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The Journal by Liv Honeywell and Domitri Xavier

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The JournalBlurb:

“Come to my study at eight o’clock sharp. Dress for dinner. Wear high heels and put on that dress – you know what I expect of you.”

When the order comes Livia is torn between anticipation and dread.

Does he know? How could he possibly know what she has done? And how can she find the words and the courage to tell him?

As eight o’clock edges ever nearer, Livia waits outside the study door, trembling; uncertain of what she will find when she comes face to face with her Master.

If he knows… If he does, there will be consequences. There is no doubt about that.

What will be the price for her moment of disobedience?

 

Excerpt:

He heard the knock on the door of his study. This was her signal that she had complied with all his instructions, not a request to enter. She would come in when he said so and she would never dare to knock again.

He had asked her to dress immaculately, smartly; as if they were going to dinner. Her hair must be perfect, away from her face. Her make up flawless, perhaps to look a little tarty, but she would know how far to go and the penalties for going over the top. She would be wearing elegant, high heeled shoes.

He told her to come in, gently, softly; as if she were merely coming in for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately she stepped into the room; looking down with her hands behind her. She would never look at his face directly without his express permission.

“Come to me.”

She had no idea what to expect. Would he be soft and tender? Or would he sweep her off her feet by mauling her like an animal. She knew that her body was his and he could treat it in any way that pleased him.

He ran his fingers through her hair, gently folding it back and forth and her head moved with his every gesture. Then he thrust his fingers deep toward her skull and tugged at her hair, moving her head in all directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.

“This is no time for making such noises.”

The quiet scream stopped immediately. She was under his power, his presence; his dominance. There was never any doubt about it.

He put his hands over her eyes and closed them, turning her face downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her hands behind her by her wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed her breasts forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased him; a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.

He put one hand over her mouth. The other roamed over every contour of her body; her pouting breasts, her waist, behind her neck. He moved to her pussy and felt that it was already wet. Then both hands wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let out a yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong fingers. She was his to do with as he wished.

He turned away from her, then turned back to look. She was beautiful. She was his. Her pain would be his pleasure…

________________

I knocked on the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well the knots in the wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many times had I stood here, gazing at this door; trying to guess what would happen when I opened it?

I wondered how long he would have me wait. I didn’t know what to think. Did he somehow know what I’d done? Had he been waiting for me to tell him, giving me the chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he had to make me? I couldn’t imagine how he could know, but… he had sounded distracted earlier. Not like himself.

I’d so wanted to confess. I really had. I’d tried all day yesterday. I’d tried today as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, the awful expression on his face that would come from knowing I’d done something absolutely forbidden.

And… and I was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now I’d made it worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much more I’d let him down by not telling him the truth.

I hoped I could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way to explain, though I wasn’t sure I could explain it to myself. What on earth had I done?

I hoped he would allow me to speak, or I wouldn’t be able to say a word, not even to confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was done with me and then tell him? Wait until he had used my body, whichever way he chose; wait until he had given me pleasure which I surely didn’t deserve?

Then what? If I couldn’t find the nerve now, if I hadn’t found it earlier, what on earth made me think I would find it then?

I reached out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger tip. My hand was trembling and I slowed my breathing, doing my best to relax.

Then I heard his voice; such a beautiful deep voice, so calm and gentle. It gave me no clue to what he was thinking, to what he would do this time.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind me; keeping my eyes lowered the whole time. I clasped my hands behind my back and waited.

“Come to me,” he said.

‘Always,’ I thought. ‘Whenever you wish it.’ I didn’t say it, of course. I knew better than to speak without permission.

I kept my hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels clicking on the hard wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so wanted to. Perhaps for reassurance that he wouldn’t hurt me, although I knew he would; perhaps to see if the gentleness in his voice was there in his eyes; perhaps to search for something, anything in his expression to tell me what he was thinking.

He lifted a hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely stroked my hair, twining his fingers through the length of it. I began to relax, leaning my head into his hand, until he grabbed a handful of hair close to my scalp and pulled hard, and I couldn’t help letting out a small squeak of surprise.

