Janine Ashbless Had a Dream — Writing the Lovers’ Wheel Books

FallingDeep (4)I’m so excited to welcome Janine Ashbless to mine on the release day of Falling Deep, Book 2 of her fabulous Lover’s Wheel Series. I love discovering what inspired people to write their stories, and Janine is going to tell us just that. Welcome, Janine!

 

I Had a Dream – writing the Lovers’ Wheel Books

One night some decades ago, probably before I was even a writer, I had a dream so real and so emotionally powerful that I’ve never forgotten it. I dreamed that I was standing at the gates of a big old house somewhere in the English countryside. The grounds were so overgrown that the gates were almost choked shut with brambles and weeds, but when I scrambled through and made my way up the drive I found that the house was still occupied despite being decayed. In fact it was a retirement home, with old people sitting around in wheelchairs, dozing and playing chess. Then I realized that these old men were the disguised King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, who had retreated here to await in secret the last call to battle when England would need their heroes again.

That was it. That’s all I dreamed.

Years later, this became the seed for the Lovers’ Wheel quartet I’m currently writing for Ellora’s Cave.

Now I know roughly where the idea grew from. All my childhood I’d been reading stories from authors like Susan Cooper, Alan Garner, and Diana Wynne Jones, in which the nice cosy English countryside was a place where lurked gods and elves and Ancient Powers pretending to be human, just biding their time and perhaps waiting to be woken by plucky middle class school children on holiday. I LOVED those books! I wanted to write a wondrous story about a girl who discovers a hidden world of magical adventure, a girl who is marked for a special destiny, a girl whose choices decide the fate of the world.

Only I wanted to write the adult version, with really dirty sex and way more moral greyness.

So Lovers’ Wheel is about Liz, who goes to stay with her Great-aunt Moira at spooky old Enniswitrin House in Somerset, and finds that she’s been picked for the noble task of fucking each of the Twelve Months of the Year in turn, to keep the seasons turning. But being Chosen isn’t nearly as nice or as vanilla as she’s been lead to believe, especially as the Brothers start to lead her into the darker half of the year.

As for Arthur – yeah, he’s there too! Read Summer Seduction and Falling Deep to find out about him. And I promise that When Winter Comes and Joys of Spring will complete the cycle of the year in due course…

xxx

Janine

 

Falling Deep Blurb:

Book 2 of the Lovers’ Wheel series.

Liz is reeling with shock. She has just discovered that her Great-aunt Moira’s spooky old house is the last disguised remnant of mystical Avalon, and that Moira has been manipulating her into initiation as an immortal sorceress serving the old powers of nature.

Liz’s ordained role is to turn the Wheel of the Year through the seasons by having sex with each of the Twelve Months in turn. The Brothers of the Fall appear to be hot and handsome men, but they are far more daunting than their summer predecessors. Liz now faces three new avatars who are increasingly dominant and kinky. As the year turns inexorably toward the darkness, Liz must embrace the allure of total submission and give them complete control of her sexuality.

Inside Scoop: Liz explores a wide range of erotic experiences, including light bondage and brief f/f touching.

Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

A paranormal erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

 

 An Official Excerpt From: FALLING DEEP

Copyright © JANINE ASHBLESS, 2016

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

 

She was on the train again. The one that had brought her to Somerset and to Raskelf village and to Enniswitrin House, all the way back in June. She recognized the blue seat covers of the Great Western Railway and the patronizing safety notice on the bulkhead of the carriage, and the cardboard coffee cups abandoned on the little tables. Only, this time it was dusk and she was completely alone. There were no bags on the overhead racks, and no other travelers in the seats. Outside, through the long windows, the world passed in a gray-green blur.

Looking down at herself, she saw the nineteen-fifties style dress she had worn for the Midsummer dance. But she remembered the black skirt and white blouse she’d really worn that morning, and she remembered the lion. Just not how she’d gotten there.

Yet it all seemed far away and unimportant.

I’m dreaming again. I wonder if he’ll turn up this time?

Rising to her feet, Liz walked down toward the end of the carriage, glancing into each seat as she passed. She could feel the vehicle swaying beneath her, and hear the click of the points as the wheels passed over. It sounded like hoofbeats. The muted roar of steel and wind outside made her think of a great crowd of people faintly heard at a distance. People shouting and banging things together. A clashing of metal.

