Migrations: Get Your Vicarious Road Trip FREE!

I’m very excited to announce that my hot romantic novella, Migrations, is FREE! For the next five days, exclusive on Amazon Kindle, you can download Migrations and  indulge vicariously in the hottest road trip you’ll ever take.

Travel is a change of context. Travel is also a break in continuity. We can hop on a plane and in a couple of hours be in a completely different context, a context that had nothing to do with us up until we step off that plane. We could, for all practical purposes, be stepping onto a different planet.

A road trip, however, is a whole different animal. When we make a road trip, we’re watching our context change minute by minute around us as we move through the landscape, and the continuity sort of stretches to contain us as we move along in the little self-contained environment we’ve created in our cars. It’s not quite the total break with context offered by a plane trip and it’s a strange stretch and warp of continuity. It’s travel with a more hands-on feel. It’s more of a time-released metamorphosis.

In my novella, Migrations, also available in the wonderful Traded Innocence anthology from Xcite Book’s Secret Library Series, Val Hastings would love nothing more than a break in continuity and a change of context. But she’s stuck travelling with her curmudgeonly elderly aunt and her do-gooder cousin, on the road trip from hell, as she calls it.

Enter the steamier-than-the-equator biker known only as Hawk, a mysterious man who specialises in nasty and delicious ways to relieve road-rage, and suddenly Val’s context and her continuity get a whole lot more interesting and a whole lot hotter.


VAL HASTINGS, assisted by her do-gooder cousin, SALLY CLINE, is shanghaied into driving their AUNT ROSE across the US to visit her son. What begins as the trip from hell turns into a sexy adventure when they find themselves sharing the interstate with a mysterious, leather-clad biker. Aunt Rose and Sally are convinced he’s up to no good. But after Val catches him mid-wank at a rest area, and he offers her some steamy help to make her journey more enjoyable, she’s convinced he’s her nasty saviour.

Is HAWK, the biker, a murder, a free spirit, or something else? Whatever he is, animal attraction wins out over caution, as he joins the ladies for a cross country romp that keeps Sally and Aunt Rose nervous and Val hotter than her overheating engine.


Hawk heard it first. Val felt him tense. There was a shifting in the air, then the growing sound of distant cries and calls, accented by rattling woody trills. The calls of the sandhill cranes were nothing at all the trumpeting sounds she had heard when she’d studied whooping cranes down in Port Aransas. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before, growing louder and more heavily syncopated, until she could feel it deep between her hip bones, down at the base of her spine. They were engulfed in a rolling sea of percussive trills and calls that sounded like endless, anxious questions waiting to be answered, and the moon disappeared in a sea of fluttering wings. ‘Oh my God!’ She rose to a half-crouch and squinted into the chaos. ‘It’s the cranes. It’s the sandhills! You were right. They’re here!’

‘Looks like they’ve managed to slip in under curfew again.’ He slid an arm around her and settled her back on the ground as the first birds landed and began feeding only yards from where they sat.

‘They’re huge!’ She exclaimed. ‘I mean I knew that, but actually seeing them, being this close to them, well, that’s different, isn’t it?’ Then she added, not taking her eyes off the cranes. ‘Did you know they’re the oldest known bird species still surviving? They found a Miocene crane fossil right here in Nebraska, ten million years old. Can you imagine? And it was structurally identical to modern sandhill cranes. We’re looking at the ancient past, Hawk.’

‘They make me feel a bit like a time traveller,’ he said.

She nodded agreement, as a large male close by raised his red head and rattled his questioning call. ‘I think they could easily devour a greedy businessman – well chopped, of course.’ In spite of her tasteless joke, such an end for Beranger did seem like poetic justice.

‘They are the descendants of dinosaurs, after all, and a ravenous lot.’ Hawk said, looking out over the sea of cranes.

‘As far as some of them fly to reach their breeding grounds, a little extra protein certainly wouldn’t hurt.’ She pulled the jacket tight and let the feral aroma of leather and maleness caress her.

Another wave of cranes landed nearby. The air pulsated with warm bodies, the scent of distance and altitude still on their wings. As darkness settled, the fields around them seethed with need and urgency that brought the birds back to this same place year after year, generation after generation, millennia after millennia.

‘My aunt thinks you killed Beranger.’ Her boldness surprised her.

