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Yes, Sexsomnia is a Real Thing by Madeline Iva

tourbutton_ladysmutIn fact, I wrote a novella all about it.  It’s called ‘Sexsomnia’ and it’s in an anthology called The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires.  Lady Smut.com is a blog where we talk about all things having to do with sex, love, and erotic romances.

Me? I love sleeping.  Most of us crave more sleep, and we LOVE paintings of women asleep–they seem vulnerable and unable to resist.  There’s something deeply erotic about this condition for us – and I intend to fully exploit this fascination before I’m done.  Of course it has it’s flip side too– it’s scary side.  I mean, in real life there are cases of men drugging women to have sex with the women while they’re unconscious.  Those guys are sick bastards, no mistake.

My stories stay away from that (except when it comes to the real evil villains). When it comes to the heroes and heroines I stay in the more muddled areas of consent—the realm of mistakes and confusion.  After all, if someone who you really wanted to have sex with suddenly came up to you and came onto you – why would you ever assume s/he was asleep?

But it happens.  Yes, dear folks, there’s something called Sexsomnia.  It’s very similar to the kind of thing you see on an airplane when someone takes Ambien and has a bad reaction to it.  Instead of falling asleep, they start doing bizarre stuff.  It turns out their brain is both awake and asleep at the same time.  So with people who actually have sexsomnia (don’t let the fakers fool ya) they end up having sex in their sleep at night.  The next morning they remember nothing—nothing at all.

I mean—I had to write a story about this, naturally.  Sexsomnia also can expose what someone wants deep down inside.  In your sleep those ‘no-i-could-never’ barriers come tumbling down.  In real life, sexsomniacs can wind up in court facing charges for some act they don’t remember.  In my story, deliciously dirty sex ensues.

Poor Jenny—my heroine–is alternatively satiated and tortured for the whole story.  And that’s just  a part of our larger anthology.  Each story has a little edge of shiver in it.  This particular story, Sexsomnia, is the first in a series I’m writing.  In the next story I’m going into the pov of the sex demon that lives inside of Jenny.

Thanks KD, for having me on your blog.  Hope you and your readers check out the excerpt and our blog.  Cheers!

 

HERE’S AN EXCERPT FROM THE STORY:


SEXSOMNIA

By Madeline Iva

 

Chapter 1

 

Her dreams were scalding hot and shameless, leaving her limp and listless by day.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jenny asked the poor woman for the third time.

“I said the machine revealed he kicked his leg sixty times in one hour.”

“In his sleep you said?” Jenny tried to remember the woman’s name.  Nadia.  Jenny had spilled soup all over her in the lunch line, and they’d ended up eating together. Nadia was a sleep researcher.

“Like a dog trying to run in its sleep. Like that.”

Jenny swallowed. “So how do you get to be a sleep subject for one of these studies?”

“Sure, sure, I get that all the time.” Nadia said, waving her fork.  “Everyone’s like, ‘you mean I get paid to sleep fourteen hours a day? Sign me up!’  It’s the secret fantasy of half the adults I meet.”

Jenny was aware she should be putting in face time with her own group, the behavior economics crowd, sitting way at the back of the lunch room.  Only, she’d started to develop a secret revulsion towards them. The tone they used when saying her name creeped her out, for instance. Not to mention the touching.  There was a lot of touching for such a professional setting.

Nadia was saying her love life was in the toilet.  She was stuck in the research lab all night, every night.

“And I was thought there would be men here,” she added. “I mean, single men.” She chewed a sandwich.  “You know, waiting on the park benches.  And you could pick them up, like fruit in the grocery market.” She smiled around her sandwich, eyes twinkling.

Jenny listened sympathetically.  Most of the econ guys were single, but she’d rather poke a fork in her eye than suggest Nadia get close to one of them. On the other hand, she refused to look off to her left where the biology folk sat.

Where Turner sat.

“You’ve got salad dressing on the end of your braid,” Nadia told her.

Jenny wiped it off with trembling hands, her eyes focused on the end of her orange tray.  She was not going to look at where Turner was sitting. The effect was too overpowering.  She could feel his eyes,  sure that he looked all easy-going.  His faded maroon T-shirt, complete with a constellation of moth holes in the back, screamed laid back.  She both envied the way he wore his own skin and half-hated him for being so completely free from self-consciousness.  She was stuck in a body that recoiled from any kind of scrutiny, and when he’d caught her watching him in the lunch line it was bad.  It’d made her crash into Nadia, spilling hot soup and wet salad all over her.  Her face boiled in a blush as she remembered.

