling snippet of lesbian erotica called entitled Architecture of Desire - a classic case of opposites attracting. I also have an addition to the poetry section, a bittersweet erotic haiku cycle entitled Boston Rendezvous.

To thank my readers, I'm also giving away a free PDF of my M/M/F ménage story Something Borrowed, complete with a cover designed by me. All you have to do is ask! Send me email at contest - at - lisabetsarai.com with the subject line "Free Story", from the email where you want the PDF sent. It's as easy as that!

At the Erotica Readers & Writers Association this month, I'm talking about mobile computing and what it means to authors in the latest column in my Erotogeek series, "App-y Together: Straight Talk about Mobile Madness". If you've ever wondered exactly how an app works, I explain this (and more) in simple terms.

My major work in progress, Rajasthani Moon, is starting to look like it will be novel length. I'm having a fabulous time penning the adventures of Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent for Her Majesty Queen Victoria - Amir, the Rajah of Rajasthan - and Pratan, his shape-shifting half brother. In Rajasthan, anything can happen!
 
I've also got a couple of shorter works simmering on the back burner. Given how long it takes me to finish a novel, I may try to bang those out first.

Contests!

Congratulations to Kaylyn and Anne, the two winners of my September "Buying Books" contest. And thanks to all of you who shared their book-buying preferences. The answers were quite varied. I was pleased to read that some of you still actually visit brick and mortar bookstores! (For a glimpse of one of my favorite bookstores, read my recent blog post.)

Since November is the traditional time for gratitude, I'm running a contest with that theme. The prize? An autographed print copy of Switch (first prize) and a PDF copy of Mastering Maya (second prize). All you have to do is send me an email at contest - at - lisabetsarai.com, using the subject line "Gratitude". In the email, tell me the top three three things you're thankful for this November. That's all there is to it!
I'll tell you my list (although I have so many blessings, it's a bit difficult to choose):

1. My health
2. My husband
3. My readers

Lisabet's Pick of the Month

My pick of the month for November is Erzabet Bishop's review blog Erzabet's Enchantments. Looking for something sexy to read? Erzabet's blog is a great place to browse, particularly if you're partial to BDSM and related themes. In fact, as I was wandering around, starry-eyed, I discovered that the site had reviewed the Switch anthology - and gave it 5 out of 5!

Discovering Sex and Self in a Foreign Land

By Donna George Storey (Guest Blogger)

Thanks so much for hosting me at your blog, Lisabet. It’s an especially fitting place to celebrate the ebook release of my novel, Amorous Woman, because your first novel, Raw Silk, a mesmerizing erotic tale of Thailand, was a great inspiration for me to write about my own experiences living in Japan.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that both of our novels follow a time-honored master narrative—a woman’s journey of erotic discovery. And in both Raw Silk and Amorous Woman, the heroine’s relationship with her lovers is mirrored by her growing intimacy with a new and fascinating culture. I’ll confess I also lifted another model for my first book-length project: the plot of a 17^th century Japanese erotic classic called The Life of An Amorous Woman by Ihara Saikaku. With a sharp eye for the humor in Japanese society, Saikaku allowed his lusty protagonist to experience every role open to women of her time from a court lady to a streetwalker. (Perhaps the perennial appeal of the female experience earned this book more sales and critical acclaim than his The Life of an Amorous Man). I translated this story into an exploration of a foreigner’s experience in Japan in the late twentieth century. My protagonist, Lydia Evans Yoshikawa, starts off as an English teacher, marries a Japanese businessman, becomes a bar hostess, the mistress of a rich man, and finally a call girl. Her desire to get closer to Japan is sometimes frustrated, sometimes delightfully fulfilled. I’m gratified to say that fellow gaijin (the Japanese word for “foreigner”) almost always tell me I got it just right.

