Girls Rule, Boys Drool by Lucy Felthouse

December 18, 2013Guest Bloggererotic anthology, erotic fiction, erotica, guest blogger, House of Erotica, lesbian, lesbian anthology, lesbian erotica, lesbian fiction, Lucy FelthouseK D Grace

Blurb:

Three lesbian erotic short stories from popular writer Lucy Felthouse.

Girls Rule, Boys Drool

Boyish dyke Toni is working at the local golf club, serving champagne to arrogant, privileged folk when she spots Clarissa. She’s one of the posh people, but she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else—anywhere else. Toni’s immediately smitten and wants to put a smile on the older woman’s beautiful face, so she decides to show Clarissa just why girls rule and boys drool.

Making An Impression

Joely’s holiday has consisted mainly of chilling out by the hotel pool, having the occasional swim and reading lots. That is, until a hot brunette arrives and suddenly, Joely has trouble concentrating on anything else. Her gaydar non-existent, Joely decides on an unusual course of action to find out whether the newcomer bats for the same side as her.

Fear as an Aphrodisiac

Girlfriends Nikki and Sonya are on holiday in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. They’re having fun sightseeing, until a super-scary tourist attraction sends Nikki into meltdown. Once outside again, Nikki slowly starts to feel better—and, much to her surprise, horny. Quickly realising that the fear has acted as a potent aphrodisiac, she decides to take advantage of that fact, right there in the middle of the city.

Available from:
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https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-girlsruleboysdrool-1367992-352.html?referrer=6bdb1f9160564c0525b41f36e51861a0

Coming soon to all other good eBook retailers.

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19230294-girls-rule-boys-drool

*****

Excerpt:

Finally, Nikki and Sonya found the turning off Edinburgh’s Royal Mile that they needed. They’d expected a road, but Mary King’s Close was nothing more than a narrow passageway that looked like it led to the next street along. Glancing at one another, it seemed both girls suspected they were in the wrong place—despite the name of the alleyway—but as they headed along the close, they came across more signage and discovered they were wrong. The signs proclaimed that they were indeed at The Real Mary King’s Close, and this time they exchanged a relieved look and moved inside the tourist attraction.

After paying their money, they were put into a group that was already waiting, and after a few minutes was called to attention by a member of staff. The young man, dressed in incredibly old-fashioned attire welcomed them to the attraction and gave some brief information about what they should expect from the tour, as well as some health and safety spiel.

Then they were ushered deeper into the building and down some stairs. Another peculiarly-dressed actor met them and gave his talk. The group soon learned that Mary King’s Close had been a town of sorts, a collection of streets and houses, named after the most prominent local—Mary King. It had functioned well, this part of Edinburgh—in its day. But it had also befallen hard times and tragedy, including the Black Death. It was rumoured that people affected had been bricked into their houses to prevent the disease spreading further. It had never been confirmed nor denied, but the very idea sent a shiver down Nikki’s spine.

As they advanced into the underground town—now covered over by modern Edinburgh—they learned more about the inhabitants, their lives and, in some cases, their deaths. By the time they were shown the shrine of a young girl, covered with offerings both old and new, Nikki was clinging onto Sonya’s arm so hard that the other girl gave her a nudge.

“Oi, you’re hurting me! What’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” Nikki replied. “I’m getting a little creeped out, that’s all.”

“A little? The way you’re squeezing my arm, I’m beginning to think you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“I said I’m sorry. God. Don’t you think it’s spooky down here?”

A meaningful glance from the tour guide shut them up. Nikki dropped her hand to Sonya’s and held it. The group continued through the subterranean labyrinth, listening to more tales of the past, the things that had happened within the very place they stood, over four hundred years ago.

Some periods of total darkness with recounts of history later, and Nikki was a nervous wreck. She’d always had an overactive imagination, and although she’d never seen a ghost—despite Sonya’s words—she believed in them and was really succumbing to the eeriness of the ancient place. She had gotten to the stage where she fully expected to see the spectre of little Annie—having left the site of her shrine—peering around a corner, beckoning to her. Or the chilly finger of a plague victim trailing down the back of her neck. She grew so paralyzed with fear that she fell silent and didn’t take in a word of the rest of the excursion—simply holding onto Sonya’s hand as they walked through the rooms and tunnels.

When they eventually emerged into the outside world once more, Nikki heaved a sigh of relief. “Sonya, darling, take me for a drink, now. A stiff one. A double vodka and coke sounds perfect right now. Maybe even a triple.”

“Were you really that scared?” The other woman looked disbelieving.

“What do you mean, were? I still bloody am. I’m sure I’d have found it interesting if I wasn’t so busy being terrified. I’m surprised I didn’t wet myself.”

“Aww, babe.” Sonya pulled the other girl into her arms. “I didn’t realise you hated it that much. We could have left if I’d known.”

“No,” Nikki shook her head. “It’s okay, I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just got to the stage where I blocked it all out. But I’d still really like a drink, if you don’t mind.”

Sonya gently pushed Nikki against the wall of the alleyway and hugged her once more. “Okay, we’ll go for a drink soon. Let me hold you for a few minutes, first.”

