Challenge Accepted By Annabeth Leong (@annabethleong)

Challenge AcceptedBlurb:

After being shamed for her dominant desires too many times, Christine has resolved never to date a vanilla man again. She needs a man who knows he’s submissive, and she’s determined to hold out until she finds one.

Until she meets Sam, that is. Christine can’t bring herself to turn down the handsome parkour aficionado, so instead she tries to scare him off with an intensely kinky first date.

When Sam meets her extreme challenges head-on, Christine must decide if he can become the man to serve her every need—in the bedroom, and in her life.

Warnings: m/f anal play; BDSM content includes impact play, foot worship, dominance and submission, clamps placed in fairly extreme locations, and implied piercings.

 

Excerpt:

Even seeing only her back, Sam had no trouble recognizing Christine as he carried a sack of dirty clothes into the basement laundry room of his new apartment building. He’d liked her tall, thick frame the moment he’d caught her watching him, and he liked the way she moved. She folded clothes with sure, clean gestures. He’d been an athlete for enough of his life that he could immediately spot a woman in full control of her body and presence.

He hefted the laundry onto his shoulder and assumed a casual stance. He made his movements feel easy so they would look easy. “Christine.”

She turned. He liked that she didn’t jump. Maybe she knew he was coming.

He saw her reacting to him—gaze flicking down his body, body shifting to emphasize her hip. Her eyes were fierce, not welcoming. She looked as if she might be about to set him on fire. Apart from that, though, her nod was polite and distant.

Stretching and making a show of it, he set the laundry down beside a free machine. He didn’t know what to think of the contradictions he read in her body language. He was intrigued and wanted to get to know her. She, on the other hand, wasn’t being clear about what she wanted. He couldn’t tell if she was hoping he’d strike up a conversation or wishing he’d drop his clothes into the wash and get the hell out.

Sam had been raised in the type of family that communicated in code, and he didn’t like it. The only way he knew to make sense of the world was to speak his mind. “You up for company?”

She hesitated. “I think so,” she said finally.

“I’m glad.” His voice came out softer than he’d intended, his tone deferent.

There was something about Christine that made him want to address her that way. He stole glances as he started a washer. She dressed professionally, but not in an imposing way. Her body looked strong, but her shoulders were relaxed, her face at ease. She didn’t loom or intimidate, though he imagined she could if she wanted to. She had big, dark eyes and rich, brown skin. Her features weren’t delicate—he liked the bold lines of her nose and jaw—but neither were they harsh. The only hint of real severity he could see was in the way she wore her hair—straightened to within an inch of its life and sharply restrained.

“The weather’s gotten nice,” Sam said, reaching for an easy conversation starter. “Anything you’re looking forward to doing now?”

Christine shrugged. “Not wearing a heavy jacket.” Was that a touch of humor in the curve of her lips? He wasn’t sure.

“Definitely.” Sam kept his voice light. “You recognized parkour. Is that your sport?”

She laughed. “Afraid not.” Sam wondered if she was warming to him, but she was still so difficult to read. He hated the idea of lingering where he wasn’t wanted.

“Look,” he said. “I’d like to get to know you. I’d like to take you out sometime. Are you interested?” He had a nice Italian restaurant in mind if she said yes. If she said no, he’d ignore the flickers of interest he kept feeling from her.

She didn’t agree or refuse, though. Instead, she looked pained. “Why would you ask me that? We’ve got nothing in common.”

Sam stepped back, holding up his hands. “I asked because I wanted to know your answer,” he said, the words low and even. “If you’re not, it’s cool. I won’t bother you about it.” He’d be disappointed, of course, but he wasn’t the kind of jerk who would try to make a woman feel guilty about turning him down.

Christine reached toward him but dropped her arm just before she made contact. “You couldn’t handle me.”

Sam probably should have walked away at that point, but he’d noticed the way she’d almost touched him and the stubborn part of him couldn’t let the challenge pass. “What do you mean, I couldn’t handle you?”

Familiar anger rose to his chest. In high school, everyone had assumed he was a nerd because he was Chinese. He’d been told he wouldn’t be able to handle being on the football team, wouldn’t be able to handle American-style boxing—though everyone also seemed to expect him to be an expert at Wing Chun—and wouldn’t be able to handle going with the other guys on the team to play pranks on the local rivals.

Sam had responded to each of those challenges by proving his doubters wrong, doing everything better and harder than the people who had questioned him. He’d given up on obligatory popular sports to focus on parkour, but there was still a part of him that thrilled each time he pulled off a difficult move, exulting that, yet again, he’d shown them.

