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A Submissive Finale by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee)

Many thanks for inviting me to your fabulous blog today Kd, to take about my novella, The New Room.

The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, and the initial trials of Miss Jess Sanders may be over, but when Xcite, asked me if I would like to write one just more story about Jess and her colleagues at The Fables Hotel. How could I refuse?

I loved dreaming up the trials and tribulations that Miss Sanders faced on her journey from hotel booking clerk, to the Fables Hotel’s resident submissive in The Perfect Submissive; her kinky adventure in Scotland, during The Retreat, and her escape from Scotland back to the Fables Hotel, in Knowing Her Place.

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Blurb- The New Room

Miss Jess Sanders, resident submissive of the Fables Hotels adult entertainment floor, has been instructed to test out the new facility that her manageress, Mrs Peters, has designed for the sexual pleasure of her clients.

With a dungeon, Victorian study, medical bay, school room, and the daunting White Room already available for their guests, Jess can’t begin to imagine what lies behind the innocent looking door to the new room.

Under the supervision of the dominatrix, Miss Sarah, and with the assistance of her colleagues, Lee and Sam, as Jess steps into the new room, she quickly discovers she is about to experience far more than she bargained for…at freezing temperatures.

With the feeling that she’s acting in a play that everyone knows the script to but her, the Fables perfect submissive is challenged to the limit in Mrs Peters new room, and beyond…

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Here’s an extract to tempt you…

Her instructions had been to go through the door, walk three paces forward, and then stand and wait inside the fifth floor’s latest facility.

Frost crusted over Jess’ shoulders, and the dampness of anticipation that gathered at her crotch prickled as it chilled against her surrounding’s winter-like caress. Her eyes stung as she blinked into the stark brightness of the space, but as Jess’ hands had been secured behind her back, she couldn’t wipe them to stop them watering.

As the submissive looked about her, she saw that not only could the discerning paying guest at the hotel enjoy the delights of a pseudo-school room, a Victorian study, a dungeon, a medical bay, and the intimidating White Room, they could now experience icy arousal in a fairy-tale style snow grotto.

The ceiling and walls had been studded with crystals and draped with shimmering chiffon fabric that took away the room’s rectangular proportions, making the space feel cavernous. Tiny silver fairylights sparkled like glitter, while genuine ice granules clung to every surface, including the fake snow that made a distinct crunch beneath Jess’ strappy silver heels.

Having been stripped of all her clothes by a silent Mrs Peters, prior to being thrust through the new room’s threshold, Jess had been surprised when she’d been allowed her to keep her shoes on. Now she understood why. Only the heavy silver and green velvet robe that had been hung around her naked shoulders gave the submissive any level of protection against the all-invading cold. If she’d had to stand on bare feet in the room, even after all her endurance training, Jess wouldn’t have lasted for more than a few minutes before she had frost bitten soles and toes.

Surveying her surroundings more thoroughly, Jess was just contemplating how easy it would be to hide instruments of sexual play and deprivation between the fake cavern walls and the real walls when she became aware of the sound of a faint hum.

The distinct brrring vibration of a refrigeration unit.

No wonder it was so cold; the room was a freezer.

A freezer that held nothing but two chairs, which had been placed in the very centre of the frost-crisped pseudo-cave.

One seat was more like a fairytale throne than a chair. Made of wrought iron and painted silver, its high back was decorated with intricate butterfly and flower shapes. Well padded with plush, silver satin cushions over the back and seat, Jess already knew it was far too comfortable to have been placed in the room for her to use.

The chair to the throne’s right was stark by comparison. Wooden and straight backed it had been painted a plain white, and held neither ornamentation nor cushions. That’s where I’ll have to sit, Jess thought, if I’m permitted to sit at all.

The crunch of snow being scraped behind her told Jess that someone had opened the door. She didn’t turn round to see who it as. She knew better than that.

A pair of hands came to her shoulders, but the heavy fabric of her cloak prevented Jess from being able to tell whose grip it was. Mrs Peters had told her this was to be the first staff training session in this room; therefore the hands had to belong to a member of the Fables staff. The tone of the breathing behind her, combined with the size of the handhold, informed Jess the newcomer was male. That meant it had to be either Master Lee Philips, the barman and occasional helper on the fifth floor, or Mr Sam Wheeler, Mrs Peters’ personal slave, business partner, and artist.

The hands didn’t move from their position on Jess’ shoulders as the whirr of the generator was abruptly drowned out by the activation of some ethereal music from a speaker hidden in the folds of the fake ceiling. The haunting Celtic lyrics drifted into Jess’ ears, adding to the eerie atmosphere and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the unknown person stepped closer to her back.

With each fresh second that passed, Jess had the uneasy feeling that she’d walked into the throne room of the Snow Queen – a wicked Snow Queen.

The masculine hands moved slowly. The confidence of touch that Jess had come to recognise from the men on the Fables staff was missing. As the palms slid down her arms, ducking beneath her cloak, the visitor took each of the submissive’s tethered wrists in his hands, and briskly marched Jess forward.

The submissive’s mind raced. Who is this man?

With a shove of her bound hands against the small of her back, Jess was bent forward so that her feet remained flat upon the floor. Her belly and chest were laid across the throne’s cushion, while her forehead rested uncomfortably on the wooden seat next to it.

The volume of the music increased, and Jess wondered if that meant it would soon have to drown out a greater level of background noise.

As Jess’ companion ordered her to close her eyes, a further wave of uncertainty added to the submissive’s anxiety. She didn’t recognise the voice. It didn’t belong to either Max or Lee. This was a stranger…

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If you’d like to read Jess Sanders final adventure, then you can buy it from-

Amazon UK | Amazon US

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Thanks again!

Happy reading,

Kay xx

 

Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO

Kay received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.

Kay Jaybee has over 180 erotica publications including, The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (The Perfect Submissive, The Retreat, Knowing Her Place, Xcite 2011-14), The New Room, (Xcite, 2015), The Voyeur, (Xcite 2012), Making Him Wait (Sweetmeats, 2012), A Sticky Situation (Xcite, 2013), Digging Deep, (Xcite 2013), Take Control, (1001 NightsPress, 2014), and Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress, 2013.

