A Ghost for Christmas by Kacey Hammell

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A Ghost for ChristmasAfter receiving a long weekend at an elegant hotel beside the majestic Niagara Falls as a Christmas gift, Jodie Gibson is determined to do nothing but relax and enjoy the scenery. And, okay, just maybe meet someone who makes her toes curl.

Sebastian is sophisticated, tall, dark and gorgeous–everything a woman fantasizes about. But he’s also an 18th century ghost. He haunts the halls of the hotel, seeking the one true love that can help him find peace…

*****

Excerpt © Kacey Hammell

As she peered into the reflective glass, a face appeared behind her. Jodie whipped around and fell back against the window.

Oh my fucking God!

Before her, in what looked like a shimmering bubble, stood the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, he had dark unruly hair and striking, magnetic blue eyes that held her in place.

Jodie blinked, uncertain, scared and breathless.

How was it possible? She’d read the newspaper clippings, yes, but it was unimaginable to think ghosts might actually walk among the living.

Not everything made sense. She only believed in things that could actually be seen, felt and touched. This seemed surreal.

Stunned by the apparition before her, dressed in what looked like centuries-old clothes straight out of Esquire, he seemed to look straight through her, and his smile warmed her clear to her toes. Lord, she was in trouble.

“Hello.” Soft and gravelly, his voice alone seduced her…all the way to her toes. Her body quivered and her center tightened.

Whoa. What the hell am I thinking?  There’s a ghost in front of me and I’m ready to jump his bones. Not bloody likely.

“What are you doing here? Get out.  I don’t care who you are, you’re leaving, right now.”

He frowned. “No need to be frightened.  I’ve been here for centuries.”

Jodie laughed, and not one to wilt like a scared little girl, stood tall. “This is all a joke.” She looked around, up and down, and all over the room. “Are there hidden cameras somewhere?  Hey, Ashton, if you’re behind the camera, you can come out now.  I’ve been Punk’d good. Thanks and all, but I’d like to get on with my evening without you.”

“Who is this Ashton? What is a punk?  A rake, perhaps?” he asked.

Jodie squinted.  “A rake?”  She hadn’t ever heard that term spoken, but had read it in historical romances. No one talked like that these days. “No. Never mind, it’s not important. Listen, I just want you to go. I want to enjoy my evening.”

His smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, my dear, but this evening every decade is the only time I am visible to the human eye. I never miss a chance to watch the Falls.”

Every decade…

“You’re telling me you do this every ten years? How old are you?”

“I was born in 1781. That makes me—”

“Two hundred thirty-one,” Jodie whispered, legs weak. She grabbed the back of the chair nearby and sat down. Were such things even possible?

Jesus.

An eighteenth century ghost stood before her.

Merry Christmas to me.

Available at…

Evernight Publishing
Amazon US
Amazon UK
All Romance eBooks

 

Readers can learn more about Kacey’s books/contact her via …

Website / Facebook / Facebook Author Page / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Pinterest

Tis the Season to Give THE GIFT! Part One of The Pet Shop Trilogy is FREE again!

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Tis the season to give gifts, and The Gift of a very naughty Pet is an ideal holiday offering. I’m very pleased to announce that Xcite really have the Holiday spirit and are once again offering a free taste of my critically acclaimed novel, The Pet Shop! The first part of the limited edition Kindle  trilogy, The Gift is available FREE for the next five days on Amazon beginning Wednesday 19th December.  Xcite are very aware of just how addicting Pets can be, Part Two, The Secret Life of Pets, and Part Three, The Taming, are just £.77 each in the UK and $1.19 in the US. The only thing better than a naughty Pet of your very own is a FREE naughty Pet of your very own to help you get into the holiday spirit!  If you want your Pets in an all-at-once, rough and tumble, you can still get the whole package of lusty, kinky Pet fun with the original.

The Gift Blurb:

In appreciation for a job well done, Stella James’s boss sends her a Pet – a human Pet. The mysterious Tino arrives equipped with a collar a leash and an erection, and Stella quickly learns that keeping Pets, especially this one, is extremely addictive. Will a chance meeting with reclusive philanthropist, Vincent Evanston, who looks an awful lot like Tino, but couldn’t be more different, double Stella’s pleasure or just be double trouble?

About The Pet Shop

The Pet Shop is a modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast. In part, the theme of the story is our effort to understand the beast that lives within all of us, to tame it and make it acceptable to polite company. Of course in the taming of anything wild we run the risk of losing that wildness that compelled us to love it in the first place. The Pet Shop explores the effort to find a balance between the two.