Where have I heard that before? What does it remind me of?

There were no other passengers hiding behind the tall seat backs. Reaching the door, which failed to open automatically for her, Liz peered through the smoked glass. She should have been able to see a matching door at the entrance to the next carriage, and maybe a toilet cubicle. All she could make out were dark forms in rapid, jerky motion against a background nearly as dark. Flags, she thought. And horses. Those are horse heads. Like a whole crowd of riders are stampeding past. No, it’s a battle.

“Did you tell her?”

Liz jumped. Three rows away, exactly where she was sure there’d been no one at all, stood the black-clad figure of the man with the dark red hair that she’d seen in her last train dream. The one she’d been expecting. Mr. Foxy, she’d labeled him. He stood with arms folded and his butt—an exceptionally fine, tight ass as she remembered—propped against the side of a seat. Liz felt an instant rush of arousal and dread course through her body.

“Did you tell Moira, as you promised?” he asked again. There was an edge in his voice, and those blue eyes burned under angled brows.

“Yes.” She nodded rapidly, relieved to be able to report it. “He’s trying to wake up.” That had been the message she’d been charged with. Okay, so she’d only passed it on after weeks of delay, but at least she’d done it in the end. She felt somehow that she didn’t want to break a promise to this man.

“What did she say?” Unfurling his arms, he shifted until he was standing to block the aisle, one hand on a headrest, either side. She’d thought him a surfer dude or a climber, the first time she’d seen him, based on his body type and his untidy hair and his outdoor-sports manner of dress. His demeanor, though, was more military interrogation than civilian. His tense body loomed like an exclamation mark.

Squirming inside and trying hard to hide it, Liz cast her mind back to her recent argument with Moira. “Nothing really. She looked pretty upset though.” She looked awful.

“Did she say what she’d do?”

Summer Seduction“She didn’t say anything! Except, uh…she asked how I knew. That’s all.” It wasn’t quite the whole truth. Their argument had certainly ratcheted up a notch after that. She swallowed hard, drawing up the old stories nibbling in the undercurrent of her mind. “If he’s King Arthur—the old guy sleeping upstairs—and she’s his sister, does that make her, like, Morgan le Fay? The witch?”

For a moment he held her gaze with his fierce eyes, and then he looked abruptly aside. She could see the muscles bunched in his jaw and the tension in his neck. Then he nodded curtly. “The Queen of Northgales.”

“Some queen. The old cow tricked me!” Liz’s complaint did not burn as hot as it had when she was awake. “She set me up with Shane and now she’s telling me I can’t stop or we’re all in big trouble. She says she wants me to save the world…or keep it going, anyway. Turning the year over.”

“So?”

“Can you believe something that crazy? That the world depends on who I’m humping? Like I’ve got some kind of a…magic pussy?”

He shrugged, which riled her.

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s nothing to do with me.”

“So what am I doing here, on this train?”

“This what?” It came out through clenched teeth.

“This train to Somerset. Intercity.”

His mouth pulled taut. “Perhaps you are between stations.”

“I fell down a bank. There was a lion in the garden, and it chased me.” She licked her lips. “That sounds much less likely than being on a train,” she admitted. “Maybe that bit was the dream.”

He arched one eyebrow, studying her. “Have you been initiated yet?”

“Initiated? Oh, you mean—” As an Argante. She shook her head. “No way.”

“Then you cannot command the lion.”

“But I don’t want to command it.”

“Then it will eat you. That is the way of the world, Liz Haven.”

“I just want to have my own life, that’s all!”

He grimaced, and when he said, “As do I,” the words were thick with bitterness and regret. He’d seemed so dominant the last time they’d met, sexual charisma pouring from him like a wave that swept her feet from beneath her. But now that force was all pent up within him, his every muscle clenched.

“Are you in trouble?”

He laughed. “I’m in hell.”

“Can I do anything to help?” she whispered. It was not entirely compassion that prompted her. Feelings in dreams were stronger, wilder and more imperative than waking thoughts. Unhampered by rational checks and balances, they had a momentum all their own, and her attraction to him was impossible to ignore.

“I don’t know,” he answered, capturing her in the sapphire net of his eyes once more. “Can you?”