“This is no time for making such noises,” he said, still so calmly, so controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.

His fingers gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly while he tied my hands behind my back. Now I couldn’t even see what was coming, and even if I could, I was helpless to prevent it.

He clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to protest, as his other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing – over my breasts, across my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I realised he must know how aroused I was.

He released my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my breasts and my bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs once more. I moaned softly and he covered my mouth again, muffling any noise I might make.

Was I not to be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent no matter what he might do to me? The thought of his control made me shiver and I swallowed hard, trying to hold back a sudden rush of desire. I tried to still myself, wondering if he had noticed.

Of course. Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it would make a difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I couldn’t hide my reactions or if I would be punished for moving, however slightly?

He stepped away from me and I waited for what would come…

 

Buying Links:

The Journal is available from Amazon US – http://amzn.to/1bcR1CG and Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/1dxf9wI.

 

Author Bios:

Liv Honeywell:

When not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading, baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming, Ready or Not is my first solo book. The Journal was co-written with Domitri Xavier.

You can follow me on my blog – http://www.liv-honeywell.com, Twitter – http://www.twitter.com/LivHoneywell, Facebook –https://www.facebook.com/LivHoneywellErotica, Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/LivHoneywell and my Amazon page is here: https://www.amazon.com/author/livhoneywell

 

Domitri Xavier:

Domitri Xavier comes from a rich heritage, including Russia, France and Yorkshire. He is the quintessential English gentleman and lives alone in his cavernous mansion, Upton Abbey.

Domitri is not only a writer, composer, pianist, raconteur, wit and poet, he also enjoys a number of hobbies; he breeds Basset Hounds, plays chess (although he has yet to record a victory) and he is a renowned collector of used tea bags – Earl Grey, naturally.

He fills his remaining time writing erotic fiction, much of it based on his own lifestyle at the Abbey.

The Journal is his first book and his poems have been published on Bitten Press’s website – http://www.akissofpoetry.com/211723089

You can find Domitri on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/DomitriXavierErotica, his Facebook friend page is https://www.facebook.com/domitri.xavier, his blog is http://domitrixavier.wordpress.com, his Goodreads page is http://www.goodreads.com/DomitriXavier and his Amazon page is http://amazon.com/author/domitrixavier.

Genderf*cking a Classic: Setting Traditional Sexuality on its Ear, and Loving It by Lula Lisbon

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WMS_blogtourHow can one ever retell such a well-known classic as Cinderella without repeating what’s been said a thousand times before? Sure, helpless damsels and larger-than-life alpha males have their place, judging from perennial sales figures, but as a self-described queer woman, I am pretty tired of it. Before I came out, I had two long-term boyfriends and a love of romance novels — but eventually I felt as if I were chafing against the norms, knowing somehow that there was something else in life, a perpetual hunger and longing for something to which I could barely put words.

I don’t mean to crassly distill the coming-out process like this, but simply to shed some light on the evolution of my own mind as well as the thought processes which led to Cinderella: A BDSM Retelling’s conception. How much hotter, I thought, would it be for Cinderella and her prince both to explore and break through notions of traditional gender roles as well as gender itself?

As humans, we are complex creatures: we can be both male and female, submissive and dominant, shy and bold, without necessarily being pigeonholed or burdened by these concepts. We don’t have to pick one and stick with it, despite what society says. It’s okay to explore, to try different ideas on for size; wearing them every day, keeping them in storage for use as needed, or discarding those old rags entirely — and it’s okay for all these things to change as you grow into, fluctuate within, and learn about your own sexuality.

I think it’s probably a common fantasy to think about being a gender not the one you were assigned at birth; despite my misgivings about Freud, I think penis (and vagina!) envy merits discussion, if in a more sexually open-minded way. And I don’t think that such fantasies necessitate perversity or unhappiness, or even homosexuality. What I do think is that it’s okay to be curious, that it’s natural to explore and fantasize, and that it’s sad that so many people need permission to do so.