“Have you tried the gym?” Jenny suggested.  “I think a lot of the guys go over and work out before dinner.”  She could have reported that the biologist Turner, for example, ran three miles on the track every other day and then did sit ups and tummy crunches.  Not that Jenny was stalking him or anything.

“Ah, that must be it,” Nadia said, unenthusiastically.

“So Nadia,” Jenny said twisting up her napkin in her hands.  “After hearing you talk I’ve been wondering…if I’ve got a sleeping disorder of some kind.”

“Ah.” Nadia put the tips of her fingers together, her light Eastern-European accent thickening a tad. “The doctor is in. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m sleepwalking maybe? I’m not sure. It’s probably no big deal, right?”

“No, no, now you’ve made me curious. Sleepwalking is rare in adults, actually.”

Jenny launched into her symptoms. She was beyond tired every morning, and it was only getting worse.

“How long has it been going on?”
Jenny told Nadia that it had been really bad at the institute, but she’d been having problems with sleep since spring break.

“So, it’s June, but you’ve been having problems since…April?”

Jenny nodded.  “It’s getting worse.  A lot worse. I mean, I was just tired before, but now I’m waking up and I’m not in my bed.  Also I’ve got rashes or bruises and other marks and I don’t know how to account for them.”   Often she woke with a stiff neck, aching back, sore hips or all three.

Nadia raised her eyebrows.  Jenny skipped over some of the other soreness she occasionally felt.  Mostly, she confessed, she worried about the abrupt shift in demeanor that her colleagues had shown after a few weeks at the institute.   They were all in the same dorm, and she wondered if they were…noticing things.

“What do you mean?” Nadia asked.

“I don’t know.  Maybe if I’m sleepwalking they see me? Maybe they’re just weird.” Jenny was reluctant to go on, but Nadia pressed her.

They were supposed to be writing a group paper, and at the start Jenny had been rather intimidated.  Two senior professors bullied the rest of them—but that was par for the course.  In return for lending their illustrious names to the paper, the senior professors made everyone else do most of the work, while they went off to play golf.  They were not the problem.

“It’s the five other men who make me profoundly uncomfortable,” Jenny confessed.

In the beginning they were dismissive of all her suggestions.  They also made it clear that due to her lack of seniority, her name was going last and she was going to do all the number crunching.

“Basic academic pecking order stuff, whatever.”

Nadia made sympathetic noises.

“That was until two weeks ago.  But since then…”

“What happened since then?” Nadia asked.

Suddenly the econ guys all seemed interested in her in a whole new way.

“It’s like they’re being nice, but it’s too nice.  It’s creepy.  A few of them have started touching me.”
“Touching you!”

“Nothing too gross—it’s like little pats on the arm.  Or even grabbing me around the waist to hug me.” Jenny wanted to crawl out of her skin simply describing it to Nadia.

“They sound fond of you, friendly,” Nadia said. Jenny shook her head. She couldn’t express that it wasn’t what they did, it was the way they did it… their eyes cold, lips smirking.

“And I’m so tired all the time,” Jenny added.  “I’m at the end of my rope Nadia. I told them I used to sleepwalk and asked if they ever noticed me wandering around at night.  This one guy gave me the strangest look.  Then they all started laughing but wouldn’t tell me why.”

“That,” Nadia said, wrinkling her nose, “sounds obnoxious. You think you’re sleepwalking and they’re all laughing behind your back or something?”

“Yes.” Jenny remembered how furious she was when she tried to ask Bonifellow straight out if they were laughing at her for some reason.

What do you mean, Jenny? Why would we do that Jenny? Even the way they said her name seemed overly significant and full of secret meaning.

“Well, I could put you in the lab overnight and we could see,” Nadia said, taking the last bite of her sandwich and wiping her hands. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

Nadia nodded, dimpling. “You’ve got such a baby face, I wouldn’t be too surprised by the guys treating you like a student.  You said you have a history of sleepwalking?”

“Yeah. Could that be why I feel so tired?” Jenny explained that on her return from Thailand she’d started feeling exhausted every day and had gone to the doctor—who hadn’t found anything.

“Hmph.”  Nadia was looking more like a scientist by the second, Jenny thought, her dimples and smiles replaced by a look of no-nonsense clinical analysis.

“Wouldn’t want to say until I saw your stats.  But these colleagues are causing you a lot of stress.”

“Yes.”

“Well, stress can disturb your sleep.”