She felt her heart jump as if he’d cracked a whip. But even he was surprised when she took a step forward and sank to her knees before him.

Why am I doing this? she wondered as she laid her hands on the coarse black cloth of his jeans. But she knew the answer already. It was pure lust, burning like a bright coal at the meeting point of her thighs. Her deepest urges were taking command.

He made a noise in his throat that has half surprise and half appreciation. The button fly under her questing fingers suddenly overlay a bulge that had not been there before, and Liz felt a rush of pleasure.

“I mean, this’ll help, won’t it?” she asked, made confident enough by his body’s response to lift her eyes and question him, even as her fingers plucked the stiff buttons.

“I… Liz, no,” he answered, his voice huskier even than before. There was a look on his face she had not seen before and it gave her great satisfaction to see his black brows hooked up like that. She’d taken him by surprise. He’d not anticipated that, and for a moment he was not the one in control. He looked almost afraid.

Liz smiled.

He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock fell eagerly into her grasp from the V of his jeans, warm and silky, and he had to set his stance a fraction wider to stop his clothes sliding down those long hard thighs. She cradled his length in her palm, squeezing it encouragingly.

You look delicious. I want to eat you.

“Liz, I can’t.”

“Rubbish,” she told him firmly.

 

 *****

Buy Falling Deep & Summer Seduction Here:

 

Falling Deep at Amazon US:

http://www.amazon.com/Falling-Lovers-Wheel-Janine-Ashbless-ebook/dp/B01C639HPC/ref=sr_1_1

Falling Deep at Amazon UK:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01C639HPC

Summer Seduction (Lovers’ Wheel Book 1) at Amazon US:

http://www.amazon.com/Summer-Seduction-1-Janine-Ashbless-ebook/dp/B00OTU9SEQ/ref=sr_1_1

Summer Seduction (Lovers’ Wheel Book 1) at Amazon UK:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Summer-Seduction-1-Janine-Ashbless-ebook/dp/B00OTU9SEQ/ref=pd_sim_351_1

 

Find Janine Ashbless Here:

www.janineashbless.com

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/Janine-Ashbless-author-page-140154696078980/

 

About Janine:

Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure. She likes to write about magic and myth and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.

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

 

 

Erika Gardner On Sex And The Dragon in The Garden (@Erika_Gardner)

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I love, love, love this line from K.D. Grace’s Bio, “In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love.” She’s right, of course. And I dig that she owns it and has built a career around it.

I get tired of the same old expectations being placed on women and their desires, life choices, and aspirations, even in books. Don’t get me wrong, I like a traditional happy ending as much as the next person, the blissful couple riding into the sunset, yadda, yadda, yadda. I just wonder, why does it always have to come back to marriage? Why is that the magical panacea? Does society truly believe that is the one thing that completes every woman? Because clearly it does not. There are plenty of examples of women who are married and miserable and lots of women who are single and loving it.

Women are sexual beings. In many ways we are even more sexual than men, though we are rarely portrayed that way unless it is in a negative way. Too often women and girls are made to feel ashamed of our sexuality, when we should embrace it. (Maybe someone’s jealous of the whole multiple orgasm thing? I mean, it is pretty awesome.)

One of the themes running through Dragon is choice. Who makes the choice, the choices that we make, and the reasons for these decisions. Choice is power and freedom. My main character, Siobhan, is an independent soul caught between destiny and free will. She’s like most of us, except battling the forces of evil and saving mankind.

Here’s an excerpt from the book featuring Turel, a fallen angel, and Siobhan, our protagonist. Hope you enjoy!

 

TheDragoninTheGardenbyErikaGardner-200I loved his hawk-like profile, his dark hair, and the distinctive Persian cheekbones. My gaze lingered on his short beard and mustache that did little to disguise the sensuality of his lips. The urge to run my fingers along his olive skin intoxicated me. I hesitated, trying to decipher from his words and actions over the last week what he wanted. A little voice inside of me took the reins and gave me a daring I would never have. What did I want?

Thought transformed to action as my other hand stroked his cheek. He turned at my touch, his dark eyes intent on me. I faltered for an instant; his presence overwhelmed me. “My desires?” I whispered. “Whatever I desire?”

He did not answer, but his breath quickened.

