Out Now – The Story of Jo by Justine Elyot (@sinfulpress @JustineElyot)

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“I met a man called Emmett, and now I belong to him.”

Bestselling UK author, Justine Elyot, is back with her latest erotica novel, The Story of Jo.

Due for release on October 1st 2018 by Sinful Press, The Story of Jo takes us on a whirlwind romance through the eyes of Jo, as she gives in to her submissive side under the loving tutelage of Emmett. But when Emmett’s friend and mentor appears on the scene, Jo has to decide if she’s willing to risk everything she has to become submissive to two masters.

Justine Elyot is the author of On Demand, The Business of Pleasure and Meeting Her Match. Her fiction has been published by Black Lace, Xcite, Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, and Mischief.

Blurb:

Twenty-something Jo meets Emmett on a team-building course, and her initial disdain for him soon turns into attraction.

With Emmett’s strong but loving hand to guide her, Jo unleashes her inner submissive and they embark on an intense voyage of sexual discovery.

Their mutual fascination sees them exploring bondage, spanking, toys and more, and their romance is as perfect as Jo could hope for, until another man appears on the scene.

She knows that Emmett hero-worships his former boss and mentor, Charles, but when she finds out that Charles is the man who introduced Emmett to the art of domination, she has no idea how to feel.

With fierce desire growing between the three of them, can they find a way to explore this new dynamic without destroying what they already have?

*****

Excerpt:

“I want complete control of you in the bedroom,” he said.

The words shocked me to the core, and when I say ‘core’ I mean the area between my legs.

“Complete…control,” I repeated breathily.

“Within limits,” he amended. “Nothing that will damage or traumatise you, obviously. It’s for your pleasure as much as mine.” He laughed softly and ran a fingertip along my lips. “The look on your face…I’d like to photograph it.”

“Are you talking about, y’know, kinky stuff?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You look shocked. Are you shocked?”

Was I?

“No,” I said. “I mean…no.”

“So you are that way inclined?” He raised an eyebrow.

“In theory,” I said. “I’ve read…things. But never done…things.”

“But you’d like to do…things?”

Could I admit that I’d dreamed of a man like Emmett, who would come and take possession of my body and my sexuality, relieving me of the irksome responsibility? I’d dreamed of a man who would be dominant yet sensitive, cruel but loving, with a resolutely filthy imagination.

Did he actually exist?

And did I have the courage to find out?

He pulled me in close again.

“Do you want me to take you in hand?” he asked, his voice low and sticky in my ear.

“God, yes,” I shivered.

“Mmm,” his appreciative response turned into a kiss, one of those long, slow, trembly types that only end when your legs start to give way. One hand slid slowly down my spine, moulding itself to the curve of my bottom and squeezing.

“You’re still dressed,” he accused, his mouth still close enough for his hot breath to whisper over my skin. Red wine, spearmint, salmon, a bitter coffee note further back.

“Sorry.”

He quieted me with another kiss, then set his fingers to work on my shirt.

The Story of Jo is available to buy from all major online retailers including:

Amazon: http://smarturl.it/TSoJKindle

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-story-of-jo

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/the-story-of-jo/id1420094618?mt=11

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-story-of-jo-justine-elyot/1128642055?ean=9781910908303

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Before We Fall: New from Grace Lowrie

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Before We Fall Blurb:

When quiet Cally, an amateur ballet dancer, is suddenly diagnosed with cancer she runs away from her boyfriend Liam, her job in a call centre and her safe life in Wildham – in order to experience ‘real’ life in London. Taking a job as a stripper and flat-sitting in the top of an office tower she meets her obnoxious neighbour Bay; a tattooed, drug-taking, suicidal artist, haunted by the death of those close to him. Despite their differences, the two strike up a friendship – Bay pushes Cally to try new things while Cally provides Bay with a muse – and they fall in love. But their secrets threaten to tear them apart and time is running out…

 

 

Before We Fall Excerpt:

Bay took his time setting up – righting his easel, re-securing a canvas, arranging the low lighting and organising his supplies. Retrieving our vodka Martinis from the kitchen, he set them by the bed before switching off my playlist and putting The Fragile album on repeat. This time he stripped off his trousers and settled on to the stool butt-naked except for his wristwatch; a paintbrush in hand, and his expression all business.