“I guess.” Jenny said, rolling her cherry tomatoes around with her fork.  “It’s just…”

Jenny wasn’t going to share the dreams she was having.  Erotically-charged dreams of a certain biologist stretched out on a narrow twin bed, gripping his magnificent member in his hand.  No shame on his face, just a low lidded stare of promise.

A tap on the shoulder interrupted her thought. The ringleader of their economics group, Bonifellow, stood before them.  He had the dark good looks of Italian heritage meeting Eastern Indian, with a generous splash of super-geek.  Jenny saw Nadia was suddenly sitting up a little straighter and crossing her legs.

She wanted to tell Nadia he was an arrogant dipstick.  He always wore wrinkled white dress shirts and a loosened tie.  The heavy smell of Drak Noir announced his presence about a minute or two before he arrived.

“Introduce me to your friend,” he said.

“Bonifellow,” she said, stabbing her cherry tomato with her fork, not looking up, “this is Nadia.”

She saw the smirking leer he gave to Nadia from beneath her lashes, as if he was God’s gift.  His hand on the back of her chair moved to walk his fingers up her back.  Jenny sat up suddenly, her back arching, and the desire to stab him viciously with her fork almost overcame her.

“Bring her to our table next time, Jenny.”

He smiled and, tipping a mocking salute, he moved on.

“He’s cute,” Nadia said.  Jenny sat in shock at her sudden feelings of snarling impotence.

“I can’t stand him,” Jenny spat.  “That way he smirked at you.” She gave an involuntary shiver again.

“It’s called flirting,” Nadia said.  “Maybe you’re being a little paranoid, yes? Myself, I’m still looking for likely prospects this summer.  What about you? How’s your love life?”

“I don’t know,” Jenny said, bending low over the table, playing with her food. The lunchroom was emptying out. She hung her head even lower over her salad, looking off under her bangs towards the biology table.  Don’t do it.  But she did. Turner and some guy with glasses and a round tender baby face were leaning forward in heavy conversation.  Even so, Turner looked over and stared.  It was not a friendly stare.  You didn’t stare intensely like that at friends.  It was clearly an I want to fuck you stare—one she had no idea how to communicate with.  She looked away, craning her neck in the other direction.

“So tell me more about that econ guy.” Nadia said.  “Single?”

“He’s an asshat, Nadia.”

“Or he’s interested in you.  Clearly you’re a hot prospect.”

Jenny shook her head. “Ugh.”

“Come on,” Nadia cajoled.  “You’re tall, skinny, blonde, and, well…” Nadia waved a hand.

That morning Jenny had emerged from the dorm room in white cigarette jeans and a cute little teaching blouse.  While she was crossing the lounge someone gave a highly inappropriate wolf whistle.  She looked down the hall.  The guys were all there—she couldn’t spot who had whistled, but they were all staring at her.

So she dived back into her room, only to emerge a minute later with a boxy lemon yellow cardigan, a real granny sweater. It was even embroidered with goldfish.

“So are there?”
“What?”

“Any likely prospects in your group?” Nadia pointed her chin at Bonifellow.

“Bonifellow? Ew. No. Anyway, I’m here to work.  This is not economics sex-camp, Nadia.”

Nadia sprayed her milk. Laughing, she wiped her chin.

“Well…actually, there’s this one guy…” Jenny started to confess, slowly.  “We met in the elevator the first day.”

Turner, of course.  He’d been carrying a duffle over his shoulder and a messenger bag slung across his back.  She’d been trying to hold a box of academic files under one arm, along with her suitcase handle, but somehow she kept losing the box as it slipped out from under her arm.  Turner took it from her without asking.  He held it for the rest of the elevator ride.

I’m Turner, he’d said.

It could have been a nice beginning.  She could have said I’m Jenny, thanks for the help. But no. She’d spent the rest of the ride on the world’s slowest elevator her hands sweating, her mind a complete blank.  Then she’d decided to be all feminist and insist she have the box back, that she could carry it and should carry it. She still cringed at the memory, her hands tightening on the lip of the table as she related it to Nadia.

He’d given her a look like she was weird.

Then the elevator door had opened, they both stepped out onto a mezzanine floor, and he gave her the box back.  She’d taken it with one arm and promptly spilled it all over the entire mezzanine area.  He’d helped her clean it up, looking bored.

“Then he asked me if I’d be at the faculty mixer after dinner.”

Jenny had choked out some totally incoherent reply, crammed the papers back in the box, swept it up with her suitcase, and strode away over the bridge that separated his dorm from hers.  But she’d been looking back at him as she did so, so she hadn’t seen the glass door that separated the dorms.