Before I lost my nerve, I leaned closer, to his neck. On the side, at the precise point where his pulse beat, I nuzzled a soft kiss.

“And if I desire to do this?”

He did not move as I withdrew my hand from his grasp and slid both of mine carefully over his chest, mindful of his bruises. His warmth and the clean, hard lines of his body made rational thought difficult.

I pressed closer. We faced one another, my lips close to his. “Or this?” I whispered. I leaned in and for the first time, I kissed Turel, instead of being kissed by him.

His lips parted for mine, and his hands slid around my waist to draw me closer. He made a sound in his throat somewhere between a strangled growl and a groan as our embrace intensified. For a moment the sheer pleasure of his kiss overwhelmed all other thoughts.

erikagardnerauthorpic

This post was written by Erika Gardner. She’s a native Californian, lifelong lover of fantastical adventures, and a dedicated Whovian.  If you enjoyed it, please sign up to receive updates on www.erikagardner.com   You can follow Erika on Twitter @Erika_Gardner, “Like” her Facebook page Erika Gardner- Writer and Storyteller. Or check out her contributions to the BBB Blog.

 

 

It’s Time for The Collared Collection Blog Tour

Collared bundle - Copy

The Tour: Kay Jaybee and I are very happy to announce The Collared Collection Blog Tour – five
days of fun frolic and filth, not to mention a seriously yummy giveaway, on five totally awesome blogs. Just so you’ll be sure and not miss any of the fun, here are the delicious blogs you’ll find us on all this week.

Giveaway: We’re very happy to be giving away Reader’s Choice of any book on BOTH our backlists to the winner of our kinky little giftie giveaway. All you have to do is leave a comment and at the end of The Collared Collection blog tour, a winner will be drawn to choose their kink – twice! How about that — multiples! So be sure to visit each of our fabulous hosts on the day, enjoy our kinky tidbit, and leave a comment!

 

 

The Blogs:

29th February Once Upon an Alpha http://onceuponanalpha.com/

1st March F. Leonora http://fdotleonora.com/

2nd March Muffy Wilson http://muffywilson.blogspot.com/

3rd March Romantic Fanatic Blog http://romanticfanaticblog.com/

4th March Six Feet Under Books http://6feetunderbooks.blogspot.com/

 

 

The Collared Collection is a two-novel boxed set from the pens of multi-award winning erotica writers, K D Grace and Kay Jaybee.

 

Blurb:

In The Pet Shop by K D Grace, in appreciation for a job well done, Stella James’s boss sends her a pet, a human pet. The mischievous Tino comes straight from The Pet Shop complete with a collar, a leash, and an erection. Stella soon discovers the pleasure of keeping Pets, especially this one, it’s extremely addicting. Obsessed with Tino and with the reclusive philanthropist, Vincent Evanston, who looks like Tino, but couldn’t be more different, Stella is drawn into the secret world of The Pet Shop. As her animal lust awakens, Stella must walk the thin line that separates the business of pleasure from the more
dangerous business of the heart or suffer the consequences.

In the Voyeur by Kay Jaybee, wealthy businessman and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of 13 fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite BDSM club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff – his personal assistant, Anya Grant, and his housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy, Fantasy 13, can take place. But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does Bridge’s gentleman’s club, Anya’s previous employer and a place she was delighted to escape from, have over Mark?
In order to find out, the girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they had left behind them all over again.

 

Extract from The Pet Shop-

Wet and cold, Stella was trembling hard enough that is was an effort not to spill the cocoa. ‘You’re Tino, aren’t you?’ She spoke between chattering teeth.

His back stiffened slightly, then relaxed again as he continued to dig through his pack. ‘I’m Vincent.’

She sat the cup down next to her and chafed her arms. ‘I know you’re Vincent, Vincent Evanston, but you’re Tino. I mean he’s you, isn’t he?’

He turned on her quickly and grabbed her shoulders so that she feared he would shake her. Instead he began to chafe her arms, his dark eyes locked on hers. ‘I told you, Tino’s not here.’

‘But I — ’

He swallowed up her words in an open-mouth kiss, taking her breath away, taking away her ability to think with the heat of it, the expressive depth of it. He bit her lip as he pulled back, still holding her gaze. ‘Tino’s not here,’ he repeated. His voice held the tiniest edge of warning.