 

I watched him as he worked, his gaze shifting constantly between me and the canvas, even while he was mixing up new colours or incorporating a gel medium to alter the texture. My eyes feasted on the parts of him that the easel didn’t block from view – his sexy feet; his long, athletic, hairy legs; his impressive private parts relaxed and weighty against his thigh; the bulge of his inked biceps; his black unruly hair, sticking-up in great tufts where I had pulled it – my fingers tingled at the memory – and his eyes; that dark, intense steady gaze, that turned me inside-out with longing.

 

‘Tell me what you see,’ I said.

 

He kept painting as if he hadn’t heard me, and I started to wonder if I had ruined things between us. Shamelessly, ruthlessly, I had taken what I wanted. Would he forgive me? Or would I live to regret it? Abandoning his brush in a jar of water he took up another, kneading the bristles in his palm and then into fresh paint. At length he returned his impassive gaze to me, as welcome as the sun.

 

‘I see the gentle slope of your shoulder…’ he said, applying brush to canvas, ‘…the elegant line of your neck and the way the light burnishes the tips of your knuckles beneath you cheek.’

 

His measured words physically stirred me, as if he were actually reaching out and caressing my skin. I swallowed. ‘What else?’

 

‘I see the shadows captured by your collarbone; the way your breasts rise and shift with each breath, and the deep, wine- red splashes of your nipples, which pucker and harden under my scrutiny.’

 

I shivered at his words, an aching heat unfurling inside me and pooling low down in my groin. ‘Cold?’
‘No.’
‘Move your right hand up and cup your left breast.’

 

I did as he said, as if in a trance, and my fingers didn’t feel like my own. My skin thrilled at my touch as if it was his.

 

‘Now rub your nipple with your thumb,’

 

My breath caught in my throat as sensation zinged through me. I had become Bay’s willing marionette; in his thrall and at his mercy. Calmly he returned his attention to his painting while I continued to pleasure myself. But I wanted more. ‘What else do you see?’

 

‘The gentle swell of your stomach… the feminine curve of your hip… and the soft, dark nest of curls between your thighs, still damp with my come.’

 

I was breathing harder now, my face felt flushed and I unconsciously squeezed my thighs together to ease the throbbing there.

 

‘Slowly move your hand down your body – slowly,’ he repeated. His eyes followed as my fingers began their torturous descent. Despite his stern expression, his steady voice, and his determination to paint, Bay was hard again; his impressive shaft restrained in his left fist. Every part of me yearned for Bay to give in, to lose control and take me again. But we said only once – that was the deal – and I didn’t want to be the one to break it.

 

‘Raise your thigh and touch yourself there,’ his voice was lower and rougher than before.

 

Sinking my fingers between my legs, I quietly moaned as a shudder of pleasure rolled through me, but I fought to keep my eyes fixed on Bay. His paintbrush now hovered ineffectually in the air, his gaze ensnared by my body, his left hand slowly working his length.

 

‘Taste it,’ he said and I withdrew my fingers. They glistened with moisture as they caught the light and I sucked them slowly and deliberately.

 

I no longer recognised myself at all. But it did the trick.

 

With a groan of defeat Bay abandoned his work and strode towards me. Nudging me over onto my back, he leaned down, pressed the flat of his tongue to my lower belly and licked all the way up to my neck in one long, slow sweep. I instinctively spread my legs for him as he crawled onto the bed and kissed me on the mouth, tasting our combined desire on my tongue. It was a much gentler kiss than before – soft, warm and probing – a proper long, drawn-out, bone-melting snog. I was so relaxed that it felt entirely natural when he eased inside me – the most sublime feeling in the world.