The other girl said nothing, just relaxed into her lover’s embrace and slowly, very slowly, felt the fear ebbing away. With not a small amount of horror, she realised that she was turned on. Her knickers were damp and sticking to her, and the heat emanating from between her legs was unmistakable. What the actual fuck? She kept quiet, instead nuzzling into Sonya’s neck and pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there.

“Ooh,” Sonya said, shuddering, “that was lovely. What was that for?”

“For being nice.” Nikki’s voice was muffled, and she kissed her girlfriend again.

“Hey,” Sonya said, grabbing Nikki’s hands and squeezing them, “you’d better stop that, otherwise I’m going to get turned on. And that’s the last thing you want right now. I’m trying to be understanding here, sweetheart.”

Nikki came to the conclusion that she didn’t mind if Sonya got turned on, not at all. In fact, some sexy fun might just take her mind off the creepy underground place they’d just visited. It was damn weird that being scared had turned her on, but the more she thought about it, the more she figured it kinda made sense. Nothing, in her opinion, was scarier than death, and the French word for orgasm translated to ‘the little death’—so it was widely accepted that sex and death were connected. Sex was about life, death was about, well, death. So, in an attempt to stop thinking about things that confused the hell out of her, she was going to embrace life, wholeheartedly. And if that meant experiencing the little death, then so be it.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered into Sonya’s ear.

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Sonya replied, grabbing her shoulders and moving her back so she could look at her face. “You don’t mind what?”

“I don’t mind you getting turned on.”

*****

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 eighty 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, and is book editor for Cliterati. 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

Demelza Hart Talks About Having Your Cake and Eating It

December 17, 2013Blog, Guest Blogger, New ReleasesDemelza Hart, erotic fiction, erotica, Exposed, new release, Spontaneous, Suited to You Trilogy, Xcite booksK D Grace

It seems only a few weeks ago I was over here talking about Spontaneous, the first book in my trilogy, Suited to You. Hang on. It was only a few weeks ago! And here I am again, thanks to the wonderfully welcoming KD, to tell you about the second, which has just come out.

In Exposed, Tara continues her sexual exploration, guided by the skilful hands of The Suit, aka Patrick Lark.

Exposed asks the question: can a girl have her cake and eat it? Or, more significantly, can she allow herself to have her cake and eat it? Perhaps it’s a particularly British trait, but sometimes us women feel guilty or become disbelieving if things seem to be going too well. This is Tara’s problem in Exposed.

The sex is great, her relationship is great, but then, like too many modern women, she starts to think too much: This is too good. That’s not right. It can’t be right. Something is bound to go wrong. And rather than accept and enjoy it, it confuses her.

How many times have we done that in our own lives? If things are going swimmingly, we think there must be a catch.

The Suit seems to be the perfect man. Or is he? Tara can’t believe it, and as he won’t just talk to her and open to her – bloody men! – it leads her to emotional confusion and doubt.

But, through it all, she can’t let go of the sex. Great sex. Exhibitionist, risky, exposed, daring, incredible sex. Can she give it up? Should she?

Here’s a little snifter for you. Here, The Suit (Patrick) has pulled Tara away from an artist in a gallery just as the man thought he was going to get some action.

Excerpt:

Patrick held my hand tight and walked me fast through the museum. We started practically to jog.

The Suit was grinning broadly and I giggled as we rushed faster and faster. We were soon outside and, breathlessly, I turned to him and crossed my arms, exaggerating my disapproval. ‘You are a wicked, wicked man.’

‘For you, anything.’ He smirked before kissing me.

‘That poor, lovely guy. That was cruel.’

‘Didn’t you say I had to be a cruel bastard to run a corporation?’

‘Yes, but hiring and firing people is one thing, leaving someone abandoned with a massive boner is something else. And anyway …’

‘What?’

I pouted. ‘I was rather looking forward to tasting him.’

He stepped into me, cupping my face with his hand and searching my eyes. ‘What? Are you thirsty?’

‘Always.’ God, I wanted cock and come. The craving was insistent.

The corner of Patrick’s mouth turned up. He hailed a cab. We climbed in quickly.

He’d unzipped his trousers as soon as the door shut. I didn’t think. As the rigid shaft lurched out, I dropped my head to it.

‘Shit, dude!’ cried the driver. ‘You can’t fuckin’ do that in here!’

‘We won’t tell if you don’t,’ replied The Suit, his words forced out as I engulfed his cock in wet heat.

‘Jesus … how the fuck am I supposed to concentrate on the traffic with that goin’ on?’ moaned the driver, a young dreadlocked guy with a large tiger tattoo on his right arm. ‘I wanna look!’

I barely heard him. I sucked and sucked, sinking right down on the glorious hard prick so that it edged into my throat and made my eyes water. It wasn’t the first time I’d sucked The Suit off in the back of a car.

‘Taste it, Tara, taste it all.’

I wasn’t in the mood to go slow. He wanted his quick come and so did I. I wanted that taste. My fingers curled around the shaft and pumped, and I pulled my cheeks in tight while my tongue enthralled his tip.

‘Man, you got yourself a sweet little cocksucker there,’ declared the driver, managing to keep one eye on us and one on the road. ‘Ma-an! Ain’t every day I’m treated to somethin’ like this.’

Lucky Patrick, lucky Tara and lucky cabbie.