Details of all her short stories and other publications can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

You can follow Kay on –

Twitter- https://twitter.com/kay_jaybee

Facebook –http://www.facebook.com/KayJaybeeAuthor

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site- http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane – www.jennykane.co.uk

 

A Day in the Life of Christine Blackthorn (@CBlackthorn @sinfulpress)

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I would love to tell you that it is a calm and quiet day full of contemplation and writing – but I have a toddler. This is notable and worth mentioning for sixteen months ago my day would have been tightly managed with a life alternating between being an academic and a writer. Then a introduced a whirlwind into my world.

My day starts with sunrise and I mean this literally. I can for example tell you that this morning the sun rose at 5.08 not because I am an ardent follower of sun cycles but because my son is solar powered. 5.08 was the first morning twitch. So, I get up as a mother, not a writer. Or it might be more accurate to say that I wake as I go to bed – as a storyteller. Every since I can remember there have been stories in my life, when I sleep, when I exercise, when I cook, there are always stories developing in my head.

So when my little being escapes his cot and comes over, dragging a book behind him with which to hit me over the head and remind me that it is time to tell the first story of the day, this is what I do. Though, contrary to the stories that will have brought you to this blog, the ones he hears contain more skipping dragons and fewer scantily clad vampires.

And this is how my day will progress. Between nappy changes, baby food, whilst we clean the kitchen together (ever read the Pippi Longstocking section where she puts brushes on her feet to clean the floor? No, try it with a one year old – it will be an absolute hit) or hang up the washing we chatter about dragons and fleas, fairies and foes. And the frog. Let’s not forget the frog.

And then there is nap time. Nap time is when my stories come out to play – the vampires and orcs, the aliens and everyday people. All generally running around saving mankind, alien kind, solving murders and conspiracies, whilst having a lot of sex.

But this last sounds a little too simplistic. All my stories have a strong sexual element but more so because sex, and erotic expression, play a huge role in the development of the relationships of my characters. Sex, not the superficial pleasure of merely exchanging touch (though that has its place as well) but sex that shakes your foundations and lets them settle stronger, is one of the few activities where the lessons life has taught us can fall away and we breathe, for a short time, without the constraints we taught ourselves.

All my stories, no matter if the characters try to solve a murder, save civilisation or just themselves, are about relationships and how they challenge us to be the best, or worst, we can be. This is what I am…. And the raptor cage rattles.

No, really. My son naps during the day in a travel cot besides me and to keep it dark in there we cover it with dark, breathable material. It is like a little cave from the inside but from the outside, the first signs of waking, are an ominous rattle and the cloth moving. The raptor cage rattles.

My afternoons are academic in nature. Teaching, counselling sessions, meetings … and here and there the glimpse of a well known figure, in the distance, possibly chasing along the parapets to catch a fleeing thief or who are burning the midnight oil to find that one detail that will save humanity. The characters in my books are always with me (and yes, that is what is happening when I get this glazed over look in meetings).

Early evenings, after bedtime and the obligatory story (not told by me but by my husband) allow me to get lost in my stories again. For a while. And then I close the computer and the evening belongs to my husband. And only to him.

*****

Advert copy 3

A Variety of Chains excerpt

Slowly, he lowered more and more of his weight to rest on her until she could feel his hard and still clothed limbs against her nakedness. His arousal was unmistakable as it rested in the embrace of her body, only separated from her skin by the fabric of his trousers. His hand stroked down, over her hip to her knee, before he hooked a hand underneath it and brought it up to his waist, opening her further to him.

She wanted to blame the hour, so close to the fourteenth, for the wetness soaking his trousers, but knew that would not be entirely honest. Her body was wet with arousal and spasms of pleasure were tightening her womb. He started to roll his hips, stroking the fabric over a part of her that she had not realised could become so sensitive. With each stroke of his body against hers, something tensed in her a little more. His lips started to play with hers again, teasingly stroking over them and then nipping her with lightning speed. She needed something she did not know she needed, and with every second it seemed to come closer. The sound ripped from her throat was between a moan and a sob – and it stopped him in his tracks.

His brow came to rest against hers on a moan. “There is nothing I want more than to continue this so that when I ask you again if you have ever had an orgasm, you are in no doubt at all, but unfortunately now is not the time. Now is too close to midnight, and it would be careless of me to lose control.”

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avarietyofchainsBlurb

Kathryn McClusky is an ErGer – a rare and highly prized individual in the supernatural world.

She has spent her life running and hiding, but circumstances have changed and the only way to protect her family is to hand herself over to the Vampire Lord of London to face slavery or death.

Lucian Neben runs his London court with a stern but fair hand, but political pressures are building from both the human and fey worlds, and taking possession of an ErGer would cement his position of power.

Kathryn is vulnerable and broken almost beyond repair, but she holds in her hands the one treasure Lucian desperately wants – the possibility of home and family.

Can he teach her to open herself up; to choose to life, and him, before reality forces him to take her freedom?

Sales links

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2aq8Kc8

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2avj1Fd

Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/BandNVoC

Google Play: http://bit.ly/GPlayVoC

Kobo: http://bit.ly/KoboVoC

Apple: http://bit.ly/AppleVoC

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/GoodreadsVoC

*****

christineblackthornAuthor Bio

In “real” life, I am an academic with degrees in Political Science, Economics, Philosophy and Law and an insatiable desire to confound, baffle and disconcert my students. Someone once suggested to me the reason for my stories lay in the desire to offset the tedium and rationality of academic life. He wasn’t an academic or he would have known better. It is best to use research against tedium, students to offset the rationality and an unlimited supply of stressballs for the faculty meetings. The stories? Well, they are just for me – like a mental manicure.

I also write a blog on Feminism and Erotica – come talk to me:

Blog: http://christineblackthorn.eu/blog

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cnblackthorn

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CBlackthorn

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GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/christine-blackthorn/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Shameless Selfie Sunday: Stop and Smell the … er … well … Everything!