Cinderella as a character is sexually fluid; I’d describe her as heteroflexible. She has sex with women and men, but her main fantasies involve men — specifically, dominating them and forcing them to serve her with body, mind, and soul. Kink-Bottom Prince, a well-known submissive, is quite straight – despite enjoying anal and receiving forced feminization from his Mistress. Sexually underrepresented in society, sure, but deviant? I beg to differ. I think that this sort of free exploration is exactly the sort of fresh challenge that will blow tired tropes and outdated roles out of the water.

Could the concept of genderf*ckery indicate the beginning of a fresh Wave of Feminism? Embracing gender or the lack thereof, embracing roles or the lack thereof… it could level the sexual playing field in an entirely new way. I find the idea thoroughly refreshing.

 

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT:

With the raucous noise of the Ravyns’ party in the main hall echoing up the stairs, Cinderella nibbled on a bit of stale bread and butter. She had taken it from the kitchen while the chef had had his back turned, but she didn’t possess much of an appetite for food that night. In her dimly-lit attic room, she undressed slowly in front of her cracked and age-spotted looking glass. Taking her time to caress each part of herself, looking deeply into her own eyes in the mirror — dilated wide and black with desire, the emerald irises nearly as dark in the dim room — she longed for a perfect slave of her very own. Little miss Candi had been amusing, but he was not her ideal.

Her perfect submissive would be the one to unlace her corset, to undo her garters and slip off her shoes. He would take her toes in his mouth, one by one, swirling a hot tongue around each in turn as he looked up at her shyly through the veil of his eyelashes. He would pull off her gloves with his teeth, and give each finger the same treatment. He would worship every bit of her body, thinking only of serving her and bringing her pleasure however he might. His own pleasure would always be a distant second to hers.

Her perfect slave would be on his knees, begging with his eyes for her to strap on and fuck him senseless with her thickest cock. He would put the harness on her, and she would choose the cock — smirking at the wide-eyed look of alarm when he saw it, and she knew he was wondering how he’d take such a big shaft. His fear was a spur, and it would be a delicious struggle to keep herself in check. He would still be on his knees, and she’d slip two fingers into his mouth, forcing it open to accept her cock. His eyes would slit half-closed in pleasure, head bobbing, and with every stroke he’d take it that much deeper into his hungry throat. She loved that it was his job to service her: to service her cunt, service her cock, even service her ass if she so chose. Pleasing her would be first in his duties, always; and if he did so sufficiently, perhaps he’d be rewarded with permission to cum.

Cinderella laid down on her hard, lumpy bed, hands skimming sweetly over her nude curves. Her skin was prickled with gooseflesh, partly from the chill air of the sparse room and partly from her fantasy. Her breath was coming quick and shallow, and she couldn’t help but moan a little with each exhalation. Her left hand kneaded her breasts, pulling on the nipples, pinching them, while her right middle finger danced lightly over her hot, smooth slit. Teasing herself, she circled her clit a few times before dipping lower, feeling the soft crinkled flesh of the edges of her labia contrasting with the pure slick heat between them.

Her slave would be forced to swallow his own cum, of course — nothing else would do. He would probably hate it at first, but that would, in fact, give her no end of sadistic delight. And as he grew accustomed to it, he’d begin to associate the taste of his own passion with what she did to him, with what she meant to him, until he craved the taste of his own cum as much as he craved her body, her cunt, and her cock. She would get him to the point where the thrusting of her cock deep in his ass, combined with the taste of his own cum, would make him climax, truly climax — full-body ecstasy just as women experience it, shuddering with it for minutes on end. His eyes would roll up into the back of his head, gasping and uttering feminine, high-pitched moans. He would be her little sissy girl, coming for her just like the sweet slut he was.

 

CinderellaBLURB:

Dominas Arabelle and Druscilla Ravyn’s talented apprentice, Cinderella, wants to become a Mistress, but the cruel stepsisters thwart her at every turn. When famous rock star Kink-Bottom Prince is seeking a new Mistress from all those in the City, poor Cinderella doesn’t think she stands a chance. But a kind Fairy Kink Mother magically appears to help Cinderella win her Prince’s collar — and heart.