I’ve always been fascinated with our animal nature, and I’ve often wondered how much of that nature is ancestral behaviours reasserting themselves and how much of it – especially from the standpoint of the human pet situation I’ve created in The Pet Shop, is simply a need to be loved and adored, and to be able to trust someone enough to give up control to them.

Beauty and the Beast and my retelling of it in The Pet Shop are both about seeing the true nature of a person, with all their flaws and neuroses, and loving them anyway. But ultimately the story is also about trusting enough to allow oneself to be loved, and believing that one is worthy of love, warts, blemishes and all.

Excerpt:

‘I’m sorry, Tino,’ Stella shoved to her feet, tearing her gaze away from the gorgeously horny man sitting on the floor by her chair. ‘But I just can’t do this. If I had known what Anne – what Strigida – had planned for me, I would have never consented, surely Anne knew that. Anyway, I feel really bad that I’ve wasted your time, but this is just not something I can do.’

The pet only looked up at her with adoring and expectant eyes.

‘I’ll gladly give you taxi fare home, of course. I mean that’s the least I can do. None of this is your fault, after all. Anne told me that you were a gift, so I assume you’ve already been paid.’ She raced through the last sentence breathlessly, her face burning at the very thought that the company had paid for a prostitute for her.

Did they really think she was that desperate? And never mind how desperate she was, surely she had worked at Strigida long enough for them to realise this was not the gift for her. And she was bloody well certain Anne knew that. There would definitely be words when she returned from Bath. ‘Is that all right, if we do that? If we just call it even and I get you a cab home?’

Tino made no response. Instead, he rubbed his cheek affectionately against her leg and moved to sit back on his haunches, a position that made his erection look even more enormous, bulging heavily against his thigh. At the sight, her stomach muscles tensed low and tight and her pussy clenched and half convulsed.

‘I forgot,’ she looked down at the manual still gripped in one hand, ‘Pets don’t talk. But since I really don’t want a Pet, couldn’t you break the rules just this once?’

He brushed her leg again with his cheek, then with his lips, making delicious shivers run up her spine.

‘Guess not. OK. Well, I realise this is an awkward situation, Tino, and I’m really sorry about that. I know you’re expected to stay here. I appreciate your position. Really I do. I’m sure we’ll get through this if we work together.’ She nodded down the hall. ‘I have a guestroom. You’re welcome to sleep there. It’s small but comfortable.’ He followed her on silent feet, and looked on as she showed him the guestroom.

‘The closet’s there.’ She pointed. ‘Though I guess you won’t need that. Extra toiletries are on the dressing table there. Those you might need. And the remote for the telly, well it’s a little tetchy. Here let me show you.’ Suddenly she realised he wasn’t paying any attention. His gaze was locked on her – more specifically on her crotch. She blushed hard and forced a smile. ‘Never mind. I imagine you can figure it out if you decide you want to watch telly. Anyway, make yourself at home. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to drink?’

Again, he plopped down on the floor. This time he wrapped his arms around her leg and began to rub his cheek against her thigh.

‘Tino, really. I don’t think I can …’

He made little grunting sounds and shifted his hips forward and back. If anything, his erection seemed still bigger. She suddenly remembered the manual said the Pet Shop kept their Pets horny. Hadn’t Anne said he usually didn’t have to wait this long before he came?

She found herself blushing again at the sight of his heavy hard-on. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how … uncomfortable you must be. I know you’re not allowed to touch yourself unless your keeper gives you permission, and, well, since we can’t, since we’re not going to …’ She nodded to his cock. ‘It’s all right with me if you do what you need to do. You know, for some relief.’ She felt like her face would burst into flames.

For a long moment he looked up at her with his bottomless cinnamon eyes, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what she wanted of him. Then, slowly, carefully, holding her gaze, he laid a hand against his cock and ran a curled palm up the length of it. A shudder ascended his spine. He threw back his head and released a trembling breath that ended in a deep animal groan at the back of his throat.

Almost before she realised it, she replied with a little whimper of her own that slipped between her lips. Her nipples pearled through the thin silk of her blouse, and her pussy felt slick and giddy. She closed her eyes only for a split second, but the next thing she knew, Tino was standing beside her, so close that her hand, resting low against her belly brushed his cock, and they both gasped at the feel of it. Before she could do more than marvel at the velvety softness that felt like it sheathed granite, he pushed in closer, and his large hand engulfed hers easing it gently against his cock with just enough pressure to encourage her fingers to wrap around the girth of him.