Christine’s skin darkened with a blush, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m kinky, okay? I doubt you’re ready for that.”

Sam blinked. “Wow, okay. That seems like something we could sort out after we go on a date and find out if we like each other. No need to jump ahead.”

“No point.” She shook her head, the gesture firm and dismissive. “It’s a waste of time to get to know each other if we’re just going to wind up incompatible.”

“Really?” Sam bristled. It irritated him when women assumed a Chinese guy wouldn’t know anything about sex, and he hoped that wasn’t what was going on. “I have heard about that book, you know. The one all the women are reading.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I like to be the one on the handle end of the flogger. You don’t want it, trust me.”

Sam had almost no idea what that entailed, but he pressed, annoyed that she’d presumed to tell him what he would and wouldn’t want. “How do you know? Talk to me about it first. Try me.”

“If you don’t already know about it, it’s just not going to work. I promise.”

Sam had never been aware of an interest in kink, but he couldn’t stand assumptions. “Tell me straight-out what you want to do,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you whether or not I want to do it.”

Christine stared as if he’d suggested a really strange plan. It reminded Sam of so many movies he’d seen, times when characters acted like telling the truth was such an odd and original thing to come up with. “I don’t know…” she said.

He grabbed his now-empty laundry bag. The fabric snapped as he yanked it through the air. The fresh, warm scent pouring from the dryers seemed sour in that moment. “Or turn me down. Just don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle.”

Again, she moved as if she wanted to take hold of his wrist and stop him. Sam paused, trying to make it clear he would let her if that was what she wanted to do. They were still for a while, and then he gave up and walked to the door.

“Wait,” Christine said before he could leave.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe. Do you use IM? Can we talk later?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” This was probably another part of the brush-off. Maybe she thought it would be nicer if she offered to chat online. He didn’t particularly like that tactic, but he didn’t feel like criticizing it now. Without expecting to hear from her again, he gave her his username.

 

Buy Links:
Loose ID: http://www.loose-id.com/challenge-accepted.html
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1JtPabF
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1R3TTYq
All Romance eBooks: http://bit.ly/1R3TXHJ
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/challenge-accepted-1

 

releaseblitzbutton_challengeacceptedBio:

Annabeth Leong wears high heels and frequents the former haunts of H.P. Lovecraft. She is obsessed with baseball and marine life, and is an enthusiastic member of New England Feet. She is frequently confused about her sexuality, but enjoys searching for answers. Her work appears in more than 50 anthologies, including Best Bondage Erotica 2013, 2014, and 2015, Best Women’s Erotica 2015, and Best Erotic Romance 2014 and 2015. She is the author of a number of erotic novels, ranging from sweet to dark. Find Annabeth online at annabetherotica.com, and on Twitter @AnnabethLeong

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In the Realm of Gods, Monsters and Billionaires

sexyjustgotrich coverAaaand, we’re on the billionaire ride at the fun fair again! It’s a bit like your favourite roller coaster. You know there are other rides, but this is the one you do over and over again. I always take that ride with binoculars and microscope in hand, because there’s way more going on in tales of power and wealth and control than … well … power and wealth and control. The thing is, while some of us may be sick to death of the 50SoG saga and others may be elated by still more Grey, the fact is, not only are billionaires here to stay, but billionaires have been with us in their more archetypal forms since the time of telling stories in the cave around the fire.

I know! I know! Here I go again. But the truth of the matter is that power and control, in all their guises, have a facet of raw, primal lust, and few things are more darkly and secretly fascinating than the idea of being forced to give up control and finding that we like it. Being possessed, being under someone else’s thrall, being taken to the realms of ecstasy, whether it’s on Mount Olympus, in Dracula’s dungeon lair or in a penthouse apartment, is a part of that dark fantasy that makes up, not only the mythological seductions, but every vampire story, ever monster story, and yes … every billionaire romance.
Why is that? What makes that dark fantasy such a powerful one. Well, I have a theory, and I’m toying with it now in
my online series, In The Flesh. I think that no matter how appalled we are, no matter how stubborn and independent we are, we want to know what it’s like to be with and to be taken by a force so much greater than us. What’s it like to beBernini Hades and Persephone close uptumblr_lg4h59T3z31qe2nvuo1_500 bitten and seduced by a vampire? What’s it like to make love to a monster? What’s it like to be seduced by a god? What’s it like to be the object of lust for a billionaire? And ultimately what price are we willing to pay for entrance into Club Billionaire, Club Olympus, Club Undead? It’s more than lust. It’s more than love. In fact it’s all a little mercenary really. We want, we long for, a chance to take into ourselves all that we’re not. We want to know their secrets. We want those divine, powerful, filthy rich, forbidden lovers to reveal to us their inner workings just as much as they want to possess us. The ultimate question then becomes can we pay the price and survive to tell the tale ? Can we achieve our HEA and find some sense of balance in a world to which we are the interloper? Oooh! It’s always so much fun to find out.