This 21,000+ word erotic novella contains menage, femdom, a submissive rock star getting fucked in front of his fans, spanking, whipping, magical strap-ons that come to life, pegging, face-sitting, forced feminization and sissification, a self-satisfied Fairy Kink Mother, squirting, fisting, exhibitionism, comedy relief, and much more!

 

AUTHOR BIO:

A femme queer-identified woman residing in Philadelphia, Lula Lisbon enjoys penning LGBT erotica and romance. Lula’s interests include historical fashions, dark music, and craft beers. She loves to bicycle as much as possible, and stays tight and toned with a grueling regime of pole dance fitness classes.

Lula’s femdom story “Icing on the Cake” is her first to be included in a print anthology — editor Rachel Kramer Bussel’s The Big Book of Orgasms. It will be released by Cleis Press in October 2013.

Lula loves to hear from her fans, and they can find her on Twitter: @LulaLisbon; on Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorlulalisbon; on her website: www.lulalisbon.com; or they can email her directly at Lula.Lisbon@gmail.com.

Cinderella: A BDSM Retelling is now available at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Rainbow eBooks, and soon available on Sony, Diesel, and iTunes.

As for Lula’s entire catalogue, it is available at Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Sony, Kobo, Diesel, and Rainbow eBooks.

 

GIVEAWAY:

Leave your email address and your thoughts on this post in the comments section to be entered to win an eBook copy of Doubled: An Erotic Science Fiction Novelette by Lula Lisbon.

Rock Your Soul by Sara Brookes

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Rock Your SoulBook Blurb:

Beth has been scarred both inside and out by a sadistic Dom and has worked hard to put the pieces of her life back together. However, the successful disc jockey knows one piece doesn’t quite align. She yearns to submit and searches for the one Dom she’s convinced will help bring her to lusty new heights.

When Ryan agrees to assist Beth, he’s surprised by her determination to persevere. Intrigued, he pushes her limits by using his gifted carpenter’s hands to bring her wild, erotic pleasure. Ryan, though, has scars of his own, and a tragic past filled with death keeps him at a distance.

Two broken souls will find a way to heal together. Beth discovers what she needs in Ryan, and her journey mends Ryan’s heart. But when the life Beth abandoned rises from the shadows, Ryan realizes there’s something far worse than his tortuous past—a future without Beth.

Warning: Get your world rocked by two very tortured souls who come together in a blinding explosion of sensual passion that knows no bounds. Except when there are ropes, custom-carved floggers, glass dildos and motorcycle sex involved. Oh, and did I mention the m/f/m ménage scene? One can never have too many skilled men ready to lend a…hand.

Book Link:

Ellora’s Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/rock-your-soul.html

Book Excerpt:

“To your knees.”

She blinked, stunned at the power and command in his voice. As the control washed over her, she wanted to respond, but she found herself too annoyed things weren’t going according to plan. While she’d expected him to ask her questions to find out what he was in store for, she didn’t expect anything of this magnitude.

Angry, she returned his glare.

He smirked. The reaction caused her insides to turn to jelly, her vitriolic thoughts vanishing on the chilly night air. Why did he have to be so goddamned handsome and annoying at the same time?

“I suggest you listen if you want me to consider taking you on as I don’t like repeating myself. To. Your. Knees.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he tilted his head down just enough to give her another message. A very stern one she couldn’t help but listen to. He would not be ignored.

She dropped her hands to her sides and slowly lowered to her knees. The rough rocks immediately bit into her shins, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him she was in pain. She heard the unmistakable sound of buttons popping on his jeans and looked up just in time to see him part the denim. What in the Sam hell did he intend to do? If he expected her to suck his dick right here and now, he’d better think again.

“Eyes down.”

The authority behind those two words coursed through her, compelling her to obey. It had been a long time since she’d had this kind of reaction. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she complied. The denim pooled around his ankles and she found herself staring at the pile.