While I thoroughly enjoyed bringing to life my sensual memories from the three years I lived in Japan—the delicious and beautifully arranged meals, the scent of fresh straw floor mats and the cool glide of a silk kimono on my skin—I found as I wrote Amorous Woman that I was gaining a valuable perspective on my own sexual odyssey. Society gives us so many messages about what sex should be. The appeal of the story of a woman’s erotic education may indeed be that we all—male or female--must discovery for ourselves what sex and pleasure mean for us personally.

In that spirit, I wanted to share a scene from the novel that illustrates a critical moment of discovery for Lydia while she is still in America, but one that will resonate throughout the novel. She’s always been an “A” student and a “good girl,” still a virgin at eighteen. Her worldly cousin Caroline throws a party with plenty of handsome college boys so that Lydia can choose the man to deflower her. She also gives Lydia a lesson on how to give a good blow job to develop her confidence when she’s alone with her first lover. At the party, Lydia picks out the lucky guy and proceeds to seduce him by being light-heartedly honest about her intention to have sex with him that very night.

From Amorous Woman:

“Are you sure it’s okay if we use your cousin’s bed?” Mike said, frowning at the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, which I ignored.

“Oh, yes, she knows we’re going to have sex. She reserved it especially for us.”

He shook his head and laughed again.

And then, well, I don’t remember exactly how we got naked, or who pushed whom down on the bed, or when exactly we stopped kissing and started doing other things, but there were more than a few firsts that night.

It was the first time a guy kissed my breasts so softly and slowly, I learned that lips tugging gently on my nipple could make me wet between my legs.

It was the first time I tried Marybeth’s lesson on a real penis—thank you Marybeth for a gift that keeps on giving. It was bigger than a thumb, but far more interesting. I loved the way it twitched when I stroked it, the way it grew even harder in my mouth, the way Mike moaned softly as he watched me do it, eyes glowing.

It was the first time I heard my favorite sound on earth—his sweet groan of homecoming as he slid inside my cunt.

And then, somehow, it wasn’t new any more. It’s as if I’d always known this: his warm weight pressing me down, his musky boy's smell, his soft lips and slick, snaky tongue, his satin-tipped hard-on and the taut curve of his ass. Then of course, that moment when he bucked and groaned and went crazy because of me just being there, just being.

I didn’t come that night--that first would happen thanks to the persistence and skill of the justly famed cunnilinguist Doug--but I was happy enough to take my ecstasy once-removed. Mike, bless him, didn’t ask too many questions.

I was the one who decided to confess as we lay together afterwards, just like on TV, with my head resting against his shoulder and his arm around me like we were a real couple. “That was the first time I’ve ever been with a guy, you know.”

“Lydia, you can stop kidding around now,” he said, but gently. Did he notice that of course, all my “jokes” turned out to be true?

“Why do you think I’m kidding?”

He frowned. “First of all, you give great head. There’s no way that was your first time. You’re a pro. Well, I didn’t mean it that way, you know, just that you knew exactly what to do.” He laughed, embarrassed, and stroked my hair. “And then, well, you were really into it.”

“I do like to joke around. It’s an old habit.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“You know what? You’re fun. It’s easy to be with you.” He pulled me on top of him. “Wanna do it again?”

I nodded. Back in my high school, a million years and a billion miles away from where I was now, naked and straddling Mike’s hard belly, it was a bad thing for a girl to be “easy.” Now I knew the secret.

It was good.

**

That, I believe, is the secret of writing erotica as well!

Donna George Storey’s adults-only tales have appeared in over 150 journals and anthologies including Penthouse, Best Women’s Erotica, The Mammoth Book of Erotica Presents the Best of Donna George Storey, and Best Erotic Romance. Her novel, Amorous Woman, will change your image of Japan—and erotica—forever.

 Amorous Woman is available at: 

AmazonUK

AmazonUS 

Amorous Woman Book Trailer

Donna George Storey’s Website

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Hump in the Night

[Check out my sneak peak today - a collection of gay paranormal stories by author Nephylim, entitled Hump in the Night! ~ Lisabet]

Blurb

Aster is a vampire looking for someone. When he finds Kia his plan is to fuck him and drain him, but Kia has other ideas. Recognising Aster as the man he’s been waiting for, he turns the tide and seduces him, shocking him with secrets from the past. Together, they enter into an encounter that blows their minds and changes their lives forever.