Exposed – Book Two of the Suited to You trilogy is out now from Xcite Books.

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Thank you so much to KD for having me over today.

Demelza Hart can be found on Facebook, Twitter, and at her blog. Do come over and say hello. Sated, the final part of the trilogy, is out in the new year.

The Story Behind Amy Kernahan’s Amazing Travelogue — Orion is Upside Down

December 16, 2013Blog, Guest Blogger, InspirationAmy Kernahan, Antartica, inspiration, Orion is Upside Down, travelK D Grace

It was my pleasure to be a part of the wonderful Guildford Writer’s Group for several years and getting to know the very talented writer, Amy Kernahan, was one of the highlights of that experience. At the time, Amy was writing her wonderful travelogue, Orion is Upside Down, so once a fortnight the whole group got to experience Amy’s amazing pilgrimage, with her father, to Antarctica. I couldn’t be more pleased to introduce you to Amy and the story behind Orion is Upside Down. Welcome, Amy!

Antarctica was once the very essence of inaccessibility. One of its poles (the Pole of Inaccessibility) is named so. Did you know that Antarctica is home to more than one pole? It’s home to more than one Pole as well, assuming Arctowski Base s occupied. Several years have passed now since I visited, but the Polish research station on King George Island is still going.

The working research station may or may not be on the itinerary, but Antarctica is now firmly on the tourist trail and sojourns there are as common in print as they are becoming in actuality. So why is my journey, made only shortly after the first so-called ‘cruises’ to the White Continent, and my journaling of it any different? What qualifies me? To my knowledge, no Antarctic chronicler in print has ever seen their own island home reflected in the islands of the sub-Antarctic. But for the Gulf Stream, the Outer Hebrides, where I was born and raised, would, like South Georgia, be permanently robed in glaciers. As it is, they are a twin to the Falklands. Thus I have an affinity with the land itself.

Antarctica is more than the penguins.

Antarctica is more than history.

Been and gone is what is called is called the Golden Age. (But who’s to say the best is not to come?) Sir Ernest Shackleton, in whose Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition’s wake the bark of my journey sails is an archetypal giant of polar exploration. But alongside my awe of Shackleton, I have the simple affection of a shared heritage with Thomas MacLeod, Able Seaman on board Endurance, Shackleton’s ship. Shackleton, known for bestowing nicknames upon his crew called him ‘Stornoway’ after his wee… my wee… our wee home town.

So there are my credentials: Antarctica herself and one of her lesser-sung heroes are a part of what I call ‘home.’

The Peregrinatio is the ancient Celtic search for one’s true home. Orion is Upside Down chronicles mine.

Blurb:

This sea story from the bottom of the earth takes the reader on a philosophical voyage through many realms, religious and secular, mathematical and poetic, natural and mechanical. Something akin to a Scottish Bill Bryson, Amy Kernahan, who was born and grew up on the Isle of Lewis, the largest of the chain of islands off the northwest coast of Scotland, sets out with her travelling companion, her father, to journey in the Antarctic and follow her dreams of seeing, and even standing in, the places where Sir Ernest Shackleton had been.

Casting Shackleton in the role of Virgil to her Dante, she follows his trail through the ice fields around the Antarctic Peninsula, a vision here on earth as hellish as the frozen Lake Cocytus at the centre of Dante’s Inferno. Along the way, the might of the sea, and the glories of the Antarctic set Amy pondering themes of Judeo-Christianity, seeing Antarctica as a remnant of Eden, unpopulated by both mankind and sin. The mathematics of nature reveals itself to her, and she is awed by the prophetic soul of Coleridge and his Ancient Mariner.

Amy has set out on her journey believing it to be a pilgrimage to Shackleton’s grave, but as she sojourns beneath striking southern skies where even the familiar is alien, she realises that she is on another more spiritual pilgrimage, called by the ancient Christians of her homeland peregrinatio, the search for what they called ‘the place of one’s resurrection’ or true home. The outcome, although perhaps not surprising, is not quite as clear cut as it might have been.

Excerpt:

We were surrounded by giants. Nootaikok, the Inuit god of icebergs, and his court. Tradition describes him as ‘large and very friendly.’ I wondered which space-time continuum that was in. Certainly not this one. I had mourned the results of his handiwork since I was six years old. Nordnorge lay motionless, like one prepared for martyrdom, unarmed before the executioner, yet daring to bring her petition to a god not renowned for mercy, whatever tradition might say.

Of course, the couple of hours of outward inactivity were taken up with the crew’s preparations for landing, out of sight down in the car deck, but standing out on deck beneath the lifeboat that had offered so little shelter as we rounded Cape Horn, in the stillness that seemed to be as much a part of the place as the mountains and the water were, it was easy to imagine that the ship was holding parley with the god of the ice, bargaining for the safety of her passengers. Nootaikok acquiesced and the landing began, but the little boats, that the previous evening had gambolled around like puppies, seemed subdued. They waited patiently for their charges under the lee of Nordnorge’s hull, huddling in to the mother-ship for protection.

Be careful, she warned them. If your propellers hit the ice…

Ice littered the bay. As well as the bergs, many of them level with the ship’s superstructure, the water teemed with brash ice, up to three feet exposed, and the comically named ‘bergy bits’ that filled the taxonomic gap between brash and true bergs, anything over fifteen feet. And then there were the infamous growlers, barely visible submerged ice that lurked just beneath the surface, like the submarines of some hostile alien power.