 

BBBillionaires

Billionaires come in lots of shades other than grey, and the Brit Babes are all about those other shades of billionaire. The Brit Babes’ anthology, SEXY JUST GOT RICH: BRIT BABES DO BILLIONAIRES is on sale!

99p in the UK

$1.56 in the US

 

We couldn’t be more excited. What happens when the Brit Babes Do Billionaires is some serious fun with fabulously filthy, decadently rich twists and turns. It’s a bargain of a summer read without a shade of grey in sight, and you’ll never look at billionaires the same.

 

Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires– Blurb: 

Billionaires have it all but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to work hard to get what their hearts desire. In this anthology of erotic BDSM stories the Brit Babes offer heroes and heroines who aren’t shy about taking what they want. From farmyards to luxury penthouses, wealth is all about sating needs, connecting souls and taking pleasure to new highs. Whether you’re looking for a coffee break read or something longer to curl up in bed with, you’ll find something to suit your needs in Sexy Just Got Rich.

 

Buy Sexy Just Got Rich Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

 

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In the Flesh Part 7: Free Story in Progress. Enjoy!

psyche_et_lamour_327x567Happy Friday Everyone! And the plot thickens with part 7 of my dark paranormal story, In The Flesh. Angels and demons, gods and monsters, sex and terror; when the boundaries are not clear, the journey can be deadly. But can the price be worth the paying?

In the Flesh is a dark and sexy story that has had several incarnations in its shorter form, but never quite worked because it needed space to grow. I couldn’t think of a better place for it to grow than on my blog. In the Flesh is a blend of paranormal erotica and almost, but not quite … okay, quite possibly … horror. It’s had seven exciting weeks to unfold now, and it’s as much an adventure for me as I hope it is for my readers.  I know what’s happening only slightly before you do. Episode 7 is both the most chilling and the most sexy to date. That’s the writer’s humble opinion, of course. Read it for yourself and you decide! 

Happy Reading! 

 

 

To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow these links to  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 & Part 4 Part 5Part 6

 

In The Flesh Part 7

“You’re an angel. The sculpture in the garden at Chapel House, it’s you, isn’t it?” The fact that the question sounded rose imagestotally insane seemed irrelevant considering the way the weekend had gone so far.

He shrugged and I watched as a blush climbed his throat spread across the tightening of his jaw and up his cheeks. “I’m retired,” he replied without looking at me. Then he added quickly, “The sculpture’s old. A friend of mine did it a long time ago, taking the piss really — especially by putting it there in that particular garden.” He ran a large hand through the fall of damp hair. “It’s her way of reminding me that I’m grounded now, tied to the earth just like every other mortal. No matter what I was, at the end of the day, I’m dust, and I’ll return to dust, if I’m lucky.”

“Wait a minute, angels can retire?’

He shot me a quick glance. “Well, it’s all a matter of semantics, isn’t it?”

“Then you’re not a builder?”

“Oh I’m a builder alright, and a damn good one,’ then he added as an afterthought, “Jesus was a carpenter, after all.”

I squinted hard in the fading light studying the lines of his face, the plane and slope of his strong upper body, the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest as he took in and released each breath. But I could find no distinction, nothing that would give away the fact that he was an angel and not an ordinary man. Oh he was nice to look at, he was interesting to look at, but he wasn’t beautiful, as I thought an angel would be. Obviously the nose had been broken since the sculpture was made, and he seemed thicker through the shoulders and chest. Perhaps that was all down to hard physical labor in lieu of playing a harp and mooching his way around the pearly gates. There were several white puckered scars just below his ribs. Two looked to be puncture wounds of some kind. The other was an angry gash that surely must have all but eviscerated him. Without thinking I reached out and traced the long pale arc of scar tissue that followed the shape of his lower left rib and disappeared in the shadow under his arm. He tensed beneath my touch and the skin along the path of my finger goose fleshed. “I had to force the issue of my retirement.” His words were barely more than a whisper, and his gaze was locked on the logs in the fireplace, laid, yet unlit.

“Christ,” I whispered. “Why? I mean why the hell would you give up immortality to be one of us?’

He covered my hand with his and held it against his side. At last he raised his gaze to meet mine. “I would have done anything to get away, and at that point, I didn’t care if I lived or died. It felt like it was all the same.”

