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Sunday Blissemas Snog: A Valentine for Christmas

blissemas-snog-in-the-snow-bk-snogsinthesnow

 

I love a good kiss, don’t you? Well pucker up! It’s time for the Blissemas Snogs in the Snow! I’m posting a snog from A Valentine for Christmas — my novella from the fabulous Love Under the Mistletoe Anthology.

AND! While I’m not giving a Valentine for Christmas, I AM giving away a copy of winner’s choice from my back list, excluding box sets, of course. Just comment for a chance to win. And be sure to stop by the Blissemas page to see what other fabulous posts are up and maximise your chance to win a fully-loaded Kindle Voyage.

 

A Valentine for Christmas Blurb:

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

 

 

cariad-christmas-2014-collectionGet some Rest or Santa Won’t Come –Excerpt:

 

He made no apologies as he came in her mouth, even as she struggled to take him all in. He made no apologies for the tightening of his fist in her hair, for the fact that he had come so quickly and so hard, causing her to gag and swallow furiously several times before he collapsed back on the sofa, before she relaxed her mouth, released his well-worked cock, and rested her head in his lap, gasping for breath. For a time that could have been seconds, could have been hours, he leaned back against the sofa with his eyes closed, drifting. At some point the white-knuckled grip he’d had in her hair relaxed and opened and he began to stroke the cascading locks that were softer than silk, a repetitive motion that calmed him, took him away from himself as nothing had in a very long time. When he came back to the present, he could feel her warm, even breathing against his bare groin and, even though it couldn’t have been long, his cock was already responding to the thought of what this woman had just done to him, what she had allowed him to do to her, all against his better judgment. Okay, no matter what she said, she was still a prostitute – had to be. But she was a gift, a feisty, cheeky, sexy gift, who seemed to intuit exactly what he needed, and at least for now, she was all his. How pathetic was he that he grasped at such a gift, allowing himself refuge in something so contrived, something that was escapism and nothing else? Still, the long holiday weekend looming before him suddenly didn’t seem quite so endless.

When he leaned forward and kissed her head, she moaned softly and looked up at him. He managed to partially do up his fly against a package that was already reasserting its dominion, then he stood and lifted her once again. Since she couldn’t slip her arms around his neck, she buried her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her muscles tensing against him as he mounted the stairs, her weight strangely balancing his own. In his room, he lowered her onto the mattress of the big four-poster bed, then he untied her feet, carefully massaging the circulation back into her ankles and calves before he moved to do the same to her hands. All the while she moaned her pleasure and relief, eyelids fluttering, lips parted and swollen, a tantalizing reminder of what she could do with that delicious mouth. ‘That’s better,’ she sighed. ‘Oh God, that’s so much better. What the …?’ Her eyes burst open and she squirmed as he bound the ribbon back around her wrists and tied them above her head to the bed frame.

‘I like you bound,’ he said, pausing to drop a kiss on each of her heavy nipples when he finished. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the little moan that escaped her throat was not total disagreement. With the other ribbon, he tied one ankle to one post at the foot of the bed, then yanked off his loosened tie and secured the other to the opposite post so that this time her legs were wide open and she was helplessly exposed and yielded for his explorations. Surveying his efforts, he then took a fluffy white pillow and eased it beneath her bottom, forcing her hips forward so that she opened like ripe fruit in a display case, succulent and swollen, offered up just for him.

For a moment, he knelt between her legs, not touching, just looking and admiring the pouting, feminine landscape glistening with her arousal. When she wriggled slightly and whimpered, he looked up into

her bright eyes shaded with thick lashes, dilated pupils holding his gaze with anxious curiosity. ‘Most Christmas gifts come with operating directions. Since you didn’t, well,’ he slid a hand up the inside of her thigh until his thumb slightly grazed the pebbled hardness just below her pubic curls and she sucked a tight breath and bucked against his touch, ‘I’ll just have to experiment, won’t I?’ With that, he slipped two fingers between her soft folds and her whole body quivered as he opened her, his eyes locked on her slick mother of pearl pout, heavy and swollen.

‘Do you remember when you were a child and you got gifts for Christmas or your birthday, and you just had to figure out how they worked, what made them do the amazing things they did?’ He ran the edge of his thumb over her hardness and she shivered and clenched at his fingers.

‘I remember, yes!’ she gasped, and ground her bottom against the pillow.