Just as she started to wonder if Elena had been out of her mind to recommend this man, his hand slid against the top of her head. His touch was almost calming and, despite her annoyance, a feeling of tranquility washed over her. His fingers combed her hair, catching the elastic holder from her ponytail, pulling it free. He continued to run his fingers through the strands, fanning out her hair. She relaxed under his persistent touch. The pain in her legs melted away and she gave a soft sigh as her body started to quietly buzz.

Yes.

The crunch of rocks jolted her back to the moment. She listened to him move away, leaving her alone on the rock path in front of his house.

What in the hell?

Beth looked to the left and her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted him. He strolled toward the small lake at the front corner of the field, towel swinging in his hand as he walked. Those jeans of his were at her feet and she now had an unobstructed view of his bare ass.

A very firm, very tan, perfectly formed ass.

Christ on a slinky going down an up escalator if he doesn’t look even better out of those jeans. Transfixed by the bunch and pull of the muscles in his thighs and butt as he walked over the uneven ground, she forgot her place and openly gawked.

When he reached the bank at the water’s edge, he dropped the towel and walked right into the lake. She expected him to dive under the surface, but instead he slowly moved until the water lapped as his hips. He sunk as if he were a knife cutting through the water, disappearing with no more than a quiet ripple disturbing the surface. The lake smoothed in seconds.

The only indication she ever had company were those damn jeans on the ground in front of her.

Author Bio:

Sara Brookes is an award-winning author who has always been fascinated by the strange, the unusual, the twisted and the lost (tortured heroes are her personal favorite). She is an action movie junkie, addicted to coffee and has been known to stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing RPG video games. Despite all this, she is a romantic at heart and is always a sucker for an excellent love story. Born and bred in Virginia, Sara still lives there with her husband and daughter. The entire family is owned by two cats, Galahad and Loki, who graciously allow the family to cater to their every desire.

Author Links:

Website: www.sarabrookes.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Sara_Brookes

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/brookesofbooks

Facebook Author Page: http://www.facebook.com/authorsarabrookes

Announcement List: http://eepurl.com/mbG31

Thrill Seeking with Kristina Lloyd

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Kristina LloydThrill Seeker Kristina Lloyd erotica

It’s my pleasure to have the very lovely Kristina Lloyd as my guest today. Kristina is sharing a little about her new novel, Thrill Seeker. Welcome Kristina! Do tell!

Thanks for inviting me over, KD! I’m here to share a little about my new book from Black Lace, Thrill Seeker, and would like to introduce my central character, Natalie Lovell.

Natalie’s a fairly ordinary women in her early thirties with a dull job, some good friends, and the standard amount of heartbreak under her belt. What makes Natalie extraordinary is that she’s on a mission: to know her sexual self. But the course of kink, like that of true love, never did run smooth, and we follow Natalie as she pursues an increasingly risky and muddled strategy in her determination to reach her goal. It doesn’t help that Natalie finds danger and fear enticingly erotic. If BDSM had health and safety inspectors, they’d be tearing their hair out over my protagonist.

One of the reasons I describe myself as a writer of erotic fiction rather than of erotic romance is because I like writing about individuals on a journey toward sexual authenticity. This doesn’t preclude the development of a core relationship, of love or a happy ending, but those factors aren’t driving the story. Nor does it mean my fiction isn’t romantic. It often is, albeit not conventionally so.

For Natalie, the exploration of her submissive sexuality on her own terms is key part of her self-actualisation. However, haunted and inhibited by incidents in her past, Natalie has taken some years to reach a point in her life where she feel brave enough to move forward. As she says:

I realised I had two choices. I could stick my neck out and start being honest about my desires, or I could suppress my feelings and remain in the closet, hoping someone would eventually find the door to let me out. Basically, I could live or die; or at least, live a life not fully realised. Giving up on certain aspects of yourself, the parts others might find distasteful or threatening, is the easiest thing in the world. It’s the safest route, the path of least resistance.