“I walked right into it. Wham! Bruised my nose and everything,” she confessed.

“Oh no!” Nadia laughed.

After bouncing off the door and spilling the files again, she’d heard him call out that he’d see her that night.  At the mixer.  If she got over her concussion.  Finding her assigned room, she’d laid down and grabbed a pillow.  After putting it over her face, she’d pounded her head through it for a few minutes.

When self-asphyxia hadn’t helped, she’d gotten up, washed her face, changed her attire, and went to the mixer.  The room had been incredibly loud with conversation.  Turner had came over to her within ten minutes, and she’d asked him about his research.  She’d only heard about every three words of what he was saying and had tried to fake her way through her replies, acting all nonchalant like everyone else.

He’d leaned his head in towards her every time she talked, sort of a pecking motion, to try to catch her words over the noise.

“What?” he’d asked several times.

“I hate this, it’s so loud,” she’d said.

“Sorry,” he’d said. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

Into a sudden lull in the conversation she’d yelled, “I said I hate this place, don’t you?”

He’d given her an odd look, “Yes, I gave up twelve weeks of my summer to come here. Because I hate it so much.”

After that no one could get a peep out of her.  She’d been on the verge of tears.

“So what happened?” Nadia asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, I mean after.”

“The thing is Nadia, I’ve got no game.” Jenny slapped her hands down on her white jeans, which had an oily soup stain across them now, and stood up.  “I admit it, I accept it, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I am probably further ahead in my career than most of my peers—because let’s face it, you can get a lot of work done if you never have a social life.  Fun is a massive time suck.”

“I smell a summer fling,” Nadia said.

“She who smelt it, dealt it,” Jenny said. “I don’t do flings, I’m no good at them.”

“How can you not be good at a fling? That’s ridiculous.  I think you’re over-thinking this stuff.”

“You’re right, I do over-think.  Always. I think if I get involved with Turner I’ll probably want it to go on.  Meanwhile, he lives on the other side of the entire country to me. So how’s that going to work?”
“You don’t know where he lives.”
“He said at the mixer he spends a few months each summer up in Alaska doing field research.”

“What does Turner study?”

“It’s on the tip of my tongue.  It’s a high school mascot.”

“Bears? Eagles?”

“No.”

“Cougars? Wild cats?”

“Some kind of varmint.”

“Wolves? Beavers?”

“Like a muskrat.”

“What sad little high school in America,” Nadia asked, tossing down her crumpled napkin, “has a muskrat for its mascot?”

“My point is, do you realize how expensive airfare to Alaska is these days?”

Nadia crossed her arms to lean in.  “Okay, fine.  But what about the guy that’s been staring at you for the last five minutes across the cafeteria?”

Jenny looked over, and instantly squinched down in her seat, one hand covering that side of her face.

“That’s him,” she hissed.

Nadia made a purring noise.  “The biologist? You didn’t say he was tall and hot. I thought you meant one of those other geeks.” Dropping her voice she said, “You’re crazy not to jump his bones.”

Jenny kept her face hidden.  “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I don’t know how.  I couldn’t get from hello to the bed without making a total ass of myself.”

“It’s sex, Jenny.  If you have to talk your way through it, you’re not doing it right.”

“You make it sound easy, but he’s a strange man, and I absolutely suck at talking to strange men.”

“He’s coming this way.”

“Oh God.”

It was too late to get up and flee.

“Ladies.”

They murmured in response.  Jenny found the pattern on her orange cafeteria tray completely absorbing.

“Jenny.”  She was level with his pelvis and swallowed hard, feeling acutely self-conscious. She knew what his face looked like, but could not seem to force her eyes upwards to meet his.

“Want to introduce me to your friend?”

“This is Nadia.  Sleep disorders.”

“Hello, Nadia Sleep Disorders,” he said, and then looked at Jenny again. She felt his eyes studying her, waiting.  His hair always seemed to need brushing, but the clean, strong lines of a Greek warrior offset his messy hair, just as his broken Roman nose set off the sculpted perfection of the rest of his face.  Together his face and body sent her into a deep primal frenzy.

He was sex on a stick and there she was fizzling and popping in his presence, crushed so hard by shyness that she was helpless, simply helpless, to do or say anything coherent in his presence.

That stare she’d received before was now slightly masked, but only slightly. If he could stare at her like that, why couldn’t he take over the situation and move them along to the post-talking stage so they could enjoy the next part of the adventure? The part that would involve kissing and silence.  And fucking. She’d lied to Nadia.  She’d take a fling with him any day.