“Are you a fallen angel then?”

This time he laughed out loud. “Stupid term, fallen angel. Truth be told, gods are bastards – all of them, any religion, any mythology, they’re all arrogant, megalomaniacal bastards. They want control, and when they don’t get it, well, they’re even worse bastards. The woman who made the sculpture, she knows that at least as well as I do.”

“Is she an angel too?”

He shook his head and looked away again, the smile slipping slightly from his face. “No angel, a pawn really. At least she started out that way.” His eyes flashed bright in the fading light and the smile returned. “But sometimes even the pawns thumb their noses at the gods and get away with it. It cost her. It cost her dearly, but no one controls her now.”

“So what, she was a sculptor, and the gods didn’t like her work, was that it?”Graveyard angel 1

He released my hand and knelt to light the fire. With the sun setting the chill of evening came on fast. “Oh she’s not actually a sculptor. That’s just a part of her cover. She’s a thief, stealing back things the gods have taken that don’t belong to them.”

Every question he answered raised a dozen more. That what we were discussing sounded totally nuts wasn’t lost on me either, and yet neither was the fact that it was all either very real or I was still asleep dreaming in my bed, a cherished possibility diminishing with each passing moment. We both watched as the logs caught fire from the kindling, and flame blossomed turning shadows of ordinary things into ghouls and ghosts that writhed and dance on the walls. Once he was sure of the fire, he stood to close the balcony doors. “I work for her sometimes. When she needs me. She uses me when what I do as a builder dovetails with whatever job she’s on at the moment.”

I shifted in my seat to look up at him as he returned to settle back on the chair arm. “So you’re trying to steal something from Chapel House? What is it, a flaming sword?”

He laughed. “Not anything that obvious. Chapel House and I have a long history, as you might have guessed from the sculpture.”

“Annie really did hire you to do the renovations at Chapel House?”

He nodded. “All a part of the plan.”

“It must have thrown a monkey wrench into your scheming when she fell in love with a demon, or whatever he is, and told you to bugger off.”

He shrugged, raising one well-muscled shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I seldom let something like that stop me.” He pulled a shirt from a peg next to the door and slipped into it. “I’ve brought your things in, and I would imagine you’d like a shower. Then we’ll see what we can scrounge for dinner. If that’s alright.”

The shower was more of a wet room really, big and luxurious, clearly designed to fit the man who used it. I wondered if he’d built the house himself, planned it all exactly like he wanted it. The bed was big, the rooms I’d seen high ceilinged and spacious, all with views of the fells. The shower was built of large sandstone tiles that made me feel more like I was standing under a waterfall on a wild river in some hidden desert canyon. Ghosted fossils of fern leaves made lacy patterns on the rough dun slabs. He must have selected each slab of sandstone carefully. The shower, with its stoney artwork and it’s multiple heads, even its ledged seat that looked as though it were only a rocky outcropping in a cave, were all well thought out, beautifully designed by someone who loved and appreciated the out of doors. Yes, Jesus was a carpenter. Perhaps building and creating was a part of the psyche of divine beings. Was Michael still a divine being, or had it been necessary for him to learn his craft by practice and training, like ordinary mortals did? He’d said the sculpture of him in the garden was very old. Perhaps he’d had a long, long time to perfect his craft.

I shivered at the thought and reached for the soap. It was slightly rough like the sandstone surface and felt Bernini Hades and Persephone close uptumblr_lg4h59T3z31qe2nvuo1_500
good against my skin, reminding me of the gentle scritch, scritch of a lover’s fingernails over bare flesh. It had that same woody scent I woke up to in his bed, down between his sheets, though it lacked the base notes of clean perspiration and sleeping, dreaming male. I wondered if angels – retired angels, that is – did dream, and were those dreams ever the kind that brought the pungent earth and ozone scent of male lust to the forefront in that masculine olfactory cocktail. I breathed in the smell, fresh and woodsy, and moaned at the soft rough scritching against my naked skin, wondering if Michael’s hands would feel such. He was a builder after all, surely those calloused hands were rough enough to make delicious shivers up my spine, and any place else he touched me. I imagined the feel of Michael against my flesh, the feel of his large hands moving over me, cupping and exploring, the feel of his mouth tasting mine. That he had created such a sensual space, and I was now certain that he had, made my imagination wild with images of the two of us beneath the waterfall, and the smell of my own lust peaked.