Lucien is a werewolf. He’s always known he’s different. Definitely not an Alpha like his father. More akin to the bitches than the muscular Beta’s or lithe hunters he finds himself drawn to. When the enigmatic lone wolf arrives, with his pure white hair and ice blue eyes, Lucien is lost at first glance. After a burning hot dream he finally submits to the dominant male destined to be his mate for life.

Dema and Meri’el are an unlikely coupling. In the final war against good and evil they find themselves on opposing sides. Dema the demon and Meri’el the son of the King of Angels. Drugging each other with their bodies they unleash the primal fury of their true natures and rock the foundations of the earth and the heavens.

Grey doesn’t believe in curses. When he uncovers a cavern deep under the mountain feared by the villagers as a faery tomb, he scoffs at the superstition, until he meets a stranger who lures him into the wood. A steamy encounter in a forest glade has him wondering if being cursed is such a bad thing after all.

Shay is mourning the death of his soul mate, tormented by the fact he’d never told him how much he loved him. A knife in the back in a dark alley steals his chance to finally prove his commitment, until ghostly whisper in the same alley leads to a night of passion and the second chance both men crave, to finally find peace.

Excerpt

Demon they called him. Demon, for the red of his eyes, for the black of his skin, patterned with swirls and patterns of red, and for his leathery wings, now furled tight against his back. And yes, he supposed that demon he was, yet those he fought were no less ferocious than he, no more strangers to battle and the atrocities inherent therein.

Angels they were called. Angels, for their bright eyes, for their pale skin, glowing with light from within, and for their pure, feathered wings that spread from their backs like those of great birds. Some of them, Seraphim they were called, could kill at a glance, turn man or demon to dust in his shoes. And they were the side of good, while he and all his people were ‘bad’.

The great fight between good and evil, this battle was called. The final battle over the souls of men. He couldn’t care less about men, their souls of any part of them. Sure, some of him kind liked to dabble in the small lives of humans, but the angels interfered on a large wider scale. No, this battle wasn’t about men, it was about territory and power. It was one he hoped would be decided very soon. In fact, he was hopeful that it would be ended with the dawn, when the King of Angels discovered his son missing, and a letter in its place, inviting him to the negotiating table. He happened to know that the king valued his son greatly and, if he wasn’t prepared to parlay through force he was sure to be prepared to do so for love… wasn’t he.

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, then relaxed as they slid around him, to encircle him in a world of soft whiteness.

“I missed you in our bed,” a sweet voice purred in his ear. “I thought I might find you here. You should rest, tomorrow will be a long, hard day.”

The demon sighed and leaned back into the arms of his lover, who nestled a cheek against his hair. He tilted up his head and the smell of roses enveloped him, as the taller man bent his head to kiss him.

“So many have died,” he said sadly, when his lips were freed. “So many – “

“Don’t think about what has gone. Think about how many lives will be saved when we parlay tomorrow.”

“Will they? Will the king…”

He turned and rested his forehead against the fine skin of his lover’s shoulder. A pair of pure white wings encircled him and he raised his hand, burying his fingers in the downy under-feathers. Looking up into the face of the angel who towered over him, he smiled and all his worries fell away.

“Come back to bed,” Meri’el whispered and he followed.

The bedchamber was dimly lit with muted lamps behind the pale, gauzy curtains that obscured the walls and made it seem as if they were lying inside a cloud. That was Meri’el’s influence. Dema preferred black.

Dema stood at the foot of the bed and gazed down at that snow white wings spread out over the bed like a coverlet and the pale, translucent beauty lying between them, his golden hair standing up around his head like a halo.

“You are so beautiful,” Dema breathed. “How can you love someone like me?”

“Someone like you? Someone who is passionate and wild and beautiful? It’s easy, my love. Come love me with passion.”