 

 

About Grace:

Having worked as a collage artist, sculptor, prop maker and garden designer, Grace
has always been creative, but she is a romantic introvert at heart and writing was, and is, her first love.

Before We Fall, the second novel in The Wildham Series, is published by Accent Press, who also released her debut contemporary romance novel, Kindred Hearts, in
2015.

A lover of rock music, art nouveau design, blue cheese and grumpy ginger tomcats,
Grace is also an avid reader of fiction – preferring coffee and a sinister undercurrent, over tea and chick lit. When not making prop costumes or hanging out with her favourite nephews, she continues to write stories from her Hertfordshire home.

 

Find Grace Here:

Facebook – /GraceLowrieWriter

Twitter – @GraceLowrie1

Thinking About Vegas Again

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Five Things I Love About Vegas

After my first visit to Vegas in 2011, I knew I’d be back, and I knew I wanted to set a novel there. In fact, I’ve set several there now, the last being Buried Pleasures, with another one in the works for the Medusa Consortium series. The first novel that I set in Vegas, however, was Fulfilling the Contract way back in the day. Fulfilling the Contract is the follow-on to The Initiation of Ms Holly, and the second novel in The Mount Series.

 

As I begin to think about writing the next Medusa novel set in Vegas, I don’t think it’s at all surprising that I’m feeling a bit of longing for Sin City. I never thought I’d like Vegas. I expected to hate the place, and I totally fell in love. So what I’d like to do is share with you five things that totally intrigue me about Las Vegas.

 

Contrast

Las Vegas juts up out of the Mojave Desert like so many gigantic glass and concrete erections. It’s just so brazen, sky scrapers and lights and swimming pools in the most desolate place one can imagine all surrounded by high mountains and desert. It has OTT written all over it. Bright lights and decadence are all thrust up right smack dab in the middle of exquisite emptiness.

 

Views

Vegas and the surrounding area is a visual feast second to none. From my hotel room on the 22ndfloor of the Elara, I could see mountains and desert beyond the compact city. I never knew there were so many shades of kaki and gold and beige all hemmed in by the blue of the mountains. And then there were the Vegas lights. All night long, there’s always a riot of colour and sparkle, glass and steel, neon and fountains. A simple walk on the Strip – even in daylight is a people-watcher’s paradise. I never wanted to blink, never wanted to look away, and often found myself wishing my vision was 360 degrees.

 

Anonymity

As an introvert, you’d think Vegas would be the last place I’d want to hang out, but the thing about Vegas is that it’s a place where everyone is friendly and yet everyone is anonymous. One of the things I loved most was walking the streets amid the crowd and feeling exactly like one of the voyeurs I planned to write about in FTC. Because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, it was easy to be anonymous in a crowd of people who were all anonymous, which leads me to my next observation.

 

Recreation

When I say recreation, I don’t mean gambling, swimming, hooking up. Yes all of those things are happening. It’s all happening in Vegas. What I mean is that in Vegas there’s a sense that anyone can be whoever they want to be for the time they’re playing tourist, and no one, no matter how bizarre, seems out of place. There’s something almost magical about being able to go somewhere and be someone else for a few days. for a writer, being able to go someplace and watch everyone being someone else and wonder who they are when they’re not in Vegas is like a gift from the Muse.

 

The Feeling of Permission Granted

Strangely, though prostitution is legal in the state of Nevada, it’s not in the city of Vegas, and yet Vegas feels, at its very core, like a city waiting to give permission for almost anything. I suppose to some degree any time one goes on holiday and does the touristy-thing, one is set apart, out of one’s own context, able to act differently, feel differently, breathe differently. But Vegas has with it that extra adrenaline boost of permission. Go ahead, be naughty, gamble, drink, have sex with strangers, dance naked in the fountains, and in the morning, no one will be the wiser. At the core of the city, the Strip, the casinos, the hotels, there’s a libertine feeling, and yet one only has to walk a few blocks in any direction to discover normal Las Vegans simply going on with their lives.