She should have stepped back, she should have commanded him to stay in the room and do what he needed to do and not come out until he was done. But she didn’t. Instead she curled her fingers around him and felt his hand tighten over hers. She expected him to hump like a dog, but he only stepped closer, engulfing her in a feral scent not unlike cat fur on a sunny day.

The shifting of his hips was almost invisible but for the tensing of the muscles low in his hard belly, tightening and lifting until his soft pubic curls just grazed the inside of her wrist. Instead of the blatant sexuality she expected, he simply laid his head on her shoulder, his warm breath raising the fine hair along the back of her neck. His heart hammered a heavy drumbeat that matched her own, and her nipples seemed to be pressing ever forward to get nearer to it.

His free arm encircled her, resting just above her hip, where his hand moved in a gentle caress up and down her ribs, almost tickling. The sensation of it all accumulated warm and heavy just below her belly. The heat of his lips rested close to the pulse of her neck. They were slightly parted, his breath coming in fast little puffs.

She knew she should be pushing him away, making him bend over for the spanking a misbehaving Pet deserved. She hadn’t asked him to touch her, and she hadn’t volunteered her services. ‘You’re a very naughty Pet, Tino.’ She barely managed to gasp before he tensed, and a strangled groan escaped his throat just as his cock twitched and she felt the silky slick heat of his come spill over both of their hands and against his bare belly. Then his whole body convulsed, and involuntarily he pulled her tight against him, an act which sent her into her own convulsions. She let out a startled cry. She hadn’t expected to come. She hadn’t intended to come, and yet there she stood quivering out her pleasure against the Pet, who held her in a powerful, sex-stimulated bear-hug.

From Amazon.com

The Gift

The Secret Life of Pets

The Taming

From Amazon.co.uk

The Gift

The Secret Life of Pets

The Taming

 

Winter Visitors

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Victoria and Kevinbm2012buttonI love Blissemas because it’s always an opportunity to share the best bits of winter and the holiday season with friends, new and old. Of cours there’s the excitement of giving and recieving gifts, and this year’s Blissemas gift is a biggie — a Kindle Fire! Follow the Blissemas link for the details.

Every year in early December, something wonderful happens in our back garden. The wagtails return! We’ve had a pair of pied wagtails over-wintering with us for the past four years now. I’d like to think they come because they’ve developed a warm spot in their little birdie hearts for us, but I know they really come for the shredded cheese.

Wagtails are insectivores, and these two lovelies, whether they are the original pair who first visited us on that dreadful winter four years ago or some of their descendants, have probably come down from Scandinavia to winter here in South England. They come here because there are certain kinds of insects that survive in the moss on the roofs of the houses and every time the temperature warms slightly, they come out briefly. It’s a day to day existence for the wagtails, and I can’t imagine how any of them actually survive, so I put out shredded cheese, which they love.Pied Wagtail on moss roofimages

I associate Christmas with a huge influx of birds in our back garden, and it’s a time when I feel closer them and am more sensitive to their needs. Though food is the obvious need – fat balls for the general population, mixed seeds and nuts for the tits and doves, currants for the blackbirds and of course shredded cheese for the wagtails (though the starlings and the magpies also love the cheese and currants) the big draw during the coldest days of winter is the birdbaths. People might not realise birds have no source of fresh water when everything is frozen. Imagine nothing to drink when the weather is cold, no place to bathe.

Every morning, as soon as it’s light enough to see, we go out and fill all the feeders, spread currants and cheese for the blackbird and the wagtails and then we tend to the two birdbaths, clearing out the ice with hot water. When that’s done we go in to have our own breakfast. Our dining table is in front of sliding glass doors that look out into the back garden, so every morning during the bleakest days of winter, we are rewarded with an feeding frenzy and a pool party.

BlackbirdisWe live in a wonderful symbiosis with our avian friends. We keep food and water available for them throughout the coldest darkest times and in turn we’re rewarded with a close-up and personal view of the natural world we wouldn’t otherwise get. The blackbird perches on the retaining wall and stares in the window at us if there are no currants for him. The wagtails show up out of nowhere when they hear us filling feeders. They’ve learned there’ll be cheese.