Since The Psychology of Dreams finished last week, (If you missed it, you can read it in its entirety by following the link.) I’ve decided it’s time to do something completely different on A Hopeful Romantic, so hold on to your hats. I’m beginning a new series of weekend blogs that I’m  calling My Weekend Shameless Selfies. They will feature a bad selfie or photo of me, more than likely doing silly things, along with an excerpt from one of my back catalogue novels or novellas that’s somehow connected with the selfie.
I’m kicking the whole series off with this little shot of me stopping to smell the roses in Regents Park. The piccies is very appropriate for To Rome with Lust, book three of The Mount Series. TRwL is the story of olfactory delights. It’s the story of the very sexy world of The Mount, Roman Branch and a woman who experiences the world most deeply through the sense of smell. And to kick off the series, I’m giving you the whole first chapter. Enjoy!
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TO ROME WITH LUST Book three of The Mount trilogy (Click here for Book One | Book Two)

The adventure that Rita Holly began in The Mount in London and Nick Chase took up in Vegas continues when a sizzling encounter on a flight to Rome has journalist, Liza Calendar, and perfumer, Paulo ‘The Nose’ Delacour, in sexy olfactory heaven. The heir apparent of Martelli Fragrance, Paulo wants Liza’s magnificently sensitive nose to help develop Martelli’s controversial new line. Paulo has a secret weapon; Martelli Fragrance is the front for the original Mount, an ancient sex cult of which he is a part, and Paulo plans to use the scent of sex to enhance Martelli’s Innuendo line. As Liza and Paulo sniff out the scent of seduction, they become their own best lab rats. But when someone steals the perfume formulas and lays the blame at Liza’s feet, she and Paulo must sniff out the culprit and prove Liza’s innocence before more is exposed than just secret formulas.

 

Chapter One

Liza thought she had only dreamed such an exquisite scent. She’d certainly never smelled anything so sexy while she

To Rome with Lustwas awake. It was all very strange. Her dreams had always been the only part of her life that was olfactory-free. She sat in the business lounge at JFK airport dozing, blocking out the noise and the smell of the busy shuffle. But this smell was different. This smell was just too delicious to ignore. It intensified, then faded, and she snuffled and inhaled and shifted in her seat.

Delays due to heavy thunderstorms meant the place was packed with passengers awaiting a spate of flights going out at nearly the same time. Luckily, her flight wasn’t delayed. She was just there early, thanks to Carl. After an unplanned night alone in a hotel room, she couldn’t get out of New York City fast enough – not after what she’d seen … and smelled. But she didn’t want to think about Carl. Time to move forward.

She had just slipped back into that space between wakefulness and sleep when the scent wafted over her again. There was no denying it was the primal smell of male. It was the smell of desert lightning, of sage and juniper and thick, dark night. It was the smell of sex – or at least the intimations of sex or what sex might be like with a man who smelled so irresistible.

Jesus, was she really going to have sexy dreams right here in the airport? What next? Would she be rubbing herself against the sofa while all the businessmen and the

tourists pretended not to notice? Surely it was only because of the sex she’d expected to get last night, but didn’t. Surely it was just her angry unconscious inventing an olfactory fantasy, but God, the man smelled good – better than anyone she’d ever smelled, and she smelled everyone! She inhaled again and her deep intake of scent came out sounding like a sigh. Her lips parted just enough to take in the fullness of the experience. She could almost taste that hypnotic smell of masculinity. Her nipples chafed against her bra until they dominated the front of her sweater with an achy tetchy fullness that matched the tightening she felt between her thighs. It was as though the man stood right over her. She could smell expensive fabric weighted and warmed with the heat of his flesh. His crotch, where the delicious scent was purest, was so close that her mouth watered. The scent was heavy, thickening, male – driven by passion. Letting the dream take control, Liza shifted, uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward to draw in his scent, wanting nothing so much as to touch, to caress, to experiment on ways to arouse from her dream man more of that delicious scent.

There was a soft grunt, a startled gasp, and a large hand came down heavily on her shoulder. There was a desperate clearing of a throat and a slightly accented ‘Pardon me.’

She opened her eyes and found herself nose to crotch with a very expensive suit not quite able to disguise a very nice package. Her fingers were fisted in the edges of the front trouser pockets, reeling their wearer ever closer and closer to her salivating mouth. She yelped and practically shoved the guy, who might have fallen if not for the hand resting on her shoulder. ‘Oh my God! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I was dreaming.’ Her face burned and her pulse did a drumroll in her ears as she raised her eyes up and up and up the length of the well filled-out charcoal suit to meet rich caramel eyes looking down at her from beneath thick midnight lashes. The scent hit her in waves, making her giddy, making her want to sniff like a dog in heat, making her feel wrong-footed and out of focus.

‘Must have been some dream.’ His eyes sparkled and he offered her a half-smile. His warm hands fell to cover hers and disengage them from his pockets. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I woke you, but I’d really hate it if your dream got us both kicked out of the lounge.’ His thumbs brushed over the backs of her knuckles before he released her. ‘Is it all right if I share you sofa? The lounge is really crowded.’

‘Yes! Of course, please.’ She shifted and rearranged herself, resisting the urge to fold her arms across her perky nipples. It was even harder to resist the urge to pant and sniff. My God, if an aphrodisiac could be inhaled, his scent would so be that aphrodisiac. She felt moist and swollen, splayed in the crotch of her panties, too tender for the weight of her body against the sofa.

‘Are you all right?’ The man’s eyes had darkened with concern. ‘You seem in distress.’airport 4

‘Fine! I’m fine,’ she said with enthusiasm that made her sound like a dork. ‘Just outrageously embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be. You made my morning and gave me something I’ll smile about for what’ll be a very long, very tedious flight. You sure you’re all right?’

‘You smell amazing,’ she blurted out before she could stop herself, then she felt the flash-fire burn rise to her cheeks again. Jeez! Could she sound any more stupid?