 

Extract from The Voyeur

Reclining in his chair, Mark raised his arm as if he was about to start a race, and gave the first order. ‘Strip.’

With practice born of repetition, the women divested themselves of their clothing, heaping their discarded garments onto the bed behind them.

Mark took a moment to study his staff, and then pointed to the foot of the four-poster bed. S6303326Understanding the unspoken request, the women stood, face to face, one metre apart.

Anya could feel her heart rate quicken further as she regarded Clara. It didn’t matter that she had enjoyed the feel of Clara’s skin a hundred times before; all that mattered was feeling it again, and soon…

Buy links:

http://mybook.to/collaredcollection

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Part 2

Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, has in the second instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I dot get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious last week, and I had to share it. The Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination again, so today I’m back with another instalment of a new serial.

The Psychology of Dreams 101, is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

 

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Chapter 2

Blank Pages and Punishment 

“I’m not pleased with your dream journal, Leah.” It was so much like the dream, that it took her breath away. She stood before Al Foster’s desk in the empty classroom, him offering her a concerned look over the top of his glasses. It was so much like the dream, in fact, that she gave a quick glance down to make sure she still wore jeans and a pullover and not transparent red underwear.

“I don’t understand,” she said, clasping her bag to her chest to hide the press of her nipples, which didn’t really care if she wore red underwear or not. They seemed more interested in the close proximity of Al Foster.

“Why are you writing down made-up dreams? I can tell when you’re making it up, Leah. I can always tell. Is the technique I shared with you not working? If not, just tell me and we can try something else.”

“I haven’t been using the technique,” she blurted. “I haven’t needed to.” Fuck! That was an unfortunate slip.

“Oh?”

She tried to recall if she’d ever seen bluer eyes than his. Her dreams got it right, even with the glasses that made him look like a sexy nerd, you couldn’t miss the blue. His unkempt blond hair was the color of ripe wheat. Her dreams got that right too. She loved the way it fell down all disorderly and wild over his eyes when he spanked her.

“Leah? Are you all right?”

She jumped at the sound of her name. “I’m sorry. I’ve not been sleeping well,” she said. She didn’t know why she said that. If anything she’d been sleeping too well.

“Oh?” He slid his chair back and came to stand beside her. He was taller than she thought, and she blushed at the sight of his belt, brown leather. It looked soft like swede, but she knew it packed a wallop – at least it did when he wielded it. “Is it because of the dreams?” His blue gaze studying her from behind the glasses made her feel like she was under a microscope or in front of a two-way mirror, made her feel like she was standing there in his classroom in nothing but transparent red underwear. “Leah,” he said, touching her shoulder and gently guiding her to sit in one of the seats in the front row, while he pulled a chair up to face her. “Are the dreams erotic? Is that why you feel you can’t write them down for me? Because everyone has erotic dreams and, in fact, they may well be more likely to if they’re keeping a dream journal for sharing.

“They’re about you.” She hadn’t planned to say that. She’d planned to lie, but she was never very good at lying.

He blinked, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “About me.”

She nodded.

“Well,” he scooted back ever so slightly and straightened in his chair so that he could study her more Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bcarefully, “that’s not unusual either.” He smiled, and a soft blush crawled up his neck and onto his cheeks. “I’ve actually had students make up dreams about me. They were surprised when I called them on it. I have to say you’re the first woman to do the opposite, to hide those dreams from me. Oh, it’s not unusual for people to try to hide their erotic dreams, not at all, but I can pretty much guess that if a particularly steamy dream turns up about me, the writer is a woman. She’s made it up, and it’s more a fantasy than any dream she’s likely to have.”

“Oh believe me, it’s better this way,” she managed, still clutching her bag to her chest. “I mean me keeping them from you. I … I could barely write them down for myself.”

“But you did then? You did write them down?”

She nodded, her mouth gone suddenly dry. She hadn’t meant to tell him that either. “Just not in there.” She gestured to her class dream journal laying on his desk.

“I see.” He ran a hand through his hair leaving it standing in spikes and waves, making her ache to straighten it for him, or maybe muss it up further. “Leah, will you let me read the real journal. No one will know what you wrote but you and I, and I understand the psychology of dreams; I understand that we have no control over what happens in the unconscious. I promise I would never –”

“You spank me,” she blurted.