A red light flared in Dema’s eyes, turning his vision crimson and he sank down into the soft feathers, taking possession of Meri’el’s lips. Meri’el’s arms reached around him and pulled him close, the hard leathery body against the soft yielding flesh.

Meri’el’s breath hitched as Dema’s hardness stabbed into his hip. His own erection, standing up from its bed of gold, slapped against his stomach as he raised his hips, writhing and trying to rub himself against his lover.

Dema, just as desperate moved to straddle Meri’el, trapping their cocks between them, moving his hips to massage them together. Meri’el whimpered, gasping and clawing at Dema’s back with his fingernails, ineffective against the tough, leathery skin. “Take me, take me,” he gasped.

Hump in the Night is available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

All Romance Ebooks

Barnes & Noble

Bio: Nephylim was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean. 

 

Nephylim has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.

Later in life, Nephylim became the storyteller for a re-enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.

In present times, Nephylim lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son and her two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. The part of her that needs to earn money is a lawyer, but the deepest, and most important part of her is a storyteller and artist, and always will be.

Links

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4462803.Nephylim

Blog – http://Nephylim-author.blogspot.co.uk

Facebook Page - https://www.facebook.com/Nephylim.author

Oral Antics from Crossed Hearts

Happy Sunday! No lip-to-lip action in today's very naughty snog, which comes from Crossed Hearts, but there's plenty of delicious M/M orality!

For the past six years, Jason Hofstadter has attended the Four States Annual Scrabble Tournament. Jason comes to the Four States for two reasons: to play Scrabble and to get laid. Every year since his first, he has managed to hook up with one of the other players for some sexual fun. This year he has a chance at the grand prize in the tournament. Meanwhile he figures that he has hit the jackpot when he spots handsome, bookish Matt Sawyer, who's competing at the Four States for the first time.

Shy and seemingly innocent, Matt turns out to be full of surprises. First he jumps Jason in the rest room at Starbucks. Then he reveals that he's into BDSM and encourages Jason to experiment with topping him. Finally, despite his lack of experience with tournament play, Matt ends up competing with Jason in the semi-final round. When Matt throws the game he should have won, Jason is forced to confront his own feelings: about winning, about casual sex, and about Matt.

If you like my excerpt - head over to Mikela Q. Chase's blog, where you just might win a copy of Crossed Hearts of your very own! Actually, the excerpt over there is the set-up for the scene below.

And don't forget to visit Snog Central (that is, Victoria's joint) for links to lots more kisses and other oral events!

***

“I might be able to show you a few tricks, too,” Matt commented, his wicked grin belying his apparent innocence. He stood and stretched his rangy limbs. “Right now, though, I’ve got to go take a leak.” 

 

“Me too.” Did the guy really mean what Jason thought he did? He followed Matt down the back corridor to unisex bathroom. Matt entered and closed the door. Jason waited about thirty seconds then slipped inside himself, bolting the door behind him.

 

Matt stood in front of the corner toilet, back to the door, jeans pushed down to his ankles. Jason swallowed hard at the sight of the other man’s powerful thighs and swelling ass. His intuitions hadn’t proved wrong. Matt had the body of a wrestler rather than a weight-lifter, compact and wiry. Tawny hair dusted his thighs, but his butt was smooth as a baby’s cheek, pale and vulnerable. Jason imagined grabbing those voluptuous white globes, pulling them apart to expose the tender hole they sheltered. His aching dick leapt at the image. He sucked in his breath, fighting for control.

Matt turned at the sound, a bit awkward due to the clothes shackling his ankles. Jason got his first sight of the other man’s cock, soaring up from the dark tangles at its base, eight, nine, maybe even ten inches long. It angled towards the ceiling, impudent and tempting, bobbing with Matt’s every movement. The taut skin along shaft was dusky pink. The cap was a wet, shiny purple.

“Oh God,” breathed Jason, saliva gathering in his mouth.

“What kept you?” Matt stroked himself once or twice. His penis jumped and quivered in his hand like some live thing. “I was beginning to think that I’d misunderstood you.”