She realized she was frowning in alarm as she looked up at him, and made herself stop it and look down again.

“So, Jenny,” Nadia said. “Introduce me.”

“This is…”

She turned away, only to look back up at him completely stricken.

His name had fled her brain.

“This is—?”

He turned to Nadia, obviously pissed. “Turner Michael.  Biology.”

“His name is backwards,” Jenny said to Nadia.  “I told Nadia that you studied varmints.” She wanted to slap herself.  Idiot. Idiot.

“Love these institutes.  Smart ladies everywhere you look.  Yes, I study varmints.” Then he looked down again.  “What are you researching this summer Jenny?”

The paper had been her idea, in fact.  “Five crucial aspects of social reality for the continuance of consumer goods spending.”

A conversation-killing silence met that announcement.

“It’s behavior economics,” she explained slowly, wishing she could crawl under the table and die.
“Sounds fascinating,” Turner said. Nadia choked a little. Jenny blushed hard.

Then she swallowed.  No one said anything.

“So,” Nadia said. A pause hung in the air.  Jenny studied her empty juice glass like it was a precious cultural object in her hand.  Turner seemed to notice her indifference.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you.  I’ll be on my way then,” he said.  “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” Nadia said.

“Maybe I’ll see you later,” he said to Jenny softly. Her guts churned over at those words.

He was gone.

Jenny hid her face behind her hand, a fit of fatigue overwhelming her now that all the adrenaline had poured out into her system.

Nadia threw her balled-up napkin into Jenny’s face.

“He is so into you.  And trying so hard to be nice to you.”

“I don’t want nice.  I want to do him.”

“Jenny! Now that’s more like it.”

“I’d also like him to bring up something we both have in common so we can actually have a conversation.”

“Ask him about varmints again.” Nadia giggled.

Jenny smacked her glass on the table.  “I suck.” She tapped her glass in time with her words.  “I. Just. Suck.” She stood up.  “Moving on.”

“Maybe being over-tired is making it hard for you to think on your feet. I’ll help you with that.”
Jenny tilted her head. “I wish, but no, I’m always this pathetic around guys. I tried blaming it on going to an all girl’s school for years, but…”

“I can help you.”  Nadia grabbed her arm and began walking with her out into the steamy green campus.  “This guy I know is bugging me to try a new sleep recording device he’s created.  Let’s do an intake on you at the lab and then we can try it out tonight.”

“Yeah? Oh Nadia—”

“We’ll see what’s going on.  If the device works.”

 

 

Lady Smut Dark DesiresBlurb:

Four sexy paranormal stories to make you shiver with fear and delight.

·     THE IMMORTAL LONGING OF BRENNA BANG, by Liz Everly When a vampire materializes through her computer, successful vampire-romance romance author Brenna Bang finds herself marked for inescapable passion with a tech savvy bloodsucker.

·      THE LYING, THE WITCH & THE WARDROBE by C. Margery Kempe Christina tries to figure out how to unlock her grandmother’s wardrobe and uncover what happened all those years ago when the goblins came to offer their sensuous erotic fruits.

·      SEXSOMNIA by Madeline Iva Jenny needs to unravel the mystery of what she does at night and who she does it with in order to subdue the sexual demon inside her.

·      DIVINE by Elizabeth Shore Locked in an abandoned mental asylum, an ambitious filmmaker soon discovers she’s trapped with a Dionysian god.  He offers her a glimpse of astounding future artistic success—but it will only come true if she’ll perform an erotic ritual to free him.


Buy Links:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

B&N

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Bio: LADY SMUT.com

Lady Smut is a blog for intelligent women who like to read smut.  On this blog we talk about our writing, the erotic romance industry, masculinity, femininity, sexuality, and whatever makes our pulses race.

LINKS:

Website: http://www.ladysmut.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LadySmutBlog?ref=hl

Twitter: @ladysmut1

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/LadySmut/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/32150304-lady-smut

 

D&S Duos Book One by Lisabet Sarai

Passionate woman with shibari posing in studioBlurb

D&S Duos Book 1 combines two of Lisabet Sarai’s hottest BDSM short stories into one sizzling package. In “Body Electric”, a professor of engineering charms his female colleague into experiments on the erotic effects of electricity. In “Limits”, an established Master/slave couple push their relationship to next level of trust – blood sports. Also includes a searing excerpt from Lisabet’s BDSM erotic thriller Bangkok Noir.

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US

Barnes and Noble, iTunes, etc. Coming soon.

 

Excerpt

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 my 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.