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. ‘Thanks. Eau d’generic hotel soap,’ he said.

‘No, it’s not the soap, I mean I can smell that too, but …’ What the fuck was it with her? She practically attacks the guy – who handled an embarrassing situation

very graciously all things considered–and now she informs him she’s been sniffing? ‘Never mind. I … like I said, I was dreaming.’

He leaned forward in a wave of scent that made her dizzy with lust. ‘No, please, don’t be embarrassed. I’m very interested in all things olfactory. And I’m really flattered that you like the way I smell.’

‘I’m sorry. I have a sensitive nose.’ She forced a laugh. ‘I guess maybe I’m a little closer to my animal roots than most people. I … I pick up on scent … way more than most people do. Bit of an evolutionary throw- back, I’m afraid.’

His smile was practically edible. ‘Humans are mammals. Mammals live through their sense of smell. We’ve just gotten lazy and forgotten how to do that. Real scent is hard to come by in a world that’s been deodorized, sanitized, and scrubbed. Apparently you remember.’

Oh, she remembered all right. She remembered so much more than she wished she did at times. She could feel his dark, rich gaze against her, feel his scent bearing down on her, now spiked with the cinnamon nip of curiosity. She knew what was coming. She waited for it.

‘So,’ he leaned still closer and everything in her felt giddy and humid. ‘Tell me what you smell?’

God, she knew he was going to ask that. She should have kept her damned mouth shut. To ask her to describe his scent was like asking her to describe what she thought sex with him would be like, and with a scent like his, she could imagine it would be pretty fucking amazing. On the other hand, if he stayed leaning close like this, she’d have a few more seconds to sniff and enjoy before he suspected her of total nutterdom.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. As I said, the sense of smell and the way we humans use it is of special interest to me.’

She leaned in and inhaled deeply through her nose. After all he had given her permission to sniff. ‘You smell like summer lightning…at high altitude.’ She inhaled again and closed her eyes, hearing the catch of his breath. ‘Beneath that, you smell like evergreen and the earth around tree roots.’ His breathing accelerated. She leaned still closer, and the slip and slide of fabric on fabric informed her that he’d done the same until they were nearly touching. She inhaled again. ‘You smell like a rainstorm on the wind just before it arrives, but that’s because you’re skeptical, and I don’t blame you.’

For both of them, simply breathing had become a challenge. Her belly muscles trembled and tensed way down low; in her panties, the clench and release, clench and release had left her swollen and pouty. She opened her eyes just a slit, then closed them again, but there was no mistaking the shape of his growing erection. Her own scent spiked all honey-butter and nutmeg.

‘What else?’ he breathed. ‘Is there more?’

airport 3‘Your curiosity smells of cinnamon and there’s a bit of irritation – tart, tangy, almost like lemon.’ Her eyes fluttered open at the same moment his did.

‘Oh it’s not you,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean I’m not irritated with you. It’s this trip. I didn’t plan to take it and now I find out … wait a minute. You can smell emotions?’

‘Kind of,’ she said, trying not to look at his erection, as he shifted to rearrange himself a little less conspicuously. Then she couldn’t resist. ‘What about me? Can you smell me?’ Jesus! Why did she ask such a loaded question?

He squirmed again, which did nothing to hide his needy package. A blush rose to his cheeks. ‘Maybe … Possibly.’ He inhaled a shaky breath through his nose like he was afraid of what he might smell. ‘The more we talk … the more I smell.’ His eyes fluttered

shut again. ‘You’re … not wearing perfume.’
‘I never do.’ She eased herself closer, resisting the urge to rest a hand on his thigh. ‘It interferes with other

smells.’
He nodded, as though he completely understood.

‘You smell like the sea, but you also smell like honey and butter melting over hot bread.’

Did she just whimper? Oh God, please say she didn’t just whimper and shift her bottom against the sofa. Surely she didn’t do that.

This time he inhaled boldly, pushing forward on the sofa, his eyes closed, suddenly making no attempt to cover the heavy strain against the front of his trousers. The cinnamon scent of him spiked and became more peppery. ‘Jesus, I can’t believe we’re doing this.’ His voice was little more than a whisper between parted lips, lips that Liza would only have to lean into to touch with her own. ‘I can’t believe I can smell all that. I’m probably imagining it.’

‘No you’re not. You’re not imagining it,’ she whispered back.

He was suddenly breathing as though he’d just ran a marathon, each breath through his nose, each breath followed by a gulp, almost as though he were eating the scent of her.

‘People are looking. We should stop.’ She barely got the words out before he leaned in just a tiny bit further and, in his enthusiasm, his lips brushed hers. Everything spiked in a sharp stab of scent that went straight to her pussy, as they both gasped and sat back, eyes wide, fingers pressed to lips.

The delayed flight to Paris was called over the intercom immediately after one to Frankfurt and, in the jostling and shifting and gathering of belongings, no one paid any attention to them. She wasn’t sure it would have made any difference even if they’d suddenly been

centre stage. Their gaze locked on each other, cheeks flushed, chests heaving, they sat caught in a moment so tight, so full that its breaking apart was inevitable. It was ridiculous. She was seconds away from coming, and his cock was about to burst his trousers. And his lips, God his lips, she could think of so many places on her body she wanted those
lips.

‘I have to know,’ he gasped. ‘Surely you want to know too.’ Then he did the unthinkable. He curled his fingers into the back of her hair and pulled her to him. This time their mouths met with a clash and a gasped swallow of oxygen that transitioned into parted lips and darting tongues and an absolute explosion of scent. If he had smelled amazing by himself, if his scent had sharpened hers to the cutting edge of orgasm, then the mixing and blending that happened when they touched, when those two scents came together was shattering. ‘I’ve never smelled anything like it,’ she breathed.

‘Me neither.’ He bit her lower lip and tugged and their blended scent became darker, spicier, with tones of earth and sea, pepper and honey, and God the guy could kiss!