Through December, we’re all waiting for the daylight, waiting for the sun to return. We’re all waiting and longing for lightPied wagtail in snowimages and warmth and new beginnings. Through those darkest months, I marvel at how the birds survive the bleak harsh days when there seems to be nothing for them to eat, nothing for them to drink. I know that lots of them don’t survive. I know that when the temperature dips below zero, whether or not they survive the night can depend upon how much they’ve been able to forage the day before. The difference between survival and death is such a fine line. And every year I’m astounded and amazed by their tenacity, by their will to survive the dark days.

198In the spring, the wagtails go back to Scandinavia to breed and the bird population in our back garden changes, and the dynamic changes. We get fledgling starlings and blackbirds and the whole garden becomes a nursery for the next generation. But there’s something magical about those winter months, the dark cold days, the times when the closeness I feel is a deep admiration for the ebb and flow, for the push to hang on one more season, for the deep powerful urge to survive and bring forth the next generation. I watch the starlings fluttering in wild abandon in the birdbaths, the water freezing on the edges even as they bathe. I watch the wagtails and the blackbirds treading frozen ground, eating cheese and currants, their feathers fluffed to nearly twice their body size to keep warm, and I feel that somehow, I’ve become a part of something so much greater than myself and my little understanding of the world. This is the gift I receive every year in the dead of winter, and it’s a gift that I treasure long after the sun has returned and the Dawn Chorus has begun in earnest and the wagtails have flown north.

Happy Holidays, everyone! May all the gifts you give and receive be gifts that touch the heart.01_THE_GIFT

 

And my Gift to you all is a free Kindle download of THE GIFT, Part one of the Trilogy version of The Pet Shop.

Follow this link in the UK: The Gift

Follow this link in the US: The Gift

Smutter Advent Calendar Yummy Treat

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If you’re participating in the daily fun and excitement on the Smutter Advent Calendar, then you know on day 18, that would be today, all you have to do to claim your copy of  my novella, Allotted Views, is pop a comment onto this post along with your email address, before noon on the 19th of December and I’ll send you a PDF of Allotted Views as a very naughty Advent treat.

Blurb for Allotted Views:

(From the Immoral Views Anthology by Sweetmeats Press)

When the mysterious ‘Woo Woo Man,’ JONATHAN takes on the thin strip of bramble-infested ground in the Blue Bell Street Allotments, veg gardener extraordinaire, ROSE, whose bedroom window overlooks his ‘small holding,’ wonders what idiot would take on such a project. When she ‘accidentally’ sees him chanting a bit of woo-woo and having a midnight wank under a full moon in his newly rotovated plot, she suspects his methods aren’t found in any RHS manual.

As watching his late night garden antics becomes more for voyeuristic pleasure than for sussing out sound horticultural practices, and as Jonathan’s garden grows more exquisite with every wank, Rose begins to wonder if there just might be something to a little sex woo-woo in the garden. But can she learn Jonathan’s secret without him learning hers, or will she be forced to come clean?

Excerpt

I appreciate a good garden way more than most, and I completely understand wanting to get onto the patch as early as possible – especially when it’s that time of year, when there’s so much to do and enthusiasm is running high. But it was midnight, for fuck sake! I had work in the morning. This was not neighbourly behaviour.

I was seriously considering giving him a piece of my mind or throwing something at him. But then he took off his shirt. He just slipped it right off over his head like it was something completely normal to do in the allotments in the middle of the night. The light from the streetlamp that shown across the alley behind my house lent just enough to the ambient moonlight that I could see his nipples bead to hard knots in the slight chill.

I like nipples. I like them a lot. I don’t care which sex they belong to, when they tighten and strain beneath a shirt, I get wet. I can’t help it. I can’t keep myself from imagining what’s causing those lovely, tense mini-erections – even if it’s nothing more than too much air conditioning in the frozen food isle at Sainsbury. Nipples are such a lovely reminder that we’re not nearly as in control of our biological functions as we think we are. And when someone is brazen enough to bare their nipples like roseate pebbles turned over in perfectly smooth tilth, well I’m completely in awe. And this man’s points were pink and stiff and yummy above rippled areole that made me want to touch, made me want to tweak and stroke and tongue, made me wish I had my binoculars handy.

It quickly became evident that it wasn’t the late night chill stiffening the man’s nips, at least not entirely. Before my eyes, he stepped out of a pair of ratty Birkenstocks and slid baggy cargo trousers off over his straight hips and the pillowed swell of his bottom. He kicked them carelessly to one side. Apparently the occasion had called for commando, and I didn’t have to endure more disrobing before I was treated to the full-on.