My tormenter paused. “I didn’t invent this handy little device, but I’ve made a few modifications. For example, I can turn up the power, or increase the frequency. Or make the variations random. Would you like that?”

All I could do moan.

 

lisabetFaceBrief Bio

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse. Learn more at http://www.lisabetsarai.com.

Links:

Website: http://www.lisabetsarai.com

Blog: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai

Yahoo group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lisabets_list

 

OUT NOW – A Different Kind of Cosplay by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #erotica #romance #geek

releaseblitzbutton_cosplayBlurb:

Zachary has a dilemma. His girlfriend, Reese, has a special birthday coming up soon and he has absolutely no clue what to get for her. It doesn’t help that Zach does not share or really understand Reese’s biggest hobby—comic books, superheroes and everything that goes with them. Zach raids Reese’s DVD collection for inspiration, and what he finds there gives him an idea…possibly the best one he’s ever had.

Sure, Reese has fantasized about her favorite superheroes. All those muscles and rakish smiles are to die for. She didn’t think Zach would ever really understand, though. But he proves her wrong in the best way possible.

Buy links:

Ellora’s Cave
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

ADifferentKindOfCosplayExcerpt:

Zachary sighed at the calendar entry in his phone, which was reminding him for the third time about Reese’s upcoming birthday. And it wasn’t just any birthday—she was going to be thirty.

There were perks to dating a doctor—the uniform was pretty hot, for example—but when that doctor had no particular fondness for jewelry, flowers or chocolates, buying her presents was nigh-on impossible. And because of her work schedule, a surprise weekend away was out of the question. He’d long since learned to always keep the receipts.

Most people get their partners something to do with their hobbies or interests. However, Reese was even awkward in that regard. Her main hobby was so complex that Zach didn’t have the first idea what to get her to do with it—Reese was an uber-geek. Films, graphic novels, collectibles, all that jazz.

Obviously he could just ask what she wanted, then go out and get it, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise. And it was too easy—he wanted her to know he’d really made the effort.

Snoozing the calendar reminder once more, Zach threw the phone onto the sofa, then walked over and started rooting through their combined film collection for something to watch after dinner, which was almost ready. Reese was on-shift at the hospital until silly o’clock, so he had the house to himself and could watch whatever he liked. An action movie it was, then.

Running his fingers along the spines of the DVDs and Blu-rays, he suddenly paused. The Avengers leaped out at him, for some reason. He’d seen snippets of it before, as Reese watched it pretty frequently. The parts he’d seen hadn’t looked too bad, actually. It was essentially an action film, he decided, but with superheroes in it.

He pulled the case off the shelf, an idea beginning to form. Maybe if he watched it beginning to end, he’d seen what drew Reese into that world so much, why she was so fascinated by the films, the graphic novels and so on. Even if he didn’t get it, though, maybe it would still give him some inspiration for a gift. He had nothing better to do that evening, in any case, so it was certainly worth a try.

After putting the disc in the player, he headed into the kitchen to see how his dinner was coming along. A meal in front of the television was the order of the day, it seemed.

A few minutes later, he settled onto the sofa with his lasagna and garlic bread, a bottle of beer on the table next to him. Time for some Avengers action.

Within half an hour, he’d ascertained that the film wasn’t just for geeks. In fact it was easy to see why it had such a wide appeal—the cast was supremely attractive, whatever gender you were into, the plot was interesting and the dialogue seriously witty. He’d already developed quite the crush on the Black Widow, and Nick Fury’s right-hand woman had a lovely pert backside.

Trying to put himself in Reese’s shoes, Zach looked at the male characters. Okay, when it came to this film, straight women clearly had more eye-candy than they knew what to do with. He vaguely remembered a bunch of crazy stuff going around on the Internet about Loki—even the villain of the piece had sex appeal, for heaven’s sake! So much so that it had spilled over into even Zach’s limited social media presence. He barely used Facebook, and he’d never gotten the hang of Twitter. And yet he knew about the rabid fangirls. That was another score for The Avengers, then—truly mass-market appeal. If only there were mass-market gift-buying options.

Sighing, he tried to empty his mind and concentrate on the film. The more he tried to force an idea to present itself, the less likely it would be to happen. He’d just enjoy the entertainment and keep his fingers crossed that his subconscious provided something useful.

Once he’d made the decision, it wasn’t difficult to get sucked back into the narrative. It was engaging, easy-going and fun. Zach surprised himself by thoroughly enjoying the entire thing. Reese would be pleased when the next film came out at the cinema and he offered to go along with her.