‘I’ve always wanted to know what it looks like when a woman comes. I mean what it looks like up close and personal blissemas2016-buttondown where everything’s swollen and slick and ready to burst.’ He withdrew his fingers, now slippery with her lust, and eased them upward around her folds, splaying, tweaking, stroking. ‘I’m guessing sucking my cock like you did turned you on some because you’re clearly aroused.’ He lifted his wet fingers into her field of vision to demonstrate, and then still watching those china blue eyes, he flicked his tongue out, licking the taste of her, feeling his cock surge in response, hearing her soft, kitten-like mew. ‘Do you know,’ he said, fingering her open again, ‘you’re the colour of ripe cherries when you’re aroused?’ He slid two fingers back up inside her and she bit her lip and shivered. ‘And you feel, my God, you feel like wet, warm silk tightening around me each time I stroke you.’ He demonstrated by

pushing into her knuckle deep and scissoring his fingers. She arched her back and lifted her hips to match his movement. ‘I’m torturing myself imagining what that tight, wet grip will feel like when I fuck you. And from the feel of you,’ he raked her clitoris and she whimpered, ‘I’d say the torture is mutual. In fact, I’d imagine you really do need to come after taking me in your mouth like you did.’

Without warning, he leaned in and ran his tongue up from where his fingers splayed her all the way to her clit, her tidal pool scent rich and intoxicating. With a deep inhale of her need, he clamped down on her clitoris, licked it, drew his lips tight around it and then bit, pulling back just as she yelped and bucked and all but hyperventilated when she came. ‘Ah, exquisite,’ he breathed. ‘Your orgasm is like tiny little earthquakes making that whole ripe fruit girly landscape of yours tremble and clench, so tight, oh so tight. Have you ever watched yourself come?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Her words were clipped, distracted as she rode the last of her orgasm, bucking against the thrust and press of his fingers, first two and then three.

lipssugar-lips-kisses-hd-desktop-wallpaper-widescreen-backgrounds-for-mobile-tablet-and-pc-free-images-download‘A pity,’ he said. ‘You really should. I can’t tell you how sexy you are when you come, especially when you’re desperate for a good release, after you’ve felt the extent of my lust.’

Still stroking he arched above her, stretching to reach for the drawer of the nightstand where he kept the condoms he very rarely needed. ‘In all honesty,’ he withdrew his hand and she groaned her frustration watching with anxious eyes as he undid his trousers and released his cock into the condom, ‘I doubt that you can even imagine the extent of my lust.’ With that, he shoved into her hard, and she growled out loud like a wild animal in the hunt, her grip on his cock nearly sending him over before he was ready.

As he shifted his hips to deepen his position, he ran his hands up over her breasts then settled his weight on his elbows, and she spoke with a hiss of breath. ‘Oh, I think I can imagine the extent of your lust just fine.’ With that her grip tightened again, and he began to thrust.

It was the frustration of needing to feel more of her against him that caused him to withdraw long enough to untie her

legs before he sank back into her tight slick depths. With a groan that felt like it came from the very core of her, she wrapped herself around him and gripped him even tighter. Her breath was fast and furious, the purr of pleasure became a growl of desperation as she matched him thrust for thrust, tight and swollen and slippery.

He took her mouth, tasting the residue of his own lust still lingering there on her tongue, and that drove him until the weight of his need was practically unbearable. ‘You’re my gift,’ he spoke between lavings of his tongue as it danced with hers. ‘So come for me. Come for me now. I want to feel you when you come.’

More than likely it wasn’t so much his command as it was her own overwhelming need, but the cry that erupted from her throat as she clenched and convulsed was raw and guttural and he matched it, unable to hold out any longer in the grip of her release, stunned that he could come again so hard so soon.

As he fumbled to untie her arms to wind them around his neck, she giggled softly in his ear. ‘I guess you’re convinced mistletoethen that I’m not hiding a gun.’

He shoved the duvet back and pulled her under it with him. ‘What’s your name?’ he whispered in her ear. ‘My gift surely has to have a name.’

For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer him, then she sighed softly and wriggled down close to him. ‘Moira. My name’s Moira.’

‘Moira,’ he whispered, kissing the pulse in her neck. ‘Get some rest, Moira, or Santa won’t come.’

She offered a throaty giggle. ‘I think he already did. Twice.’

 

 

Find Love Under the Mistletoe Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA

 

Blissemas Snogs in the Snow: Sexy Kisses and Naughty Fun Under the Mistletoe

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It’s time for Blissemas Snogs in the Snow, and here’s a bit of Christmas in the City from my novella, A Valentine for Christmas, which is a part of the Chariad Love Under the Mistletoe Collection. I’m offering a little snog of my own, a bit of a stocking stuffer (you see what I did there) Comment to enter, and I’ll send an eBook copy of any novel on my back list to the winner — from K D’s novels or Grace Marshall’s. Your choice. You can check out my Book Page to see what tickles your fancy. I promise, your stocking will be well stuffed!