At some point in my ruminations about Michael, my fertile imagination sent me seeking pleasure with my own hand, fingers moving of their own volition while I lathered my breasts with the rough scritch, scritch of the soap pebbling my nipples and making my tender heaviness tingle and ache. The realization of just how needy I was came as a surprise after the experiences of the last twenty-four hours, but then it shouldn’t have, should it? I’d practically lived the whole weekend in a state of arousal — at least when I wasn’t terrified out of my mind. And really, almost every horror film I’d ever seen coupled sex and terror, even orgasm and death, so closely that the two bled into each other. One always expected the couple’s sexy encounter in a horror film to end in gruesome bloodshed or worse. In the garden this afternoon, even as terrified as I was, I was just seconds away from orgasm. I shivered in spite of the cloud of steam rising around me. I had researched stories of the gods seducing mortals and taking them as lovers. That was certainly an archetype, but what I had failed to consider was that the monsters also sought out mortal lovers. Hadn’t Frankenstein’s monster wanted a bride? Didn’t King Kong steal away Faye Ray? Didn’t Dracula seek out his Mina? Beauty came to love the Beast. Even Psyche herself was taken to the domain of the monster she was told never to look upon for fear of certain death. The revelation that the monster was the god of love himself cost her dearly. But it was a price she was willing to pay.

At the end of the day, maybe there really wasn’t that much difference between the gods and the monsters. Even Graveyard angel 2da8f31cc622c5a47d15ff0c4f1e114abin the horror films more often than not, terror gave way to a different kind of lust, a much more deeply rooted lust, a lust as closely connected to death as it is to procreation and pleasure, a lust lost in time and well connected to monsters and demons and blood and the fear of childbirth, at the same time, all bound up with the desperate need to form the monster with two backs. Christ! The lust for the monster was as much a part of our psyche as was our terror of him! I wondered, would I have been able to hold off, would I have been able to resist the monster’s advances, if Annie hadn’t chosen that moment to use me for knife practice, if Michael hadn’t shown up when he did and whisked me away? And would I have cared if they hadn’t? Would I have been perfectly happy if I’d been left to rut against the paving stones with such a powerful being, who was maybe both monster and god? He had promised me the mind of god, the ultimate creative force that was the absolute Holy Grail for every writer. He knew exactly who I was, what I needed. I was reminded in a rush of heat that he could take me to places sexually I couldn’t even imagine. Monsters could do that, and their lovers were willing to pay any cost for the experience.

I rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the shower unsteady on my feet and still unsatisfied. As I picked up the towel to dry a wave of anguished lust clawed its way up from my center and spread like fire over my chest all the way to the crown of my head. In an instant it burned everything away but raw aching hunger, leaving an abyss that surly could never be filled. How the hell would I survive this? Surely Annie would not, could not, and I hated her for having him, even as he used her up and tossed her aside. I hated her for having what should be mine, what was mine. No one could appreciate what his affections could offer like I could; no one could translate his lust, his power like I could. He knew it, and I knew it. For a terrifying moment, I pictured myself with the butcher knife. I pictured myself sneaking into Chapel House while Annie was in a post coital stupor. It would be easy to do, and I knew he wouldn’t stop me. In fact, he would welcome me, help me do away with the body, help me escape the suspicions of the police and the investigations that would follow.

I caught my breath in a gasp, only just remembering my need for oxygen, and I relaxed the white-knuckled fist clenched painfully around the hilt of the knife I imagined using. I came back to myself standing in front of the mirror. The towel had fallen to the floor at my feet; water still pearled on my hot skin. My reflection was obscured by the steam. The image on the other side of that thin film of condensation could be anyone. I could be looking at his face, not mine, the face I’d never seen and yet, like Psyche, suddenly, desperately longed to see. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have questioned when he wanted me. I should have taken his gift. I could have taken the knife from Annie, as weak as she was, and Michael had said himself he was just dust. The scars proved he bled just like anyone else. I could have finished it right there, and if I had, if I’d had the courage, it would be me in his arms now, me lying beneath him, letting him fill me with the wisdom of the ages, with the creative power I hungered for. I ached to know what it felt like. I longed to know who he was. I staggered, and nearly fell against the sink, and then I was myself again. With a curse that felt gut deep and a quick swipe of my hand, I cleared the mist from the mirror and yelped and nearly jumped out of my skin at the reflection of Michael standing behind me.

“You were crying,” he said, “I called out. I pounded on the door, but you didn’t answer.”

“I … I couldn’t hear you.’ The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. “Oh Christ, Michael, he was here, how canSt Teresa BerniniEl-extasis-de-Santa-Teresa4
he be here? I wanted to be with him. I wanted to do things, horrible things.”