He’d keep his new found admiration quiet for now, though. He didn’t want to arouse her suspicions, although she was bound to know he was planning something for her milestone birthday.

The question remained—what the hell could he do or buy to blow her away?

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

 

 

The Voices in My Head by Janine Ashbless

tourbutton_fierceenchantmentsThe voices … the voices …

The really great thing about writing a collection of short stories is that you can stretch yourself in all sorts of directions, writing from many contrasting points of view.  In my Introduction, I warn the readers of my fantasy anthology Fierce Enchantments not to trust the narrators of the stories therein, and I mean it! Some of them are simply unreliable, some are ignorant of real-life modern moral standards, and some are downright wicked. You have to make your own judgment when reading the stories…

The book opens with a cold, cold voice – Too Much of Water is a fairy tale told in the embittered priggish tones of an old biddy sitting by the fire, warning her young audience not to go down the pagan primrose path to damnation. Some, in contrast, are burning hot: The Last Thing She Needs is an agonized, guilt-riddled confession by a sadist vampire-hunter who has bottled up both his lust and his love for years, not daring to confess what will truly make him whole. Guinevere in Knight Takes Queen is mired in a confused mess of a cuckolding triangle, because no one in Camelot has the vocabulary for bisexuality or BDSM, and they try to frame everything in terms of sin and honour. At Usher’s Well is drenched in rain and grief and pity, the narrative of a servant girl whose three lovers drown at sea … and then come back for one last tryst. The world of The Military Mind is a quasi-fascist future one where individual liberty and choice have been sidelined in favour of keeping the human race alive in the face of alien invasion – so psychic Peyton is prepped by a lifetime of biological and psychological conditioning to take up her role as comms officer and sexual plaything for a squad of horny marines.  The Merry Maid is another fairy story, but this one told with playful humour. And Sycorax is a Shakespearian tale retold by an inhuman monster: don’t expect any mercy or sympathy from her.

Just because these are ten smutilicious erotic tales doesn’t mean I want them to be true. Just because they are fantasy doesn’t mean I morally approve what goes on in them! But I do love listening to the protagonists’ many voices, however strange or frightening, and I love giving them shape on paper because I think they deserve to be heard.

xxx

Janine Ashbless

 

Fierce EnchantmentsExcerpt from Fierce Enchantments:

(from the story Sycorax)

 

But Prospero I have not forgotten. No.

The Isle is mine. It is the Omphalos—the navel of the world. I rule from the earth, by night. The sky above and the day: they belong to Ariel. Belonged, I should say. I … I think we had other names once, long ago. I do not remember them. It does not matter. All stories are leaves on one tree, and the branches may be long but they are all fed by the same roots. Names come and go, like dead leaves. It is perhaps better to forget them, in the end.

Are you hungry, little man? I have a haunch of meat here that is well-cooked and only a little gnawed upon.

Yes, it is from the wreck of your vessel.

Do not ask that. You are hungry, or not. And the night is long, and my story only just started.

Ariel ruled the Isle by day, and I ruled by night. At dusk and dawn we met, as husband and wife, to act out our carnal dreams. At sunset I would ride astride his long beam, and at sunrise he would pin me flat and plough my deeps. His seed came forth in great quantities, I recall—like sea spume, or like the white fluff of poplar-trees blown upon the wind. When I dug my long nails into his golden flesh, then the dawn would come up blood red.

I had many children by him. Have you not read that this Isle is full of noises? We are surrounded by legions; if you have not seen them yet, then it is because your mortal eyes are too dull. But this is the sorrow of it: Ariel let live only those babes I spawned that resembled him, that were of his delicate and airy nature. Those childer that bore my stamp—the dark and earthy, the heavy of flesh—those he hated, and devoured at first sight.

No. For years I bore this, until even I grew weary. And with age fewer and fewer babes were birthed at all. So when at last I whelped my youngest son Caliban, and saw that he favoured me and not his father, I knew that I must hide him to preserve his life.

Oh, have you seen my boy then? Don’t look so green. Think you he is ugly? I do not. Are not his teeth strong and keen? Isn’t his skin, hued with all the shot-silk colours of oil upon water, soft and smooth? The eyes that he opened upon me that first night, in such perfect trust, were as golden and beautiful as the eyes of a toad—and if two eyes are deemed lovely, must not many be even more enchanting?