He laughed, cupping her jaw in a calloused hand and tracing her lower lip with his thumb. ‘I had to. You said it yourself, the birds could use the extra protein.’

She nipped the tip of his thumb playfully and looked around at the feeding cranes. ‘Bon appetit!’ She called, uttering a startled gasp when he pulled her down onto the grass, his mouth covering hers as he engulfed her in his warmth and his scent.

‘Is this payment for what I owe you?’ She whispered when he pulled away.

‘Only the first instalment.’ He pushed the jacket off her shoulder along with the straps of her tank top and bra and bathed the sensitive hollow of her collar bone in warm kisses and nibbles, causing her to squirm against him.

‘It’s a big one then? The debt I mean.’ She was finding it more and more difficult to think in coherent sentences as he cupped and caressed.

‘You could be in the hotel room with your auntie and cousin watching movies on demand.’

‘Enormous then,’ she groaned, pressing up against him.

‘Mmm. I doubt if you’ll ever be able to fully repay it.’ He insinuated one knee between her legs and wriggled and nestled until his groin pressed against hers, until she could feel the hardness of him through the rub of jeans against jeans. Then he went back to work on her mouth, his tongue dancing over hers and lapping at her hard pallet, as they rocked and shifted against each other, until the friction was exquisite.

He pulled away enough to shove her tank top up until her belly was bare, then he  kissed her just below the waist band of her bra where her ribs came together, causing her to inhale in tight little gasps. He licked and nuzzled his way down to her navel, while he opened her zipper and slid a hand inside the low waist band of her panties, clearing the way for his hungry mouth. She arched up to meet his kisses, as he slid her clothing down over her hips.

It felt as though she’d been waiting forever for this moment, as he caressed and suckled the landscape of her, exploring with his fingers, with his mouth, with his eyes, like Lewis and Clark discovering a new land, like Darwin discovering a new species.

The little moan that escaped his throat against her clit might have been from the feel of her so engorged and open and receptive, or it might have been from the feel of his heavy penis pressing through his jeans. Whatever the cause, she returned the moan and curled her fingers in his hair holding him to her undulating groin. The cranes were all around them, so close she could almost touch a feathered neck or a slender leg. She felt their singleness of purpose as though it were her own, and Hawk felt it too, she was sure he did.

He nuzzled and nipped and licked at the split of her, burying his face in the warm wetness of her, caressing her fullness with deep, expressive lavings. And when she was practically in a frenzy with the want of him, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes, his face glistening with her juices. ‘I don’t want to play this time, Val. I want the real thing. I want all of you. I want to be inside you.’

‘Me too,’ she gasped. ‘I want that too.’

And they were both on their knees fumbling with zippers and snaps, pushing and shoving at denim and cotton, all aflutter like the wings of the cranes around them. The need felt like a fast moving prairie fire, with too much heat to even notice the prickle of the grass and the scratch of last year’s dead vegetation still not quite surrendered to new growth.

She heard the tear of the condom wrapper, and as she kicked free of jeans and panties he was already sheathed and ready for her, settling her bare bottom back onto his open bomber jacket and pushing into her with a grunt, which ended in an inhaled breath sucked between his teeth. ‘Oh god,’ he sighed. ‘Oh god.’

She was slick and pouting, aching and heavy. She had been all day, ever since she first saw him stroking his cock behind the bathrooms at the rest area, and she took him with tight, yielding ease that rubbed and slid and gripped in all the right places.

She lifted her legs around his hips and he groped and kneaded her ass cheeks in an effort to pull her still further onto him. ‘You’re so deep and tight, and god, you feel better than anything,’ he breathed.

She grabbed his clenching buttocks, running trembling desperate fingers down the crack between, parting them, fondling them, teasing, making him suck air as her fingers brushed his anus and lingered to explore timidly.

His thrusting had become tight, stiff, manic, and she was practically off the ground, wrapped around him so tightly, digging white knuckled fingers into the tense muscle beneath his shoulder blades. All breath was gone, all thought was gone. All that was left was instinct, hunger, need. It erupted in harsh cries that caused a startled rustling of wings and a few muffled squawks in the sea of feathers and sinew, but little more. It was as though the birds somehow knew they were no threat. They continued to feed and settle in to roost as though the earth hadn’t moved, as though the fireworks of hormonal chemistry between two humans had nothing to do with them.