“He wasn’t here.” He bent and picked up the towel, swaddled me in it and lifted me into his arms, which was just as well, I’d completely lost the will to move, or even to stand. With me clinging to his neck, sobbing against his shoulder, he carried me to the wing back chair, settling in it himself holding me on his lap like a child. “He wasn’t here, Susan. Trust me, he wasn’t.’ He pushed the damp tendrils of hair away from my cheek and wiped tears with a large, rough thumb. ‘But you were with him, he’s touched you, been inside your head. You’re now connected to him, and you feel the pull of his lust.’

I sat for a long time nestled against Michael’s broad chest listening to his heartbeat, like an anchor keeping me in my body, keeping me in my right mind. I wondered how an angel’s heart differed from my own. I wondered how his struggles and his desires differed from those I lived with. At last I found my voice “I feel … so empty.” I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks again, tears that I’d barely been aware of while I was in the bathroom, as though they were such a small representation of the way I felt His absence that they were barely worth my attention.

“I know. That’s exactly what he wants you to feel.”

“He said that he’d show me the mind of god, that he’d share all he knows, that he’d be my inspiration and help me write it all down.”

“He knows your deepest desire. That’s the first thing he ever finds out about those he seduces. He learns their darkest secrets, their most private longings, and their deepest fears. Anything he promised you, he’ll deliver, Susan, but what he doesn’t tell you is that once he’s has you, once you’ve been with him, everything that mattered to you before will be meaningless. You live for him, and you burn with emptiness when you’re not with him, as though you’ll die if you don’t have him.’

I wiped viciously at my eyes. “Oh god, Michael, what am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do?”

“You’re going to fight him, that’s what you’re going to do, and I’m going to help you.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, and involuntarily I squirmed to get closer to him, realizing with a start, that I was still horny as hell. But I couldn’t take advantage this way. I couldn’t. It was lust of such magnitude as I’d never felt before, and it was dark and horrible and terrifying and, fucking hell, I wanted to be consumed by it. But that wasn’t Michael’s problem. To drag him into it was not an option. Besides, I barely knew the man.

“I … I should get dressed,” My voice sounded breathless and distant. I tried to push my way off his lap, but he held me there, hands gentle but firm. It was then that I felt him, hard pressed with his own lust. He sat very still. I held Psyche and Erosmy breath.

At last he spoke, still careful not to move, even his lips barely formed the words. “Susan, I know what you’re feeling right now. I understand it, believe me, I do.” His gaze met mine in the firelight. “I know what you need, and unless you’re completely daft, you have to know my response.” This time he shifted slightly and I caught my breath in a tight little gasp and with it inhaled the scent of his lust, lightning and ozone, dark damp earth. He slid the flat of his palm down to rest on the small of my back and the towel fell away. “If you let me,’ his breath came heavy and quick against my cheek, ‘I can make it easier for you.’ He moved a splayed calloused hand up over my ribs, and we both groaned. ‘If you let me, I can help.’

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Brit Babes Do Billionaire Bargain!

99P Sale11350653_714618715332107_1633863813666099295_n
The Brit Babes Do Billionaires! Sexy Just Got Rich, but you don’t have to BE rich to afford a sizzling summer read. For a limited time only The Brit Babe’s collection, Sexy Just Got Rich, is a bargain at 99 pence in the UK and 99 cents in the US, with similar discounts in Canada and Australia too! It’s a fab way to enjoy filthy rich without breaking the bank!

Sexy Just Got Rich Blurb:

Billionaires have it all but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to work hard to get what their hearts desire. In this brand
new anthology of erotic BDSM stories the Brit Babes offer heroes and heroines who aren’t shy about taking what they want. From farmyards to luxury penthouses, wealth is all about sating needs, connecting souls and taking pleasure to new highs. Whether you’re looking for a coffee break read or something longer to curl up in bed with, you’ll find something to suit your needs in Sexy Just Got Rich.

 

Here’s a bit of a teaser from my story, Buying the Farm.

Sexy Just Got Rich‘Buying the Farm’

Cassie Fielding is at her wits end trying to save the family farm from bankruptcy after her father’s illness. But when Cassie returns from university, she finds that, in spite of their financial situation, her father has hired the mysterious Simon Dennis to help run the place. As Cassie and the new hired hand experience an unprecedented heat wave of lust, Cassie comes to suspect that her father and Simon may be in cahoots with their own plan to save the farm, and the whole scheme depends on her.

Excerpt

When Simon came to her, she was standing with her back to the open sliding door, arms braced against the stalls they had renovated. He wanted to breed horses – not on a grand scale, but mostly as an experiment in the beginning, a part of their plan to diversify. The planning was still in the early stages, but it was filled, like most of their plans for Fielding Farm, with exciting possibilities.           