Natalie has played safe and secretive for too long. So she ventures into kinky internet dating, her first success being Baxter Logan, a charismatic, sexy, screwed up Scot who goes on to betray her after they’ve fallen in love. Readers meet Natalie on ‘take two’ of her online explorations where the risks have already escalated: she’s confessed to having kidnap fantasies to an intriguing stranger, Den, who hasn’t even offered a photo of his face.

This isn’t a D/S relationship which begins with contracts, safewords, clear consent and unambiguous boundaries. Many of Natalie’s fantasies centre around being forced, rendered powerless, and having choice removed. She enjoys the taste of fear. When Natalie discovers the term ‘edgeplay’ she finally has a channel for articulating and formalising some  of her desires. Here’s Natalie, mulling over what she wants:

‘Edgeplay’ was a concept I’d recently discovered and I’d added it to my mental BDSM dictionary along with other words which had once seemed peculiar in the context of sex, such as ‘scene’, ‘submission’ and ‘play’.

Although the definition seemed hard to pin down, I understood edgeplay to mean scenes where kinky activity takes place on the threshold of the submissive’s fear. Safewords aren’t used since they remove the fear. I was pleased to learn about edgeplay, not least because its existence made me feel less alone in wanting to be taken to the edge of safety, to the zone where my lust could blossom in darkness.

I recalled a word Den had once used in email: liminal. I’d had to look it up. Liminal, I learned, referred to times and places which were neither one thing nor the other: the margins and boundaries; the in-between spaces; those unstable moments of change such as the hours of twilight, the greying, glittered suspension between day and night.

That’s where I wanted to be, not secure in a walled fortress but blissing out on submission in the shifting magic of dusk.

Ultimately, my greatest concern was not my welfare but that, in clarifying an arrangement, Den and I might negotiate its heart out by stripping away risk and fear. What would be the point? I wanted to feel this in my veins, in my deepest shadows. I wanted lust spiked with terror. I wanted to be in his power, my desires ostensibly secondary to his. I wanted to know the truth of my fantasy of being abducted and taken to a place where I would be tested. How far could I go? What would happen to me on the margins of fear? Who would I become? That’s what I wanted. I didn’t want us to arrange to play a nice game by nicely discussed rules.

***

If you enjoy your erotica on the light and cheeky side, Thrill Seeker may not be for you. But if you want to try a book my publisher describes as  ‘Fifty Shades Darker than EL James or Sylvia Day’ then strap yourself in and hold on tight. Thrill Seeker is intended to be a wild, exciting, scary ride!

To find out more about Thrill Seeker, visit my blog and follow the links for a couple of sexy excerpts.

Thrill Seeker is out now in the UK in paperback and Kindle, and will be released in the US and Canada in late June.

Kristina Lloyd

Kristina Lloyd is the author of four Black Lace novels including the erotic thrillers, Asking for Trouble and her most recent book, Thrill Seeker. Her short stories have featured in numerous anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collections, and her work has been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. She’s been described as an author who ‘writes sex with a formidable force’ and ‘blends literary and popular styles beautifully’. Kristina has a master’s degree in Twentieth Century Literature and lives in Brighton, UK. Visit her at http://kristinalloyd.co.uk

Lisabet Sarai Breaks the Rules with Her Genre-defying New Release, Rajasthani Moon

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Fear of Flying

It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of herLisabet Sarai May post123rfDirigible-14428352_s carriage at the endless

expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

Thus begins my most recent release, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it’s a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won’t tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I’ve observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I’m breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales,  too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we’ll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon is like nothing I’ve written before. Well, that’s not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I’ve never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this Lisabet Sarai may postrajasthanimoon_noquote_800difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I’m pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won’t worry. That’s out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually:

The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

***

Rajasthani Moon is available now from Total-E-Bound, at a 10% discount, and will have its general release at Amazon and other bookstores on May 31st. But why not get your copy now and save? TEB can download direct to your Kindle or other e-reader.

About Lisabet Sarai

Lisabet Sarai may postlisabetFaceLisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.  She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)