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Antonia Adams On Editing The Secret Library

The GameI was lucky enough to have been given the job of editing The Secret Library novellas as well as being asked to write one myself.  And what a fabulous job that was.  I had several hours of happy, not to mention, very hot, reading.  We, at Xcite, only commissioned writers who we knew would come up with the goods: alpha males, feisty heroines and a strong plot with heaps of sexual tension. Oh and great writing, of course – so it goes without saying I’ve never had so much fun in my life.

I got to choose the covers for the ebooks too – which meant spending an afternoon or two searching for images of fit, semi clad men. It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it!  Honestly, I don’t know why my friends are so jealous when I tell them what I do for a living!


On writing my novella

As for my own novella, One Of Us, here’s how it came about.   I live in Dorset, which has one of the most beautiful coastlines in the country, so the setting was easy.  I knew straight away I wanted my story action to play out on beaches, and I’d always fancied the idea of setting a love scene in the sea.

My heroine, Natalie Crane, is an artist, who is doing an exhibition in Bournemouth when she meets the enigmatic composer, Will Falcon.  There is intense chemistry between them from the outset despite the fact that her friend and agent, the very camp Anton doesn’t trust Will one little bit. Natalie’s not entirely sure she trusts him either. But Will wants to buy a painting and, against her better judgment, Natalie agrees to go to his house to discuss what type of painting might suit.


Excerpt from One of Us by Antonia Adams

‘Just through here,’ Will said, and opened the door opposite the lounge.

She was so close behind she almost cannoned into him when he stopped just inside the doorway. So much for running away. She couldn’t wait to get into his bedroom.

‘I thought maybe –’ He turned and their faces were so close that …

‘Sorry.’ She was in his personal space – or was he in hers? All she knew was that they were not in a bedroom. She wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. They were in a big L-shaped room full of musical equipment: speakers; a keyboard; wires that snaked across the floor from a plug to an amplifier. And was that a grand piano in the bay window? The air smelled of something spicy and exotic – no, that was him. So close. So close, so close. But in that heartbeat of a second it no longer mattered which room they were in, because in the next moment they were in each other’s arms. She didn’t know who had engineered it – maybe her, maybe him. She only knew it didn’t matter. It felt right that they were in each other’s arms.

He bent his head ‑ even with the heels she was still not quite tall enough to be on eye level with him ‑ and she looked up into his eyes and saw another flash of lust there, which she knew would mirror what he saw in hers. Mirror it exactly. Then his lips were on hers – surprisingly gentle at first, and his hands were cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer, drawing her deeper into the kiss. She softened beneath him, welcoming his tongue. She hadn’t been kissed like this for so long. And it felt amazing.

When they finally broke for air and he looked at her the lust had softened into a dark ache of longing. For a moment they just stared. Eyes were different close up. She could see the tawny flecks of gold she’d noticed earlier and other colours too – hazel, a hint of green. He had eyes like a big cat and they were very expressive. Alongside the longing there was curiosity, a kind of wondering.

He was probably as surprised as she was – that things had progressed so fast. She had never in her life done anything like this before and she had the oddest feeling, despite the fact that they were still in each other’s arms, that neither had he.


Antonia Adams joined the Xcite team in 2010, but she is no stranger to writing.  She uses various pseudonyms and her work has been published extensively in the UK and abroad for the last 25 years. She also lectures in creative writing at events around the country.





The joy of e-text

However, the rise in the popularity of e-books combined with the power of social networking and the possibility that in a recession, cheap, escapist books hold even more appeal, appears to have created a perfect storm of sales.

“I remember going into book stores wanting something a little racy but not being brave enough to buy what was on the shelf because the covers were so hideous,” says KD Grace, the author of The Initiation Of Ms Holly, which re-entered Amazon’s romantic fiction charts following the popularity of the 50 Shades series.

“I thought, ‘What are people going to think if they see me reading this?’ ” she adds. “So to be able to read anything you want at any time is just phenomenal. I also think more and more men are reading erotic fiction now, because a man’s just not going to want to carry around a book with a bodice ripper cover. For the first time people are able to read whatever they want.”

Read the entire article at The Scotsman.


Sex Sells: Why Fifty Shades Of Grey Is Flying Off Shelves

Emily Bendell, CEO of lingerie and lovestuff retailer BlueBella.com believes the secret behind its success is because it’s a sexy book written by a woman – for women.