The ice here is glacial, ancient. I have heard people say of Titanic, ‘How could crashing into ice sink a ship?’ No one would doubt that crashing into a rock could sink a ship. Glacial ice, the stuff icebergs are made of, is harder than rock. It is not frozen water, it is compressed snow, the ice at and below the surface the oldest, the hardest, compressed over aeons by the mass of hundreds of feet of snow-becoming-ice above it as it makes its slow, unrelenting journey to the sea, gouging its path out of the rock, tearing away the surface as though it were topsoil. Anyone who doubts its destructive power need only look at the fjords of Norway, their sheer cliffs dropping to the sea – ice did that. Destruction that creates.

Tomas helped us ashore again, but he didn’t need to hold the Polar Cirkle boat’s nose quite as firmly as he had at Deception Island; she was making no attempt to bolt.

‘Welcome to Neko Harbour,’ he called out. ‘Our first landing on the Antarctic mainland.’

Close to our landing point stood a little wooden hut, painted bright red to make it stand out against the natural white, a white so bright it seemed almost unnatural. The hut was a refuge erected by the Argentineans in 1949. And what a refuge it must have been to anyone who had run the gauntlet of ice that guarded the Harbour. But now, like the crumbling remains of the station at Whalers’ Bay, it was home only to penguins and seals.

The Harbour is named after a Norwegian factory ship which operated there between 1911 and 1924. Looking out into the bay I tried to picture her (tried because I didn’t really know what a factory ship looked like) lying there surrounded by the ice, which tolerated her with disinterest as it did now another Norwegian vessel. Nordnorge looked suddenly small, disappearing behind one of the aquatic white mountains that patrolled the bay.

Thou rash intruder on our realm below.^{^[i]}

They stood at the gates of Dis, the threshold to the nether-hell, Dante and his guide. No way to go but onward, for no-one can retreat out of Hell. You can’t go back the way you’ve come. If you do, you may leave Hell, but Hell will not leave you.

And as the demons at the gate appraised them with scorn, ‘Thou with us shalt stay,’ they say to Virgil.

No.

But did Shackleton, man of words and eloquence and frustrated poet himself, Virgil now to a reluctant Dante, ever think that perhaps he would?

The guide turns to his charge.

‘Have no fear, no matter what they do to me. I’ve been here before.’

Is that why we journey through Hell? So that once we’ve been there and know the way, we can guide another through?

The paradox of Antarctica began to manifest itself. A place that could be Eden, unsullied, un-fallen, could just as easily be Hell.

Or vice versa.

This terrifying place, with its monstrous inhabitants, was equally the last haven of peace and innocence. But we were banished from Eden.

This is the ice’s world, and we really have no business being here.

About Amy Kernahan

Amy was born and brought up on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland’s Outer Hebrides, but she’s now an ‘economic migrant’ to the South East of England, where she work as an assembly, integration and test engineer for a company building small satellites in Guildford, Surrey. That’s the ones up in space, not the dishes on the sides of buildings.

A fascination with technology led her to choose a career path that she believed would bring her to its cutting edge, gaining along the way a Masters in Aerospace Engineering from the University of Glasgow and studying for a time at the prestigious Ecole Nationale Supérieur de l’Aéronautique et de l’Espace in Toulouse. But the reality is somewhat different and whoever said the space industry is glamorous has never worked in it!

When she’s not writing or hidden away in a big white scrupulously clean laboratory wearing a silly hat and static-deflecting overalls, Amy does milage. She is now saying ‘never again’ to another marathon, but her year wouldn’t be complete without her trips to Cardiff and Liverpool to run in those cities’ half-marathons. And she likes to trek the long-distance paths of around a hundred miles, five to six days walking. In a world where we can hop on a plane and be almost anywhere within twenty-four hours, Amy likes to travel in the most primal, human way she can. Ironic, perhaps, for someone who spent four years of her life learning to design aeroplanes.

But Amy’s first love has always been the sea. You don’t get much more primal than that.

Find Amy Here: www.amykernahan.co.uk

Get your Copy of Orion is Upside Down Here:

Links to Amazon:

Paperback:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Orion-Upside-Down-Amy-Kernahan/dp/1906791759/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1386766072&sr=8-1&keywords=orion+is+upside+down

http://www.amazon.com/Orion-Upside-Down-Amy-Kernahan/dp/1906791759/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1387056219&sr=1-1

Kindle:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Orion-Upside-Down-Amy-Kernahan-ebook/dp/B0063I5P2Q/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1386766072&sr=8-1&keywords=orion+is+upside+down

http://www.amazon.com/Orion-Upside-Down-Amy-Kernahan-ebook/dp/B0063I5P2Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387056219&sr=1-1&keywords=Orion+Upside+Down+Amy+Kernahan

Waterstones:

http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/amy+kernahan/orion+is+upside+down/8613945/

[i] Dante, Inferno VIII, 90 tr Dorothy L. Sayers

More than a Kiss in a Cold Canyon! Blissemas Sunday Snog!