Proving Santa Exists: Victoria Blisse is Heating Up the Season!

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Victoria Bliss Proving Santa ExistsProving Santa Exists Blurb:

When Jonathan transfers from the U.S to the Manchester branch of Computers Inc., Jenny is the first person to make him feel at home. Finding out about his bleak Christmases as a boy, she makes up her mind to involve him in all her English Christmas traditions.

Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?

* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.

Proving Santa Exists Hot Excerpt:

“How are you enjoying your Christmas so far?” I ask, the film credits fading into the background.

“It’s been amazing,” Jonathan enthuses as his eyes meet mine, then a serious shadow darkens their flame. “Christmas was never anything special when I was a kid. We never had a tree. The home said it cost too much and it was a fire hazard.”

I tut and shake my head.

“The highlight was the Santa. We knew he wasn’t real, just a man dressed as Santa. He’d bring each of us a toy. I got a little car one year. I still have it.”

“How come you knew it wasn’t the real Father Christmas?”

“Because we knew there was no real Santa. They told us so all the time. They told us not to get our hopes up because Santa didn’t exist and wouldn’t bring us what we wanted on Christmas Eve.”

“What?” I’m outraged. I feel my blood boiling with the harsh cruelty of it. “Santa does exist.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” He shakes his head, his eyes wide.

“Yes, yes I do.” I nod my head emphatically. “Maybe not in the way a child does, but I heartily believe in the spirit of Father Christmas. I believe in the meaning behind the make-believe. My faith is in the giving, which is the true centre of the festive season—the heart of it all. It’s all about making life better for other people and, through that, enhancing your own life. Santa definitely exists.”

Suddenly, those lips are on mine again, and his arms wrap around me. I feel his cheek against my skin. I feel moisture there: the trail of a tear. I close my eyes and kiss back, giving. I give him the softest, gentlest kiss I can. I want him to feel cherished. My heart throbs in pain at the harshness he’s suffered in his life. I want to smooth over all those rough edges; I want him to see what I mean about Father Christmas existing.

I pull him closer to me. My arms wrap tighter around him, and I stroke his back to offer comfort. Our lips, in contrast, are joined lustfully. With every small move, I feel my heart beat harder and faster. I become dizzy with the speed at which the blood is whizzing around my body, making every inch of me zing with the created friction and heat. His body presses me back against the sofa arm, twisting my own beneath him.

His lips leave mine and kiss a fizzing trail of pleasure down my neck to my collar bone. His hands rise from their position on my hips to slide under my loose-fitting red jumper and up higher to cup my breasts. The shock of his cool hands through the thin, lacy gauze is deliciously arousing. I groan my appreciation as his fingers dig into the cups and ease out the masses of abundant tit-flesh beneath. Pushing the wool of my jumper up with the tops of his wrists, his lips leave the soft flesh at the hollow of my neck.

Moments later, after my jumper is completely removed, their warm wetness encompasses my nipple, sending even more intense ripples of pleasure throughout my body. I feel him shift until he’s on his knees in front of me. One of my legs is still on the floor, the other is crossed in front of my pubis. I slip a hand between our bodies, running it under his shirt, feeling that soft, supple skin that I’ve only just glimpsed before. I follow the soft trail of hair down from his belly button to the top of his jeans. I feel more than hear the moan he emits from around my nipple as I pop open the brass button, then slide down the zipper.

I can’t believe I am being so forward, but as he doesn’t move to stop me, I yank his jeans and his boxers down to the middle of his thighs. My action emboldens him and he moves back, allowing me to spread my thighs around him. Jonathan strokes down to my legs and pulls up the full length of long, billowing skirt, his mouth still feasting on the white meat of my breasts. A hand of mine rubs through the wiry hair trailing down to his cock. When my flesh touches his, I melt. He’s hard and hot and very willing.

Proving Santa Exists Links:

Amazon.co.uk

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00A7FJ6WQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00A7FJ6WQ&linkCode=as2&tag=sexy00-21

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00A7FJ6WQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00A7FJ6WQ&linkCode=as2&tag=sexy00-21

And this link on my website covers both links and has a blurb/excerpt for people too:

http://victoriablisse.co.uk/books/blissemas-tales-proving-santa-exists

Victoria-Blisse-smallVictoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

Find out more at http://victoriablisse.co.uk or follow and friend Victoria: http://twitter.com/victoriablisse http://facebook.com/victoriablisse