“No, no, you didn’t misunderstand. Not at all…” Jason yanked at his fly, desperate to release his own cock. The pressure of his engorged flesh against the seam made it difficult to undo the zipper. “Damn!”

“Allow me,” said Matt, shuffling over until he was inches from Jason’s body. “Here, you take care of this.” He curved Jason’s hand around his own rod. Jason slid his palm down Matt’s smooth endless length, steel sheathed in hot silk. Matt moaned in appreciation, all the while working patiently at Jason’s zip. At last, Jason felt blessed relief as the fabric parted and his cock sprang free. It was captured by Matt’s eager hand.

“Ah! Oh, yeah…” Jason muttered. Matt might be a country hick, but he knew how to give a hand job. At first, he varied his strokes, fast then slow. He’d flick a delicate finger over Jason’s leaking knob, then squeeze hard enough to make Jason gasp. He experimented, clearly trying to discover what felt best. Before long he had switched to firm up-and-down movements like Jason used himself. But this was better, so much better, than wanking alone.

Matt’s cock throbbed in Jason’s grip, ripe and fat, dribbling fluid that he used to lubricate his strokes. He wanted to bring the guy to the edge and push him over. But it was difficult to concentrate on the other man’s pleasure, given the incredible sensations sparking through his own body. Pressure built in his groin, spiralling tighter with each of Matt’s strokes. He had already been close when he’d followed Matt into the john. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

Matt stepped closer, rubbing the tip of Jason’s cock against his bare thigh. Jason growled at the sudden change in stimulation. He reached around and claimed a fistful of Matt’s butt flesh. Matt mashed his pelvis against Jason’s jeans, trapping Jason’s hand and leaving damp trails on the fabric.

The boy was close. All at once, Jason wanted to taste him, to drink the cum he felt gathering in the other man’s slick, juicy cock.

He stepped back a bit, letting go of Matt’s ass but still gripping his dick, and lowered himself to the tile floor. Matt tried unsuccessfully to hold on to Jason’s rod. “What…?”

“I want to eat you. You’re going to come in my mouth.” Matt’s cock danced in front of Jason’s face, redder now than before, wet and gleaming in the fluorescent light. Jason had never wanted anything so much.

“But…I…oh!” Matt’s protest turned into a groan of pleasure as Jason swallowed him whole. Jason swirled his tongue around the shaft then sucked hard. Matt jerked his hips, pushing deep into Jason’s throat. Jason opened wide, taking everything Matt had to give him.

His nose was buried in the prickly curls at Matt’s root. Soap, sweat and musk drowned out the faint odour of disinfectant that hung in the room. Jason’s balls tightened as he breathed in. Testosterone. Pheromones. His cock pulsed, untouched yet ready to spill from the boy’s scent.

Matt’s cock tasted salty and slightly bitter. Jason wanted more, wanted the raw, leafy flavour of the other man’s semen. Let go, he thought, pursing his lips and running them up and down the slippery shaft. Give in to me.

 

Matt pulled back, then rammed his cock into Jason’s palate. Jason sucked with all his might, desperate now, his dick throbbing in sympathy as Matt fucked his mouth. Don’t fight it. Come for me. Come.

Jason felt it, the instant that Matt lost control. Triumph swept through him, sweet as physical pleasure. Matt’sThe boy’s cock convulsed and spat thick gobs of cum onto Jason’s tongue. He swallowed, and swallowed again. Matt kept coming, grinding his pubis against Jason’s lips until they were bruised. Even then, Matt’s cum still surged into his mouth.

Jason teetered on the edge. One touch was all it would take.

Bang! Bang! “Hey, are you all right in there?” Matt’s soft dick finally slipped out of his mouth, still amazingly long and thick. “Hurry up! Somebody needs to use the bathroom.”

Matt sank to his haunches, facing Jason. “What do you think? Are we all right?” he whispered in Jason’s ear. He gave Jason’s cock a squeeze. Pleasure sizzled up Jason’s spine like fire along a fuse. He exploded, his cock flinging dollops of cum in all directions.