December 15, 2013BlogBlissemas, Blissemas Kissmas, blog hop, erotic romance, giveaway, grace marshall, Gracefully Aroused, The Executive Decision trilogy, The ExhibitionK D Grace

Time to pucker up! It’s Blissemas Kissmas, and who isn’t up for an icy bracing winter snog to warm more than the cockles of your heart? Sex al fresco in the cold is fast and furious and no matter how cold it is outside, hotter than hot! Today I’m sharing a kiss with you between Stacie Emerson and Harris Walker, the heroine and hero of The Exhibition, book three of Grace Marshall’s Executive Decisions trilogy. After a hard hike up a dry canyon in the High Desert of Central Oregon, or couple is rewarded with views of a pair of mountain lions mating. Something very rarely seen by humans. The experience leads to an estonishing confession by Stacie and cold-hot sex al fresco.

To celebrate winter kisses I’m giving away a free copy of Gracefully Aroused, the Best of K D Grace. All you have to do is leave a comment for a chance to win. And don’t forget to check out all the other hot winter snogs on Blissemas Kissmas!

Also while your in the festive spirit, don’t forget to check out all the Blissemas fun. More chances to pick fabulous prizes and check out fabulous blogs with amazing posts. Not to be missed!

The Exhibition Blurb:

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

Excerpt from The Exhibition:

Harris didn’t know what to say. There were not words for what he felt, for what Stacie had been through or for what he wanted to do to Jamison. For a long time he said nothing, only sat next to her looking out over the dry canyon as though somehow by avoiding her gaze he could give her a little space, a little privacy for her vulnerabilities, for how she had lain herself bare before him. It was only when he realized she was shivering that he settled closer and pulled her to him.

At last he gathered his thoughts from the maelstrom enough to speak. ‘Why did you go back to him? I mean this time?’

She pulled away and chafed her arms. ‘I told you I was desperate.’

‘You don’t really expect me or anyone else to believe that do you?’

‘It doesn’t matter what you believe.’ Her reply was cool, distant. ‘What matters is that I’ll pay my debts. I promise that I will. Then all of this’ll be over with.’ She stood to put her pack back on, and he came to his feet and caught her by the shoulder, not wanting it to end like this, not wanting her to leave until they were good again. When she tried to push him away, he pressed her between his body and the stone of the cliff face. ‘You can’t just shut us all out, Stacie.’

‘I never wanted you involved in the first place. I never wanted any of you involved but you couldn’t leave it alone,’ she jerked back against him but there was no place to go. ‘You couldn’t just let it go.’

He moved in closer until his body pressed up against hers, holding her tightly against the stone. ‘No, I couldn’t, and I can’t and neither can anyone else who cares about you and neither would you if the situation were reversed. So whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay. We’ve already discussed this, so get used to it.’ He punctuated his point with a harsh kiss that couldn’t have been very pleasant for her, but then he was angry, worried, scared for her. Instead of shoving at him as he’d expected her to do, she curled a hard fist in his hair and ravaged his mouth with every bit as much ferocity as he had given her, pulling him still closer, rubbing her body against his, making him instantly and startlingly erect.

She snaked a hand down between them and savaged his fly until he feared for what lay beneath, until her fingers wriggled and dug their way into his walking trousers to possess his cock with a tight grip as though it were a weapon, one she were about to use to do serious damage.

He fumbled to return the favour, with her ripping at her own fly to make room for him, to guide his fingers down over her mons. Her eyes locked his in a devastating gaze that felt as though she could see right through him. ‘I need you to touch me there.’ Her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘Where I’m wet, where I’m open, where I’m always, always hungry for you.’ Her breath caught; her eyelids fluttered and she sucked her bottom lip as he found her cleft, wet and open as she’d promised. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t want to be like those cats.’ She guided his hand still further and manipulated it until first two, then three fingers pressed up into her. ‘You can’t tell me that when I present myself to you all hot and ready and begging for it, you don’t want to service my need. You can’t tell me you don’t want to get a little primal with that cock of yours.’ She gave him a hard squeeze and drove her hand up and down his length, thumbing the already abundant pre-cum over and around the tip until he gritted his teeth and held his breath while his hips bucked hard against her efforts.

He scissored her deep with three fingers and raked the silky slickness of her up and over her clitoris, and the sounds from the back of her throat easily resembled the sounds the female cougar made when the male mounted her. They wildly, madly fucked each other’s hands. The wind had risen and even on the clear morning, the chill left no doubt about lingering for more than the quickest of releases. Then she shifted, pressed her back hard against the stone and rested both of her hands on his shoulders. Before he could protest the removal of her fingers from his cock, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her still clothed crotch rubbing tight and insanely hot against his exposed cock as she began to rock and gyrate, and it was all happening way too fast.