AND! Don’t forget to check out the great stories, posts and giveaways, on Blissemas every day through the 24th of December. You won’t want to miss out on anything!

Happy Blissemas!

 

A Valentine for Christmas Blurb:

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

 

A Valentine for Christmas Excerpt:

It was late when Gerard got home – even later than he’d anticipated, but that was fine for him. Being tired enough to sleep for a week made facing the next few days a lot easier. He shoved out of his jacket and slung it over the ladder-back chair by the door, then loosened his tie, somehow not finding the strength to actually remove it completely. Ignoring the evergreen bunting strung across the balcony above the stairs, he made his way into his study. From the credenza across from his desk, he poured himself a neat whiskey then dropped into the Cordovan leather chair beside the fireplace. He tossed back the shot, then closed his eyes. He only intended to rest them for a few minutes before he went to the kitchen where he knew Olga had left food prepared for him. He’d specifically overseen the menu this time to make certain not a slice of turkey nor a smidge of cranberry sauce darkened the fridge. It was bad enough his apartment was decked out like Rockefeller Center, but at least he could dictate his own meals.

Yes, he had only planned to close his eyes for a minute, but it was a scuffling sound and a soft moan that startled him from sleep and from dreams of falling into deep, icy water. He opened his eyes and looked around. In the silence he could hear heavy breathing. There was another moan. He exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Carefully, cautiously, he leaned forward in the chair, wrapped his fingers around the poker in front of the fireplace, and pulled it free from its stand. Holding his breath, he came slowly to his feet.

There was more scuffling and a sharp, low grunt. It sounded as though it were coming from behind the Christmas tree. Fucking tree was a health hazard, a fire hazard, and Twyla never stopped to think that it was perfect for a thief to hide behind, though how the hell anyone could have gotten past his security was beyond him. He tightened his grip on the poker and raised it like a baseball bat. Bracing himself, he took a step forward, but the next moan he heard was decidedly feminine and it was definitely coming from under the tree! With a quick movement, he reached for the lamp near the chair and switched it on, and the moan became a little yelp of surprise.

Cariad Christmas 2014 Collection‘What the …’ Words died in his mouth as he lowered his arm and dropped the poker against the chair. He blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Surely he still had to be dreaming. Thought this dream beat the hell out of the usual drowning dream. There was another moan and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it came from the woman lying on her side under the tree. She was completely naked except for the red velvet ribbons that seductively bound her wrists and her ankles. The only other thing she wore was a sprig of mistletoe pinned in the muss of thick, dark hair that fell over her shoulders, partially obscuring breasts that were obviously full enough to balance the rest of her figure that curved dangerously in all the right places. Even in that confused post-wake-up state, Gerard’s cock got the picture just fine. But what the hell was a naked woman doing tied up beneath his Christmas tree?

Before he could ask, the woman moaned again – louder this time – and doubled over as though she were in pain.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked, dropping to his knees, forgetting the fact that this chick had invaded his privacy.

‘Oh, God!’ she gasped. ‘It’s my leg. I have a cramp. In my left hip and it’s making my butt numb.’ She bit back a curse that he was pretty sure would have curled his hair if she’d let it fly. But he figured perhaps she was on her best behavior – red ribbons, mistletoe, and all.

It was then that both he and his cock remembered, at exactly the same time, that she was tied up. He was in complete control. He settled on his haunches and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.

She moaned again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which made her breasts bounce and her hair slide away to reveal nipples, darkened and stiff atop goose-fleshed areolae. ‘I’m your Christmas present.’

He blinked. ‘My what?’

‘Christmas present? You know, happy holidays, noel, peace on earth … ouch! Oh hell, that hurts.’ She hissed between barely parted lips and writhed in a way that should have made him sympathetic, but only made him hornier. ‘Could you please untie me so I can take care of this cramp?’

‘My Christmas present?’
‘Yup. Ouch! Ow! Please!’
‘From whom?’ Oh fuck, the more she shifted and

shimmied, the more her breasts bounced. They were exquisite, and the more they bounced, the more of his brain function rerouted itself to his cock.

‘I don’t know,’ she bit back. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘But how do I know you’re for real?’ Surely Terrill and Twyla wouldn’t be so cheeky. Would they? He quickly added, ‘How do I know that the minute I untie you, you won’t try shoot me and rob me?’

She gave him a sour look. ‘Seriously? Where would I put a gun?’