“Over the past few years, as the genre has become increasingly popular, authors such as KD Grace have ensured there is something on offer for everyone, and with books such as Fifty Shades of Grey accelerating the trend, the genre can only continue to grow in popularity,” she told Huffpost Lifestyle

Read the entire article at Huffpost Lifestyle.


Holly on Top! A position I Could Get Used To!

It seemed like a small thing, something I wouldn’t have even noticed if the eagle-eyed Lucy Felthouse hadn’t brought it to my attention. I’m talking about an article in the online Fe-Mail segment of the Daily Mail. It was entitled:

EXCLUSIVE: Loved Fifty Shades of Grey? Sexpert Tracey Cox brings you THE ultimate guide to ‘mummy porn’ with her definitive steamy reading list

The Initiation of Ms Holly was on Ms Cox’s list with a 9 out of 10 rating! Needless to say I was over the moon. I passed on the link to everyone then happily went on about my business until my wonderfully supportive Other Half, who is much more a checker of charts and ratings than I am, since I’m always afraid if I look I’ll jinx it, called to let me know that Holly had suddenly gone to number twelve in the Amazon UK erotica charts! By bedtime last night, The Initiation of Ms Holly was number one on the Amazon UK erotic fiction charts and had made substantial leaps over all in the UK and the US, and suddenly replacing Holly in the middle of the top 100, where it had been hovering for quite some time, was The Pet Shop! Needless to say, It’s been a wild twelve hours! By the time I got up this morning, Holly was number two, just below The Story of O.

The Initiation of Ms Holly bed time Wednesday night.

It’s such an exciting time for erotic fiction right now. I’ve always believed that erotica and erotic romance would eventually dovetail with romance. Clearly we’re seeing that happen. But I could have never foreseen such an open-armed embrace of erotica in general. Ebooks, the internet, and the changing landscape of publishing have opened doors I don’t think any of us could have imagined five years ago.

Who’d have ever thought that my getting stuck in a train in the Eurostar tunnel several years ago would end up with Holly on topJ? And to celebrate Holly’s success, I’m including an excerpt from one my most often requested segments when I do a reading from The Initiation of Ms Holly. Enjoy!


Journalist, Rita Holly, never dreamed sex with the mysterious Edward in the dark of a malfunctioning train would lead to a blindfolded, champagne-drenched tango, a spanking by a butch waitress, and an offer of initiation into the exclusive mysteries of The Mount. Desperate to save her threatened job, she agrees, scheming secretly to write an inside exposé on the club that will make her career. But as she delves deeper into the intrigue of The Mount and the lives of its members, she soon discovers that her heart may have other plans.


Morgan walked around behind Rita to take in the over-all effect. ‘Ever ridden a Harley?’

‘Motorcycle? No.’

‘Don’t look so frightened, sweetness. I’ve been riding since I was a pup.’ His lips curled into an edible smile. ‘I promise I’ll make it good for you.’

He knelt and helped her into the boots, lingering to suckle her toes and kiss her insteps before guiding her feet into the soft insides then slowly zipping them up and up and up. At last he stood and held the bomber jacket for her. ‘Our steed awaits.’

Outside a few neighbourhood teenagers had gathered around to admire the biggest, sleekest vintage Hog Rita had ever seen, complete with silver wings painted stylistically across the petrol tank along with the words, Pegasus III. It took her a few seconds to realize that the boys’ attention had shifted away from the Harley. ‘Could we please go,’ she whispered, feeling like she did in her dreams when she found herself suddenly naked at the office or in the queue at Sainsbury’s.

But Morgan took his time buckling her into the helmet, making sure it wasn’t too tight, making certain she wasn’t claustrophobic. When she started to get on behind him, he shook his head, scooted back slightly and patted the leather seat in front of him.

She balked. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

‘Not if we don’t get caught.’ He patted the spot in front of him again and chuckled. ‘Trust me. It’s the best seat in the house.’

Trying to ignore the mutterings and the stares of the teenagers, she climbed on the Harley in front of him, a little less gracefully than she had planned. Fortunately the resulting blush was contained within the helmet.