 

All of those feelings, those observations, those experiences helped to inspire and shape Fulfilling the Contract and made the voyeuristic and BDSM play feel somehow a little more set apart to me, a little more secretive and naughty, and of course, outrageously fun. And since I’m waxing nostalgic and missing Vegas, I thought I’d share a little excerpt, a blast from the past from Fulfilling the Contract. Enjoy!

 

Fulfilling the Contract Blurb:

Limo driver, NICK CHASE’s bad night gets worse when he picks up TANYA POVIC at a bar only to discover the explosive sex they share lands her in breach of her very strange contract. Blaming himself that Tanya will lose the large completion bonus earmarked for her mother’s surgery, Nick negotiates with her boss, the tough and mysterious ELSA CRANE, to allow him to fulfill Tanya’s contract and secure her bonus.

 

Elsa runs Mount Vegas, which offers voyeuristic pleasures for a price. Nick’s job, with Elsa and her quirky team, is to give clients something worth watching through the plate glass windows of Vegas’s luxury hotels and beyond. The learning curve is steep and kinky. As Nick and Elsa’s relationship sizzles and ignites more than hotel room rendezvouses are exposed. In this sequel to The Initiation of Ms Holly things get positively dangerous as Rita Holly and her team are called in from London to lend a helping hand. Bets are being placed. Will Nick fulfill the contract? Will he and Elsa take the gamble? And will they find a way to win at the high stakes, double or nothing, game of hearts?

 

Fulfilling the Contract Excerpt:

‘Surely you can give Tanya one more chance,’ Nick said. ‘And really, it was my fault. I’d had a bad day and I wasn’t on my best behaviour.’

Elsa tossed the headset back onto the dressing table and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Mr Chase, unless you want to fulfil Tanya’s contract for her, this conversation is over. It’s been a long day, and I’ve had enough. Pagan will escort the two of you back downstairs and since Tanya no longer works for me, I don’t care if you fuck her brains out. Now if you’d –’

‘Alright,’ Nick interrupted. ‘I will.’

Suddenly all eyes were on him. ‘Tell me what to do and I’ll fulfil the contract for her.

After all, it’s my fault she’s in breach.’

Tanya gave a little yelp that sounded like a kitten in distress and Elsa laughed out loud. ‘Mr Chase, you don’t even know what Tanya’s contract involves.’

‘I assume it has something to do with what’s going on in room 2031. It’s not prostitution is it?’

‘No! No, is not prostitution,’ Tanya said, the excitement nearly vibration through her voice. ‘Is nothing like that.’

‘Well actually it’s something like that,’ Elsa corrected. ‘My people get paid for sex.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Nick said.’

She nodded him over to one of the scopes set up at the bedroom window. When he balked, she nodded again. ‘Go ahead; check out what’s going on in room 2031.’

Nick nearly knocked the scope out of focus at his first view of the naked ass of a man pistoning his cock into a woman bent over a big bed. Her head was buried between the legs of another woman, who was pinching her own nipples for all she was worth and writhing beneath the serious tongue action.

‘Then they are prostitutes.’ Nick’s voice was suddenly a whisper, as though he feared he might disturb the people he viewed through the scope.

‘No.’ Elsa leaned close to him as though she could see over his shoulder. ‘They all work for me, and they get paid a lot of money to have sex with each other while someone else watches.’

With difficulty, Nick took his eyes off what was going on in the scope. He suddenly felt dizzy. ‘Let me get this straight, these people –’ he nodded around the room ‘– All of these people and those –’ he pointed to the scope ‘—have sex with each other and people pay money to watch.’

Elsa nodded ‘A lot of money.’

‘And that’s what Tanya was doing? That’s what the contract’s about, having sex and letting people watch?’