I gave to Ariel a stone wrapped in blood-stained birthing cloths, and watched as he swallowed it whole. The babe I hid anew within the caverns of my body. And inside me, Caliban grew. But at last the night came when I could carry his weight no longer, so huge of limb was my child; so I birthed him a second time, half-grown. Even then, we both knew he was not safe. We went under cover of darkness to Ariel’s crag, and as the first light of the sun touched the sky with grey, Caliban seized his sire and I split a great pine tree, and together we thrust Ariel into the cleft and closed it tight. It was over in moments: when it was done Ariel was entrapped and my child was safe.

You think I played my husband false? Don’t bother to answer: I see it in your eyes. Well, you may be reassured to know that I have suffered great pangs over the years for my part in the betrayal. I missed his cock within me and his hands upon me; the ache of my loss brought forth great groans of anguish from my innermost being every dawn and dusk. For twelve long years.

That was when Prospero came to this Isle, with his infant daughter in his arms.

Listen well and mark this: the deposed Duke of Milan was no great sorcerer, however he styled himself afterwards. He was a second-rate alchemist—a mumbling book-wizard—a natural philosopher whose philosophy went no further than his own self-importance. But he was a man, and my cunt ached beyond bearing for the rough touch of a man. I saved his life, building him a cell in which to hide him from my own son; bringing him the fruits of the Island; fetching the contents of his leaky vessel from where it had foundered upon the rocks of the bay. I even let the girl-child live, though Caliban licked his drooling chops at the thought of such a tender mouthful. I forbade my boy to harm either of them.

In return I asked only that Prospero service my appetites. It was, I admit, not as easy for him as for my poor Ariel, for he was not so well-endowed. But he was a man of ingenuity and imagination, and where cock would not suffice, fist and forearm would. I demanded only that he persevere in his efforts.

In return for my mercy he betrayed me.

 

Cover Blurb for “Fierce Enchantments”

 

Inside the covers of this, Janine Ashbless’ third collection of erotic short stories, you will find delight and terror and lust – and perhaps even unexpected tenderness.

The wayward daughter of Shakespeare’s sorcerer Prospero; a runaway slave who becomes king only for as long as he can stay awake; a servant girl whose three dead lovers return for one last tryst; vampire-hunters haunted to the point of madness by what they have been through; warriors in a desperate future war for the survival of humankind – and one very dangerous frog prince – all appear in this collection of erotic stories that will take you to the edge and then pull you over into the glittering darkness beyond.

Weaving worlds of fantasy, Janine Ashbless draws from fairy stories, history, myth and the darkest depths of her imagination to bring you tales of passion and desire that will enchant, shock and dazzle you.

Buy links:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

 

Janine-AshblessBio:

Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure – and that’s “fantasy” in the sense of swords ‘n’ sandals, contemporary paranormal, fairytale, and stories based on mythology and folklore.  She likes to write about magic and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.

Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000, and her novels and single-author collections now run into double figures. She’s also had numerous short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance, Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology Geek Love.

Her work has been described as: “hardcore and literate” (Madeline Moore) and “vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death and love.”   (Portia Da Costa)

 

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

Goodreads

Janine Ashbless Facebook

Amazon UK Author Page

Amazon US Author Page

 

 

Cover Reveal for EMBRACED, Part 3 of Marissa Honeycutt’s The Life of Anna

Embraced Cover-Final

The Life of Anna: Part 3: EMBRACED Blurb :

Devin has achieved his goal of becoming Chairman and all seems peaceful…until Devin performs an act of cruelty that pushes Anna to fight back for the first time in her life. Meanwhile, Alex is working hard to give her something that Devin can never take away.

As her Masters work around her, Anna must navigate a life she never wanted.

EmbracedTeaser1

Title: The Life of Anna, Part 3: Embraced

Author: Marissa Honeycutt

Genre: Very Dark Paranormal Erotica

Publication Date: December 28, 2014

EmbracedTeaser2

Buy Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CA

SmashWords

EmbracedTeaser3

 

About Marissa:

Marissa’s story of Anna began with a dream about being kidnapped with Adam Savage from Mythbusters (Yes, really). Over the next year and a half, it morphed into the story that is now known as “The Life of Anna.” She has several other stories in progress, one of which is based on her kidnapped dream.

When she’s not writing or editing, Marissa is taking care of two young boys, training to be an astronaut, running her household, wrestling with gorillas, playing around on Facebook, promoting whirled peas, and busting her tush for her accounting degree. She enjoys chocolate, air conditioning in the desert’s summer heat, really good strawberry margaritas, sleeping, and shopping.

Find Marissa Here: 

Facebook – Twitter – GoodReads Author Page – Amazon Author Page

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The lucky winner will receive an eCopy of The Life of Anna, either part one or two. Winner’s choice!

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The Romance Reviews

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