‘Stacie I –’

‘Shut up, Harris,’ she spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I need to come, and so do you. You can fuck me properly when we get back to the SUV. It’s too damn cold to linger.’ With each sentence she ground against him, baring down with the extra leverage the cliff at her back afforded and, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she convulsed. Her spine stiffened and her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. Harris could stand no more. He felt the eruption deep in his groin. It might have been embarrassing had the circumstances been different, but as he tried to cover himself, tried to hide the results of Stacie’s hard ride, she shoved his hand away, pushed him back and practically fell into the space between them positioning herself so that she caught his release, all of it in her mouth. What could he say to that? What could he do but hold her there, helplessly grunting the weight of his need into the back of her throat. It was an act as intimate and as primal as the cougars mating on the rocks minutes ago. And sex, any kind of sex, with Stacie Emerson was worlds apart from any other sexual experiences he’d ever had. As she stood and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the look of hunger in her eyes, the promise of more sex to come in the SUV before the trip home couldn’t help but lighten the mood. As they straightened and tucked and donned their packs, he wondered if that was maybe why she did it. Whatever her reason, it definitely worked for him in ways he was still trying to get his head around.

The walk back to the SUV was at speed. They had seen the mountain lions and the wind had risen to a howl bringing with it fast moving nimbus clouds that, this time of year, could easily enough drop their load on the Cascades in the form of snow.

Remember! Leave a comment for the chance to win a copy of Gracefully Aroused: The Best of K D Grace.

Gracefully Aroused: The Best of K D Grace:

From a love spell that doesn’t quite go to plan to a farmhand who needs a little discipline; from a woman who is addicted to the confessional to a personal trainer with a very unorthodox method of guaranteeing his clients they’ll look fab come bikini season, K D Grace will tell you a naughty story with a twist. Before there was Ms Holly and The Pet Shop, before there were sexy ghosts, before Grace Marshall upped the romance ante, K D Grace was into quickies, and here’s a selection of her naughtiest.

The Story Behind Elsie Hepner’s latest release — A Little Slap and Tickle

December 13, 2013Blog, Guest Blogger, New ReleasesA Little Slap and Tickle, BDSM, Elsie Hepner, erotic fiction, erotica, guest blogger, novella, the story behind the story, Xcite booksK D Grace

The first time a flicker of my new release, A Little Slap and Tickle, tripped a writing wire in my brain, my husband was fondly admiring a hand-tooled leather armor set in one of the wooden booths at our yearly visit to the Maryland Renaissance Faire. Meanwhile, I had my eye on the leather, sheep-lined four cuff set and leather paddles. My kind of instruments. Next my eyes drifted over the super smoking leather worker who was manning the booth—and a book was born.

I knew the second I got home that Flynn was going to disfigured, sarcastic, and self-confident while Eliza was going to have her whole life shot to hell. For a normally all together person, Eliza was royally panicking—which worked to our hero’s advantage. Flynn opened her up, sent her spinning in a million different directions, and proved that chaos can be a happy state too, if only you let someone else take the reins. What once had been a sexy idea born of a hot guy and some leather cuffs I couldn’t afford morphed into an exhibitionist freak show wonderland where one floundering woman relearns how to find herself again.

Frankly, it was fun making the faire sexy when every time I go I witness all sorts of luscious, seductive costumes. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen some woman leading a man on an leather o-ring leash or a goth couple letting their freak flag fly high. More than anything I wanted my characters to embrace their setting, embrace all the little things that might make them flawed and freaky. Celebrate their uniqueness during epic, no-holds-barred sex that leaves both of them vulnerable.

While Eliza is a BDSM newbie, she’s not immune to the delicious ache that Flynn twines around her body and into her bones. What once seemed clandestine and off limits becomes a way of coping, a method of release. Until Eliza has no choice but to accept what she enjoys without looking back.

Blurb:

Eliza’s stuck in a lacklustre, dead-end slump after coming home with her graduate degree to a slippery job market and her brother’s fold out couch. Unable to circle newspaper ads for another second and desperately crawling into sexual fantasy to escape her dismal reality—Eliza takes her escapism a step further when she agrees to go to the Renaissance Faire with her best friend, Dru.

Her whole world shifts when Eliza meets Hunter, a quirky, mysterious leather worker who runs a booth at the faire. He’s been a platonic friend of Dru’s for ages and supplies her with homemade BDSM bedroom toys—toys that he’s more than willing to demonstrate with Eliza once the faire closes. But can Eliza give up control in order to trust that one of her biggest fantasies will live up to her expectations?

Hunter’s skills as a dominant force Eliza to trust herself again and Hunter finds himself with a feisty submissive that pushes more of his buttons than he ever thought possible. Together they push themselves farther than any fantasy, until their lives are never the same again.

Excerpt:

“I can’t say I’ve ever…participated…in an event like this one before, Dru.”

“Is that a bad thing? Don’t you think you should expand your boundaries outside of your brother’s fold-out couch and a newspaper full of wanted ads? Come on, have a little fun, Eliza.”

Eliza glanced sideways at her best friend’s elfin, petite face speckled with sunlight from the gorgeous afternoon in the woods. Dru’s light blond eyebrows were raised in question, rose lips pursed. The dare for Eliza to question her hung unsaid in the air. A wisp of wind picked up Dru’s red, cork-screw curls and pushed them across her face. But Eliza only cleared her throat—unfocused on Dru’s warm, whisky colored eyes, and refocused onto the crowd in front of them amidst the trees.

At least she wouldn’t feel out of place in her Indian maiden leather get up straight out of some weird S&M store that she’d borrowed from Dru. The skirt brushed mid-thigh with leather tassels that didn’t exactly cover—anything. While the corseted halter top ended at an abrupt triangle showing the whole world that it’d been awhile since she’d hit a gym. What topped the whole ensemble off were more tassels threaded beneath her breasts in a weird attempt at an Empire waist effect. The outfit was an experience unto itself, even without everything to see and do unraveling before her eyes.