‘I’m sorry, Cassie.’ For a long time he stood silhouetted in the door, his shadow stretching out before him, merging with the gloom of the barn. Then he moved to stand behind her, slipping his arms carefully around her waist, as though he feared she might turn on him. In truth, she wasn’t sure his fears weren’t justified.

At last, she relaxed and leaned her head back against his shoulders, feeling his sigh of relief, warm and humid on the soft flesh of her neck. ‘Is any of what he said true?’

‘Some of it, yes. I wanted to buy Fielding Farm. I made your father a very generous offer, one I didn’t think he could refuse.’

‘But he did.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Well, not exactly.’ He kissed her ear and tightened his hold just slightly, not sure what her response would be. ‘He told me he wouldn’t consider any offer until I’d worked as his hired hand for six months.’

Cassie laughed in spite of herself. ‘And then he threw in the farmer’s daughter to sweeten the deal?’

He nuzzled her neck and kissed her just below her ear, sending shivers down her spine, and she pressed back against him. ‘I think he knew all along what would happen. I think he knew that when I got to know the farmer’s daughter, I’d want it all, lock stock and barrel, and buying the farm was gonna cost me way more than I expected to pay.’ One hand moved up to cup her breast and for a long second, he seemed to have lost himself in the soft flesh of her nape and along the top of her shoulder. ‘But Christ,’ he breathed against her throat, ‘it’s worth the price.’

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The 2015 ETO A Writer’s History

I’d like to begin this post by offering huge, gigantic congratulations to my dear friend and author extraordinaire, Kay Jaybee, who won the ETO 2015 Best Erotic Author Award. In spite of insurmountable obstacles and a way less than pleasant day Kay Jaybee rocked it!

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I’m just home from my third ETO show and awards banquet. Kay Jaybee’s much-deserved win of ETO’s Best Erotic Author Award for 2015 has got me reflecting on the past three years of coming together for the awards banquet and the celebration of all things erotic. It was three years ago that ETO added a Best Erotic Author category to its annual awards banquet. Kay Jaybee and I were lucky enough to have been nominated for that first ETO Best Erotic Author Award back in 2013. It was a beginning in so many ways. The Brit Babes had just been conceived. The eight of us were becoming fast friends and steadfast supporters of each other’s efforts to get our stories out to a wider audience, and to remind readers that there are WAY more than fifty shades of erotica.

I remember that first show being such a whirlwind event. It all happened so fast. Raymond and I drove down from S6304891Scarborough that Sunday morning after having participated in and thoroughly enjoyed the first ever Smut By the Sea event organized by Brit Babe, Victoria Blisse and her totally amazing husband, Kev. Once in Birmingham, we met Kay Jaybee and Mr. Jaybee in the lounge of the Crown Plaza Hotel with just enough time for a quick drink before we put on our glad rags and made our way to the Champaign reception – me teetering on shiny killer heels that were a danger to myself and everyone around me. (This is a chick who lives in walking shoes and trainers when I’m not barefoot.)

IMG_1051Though the ETO Show had been going on for awhile, this was the first year the award for Best Erotic Author was offered. I remember, Kay Jaybee and I were round-eyed with excitement and over the moon to even be considered, as we headed downstairs to the reception and the banquet room of the Crown Plaza. We cheered for Sh! Women’s Store, who took away the Best Innovative Shop Award. We cheered Xcite Books for Best Erotic Publisher, We cheered for Cara Sutra, who took away the Best Erotic Journalist Award. We cheered for Love Honey and Sex Toys UK and for so many of the lovely folks our writing had brought us in contact with, and then the moment came … And went … It was the middle of the 50SoG craze, first wave, so we were up against some lady named E L James – don’t know if you’re familiar with her ??? She won the award to no one’s surprise. Kay and I looked around to see if we could catch a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be found. So, we shrugged, went upstairs to the bar at the Crown Plaza and partied with all our friends – old and new. The way we both figured it, we were winners anyway to have been considered at all, and to have been in such grand company for the evening.
ETO-NEC-e1403600582477-225x3002014’s ETO was a totally different animal. There were three, count ‘em THREE Brit Babes nominated for Best Erotic Author 2014. Lucy Felthouse joined Kay Jaybee and me among the nominees, and we Babes were well-supported by Lexie Bay, Tabitha Rayne and Victoria Blisse, all there to party and celebrate with us. We had a wander around the ETO exhibition hall eating ice cream with flavoured lube, fondling leather floggers and nipple clamps, and admiring outrageous lingerie but mostly just chatting and catching up with all the gossip, and of course working on our ever-expanding plan for world domination.