He sucked a heavy breath. “I spank you?”

“Yes, you spank me, and you tell me you’ll keep punishing me until I get my dreams right, until I dream about you, and it’s always the same, with the two of us alone in this room and you taking your belt off and you turning me over your knee and telling me that if you spank me, then maybe the pain in my — ” she made a quick jerk of her neck toward her backside “—will help remind me to dream of you. There’s only the one dream,” she added quickly, “well variations of it.”

After a few fish gasps and another hand through his hair, he squared his shoulders, and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I see. So, recurring dreams, are they?” He offered her a smile that wavered only slightly.

“Recurring? Yes, I suppose they are. I never thought of it like that.” If she was going to be brave enough to tell him the truth, then she might as well show him the rest of it too. She dug in her bag for her real dream journal and pulled out the page that she’d torn from the one for class, the page with the note she’d written to herself. “I woke up to find this in my journal after the first spanking dream.” She handed it to him.

To her shock and discomfort, he read it out loud.

You look beautiful when you dream. It was a good dream, the kind you don’t want to wake up from. At last, Leah, you’re doing it right! You can always tell when you do it right by the way your nipples bead beneath the sheet, by the way your lips turn up at the corners, slightly parted as though waiting to be kissed. And, take a sniff, Leah. Your scent is the scent of dreams well dreamed, luscious and ripe. Well done, Leah! Well done!

For a moment they both sat in silence, him staring down at the words on the page, her staring at her feet.Dreams imageIMG_0347 Then he took off his glasses and joined her in gazing at his own feet. At last he raised his eyes back to her and took a deep breath. “Why did you tear this out?”

“Because I don’t remember writing it. It’s not a dream, it’s like, I don’t know, me talking to myself in my sleep or something, and I thought if you read it you’d think … ”

“I’d think what?”

“That I just made it up that I was just being … you know, pathetic.”

“Why would I think that?” He put his glasses back on and looked at the note again. “It seems to me like your unconscious had you pegged pretty well here,” then he added quickly, “of course I don’t know what you look like when you dream or what your physiological responses are, but it makes sense. I … I smell differently when I wake up after a strong dream, and,” he looked away quickly, “I get … hard too, when I’m doing it right.” He blushed and she blushed for him and they were both looking at their feet again.

“But how can there be a right way and a wrong way to dream? I mean I’ve read way ahead in the texts you’ve recommended and done some research on my own. We really sort of just dream what we dream, don’t we?”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, scooting closer to her with a screech of the chair legs on the floor. “But then I started getting … comments like this.” He nodded down to her note, “comments from my unconscious, I assume, and I also have dreams about not doing it right.”

“Did you get … you know … spanked?”

This time it was more than a blush, his whole face redden, and the fine muscles along his cheek bones twitched. “It was rather more than a spanking, I’m afraid.”

“More than a spanking?” Her pulse hammered in her words, as she pushed forward on the edge of her seat.

“Do you know anything about BDSM, Leah?” His own pulse kept beat in his words and thudded in his throat as he pinned her in his gaze.

“A little. I’ve read a few novels, done a bit of research … online,” she added quickly.

“Does it frighten you?”

“A little yes. And it intrigues me.”

“This time I was tied up, flogged and had … implements placed …” He looked away as though he expected to find the words he was looking for floating on the air outside the window in the parking lot. “I had things shoved up my … butt,” he finally managed avoiding her gaze.

“Oh? Oh, wow!” The words were out before she could stop them. And they were followed in rapid succession by, “how was it?”

“Not like I expected.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “I woke up … aroused,” he gave a little nod and lowered his eyes to the note still clenched in his hand. “I had to masturbate before I could function and, after, I found a note in my dream journal similar to this. One I don’t remember writing. Anyway,” he said looking up at her again. “The person doing things to me, in my dream, she kept saying that I wasn’t doing it right, that I should dream about her and she would punish me until I did.”

“She?” Leah asked.” He nodded, carefully maintaining uncomfortable eye contact. “Was she me?” The words were out before she could stop them. Clearly the internal editor was having a day off, she thought.