For a second it was hard for Eliza to think of their little adventure into unwashed bodies, crowds, and medieval costumes as fun per se. But damn if the food wasn’t out of this world. And her best friend was right. Her status as Master’s degree holding, library science geek hadn’t earned her points on any of her less than minimum wage job interviews this week. Most people in their small town were snug as a bug in their day jobs and there wasn’t much room for more work with positions being pre-filled by family and friends.

She’d been away too long at college. Long enough to lose favor when it came down to a townie and a girl with too much school experience. No matter where she looked, she was overqualified. Facts were facts—libraries were closing like mad. Not to mention they only had one in the area filled with employees who held onto their positions with their last dying breath.

There was proving to be no room for Eliza here. But there weren’t any options in the outside world with no savings and no one to lean on if she continued on her job losing streak. Until she got lucky, she was beholden to her big brother and a nine-to-five job pursuit. Better to get out of the house for a little while. Besides, she’d worn out her traditional red pen circling the newspaper ads in the back of the paper and couldn’t afford to buy another one until Monday.

Two months of moping was enough to fry anyone’s brain and she needed to leave her problems behind. So this trip back in time better offer up merriment and wonder soon. Or at least some free booze. Just because she was out of college didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in a pint or two.

“At least it’s free exercise,” Eliza chimed in with an easy smile.

Okay, so all the men in kilts and shiny chainmail were a bit distracting and she hadn’t seen this many boobs since Christmas at her sister Cheri’s divorce celebration. But the atmosphere wasn’t that bad. As they circled all the vendor booths with creative, painted signs and traveled beneath the charming forest of old oaks, Eliza could almost forget about, well, everything. Her complete lack of independent direction and purpose in life. As well as the fact that her dreams of an easy life were more than dashed. But this was nice—a swell of happiness.

A light breeze shifted through her A-line, brunette bob and she took a long, deep breath of carboliciousness. Her mouth watered and she continued following close behind Dru.

“Whoa, did you see that?”

“What? Oh, the woman holding the man on a leash in full bondage gear? They’re here every year. That’s old news, honey. People come to this place to let their freak flag fly high and for the most part no one gives a shit.”

She shifted her gaze away from the treacherous roots embedded into the earthen floor and watched Dru’s retreating—and fully corseted—back. Where was she going? What could be so important that they needed to rush through the crowds? Eliza was positive she’d brushed up against her hundredth stranger in only a half hour of being in the gates.

Several people must have gotten an up-close and personal brush of her bra-less breasts in her confining, leather get-up. Dru had lent Eliza her costume from last year and as they struggled through the crush of the food court crowds she wished there was a little more of it. Not only was her outfit tiny and skin tight, but the mid-summer air kept wafting up the skirt until Eliza was positive she was flashing the whole park.

“Um, could you—”

Before Eliza could finish the sentence, she glanced up and Dru had alighted two wooden steps into an open air shop front. She was talking to a man in a long leather duster with delicious abs similar to the covers of the romance novels Eliza was so fond of reading in her spare—alone—time. He wore a wide brimmed leather black cowboy hat that obscured his face and matching black leather pants.

Was Dru seriously waving her over there to talk to him?

No, there had to be some mistake. There was no way she was prepared for any kind of social interaction, let alone a handsome stranger. Christ, they hadn’t even hit the bar yet. Not one drop of liquid courage had passed her chapped lips and her stomach plummeted down to her feet faster than when she’d been stood up by her date right before prom pictures. But Dru frantically waved her over and laughed with her head back so her red curls cascaded down her back in a manner Eliza imagined was seductive.

Well, no turning back now. Where exactly would she go? It wasn’t as though she knew the lay of the land. Besides, the minute the man shed his long leather duster to point to a tattoo on his bicep, smiling down at Dru, there was no longer a choice. She had to see him closer. Her mouth watered at the expanse of all that beautiful, almost naked, man flesh.

There was more to him than an intimidating, tight physique. His every movement exuded thinly veiled grace while his smile lit up his sharply masculine face. A contrast of good cheer mixed with a concentration on whatever subject interested him. Until he became riveted, obsessed, with a possessive awareness of his subject. As she got closer, she sensed his gaze snap to her face, expression unchanged. But in that split second Eliza sensed his acute judgment.

He measured her with his shadowed stare while his small quirk of a smile never wavered.

The friends continued to talk but their voices were drowned out by the heavy pulse at Eliza’s temples. All of her flesh seized with goose bumps. This stranger stood as if all the world was his to explore, with a brightness in his eyes that dared nature to defy his dominant curiosity over what he claimed was his by right. He looked as if the whole world would bow down to him. And he wouldn’t be surprised. But nothing about him screamed arrogance—only a self-certainty and a quiet sense of inner peace.

Weird that she should read someone so quickly, but he was an open book. Both hands on his hips, lean muscles stretched in his arms and back until her knees were weak. Dru spoke and he laughed, head tipped forward while one strong hand rubbed the center of his chest. The dark shadow from his hat brim obscured everything but the clean, model-esque lines of his face so she couldn’t see his joy.