His eyes followed down the curves of her body to the

juncture between her legs with its tight nest of dark curls.

Whatever it was she was about to say, she swallowed it and offered a forced smile that was not quite coquettish, and all the sexier for it. ‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’ She nodded down over her belly. ‘Just please untie me so I can work out this damned cramp.’

He studied her for a long moment while she writhed and bit a full bottom lip he found himself wanting to taste. ‘It was pretty ballsy of someone, anyone really, to send me a prostitute as a Christmas present.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t need to buy sex, you know?’

‘I’m not a prostitute and you’re not buying me.’ She sucked back a sharp breath. ‘I’m a gift. Pleeeeese,’ she begged, ‘untie me.’

‘I don’t need a gift. I didn’t ask for a gift.’

‘Of course you didn’t ask. That’s why they call it a gift.’ She practically bounced off the floor as another wave of pain hit.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to see a woman in pain either.’ He heaved a hard-put-upon sigh and leaned forward, pulling her into his arms. She yelped as he scrambled to his feet and moved to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. But instead of laying her down on it, he sat and turned her over his knee. What the hell was he doing? He should untie her, toss her in a taxi, and send her on her way.

‘You’re gonna spank me?’ Her voice came out high pitched and breathy. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘Might do, if you give me any grief,’ he said, realizing too late that draped across his lap as she was, she could definitely feel his erection. Well she was naked, wasn’t she? And he was a healthy male. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting to make him hard. ‘So tell me now,’ he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he did in

the boardroom in spite of the message his body was giving, ‘where does it hurt?’

‘My left hip, part of my butt cheek, and my upper thigh, where I was lying against the floor.’ Before he could respond, she wriggled her exquisite bottom and his cock surged beneath her. He swallowed back a tight moan. If she really were a Christmas gift, even he had to admit, she was the best he could ever remember getting.

‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ She interrupted his silent admiration with a squirm and a curse, her bottom shimmying and thrusting her hips close to his very intrigued erection. ‘Do something! It hurts!’

Awkwardly, not knowing where to touch first, he began by massaging handfuls of well-muscled, perfectly rounded female hip; the feel nearly took his breath away.

‘Oh God! Oh God! Ow! Ow! Oh God! A little more on my butt,’ then she glanced over her shoulder when he stopped massaging. ‘Look, either untie me and let me take care of it myself or massage. It hurts!’

‘You’re pretty bossy for a sub,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should spank you.’

‘I don’t care if you spank me, but just take care of the cramp first. Besides, who said I was a sub?’

‘Well, aren’t you? You were all tied up.’

She jerked and nearly bucked off his lap. ‘Look I’ll be a sub, I’ll be a Dom, I’ll bark like a dog if you want bk-snogsinthesnow-buttonme to, just please massage already!’

It didn’t take many kneading handfuls of pliant bottom and thigh before he realized his mistake. The more he massaged, the more she squirmed and moaned across his lap and the harder it became for him to ignore his growing need – especially not with her running commentary.

‘Oh God! Oh God, yes! That feels so good. Ah! Ooooh! Yessss!’

He was just about to relent and untie her in order to

preserve what remained of his dignity when she stopped moving, causing his hands to still on her bottom. Then she dragged in a shaky breath and gave a little wiggle. ‘Do you want me to take care of you?’

He was about to lie to her and tell her he was just fine, when she gave a hard shrug and fell off his lap. With a little grunt on impact, she maneuvered herself with way more grace than he could have imagined under the circumstances until she knelt in front of him, looking up at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Her breasts rose and fell as each humid breath bathed his lap in heat. She gave the slightest inclination of her head toward his crotch, and he was lost. The woman knelt at his feet, red velvet ribbons binding her ankles and her hands behind her back, in the perfect position of submission. With another nod of her head, a lock of shimmering chestnut hair fell over one eye from where it had been pinned beneath the sprig of mistletoe, and she sighed softly as he gave in and fumbled with his fly.
He was awkward, like a fucking teenager, as he maneuvered himself free, but this time her moan was not one of pain, and his own moan, as she took the length of him into her mouth, was a close twin. He rested an uncertain hand on her head, and she made a hungry sound deep in her chest as he pulled her further onto him. Yes, perhaps she was a gift, bound as she was, with only her mouth free for him to use as he saw fit. She was a vessel for his lust, a lust that was breathtakingly heavy after being sublimated so long. She was a vessel, breasts heaving, lips pursed, muscles straining, holding herself still, allowing him to use her. He fisted his hands in her hair and thrust up off the sofa, grinding and shifting into the tight grip of her mouth, controlling her, moving her forward and back, forward and back against the thick of him. Yes she was a vessel for his lust, and she was his. All his.