Morgan knew only one speed and that was suicidal. The g-force of acceleration strong-armed her back against his chest with a yelp that was thankfully drowned out by the roar of the Hog. It seemed to her that Morgan was taking the fastest way out of town, weaving in and out of traffic with such terrifying maneuvers that she feared heart failure was imminent. They had only gone a few blocks when she gave up shouting at him to stop. He either couldn’t hear, or was ignoring her.

As the traffic lessened, and he headed out the A3, she realized he was controlling the Hog with one hand. The other arm was wrapped low around her waist. There was an electronic crackle next to her ear, and his voice filled the inside of her helmet. They had contact. ‘Just relax, sweetness. This is gonna be so good.’

His hand slid lower on her belly until it rested against her pubic bone where it began to fumble until she felt a tug and a zip, and suddenly cool air bathed a horizontal swath of flesh exposed to the night. ‘I love zippers. Don’t you?’ His voice was like a kiss against her earlobe.

There was more tugging and zipping until she felt the pressure of the cat suit lessen against her crotch, as though she had just split her trousers. She caught her breath.

‘Mmm, there. Oh that’s nice.’ His voice was inside her helmet again just before his fingers slid down between her folds and pressed up into her in such a way that the vibration of the big bike beneath them seemed amplified as though it were a giant vibrator. She was suddenly in danger of forgetting that she was in danger of losing life and limb. My God, the bloke’s fingers were expressive as he slipped the middle one deep into her cunt while his thumb raked her pebble-hard clit.

He swerved to pass a lorry. ‘We’re gonna die!’ she yelped inside her helmet. Then she bore down against his hand and the vibration of the Hog, hoping he could keep from crashing until after she came.

She didn’t know if he had heard her yelp, but she wondered if he’d heard her thoughts. ‘Lift your bottom,’ his velvety voice filled her helmet again.

‘Are you crazy?’ She gasped.

‘Trust me. Lift your bottom. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. I promised Edward, didn’t I?’

She held her breath, cursing between her teeth, and struggled to do as he said. She grabbed on to the petrol tank until she was sure her fingernails would dig holes in the paint. Then she squealed as another zipping loosened the hug of the cat suit even further until she was certain the whole crotch of the garment had been zipped away. As if to confirm her suspicions, Morgan’s large hand now stroked her from behind, spreading her lips.

‘Sweet Jesus, you’re slippery, kitten. I believe you really like riding a Hog.’ Then she felt him inch forward on the seat.

He wouldn’t… Surely he couldn’t… ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped. What was crowding against her bottom and nestling up to her pout was too thick and too stiff to be his finger.

‘That’s my girl,’ came the voice in her helmet. ‘Lift your bottom for me. Just a tiny bit more now. Almost there. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.’ He tightened his arm around her and maneuvered his hips. ‘That’s it, oh yes that’s the place I want to be. Jesus, Rita Holly that’s some hot pussy you got there.’ Then all she could hear was accelerated breathing followed by a hard thrust that nearly sent her over the handle bars but for the strong arm wrapped around her. And he was in. Her pussy felt like it would split in two from the sudden, unexpected fullness.

‘That’s my girl. Now lean forward. All the way forward and let the Hog do the work. She felt him down shift and the beast rumbled beneath them. With the substantial length of him so far up inside her, she felt physically compelled to lean forward over the petrol tank until she could feel the cool chains of the cat suit pressing into her bare flesh, until her erect nipples felt like they’d drill clear through the tank.

Then with a hard thrust, Morgan scooted forward again, and she heard him sigh. After that the thrusting and maneuvering became much more subtle using the power of the Harley roaring beneath them as the driving force. He had positioned himself perfectly so that each undulation of his hips drove her distended clit against the vibrating leather of the seat. My God, she thought, it was a brilliant way to die.

His breath was soft little grunts inside her helmet coming faster and faster until she thought he must have stopped breathing altogether. The movement of his groin against her became less and less, all the while building in intensity until each minuscule shifting penetrated up her spine clear into the crown of her head, until she was certain the imminent orgasm would surely explode her brain.

When his ejaculation erupted inside her, she felt as though his cock had suddenly expanded to fill the entire space within her pelvic girdle, and her own orgasm tightened and gripped on him until he cried out.

She would have surely catapulted off the Hog with the double explosion in her pussy had Morgan not held her tightly with his free arm, as they sped down the A3 toward the Guildford exit.




© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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