‘That’s what the contract’s about,’ Elsa said. With a smirk, she pulled Tanya’s red panties out of Nick’s pocket where he’d forgotten he’d stuffed after he’d picked them up from the parking lot at the Mango. She handed them back to Tanya and replaced them with a black business card, briskly patting his pocket as she did so. ‘I know how much you loath your job, Mr Chase, and I can almost guarantee you’d find what Tanya does a lot more satisfying. But –’ she ran a hand down and gave his crotch a quick grope ‘– It takes some serious balls.’

He elbowed her away and shoved past Tanya and Pagan. ‘You people are all crazy if you think I would … if you think I might …’

Elsa offered him a smile that he felt, much to his discomfort, right down between his legs. Then she lifted an eyebrow and gave a shrug that made the dark gloss of her hair shimmer in the subdued lighting. ‘You asked.’

Tips on Writing Good Sex

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As a writer of erotic romance, I’m always trying to analyze the ways in which sex strengthens story. I’ve been very vocal in my belief that a story without sex is like a story without eating or breathing. Sex is a major driving force in our lives on many levels that I’ve dealt with in many blog posts. Because it is a major driving force in our lives it must also be a major driving force in story. Sex is a powerful way to create conflict and chaos in a story. It’s a way of allowing our characters to interact on an intimate level. And it’s one of the very best ways to cut through our characters’ facades and get an honest look at who they are when their guard is down and they’re at their most vulnerable. With that in mind, I’ve decided to share a few points that I always find helpful when I write sex scenes. For me, going back to the basics is always a great way to sharpen my skills. And I love to share the things that work for me.

 

Three occasions not to write sex

  1. While writing children’s books
  2. While writing the definitive work on antique saltcellars.
  3. When you’re not a writer, you’re a bricklayer. Even then …

 

Three important reasons to incorporate sex in your writing

  1. Sex adds tension.
  2. Sex adds depth and dimension to a story, and gives it more humanity.
  3. Sex adds intimacy and transparency to the story and helps the reader better know the characters.

 

Three big no-nos in writing sex

  1. Sex should never be gratuitous. If it doesn’t further the story, don’t put it in.
  2. Sex shouldn’t be a trip to the gyno office. Technical is NOT sexy.
  3. Sex should never be clichéd or OTT. (unless it suits the story)

 

Four suggestions for writing better sex scenes

  1. Write sex unselfconsciously. No one is going to believe it’s you any more than they believe Thomas Harris is a cannibal.
  2. Sex scenes should always be pacey. Too much detail is worse than not enough. Sex should neither slow nor speed up the pace of the novel. It shouldn’t be used like an interval in a play. It should not serve as filler to bolster word count. It should always keep pace with the story being told.
  3. Approach sex in your writing voyeuristically by watching and learning from your characters. Their personalities, emotional baggage and behavior traits will dictate how they have sex and how you write it.
  4. You should always be able to feel a good sex scene in your gut. I’m not talking about wank material, I’m talking about The Clench. It’s a different animal. The Clench below the navel is for the sex scene what the tightness in the chest and shoulders is for the suspense scene.

 

The power of good sex can drive a story in ways that almost nothing else can. Good sex can be the pay-off for a hundred pages of sexual chemistry and tension, but the pay-off is even better if it’s also the cause of more chaos, sling-shotting the reader breathlessly on to the next hundred pages and the next.

Inspiration, Take Me! I’m Yours

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It’s elusive, it’s mysterious, it’s exhilarating, and we erotic writers crave it more than the sex we write about. We chase it shamelessly, we long for it passionately, we would gladly make ourselves slaves to its every whim and, no matter how fickle it is, we always welcome it back with open arms. When it’s with us, it’s at least as good as the best sex. And when it’s not, we mourn its loss like a lover. I’m talking about inspiration, of course. It’s the breath of life for every story ever written and the coveted ethereal presence that every writer yearns for.