In 2014 the banquet was moved into the main exhibition hall with more room to
breathe and most importantly, more room to dance. We hopped on a bus at the Crown
Plaza and headed off to the banquet, taking time for a photo op in front of the hotel.

I don’t remember the food. I do remember the conversation was good. I remember P1020066cheering on Cara Sutra on to another Best Erotic Journalist Award. I remember cheering on Renee Denyer from Sh! who won the best shop manager award. And then I remember walking onto the stage dazed and in shock when my name was called. I didn’t expect it, which made it all the sweeter. I remember that long after the band stopped playing and we stopped dancing, long after we’d taken the bus back to the Crown Plaza, we sat in the lobby talking writing and dreaming and scheming, me periodically fondling the award just to make sure it was real.

Vic-and-TAb-e1403601521826-225x300Then 2015 rolled around and the day donned with an ominous portent. Both Kay Jaybee and I were nominated again, and just as Hubby and I were leaving the house for Birmingham, I got a text from Kay saying that she was in the A&E in Worcester with serious leg pain. All through the trip down, we texted back and forth, with her finally on pain killers and on her way to the Crown Plaza, which was closer than home for her, since she and Mr. Jaybee had been having a weekend away for his birthday.

Raymond and I arrived and checked in at our hotel then were off to the exhibition hall where we had a little, but not nearly enough, time with Victoria and Kev Blisse at the Blog Spot booth with Melissa McFarlane. The Blisses were there for ETO, but sadly couldn’t’ stay for the banquet. It’s always a pleasure to see them no matter how brief. Then we were joined by this year’s Brit Babe contingent, Tabitha Rayne and Lexie Bay, who brought along a wonderful surprise. Lily Harlem had been able to join the fun at the last minute.P1020093

After meeting up with Ruby Kiddell, watching the lingerie and fetish fashion show, admiring the f@ck machine and talking to a woman who made nipple jewelry among our general explorations, we discovered the free bar, where we ended up drinking wine, talking writing and making more plans for world domination, all the while checking in with Kay via text. Unfortunately, while Kay had arrived at the hotel, she was in no condition to attend the banquet, so we all returned to get ready for the evening saddened that she wouldn’t be there with us. So close, but so far away.

2015-06-28 14.41.28All through the evening, we texted Kay and sent her updates an piccies of what was happening at the banquet. When the meal was over, Dale Bradford, editor of ETO magazine and Lee Schofield, publisher, took the stage to mc the awards. The People Awards, which include Best Erotic Author, are always toward the end of what Lee and Dale have honed and polished to a very tight very pacey event. We all cheered as Sh! won Best Innovative Shop, and we cheered even louder as our wonderful Renee Denyer won Best Shop Manager.

And then it happened, always faster than I’m ready for. It seems I always almost miss 2015-06-28 14.50.37it, and have to do a really quick, really subtle instant replay in my mind before I get it. They made the announcement and this year, the winner of the ETO Best Erotic Author Award is the Brit Babes own and totally fabulous Kay Jaybee!

We had already decided if our Kay won, we Brit Babes would collect her award together with loud cheers and cat whistles, which we did, all of us running to the stage, all of us mobbing poor Lee to within an inch of his life, and then our brave Lily Harlem stepped up to the microphone to thank everyone on Kay’s behalf. A quick photo op and we were back to the table, sending photos and texting Kay the great news with trembling fingers.

2015-06-28 19.12.30Sadly, I couldn’t dance this year because the knees are still recovering, but that meant that Raymond and I got the totally pleasurable job of taking Kay’s award and bottle of fizz back to our winner, who met us down in the lobby looking bleary-eyed but happy and leaning very heavily on Mr Jaybee for support.

We had to leave early this morning so Raymond could get back for meetings, 2015-06-28 23.48.48texting our good-byes and good wishes to the lovely winner and the rest of the Brit Babes en route on the M40. Since then I’ve been thinking how much it feels like we’ve come full circle in the past three years. We were both winners even when E.L. James won that first year. We were both winners when I won, and we were both winners this year. In fact, we were all winners, celebrating with Kay the accomplishments of all the Brit Babes, and the support and camaraderie we get from each other and from our lovely Street Team. We’re writers, that’s our calling, our passion, and that we can do it and share in the journey with others who do, is definitely a win-win.

 

Congratulations to all the 2015 ETO Award Winners, and a special round of sloppy hugs and kisses to our own Kay Jaybee, 2015 ETO Best Erotic Writer!

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© 2015 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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