She came first with a guttural grunt of an orgasm that began deep in her pussy and washed over her like a riptide. She tried desperately to hide it, but he knew it. He felt it, she even thought he smelled it, and he tightened his fist in her hair, breathing her into his open mouth. Both his hands then slid to her shoulders in a grip that was almost painful as he pulled back. His eyes locked on hers, and his whole body convulsed, and again, and again, his deep mocha gaze Mountboxsetholding her tight as pupils dilated and eyelids shuddered.

For a moment they sat stunned, staring at each other, struggling to catch their breath. He looked shell-shocked, and she must have looked the same. ‘I’m sorry,’ they both said at the same time as they mirrored each other in

a nervous laugh.
Then the intercom called the flight to Rome. ‘That’s

my flight,’ she gasped, awash in a wave of embarrassment. She babbled something about duty free and gifts, sounding like a total idiot. She grabbed her bag and her laptop and fled, feeling certain everyone was watching, feeling certain everyone knew exactly what they had done. It didn’t matter though, at the end of the day, she’d never see the man again. And she’d never smell him again. That saddened her.

 

 Buy To Rome With Lust Here:

eBook:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
iBooks UK
iBooks US

Print:

Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

You can get The Mount Trilogy as a Box Set too. Perfect for a summer binge read

 Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA

 

The Psychology of Dreams Final Episode

Psychology-of-Dreams-cover12985576_1537272663241009_8777292825525497968_nThe End is at hand! Welcome to the final instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101, in which the truth is revealed at last, and with it, a return to reality. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Psych of Dreams, as well as the other serials that have appeared on my blog. Summer is not truly upon us, so I’m giving serial writing a break, but some stories just lend themselves to being revealed slowly — story foreplay, if you will. When that time comes, when the story is right for A Hopeful Romantic, I’ll happily let the muse have her way. In the meantime have a fantastic summer with lots of hot reading on beaches, in cars, in hotel rooms, during lunch breaks … oh, just anywhere will do when the book is good.

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Blurb:

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. 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.

If you missed episode 16, find it here.

 

 

Chapter 17 Awakening

“This can’t be right. Al this can’t be right.” But Al was gone. Leah spoke into the windy darkness on the roof of the high rise. “It’s not me. I’m not supposed to be here. It’s not my dream. Al? Al, it’s not my fucking dream!” She swallowed back her last words with a startled cry teetering and flailing wildly to keep from going over the edge of the building. The flutter of the wind gave way to a high-pitched hum that hurt her ears. As vertigo overwhelmed her, she flat out screamed and fell backward on her ass, blessedly away from the edge. The fall jarred the breath from her lungs and the world spun before her eyes and went dark. From somewhere far off she could hear voices, concerned voices, and she was suddenly desperate for Al’s company. Why had she not wanted to share the dream with him? At least when they’d been here together, even with Dr. Clyde’s untimely interruptions, she’d not been alone. Oh there were people in the city. There were cars moving on the streets below, there were horns honking, but it was no more real than anything else in the dream. Without Al or Dr. Clyde she really was alone, alone inside her head.

She tried to stand, but the vertigo was back in spades and the pounding in her skull made her feel as though she’d hit her head instead of her ass when she fell. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the pain, but when she opened them again, she lay right on the edge of the roof with one leg dangling over into emptiness. “Oh God!” This time she rolled and kept rolling until her back pressed up tight against one of the HVAC units, where she lay shivering. For a long moment all she did was shiver and breathe, but she kept her eyes open and kept her focus on the edge of the building. As her breathing calmed, she could swear she heard voices again, voices that sounded desperate, frantic.

“Al?” She pulled herself to her feet and looked around. “Dr. Clyde?” There was no response, and there was no way down off the roof that she could see. It was a quick look — only for a second. It was little more than a glance, really, but when she looked back, she was once again standing with her toes curled over the edge of the roof. Her hair blew in her face from the returning wind, and the high-pitched hum was now nearly deafening. “Oh God! Oh Christ! Oh Shit!” She could barely hear her own voice over the humming. She scrambled back from the roof’s edge again until the HVAC unit stopped her retreat with a sharp edge gouging her hip. Only this time, fuck if it didn’t seem that the unit was closer to the edge of the roof. “It’s a dream! It’s a goddamned dream!” She yelled, keeping her eyes glued to ledge and the void beyond. “Al!” She screamed. “Al I don’t want to be here! I’m not Diana. I don’t want to die. I want to wake up!” Even as she gasped for breath, she blinked, and the HVAC unit was closer to the ledge still. Her toes were only centimeters away from the abyss, and the high-pitched hum became louder, drowning out the sound of her cries for help. As she pressed back hard against the unyielding metal of the HVAC, as the ledge between her and the endless drop below shrank still further, a sudden pain exploded in her chest as though she had been hit in the sternum by a baseball bat. As she doubled over with a breathless grunt, she found herself face to face with the darkness below. “I’m not Diana.” Though there was no breath to speak, her lips formed the words over and over again, and they became a mantra in her head as she tore two fingernails in her efforts to heave herself up onto the top of the HVAC unit to safety. “I’m not Diana, I’m not Diana, I’m not Diana.” The words in her head were drown out by the hum, and even as she climbed on top of her Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020precarious perch, another sharp blow in the chest crumpled her. “It’s just a dream, only a dream, just a dream. I’m not Diana. It’s just a dream. I’m not –” Another sharp pain between her breasts stopped even the mental mantra and the HVAC itself had narrowed to an edge of metal no wider than a gymnast’s balance beam. Despair set in as another blow, and then another came, and her world between the sharp, rhythmic blows to her chest existed only on the shrinking metal beam of safety and in the hum, which had drown out all other sound. “Al, I don’t want to die,” she whispered. “I want to wake up safe and sound in my own bed. Al, please, come and get me.” Somehow, she didn’t know how it had happened, but she found herself standing with nothing behind her and nothing in front of her but the void. The wind whipped around her body, the hum was louder than a siren in her ears. The metal edge on which she stood now cut into her feet and there was no place else to go. “This is a dream. It’s only a dream,” she whispered, then as the next blow came, the one she knew she couldn’t stand against, she closed her eyes tightly and prayed to wake up. The last thing she heard before she fell was voices, lots of distressed voiced and someone was calling her name.