“I honestly don’t know. I never saw her face. But I know she was a woman because I felt her breasts against my back when she moved in close to tighten my bonds.” He glanced at the door as though he feared someone might be listening there. “I know you must think me some kind of a pervert telling you this, you being my student and all, but I’ve been teaching this class for ten years – here and in other places; I’ve seen more dream journals than I could possibly keep track of, and most of them are full of dreams that are just exactly what I would expect to surface from someone’s unconscious.” He shrugged. “I get a fair few people, women in particular, faking their dreams, making them up either to impress me or because they’re embarrassed. But you – you started out writing your dreams, and then you suddenly stopped after you’d been so earnest in your efforts with the journal. I knew something was up. I could feel it. I never expected this though.” He nodded down to the note he still held, then handed it back to her.

“The thing is, Leah, no on else has ever had a similar experience, an experience that mirrors my own, until you.”

For a moment the two sat in silence, and then Leah took a deep breath. “You said ‘this time,’ like it wasn’t the first time, like it’s happened before.”

“Lots of times before.”dark moon image_xl_6338206

“And it’s different each time?”

“Not every time, but frequently. What’s always the same is that it involves some kind of erotic punishment, and I never climax in the dream, though I want to. I really need to. I wake up frustrated and unable to do anything until I … take care of it. It’s the same for you, isn’t it, Leah?”

 

Out Now – Sweet Spot by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #lesfic #erotica #romance #lesbian

Sweet SpotBlurb:

Virginia Miller is an up-and-coming tennis star. She’s gone from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London, England, to the world’s top training facility—Los Carlos Tennis Academy in California. In awe of the talent around her, Virginia is all the more determined to make the most of the opportunity and show that she’s worthy of her place there. Her mentor, Nadia Gorlando, has every faith in her.

But Virginia finds herself distracted—Nadia, as well as being a top-notch tennis player, is seriously sexy, and Virginia’s mind keeps wandering where it shouldn’t. Will her crush get in the way of her career, or can she find a way to push the other woman out of her mind before it’s too late?

Please note: This is a re-released title with a new cover—the book content hasn’t changed.

Amazon: http://mybook.to/sweetspot

Other buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/sweet-spot/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21521972-sweet-spot

*****

Excerpt:

Nadia Gorlando and I had just gotten off the exercise bikes in the gym when one of the academy’s coaches, Peter Ross, headed over to us, all smiles.

“Hey, Nadia,” he said, his all-American grin widening and his blond hair flopping down over his forehead, “I need a huge favor.”

I flicked my gaze to Nadia. She raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows and waited for him to continue. He did.

“I totally lost track of time just now and I have an appointment with Travis Connolly. Would you mind wiping down my machine for me? Or maybe stick a note on it saying it’s out of order? I don’t want to leave it all sweaty for someone else. You’ll be doing me a real solid. I’ll owe you.”

My jaw almost hit the floor.

Now Nadia rolled her eyes, looked over at the offending machine, then back at Peter. “Sure, I understand,” she said, as cool as ice. “The world’s number one can’t wait. Go right ahead—I’ll fix it for you.”

He babbled a load of thanks, then jogged out of the gym.

I gaped at her. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

Nadia chuckled. “Of course not. He may be coaching Travis Connolly and Rufus Lampani for the US Open, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to clean up his mess.” She pointed with her chin over to the machine Peter had just vacated. “Come on, V, I’ll show you how I’m going to deal with this.”

I followed her, grinning. Her tone told me that it was going to be something fun. Well, for us, anyway. Probably not for Peter.

Sure enough, when she returned from the room off the side of the gym, she had a pad of paper and a pen in her hands. Deliberately shielding the pad from my view, she wrote something down, then pulled off the top sheet. Folding it, she then propped it on the sweat-slicked seat so the writing was on view to anyone who happened past.

When I’d read and absorbed the words, I turned to Nadia, impressed. Her smile lit up her face, showing dimples in each cheek, and her brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

It was in that moment that I decided I had the serious hots for Nadia Gorlando.

The sign read,

PLEASE EXCUSE THE STATE OF THIS MACHINE. PETER ROSS, TENNIS COACH SUPREMO, “LOST TRACK OF TIME”.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller) and Eyes Wide Open (an Amazon bestseller). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 140 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter and Facebook. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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