But his bark of gravelly laughter hit her as a punch in the gut while her chest tightened. There were enough trees in this place that she should have never lost oxygen. There wasn’t enough air in the world right at that moment. As Eliza fought for composure she focused only on his tattoo.

Yield to life—there is only threat of tomorrow.

His tattoo was inked in thin filigree with woven rope knots all around the words. One breath. Another. Each one became easier even as she grew closer, knowing she had to hide all her ruffled feathers. There wasn’t a single nuance Dru wouldn’t pick up on and exploit.

One step after another landed her front and center next to Dru as her best friend slung her arm around Eliza’s waist.

“Took you long enough,” Dru whispered in mock chastisement.

Before she could get a good look at the man, he turned and rummaged behind his counter, giving them both an all-access pass to perfect ass land. Eliza knew she should keep her eyes closed, but they were glued to the tight, sculpted muscles on the wicked stranger. The faire didn’t seem that bad anymore.

Dru squeezed Eliza’s torso until she met her best friend’s shining eyes, lit up with nothing but pure mischief. These were moments Dru lived for—any opportunity to tease. But it never bothered Eliza, it was all in good fun and her best friend meant well. She remained oddly silent. Despite the fact that Eliza all but flinched while she waited for whatever whispered barb her best friend would deliver on behalf of her less than subtle reaction to the intriguing man.

How could she not have a reaction when his damn presence practically demanded one?

“Ah, here it is.”

His voice rushed over her tingling down her back and she had to stop herself from taking an automatic step back. Irish, too? Oh, no. No, no, no. He was more than perfect and she hadn’t even said a thing to him yet. Why was she even there? So Dru could lord this man over her head—the perfect romance hero—or so they could be set up together for an awkward date and never see each other again?

Hell, maybe she was taking this whole thing too seriously, but their history of set-ups was long and varied. Even throughout college Dru wasn’t satisfied until they each had at least two dates a week.

This had to be some kind of evil set-up because clearly Dru knew the guy. They must be pulling this to screw with her head because poor little Eliza hadn’t been on a date in forever and who knows if there are cobwebs down there. This guy was some actor from Dru’s troop of players for sure. She’d done theater every summer for as long as Eliza could remember.

He came back up from his crouch behind the counter and turned back to them with something hidden behind his back. One long finger tipped up his hat. Eliza got her first straight on look at the man that she suspiciously regarded with every ounce of her petite frame.

His nose was slightly crooked. An old wound that hadn’t been set, maybe? A five o’clock shadow roughened the strong, square jaw and lips that were better suited on a female than the masculine portrait that acted as if he had nothing to hide. It took every last ounce of her will to gaze up below the brim of his hat.

He wore an eye patch. Whether or not it was for the faire or an actual problem, she couldn’t resist the edge of danger. His good eye—light brown with amber flecks—was bright with unreadable heat fixed solely on her face. She swallowed despite the lump in her throat. Nothing he did betrayed anything of how he was feeling or thinking—only the sharp look that pinned her to the floor.

And whatever he held behind his back.

For a long blink it was hard for Eliza to even remember that Dru’s hand rested around her waist. All she could focus on was the knowing twist of the stranger’s lips. The unwelcome and unexpected blush that seared against her skin when they hadn’t even spoken to each other made her fingers twitch at her side.

How could she resist him when he fit the caricature of an ideal man she’d been reading about in romances all her life? She was only stupidly comparing him to a man that didn’t exist. A string of perfections that couldn’t be real in one man. Left in the dust of her overwhelming horniness, well, she was being an idiot.

There wasn’t any other explanation for the way her hormones were skyrocketing off into different directions. He looked down into her eyes and she couldn’t help it—she giggled. That broke whatever fake connection she nursed in her mind. He plunked an item down onto the counter and shrugged back into his leather duster that had lain on the counter.

Without thinking, she blurted out the first sentence that flew across her scattered brain. An old habit that refused to die. And often led her to want to be buried in the same grave, instead of suffering the mortifying consequences.

“An eye patch, really? Aren’t you mixing genres with a cowboy and a pirate?”

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Little-Slap-Tickle-Erotic-Novella-ebook/dp/B00H3LBBUW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1386556736&sr=8-1&keywords=Elise+Hepner

Amazon.co.uk: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Slap-Tickle-Erotic-Novella-ebook/dp/B00H3LBBUW/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1386937714&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Elsie+Hepner+A+little+Slap+and+Tickle

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-little-slap-and-tickle-elise-hepner/1116379648?ean=9781783751976

Xcite: http://www.xcitebooks.com/Book/10204/A-Little-Slap-and-Tickle.html

Bio:

Elise Hepner lives with her husband and two eccentric cats in Maryland. She spends the majority of her free time in her basement office concocting smutty characters and sinful situations that leaves readers satisfied. When not writing, she researches everything from automatons in the 18th century to gladiatorial rules in Ancient Rome. She prides herself on being an avid information hound as well as a blog reading addict–which is her favorite way to procrastinate. Her previous publications include books and stories with Excessica, Xcite, Ellora’s Cave, Secret Cravings Publishing and Cleis Press.

Author Links:

Website: www.elisehepner.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/EHepner

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-Hepner-Writing/311925106401