 

“Leah? Leah, can you hear me?”

She opened eyes that felt like they had been filled with sand. As she blinked back tears, she could just make out a face leaning close to her, and there was a warm hand gripping hers.

“Hey there. You’re back.”

She blinked again and looked up at Al. Blessedly she woke in a bed. There was no balance beam- HVAC, no dark city, no bottomless abyss for her to fall into. The room around her was dim and cool, and unfamiliar. Her efforts to sit up, to get as from the dream world as possible, resulted in a bright flash of pain and a wave of nausea.

“Oh no you don’t, not just yet.” Al eased her back down onto the pillow. “You’ve got a concussion. You’re going to feel pretty rough for a while, so best lie back and rest.”

In spite of the buck and spin of the room, Leah refused to close her eyes, or to let go of Al’s hand. When she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up, or worse yet, find herself once again on the ledge of the high rise, she licked parched lips and found her voice. “A concussion? What happened, where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” came another voice.

“Dr. Clyde?”

The two men looked at each other then Dr. Clyde smiled down at her. Instead of his dapper suit, he was dressed in rumpled green scrubs. “I am indeed, though I don’t know how you knew that since you’ve been unconscious for our entire visit. I’m the ER physician in charge, and I was enjoying a rare quiet night until you showed up.”

“Then you’re not a psychiatrist?”

He chuckled softly. “Not so far as I know, though I did give it some thought back in med school,” he said. “The mind is so fascinating and complex.”

A bit too complex for her liking at the moment, she thought, then she asked, “What happened?”

“You were mugged,” Al replied, still holding onto her hand. “The guy was trying to take your bag, and you wouldn’t let him have it. You would have had the bastard sorted in spades if the strap on your bag hadn’t broke. You got the bag, but lost your footing, fell backward and hit your head on the curb.”

“If your professor here hadn’t shown up when he did,” Dr. Clyde interjected, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Al offered her a modest blush “The mugger was doubled over from pain you’d inflicted on his more delicate parts. I saw you go down. By the time I got to you, you were unresponsive. I call an ambulance and the police. Then I rode with you to the hospital.” He gave her hand a convulsive squeeze. “ I don’t mind saying I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“And the mugger?” She asked.

“Turns out the guy was wanted for breaking and entering and several other crimes. Anyway, he’s in jail, now,” Al replied.

“Next time,” Dr. Clyde shooed Al aside, then leaned in to check her pupils with a pin light, “let the thief have the bag. There can’t possibly be anything in it that’s worth your life.”

“Then I’m not dreaming this? The hospital and all, I mean.” She knew even as she spoke that she wasn’t. And she knew exactly why she had not given up her bag to the thief. It held her dream journal, and she wasn’t about to let the bastard take it from her. What it contained was too important to her. She’d kneed him hard in the balls and jerked back against the strap of the bag. That was the last thing she remembered. And yet, somehow remembering her mugging was way less traumatic than what she had just experienced in the dream world. Her attention was drawn back to the conversation between the two men.

“Leah is in my Psychology of Dreams class,” Al explained to the doctor. “One of my more conscientious students, in fact. Adult education,” he clarified.

“I see,” Clyde said. “You could well have dreaming while you were unconscious. There certainly did seem to be a lot of brain activity in the EEG, but you’re definitely not dreaming now, and I would imagine that enormous headache will convince you of that real soon.” He looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to go, but Dr. Diana will be in to check you in a little while. We’re keeping you in for observation. When someone gives us the kind of scare you did, it’s just standard procedure.”

“What kind of scare?” Leah asked.

Al grabbed her hand again and held on tight.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Leah, we can discuss this later.”

Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_b            “Now,” she said. “Tell me now because after the dreams I’ve had, I don’t want any more surprises.”

He studied her for a minute, as though he could tell by looking if she were ready for what he had to say. That did little to calm her racing pulse. At last he heaved a sigh. “You flat-lined twice in the ambulance and once when you arrived at the hospital. We thought we’d have to do emergency surgery, if you survived. I’d already called in Dr. Diana. She’s the surgeon on shift. And then, you miraculously stabilized, almost like nothing had ever happened – other than the huge goose egg at the base of your skull, that is. Brain activity seemed to indicate you were doing some serious dreaming, which was a bit unusual, but sometimes certain brain functions can be stimulated in strange ways. The point is,” he laid a hand against her forehead, “you’re fine now, and as soon as Dr. Diana gives you the all clear, you’re free to go.”

Dr. Clyde said his good-byes and they both watched as he left, then Al turned back to her, offering her an encouraging smile. But before he could say anything, she had to ask. “Did you know Dr. Clyde before?”

He shook his head. “Never met the man until you were mugged.”

“Dr. Diana?”

“Nope. Why?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just that they were in the dream I was having.”

“Not a good dream, I’d take it, from the way you were crying out just before you woke up.”

“Definitely not a good one.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked smoothing the hair away from her cheek.

She shook her head. “I’ll write about it in the journal, when I’m up to it. For now, I’m just happy it was only a dream. It was so real.”

They sat together in silence for a long moment, then he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Leah, how much do you remember of what happened?”

“I remember the mugging,” she said.

His smile slipped. “Then you don’t remember that you were waiting for me?”

The queasy feeling in her stomach brought on by the concussion was suddenly overruled by a free fall of butterflies as the memories came rushing back. “I was waiting because you had a meeting in your office with a student. We were going for lunch together. We’ve been doing that for several weeks now. I remember.”

“And you remember I told you we couldn’t be together properly until the class was finished, because –”

“Because you didn’t date your students, yes, I remember, and I remember the discussions we had about –”

“Our dream journals, yes.” He blushed hard, then settled one ass-cheek on the edge of the bed closer to her, “and our mutual attraction in the dream world.”

She eased herself into a sitting position, and this time she managed it without dizziness or nausea as the butterflies gave way to something a lot more intriguing in parts farther south than her belly. “I remember we were counting the days until we could actually …” It was her turn to blush. “Until we could actually be together.”