 

The mythological link to inspiration is especially interesting to me in the light of a life-long fascination with mythology. From my very first novel novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly, which is a retelling of the Psyche and Eros myth, to The Medusa’s Consortium Tales,  and the reframing of Medusa’s story, the Greek myths have inspired me.

 

Greek mythology – mythology oany kind, really — is fabulous inspiration for smutters. The gods are always dipping their wicks where they don’t belong and finding ever more creative ways to do so. Nine months later, viola! A magical child is born, a child with gifts that will be needed to save the world, or at least a little part of it. But there’s one story where the lovely virgin resists, and no wick-dipping occurs. That’s the story of Apollo and Daphne.

 

The Muses serve Apollo, so of course this myth interests me. Apollo is the god oflight and the sun; truth and prophecy; medicine, healing, and plague. He is the god of music, poetry, and the arts; and all intellectual pursuit. Daphne is a mountain nymph and not interested in giving up her virginity to some randy god. While Apollo is pursuing her, she prays to her father, who is a river god, and he turns her into a laurel tree. Ovid claims it’s not Daphne’s fault that she’s not hot for Apollo right back. He claims that Cupid, who is angry at Apollo shoots Daphne with a leaden arrow, which prevents her from returning Apollo’s feelings. But what matters is that she misses out on Apollo’s inspiration.

 

My theory is that the whole mythology of gods coming down from Olympus, or wherever else gods come down from, to seduce humans is really nothing more than a metaphor for inspiration.

 

Consider all the different forms in which Zeus visits his paramours. He takes the form of a swan with Leta, he visits Danae in a shower of gold coins, he approaches Europa as a white bull. Writers understand that inspiration can take absolutely any shape, and often the very shape we least expect.

 

The gods aren’t always gentle in their seductions. Hades drags Persephone off to the underworld screaming and kicking all the way. Zeus turns Io into a white cow, who is tortured and tormented by Hera. In the form of an eagle, he abducts Ganymede and drags him away to Mount Olympus. Writers know well that inspiration doesn’t always come in a gentle form. In fact one of my creative writing teachers used to advise her students to go to the place inside themselves that most frightened them, most disgusted them, most disturbed them, and that’s the place where they would find inspiration, that’s the place from which their writing would be the most powerful.

 

Finally, whether inspiration comes in gentle, beautiful forms or whether it drags us kicking and screaming and tears us from limb to limb, the result will be something greater than what it sprang from. From the seductions of the gods, the children born were always larger than life. They were heroes and monsters and fantastical creatures, but they were all born of that joining of divinity and humanity, they were all the result of what happens when something greater penetrates the blood and the bone and the grey matter that is our humanity. What comes from that inspiration may indeed be monstrous or fantastical, but it will always be, in the mythical sense, born of the gods.

 

Which leads me back to Daphne and Apollo. The cost of inspiration is the loss of innocence. We are seduced, we are penetrated, we are impregnated with something new, something fresh, something possibly even frightening, something that we, as writers must carry to term and give birth to. But none of that can happen without yielding to the seduction. Daphne became a tree, unable to move, unable to think, unable to ever be penetrated or inspired. One can only imagine what may have resulted from the willing union with the god of light and truth and poetry and the arts and all the things we writers crave. I’ll be honest, I fantasize about Apollo. I fantasize about inviting him right on in and saying I’m yours. I’ll take all you can give me, and please, feel free to stay as long as you like. Though, in truth, in my fantasy, I skip the dangerous and scary bits. And encounters with inspiration can often be dangerous and scary.

 

There is a cost to inspiration. It’s the obsession we all know as writers, the one that won’t allow us to think about anything else in the waking world and sometimes even in the dream world until we get the very last word down, until we make it shine exactly the way we conceived it, exactly the way it penetrated us. My heart is racing just writing this because every writer knows what it feels like, and every writer lives for it to happen again and again and again. So yeah, forget the tree rubbish, laurel or otherwise. Inspiration, take me, I’m yours. Have your way with me. I couldn’t be more willing if I tried.