He massaged the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll admit our … courtship through the dream journals has been one of the hottest, and certainly the most unconventional, things that’s ever happened to me, but I’ll also admit, I’m anxious to do more than just write about it and talk about it.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her lips, and she responded with a dart of her tongue, just a tiny one, just enough to make him catch his breath and moan against her lips. “They’ve been seriously good dreams, Leah, but I want us to enjoy the waking world together now, so hurry up and get better so we can get you out of here. You’re beautiful when you dream.” His breath was warm and humid as he whispered against her ear, and it made her squirm beneath the blanket. He had written that comment multiple times in the margins of her journal next to particularly sexy dreams. “On my desk, at that campground up on Mount Hood, damn woman, even in Eddie’s Diner. When you get out of here, when the class is over, I want to stop masturbating in the shower to thoughts of your dream journal and see how many of those dreams we can make reality.” He kissed her again, this time his tongue joined the party, just as she remembered that the dream about him masturbating in the shower – that was his dream, and in it she not only saw him, but she joined him. As their kiss heated up the memories of the dreams they’d shared became muscle memory sizzling along her nerve endings and settling at the tips of her nipples and in the slickening swell at her core. They were the real dreams, not the ones that had been corrupted and distorted into nightmares from her injuries, but like they’d been when she woke up and frantically wrote them down the first time, when they had rendered her unable to do even that much until after she masturbated for relief. And she remembered reading Al’s dreams about her. God, she’d masturbated to thoughts of those dreams often enough. She recalled their first shared lunch together, hunched over a table in the back of Eddie’s Diner, speaking between barely parted lips, shocked that both their dreams had turned so erotic and so completely to what their unconscious minds would love to do to each other. Their breathless discussions in the secluded corner at Eddies had become a courtship, which had evolved into extended, filthy foreplay, intimations of what would come when the class ended and she was no longer his student. The waiting, the anticipation as they shared their dreams, had been the hottest sexual experience Leah had ever had.

Al all but pulled her up off the bed into his embrace, one hand cupping a bare ass cheek beneath her hospital f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6agown, and the lip lock was deep and thrusting with the promise of things to come. She was just beginning to wonder if they could get away with at least a little mutual masturbation before their privacy was interrupted. The answer was a definite no.

“Get a room you two, this is a hospital. I can’t have my patients getting overheated and having a relapse.”

To Leah’s surprise Al took his time and ended the kiss with a nip of her lower lip as he eased her carefully back onto the pillow and tucked the blanket around her. Then they both looked up to see a middle-aged woman smiling at them. Her dishwater blonde hair was swept back in a no-nonsense chignon and the nametag on her scrubs read Dr. Phyllis Diana.

“Oh don’t you worry, Dr. Diana,” Al said with a proprietary squeeze of Leah’s shoulder, “just as soon as you release this lovely woman, I thoroughly intend to get a room. And I intend to keep her there for, oh a week or two at least.”

The doctor offered a teasing chuckle. “Well, in that case, I think my patient has every incentive for a speedy recovery.”

As Dr. Diana checked her pulse and then her reactions and reflexes, Leah was very sure she would make a miraculously fast recovery, though she hoped Al would keep her in bed once she got out of the hospital. She was sure the man had healing techniques that had not yet been properly researched, and she was more than willing to be his guinea pig.

 

The End

 

Hardened: A New Release from Ashe Barker

 

 

hardenedI’m really excited about Hardened. I’ve written quite a few M/f stories, and they mostly tend to start out with the male hero in a position of power or influence. Hardened is different. When we meet Jared and Molly he is a prisoner serving time for armed robbery and she’s a prison officer. The chemistry between them is off the scale sexy though, and even though it spells trouble for them both, but especially for her, they can’t keep their hands off each other. For a while I’ve been thinking about a story that starts out a bit different and this is it.

 

Jared is a bad lad (don’t we all just love one of those?) but he’s bright too, and talented, and can see where he’s gone wrong. He’s made some bad choices when he was younger but he’s determined to forge a different life for himself, though it’s not always that simple. I suspect the same is true for most ex-offenders – it can be hard to completely walk away from your old associates and as Jared discovers, the past has a habit of never being that far behind you.

 

 

HARDENED Blurb:

Despite the fact that he is doing time for armed robbery, Molly MacBride is drawn to Jared North almost from the moment she sets eyes on him. Even behind bars his confidence and dominance are undeniable, and soon enough she is willingly baring her bottom and placing herself across his strong thighs, surrendering to both firm punishment and intense pleasure.

 

When all hell breaks loose during a prison riot, it is Jared who saves Molly’s life, but she is so shaken by the incident that she quits her job and does her best to put him out of her mind. As the years pass, however, Jared never relinquishes his place in her heart—or her fantasies—and when she learns that he has been released on parole Molly cannot resist seeking him out.

 

Through a combination of hard work and natural talent, Jared has forged a career for himself as a world-renowned photographer, yet in spite of his newfound sophistication and wealth he is no less dominant than he was when she first met him. It isn’t long before Molly finds herself submitting to both his stern discipline and his masterful lovemaking, but can she truly risk falling for a man whose criminal past could come back to haunt them both at any moment?

 

Publisher’s Note: Hardened is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

 

Read Chapter One for free!

 

HARDENED EXCERPT:

“Do you want more?” Christ, I hope so, but for her first time this has already been quite an introduction to the not-so-gentle art of kink.

 

“Yes. Please.”

 

Her voice is shaky but clear enough. I’m happy to continue if she is. I intend to push her to her limit or as close as I can get. She’ll leave here sore, a bit confused probably, but still craving more.

 

“I’d like to use my belt. Is that all right?”

 

“Oh, I’m not sure…”

 

“Yes, you are. Remember, I’ll stop whenever you tell me you’ve had enough.”

 

“Okay then, just for a bit…”

 

I don’t bother to correct that. In truth, I’ll be the one deciding how much she needs, unless she calls a full stop to the proceedings, but I think that’s unlikely. I’ve never had a subbie safeword on me yet. I ease her forward slightly so I can reach the buckle of my belt. I slide it from the loops of my jeans and fold it into a double thickness, clasping the buckle within my hand.

 

“Ten strokes with the belt, okay? You can count them if you like.”

 

Her response is a breathy squeak, and she grabs my ankle again. I pull back my arm and take the first swing.

 

Molly lets out a yelp and her entire body jerks. I watch as the darker crimson line of the belt blooms across her right buttock, pausing to allow her to process the sensation and to settle again. It takes several seconds, then when she becomes still I drop the next stroke across her left cheek.

 

Molly flinches, but there is no sound this time. Neither is she counting, at least not out loud. I wait for a few moments, then deliver two more strokes in quick succession. This does elicit a sharp cry, and I half expect her to ask me to stop. She’s shuddering, and her grip tightens on my leg, but as the seconds pass there are no words of defeat or surrender from her. I allow her ample time to call a halt if she wants to, then I repeat the two strokes.

 

Molly manages to stifle a squeal, for which I am grateful. I suspect we are both mindful of the men milling about just on the other side of the cell door and neither of us wants to attract attention. Had I had longer in which to plan this scene I would have certainly opted for a more secluded setting, but we are where we are. Next time, perhaps…

 

I apply two more strokes with my belt, gathering in intensity now. Molly is absorbing the pain well, riding it like a natural. She is tense, still rigid across my lap, but if anything, she has lifted her cute bottom up for me to spank. I can only guess at what else might be going on in her head, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s loving what I’m doing to her.

 

“These will be the last two. They’re going to be across the backs of your thighs and they’ll really hurt. If you think you might scream tell me now and I’ll find you a gag.”

 

“No, thank you. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

 

“Good girl.” I spend a few moments stroking her flaming buttocks, the heat radiating up into my palm. Molly makes a sound deep in her throat, which I swear sounds like a purr to me. I continue the sensual caress, pressing my hand into her punished skin to better drive home the experience, to draw out for her that heady mix of pain and pleasure that will set the endorphins coursing freely through her system. This is why I didn’t want to rush.

 

“Are you ready?” I murmur.

 

“Yes,” she replies, pressing her bottom into my hand.

 

I draw my palm lower, down over the curve to stroke the backs of her legs, the crease where her bottom meets her thighs. This is the sweet spot I am about to thrash. I rub her there as I lean to my right, just enough to get a decent view of her pussy lips peeking out from between her legs. She is swollen, glistening, the moisture betraying her arousal. I trail my thumb along the length of her slit, ready to withdraw at the slightest protest from her. She submitted to a spanking, no more, and I won’t push her.

 

Molly gasps, but doesn’t pull away from me. Encouraged but still cautious I angle my hand so I can push my thumb between her folds to reach her clit. She parts her legs and lifts her bottom up. I require no further urging. Her clit is plump, swollen with her arousal. I take it between my finger and thumb and squeeze, gentle at first then firming up the pressure.

 

Molly is squirming on my lap, wriggling and writhing as she seeks to direct the touch to her sensitive tip. I know just what she needs, and have no intention of allowing her to set the pace now. I trail my fingertips around her clit, then flick the end. I swipe it from side to side, then from the bottom to the top. She is panting, thrusting her hips back, wordlessly begging me for her release.

She is there, right at the top, hovering at the edge of the precipice. I tease her for several moments, bringing her almost to the point of no return, then allowing her to slide back down. Her breath has been transformed into soft, sobbing gulps and her thighs are spread wide. When I am convinced she can take no more, I lift my hand from her.

 

“Close your legs, Molly.” I issue the command and wait for her to comply. She’s reluctant, but gloriously obedient even so. I transfer my belt back into my right hand ready for the final two strokes.

 

I thrash her across both thighs.

 

“Aagh!” Despite her good intentions Molly lets out a scream. I expected this, but even so, she did promise me that she would be quiet.

 

“Molly, I can still gag you.”

 

“I’m sorry, Jared, truly. I won’t make a sound next time.” She sounds so contrite I can’t help but smile.

 

“Good. Make sure you don’t or I’ll add on more strokes to help you learn that I mean what I say.” I keep my tone cool and clipped and the words stern because that’s what she needs. Molly MacBride is a natural submissive and she craves my authority and rigid control right now.

 

I drop the final stroke across her thighs, just below the first. She spasms hard, her entire body convulsing as she fights to absorb the pain. She shudders, her muscles softening as she lets it seep through her and away.

 

Even before she has finished processing the sensation I slide my hand back between her legs and rub her engorged clit. Her orgasm is instant, racking her body as I squeeze and tug on her sensitive nub. Her shudders, violent at first, subside but she is still trembling as I lift her from my lap and cradle her in my arms. She reaches up and locks her arms around my neck, her face buried in the dark grey fabric of my prison-issue T shirt.

 

I pull her in close and hold her. She is sobbing, her tears dampening my clothes. I rub my palm between her shoulder blades and kiss her short, sleek hair. It smells of apples, and something else. Cinnamon perhaps?

 

“You’re okay, I have you.”

 

 

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About Ashe Barker:

USA Today Bestselling author Ashe Barker writes erotic romance and spanking romance in a variety of genres

including contemporary, BDSM, paranormal, historical. ménage, gay romance and time travel. She is a #1 Amazon Bestseller and all her stories feature hot alpha males and sassy submissives, often with a lot to learn. Kink abounds, and there’s enough dirty talk to satisfy the most demanding smut lover. However dark and dirty the setting, love always emerges triumphant, and her stories never fail to deliver a satisfying happy ever after.

 

Find Ashe Here:

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Review Quotes

Wow! I was really surprised by this book… the story is about Jared and his choices and the consequences of those choices. The writing is very good and the story absolutely kept me turning pages until I finished the book. This book really earned its’ 5 stars.

 

This was a good page turner as I was keen to see where their journey took them.

 
© 2018 K D Grace
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