He made no apologies as he came in her mouth, even as she struggled to take him all in. He made no apologies for the tightening of his fist in her hair, for the fact that he had come so quickly and so hard, causing her to gag and swallow furiously several times before he collapsed back on the sofa, before she relaxed her mouth, released his well-worked cock, and rested her head in his lap, gasping for breath. For a time that could have been seconds, could have been hours, he leaned back against the sofa with his eyes closed, drifting. At some point the white-knuckled grip he’d had in her hair relaxed and opened and he began to stroke the cascading locks that were softer than silk, a repetitive motion that calmed him, took him away from himself as nothing had in a very long time. When he came back to the present, he could feel her warm, even breathing against his bare groin and, even though it couldn’t have been long, his cock was already responding to the thought of what this woman had just done to him, what she had allowed him to do to her, all against his better judgment. Okay, no matter what she said, she was still a prostitute – had to be. But she was a gift, a feisty, cheeky, sexy gift, who seemed to intuit exactly what he needed, and at least for now, she was all his. How pathetic was he that he grasped at such a gift, allowing himself refuge in something so contrived, something that was escapism and nothing else? Still, the long Mistletoeholiday weekend looming before him suddenly didn’t seem quite so endless.

When he leaned forward and kissed her head, she moaned softly and looked up at him. He managed to partially do up his fly against a package that was already reasserting its dominion, then he stood and lifted her once again. Since she couldn’t slip her arms around his neck, she buried her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her muscles tensing against him as he mounted the stairs, her weight strangely balancing his own. In his room, he lowered her onto the mattress of the big four-poster bed, then he untied her feet, carefully massaging the circulation back into her ankles and calves before he moved to do the same to her hands. All the while she moaned her pleasure and relief, eyelids fluttering, lips parted and swollen, a tantalizing reminder of what she could do with that delicious mouth. ‘That’s better,’ she sighed. ‘Oh God, that’s so much better. What the …?’ Her eyes burst open and she squirmed as he bound the ribbon back around her wrists and tied them above her head to the bed frame.

‘I like you bound,’ he said, pausing to drop a kiss on each of her heavy nipples when he finished.

 

Buy Love Under the Mistletoe Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA

 

 

Celebrating Blissemas with The Best Gift

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Note: By commenting on this post you get 1 entry into the Blissemas  grand prize for a Kindle Paperwhite stuffed with smut. For a list of rules and other Blissemas blogs please check http://blissemas.co.uk .

*****

Wow! I can’t believe it’s time for Blissemas already! This year has gone so fast. For me, Blissemas is always one of the best parts of December, and December has a lot of really great parts! I’ve decided that for Blissemas this year, I’m going to share with you, hands down, what is for me, the very best part of the season, my best gift ever.

blissemas-btn10I specifically asked Victoria and Kev if I could do my Blissemas post on the 15th of December because, for me, Christmas comes early every year. The big celebration at our house takes place on the 15th of December, because it’s the day I got Raymond. Most of you know we’re not very traditional. We met, fell in love and married in the former Yugoslavia. Raymond was project manager on a project for a refinery in Bosnia, and every weekend, he drove the three hours to see me in Zagreb, Croatia. We were good friends for over a year, laughing together, cooking together, having long conversations over coffee. Then one day we realized that we were more than just friends, and we decided we wanted to get married before Raymond’s company sent him elsewhere to work. Once the decision was made, the best date ended up being right before Christmas, on the 15th. We delayed our honeymoon because Raymond was short-handed and he needed to stay close. That came later – in January.

What I remember most about our first Christmas together was that I was still a bride, and we were still celebrating our wedding. Somehow that seemed to be the most important part of the holiday, the two of us together. We bought a small tree and hung it with foil-wrapped chocolate decorations we’d found at the open market. We knew we wouldn’t have room in our luggage for decorations when it came time for us to leave and go on the road, so we simply ate them.

The flat we were living in didn’t really get any heat until late morning. In fact it never really got very warm. We made cornbread dressing for our Christmas dinner, and to keep warm we sat on the rug in front of the oven. Later we laughed that for entertainment, we watched the cornbread rise.

For Christmas dinner, we shared turkey we’d bought at the local market with Raymond’s colleagues from the refinery. Later in our flat, we wished our elderly landlord and his wife Sretan Bozic, then we cracked open one of the bottles of wedding champagne and sat on the floor in front of the oven where it was warm. We didn’t exchange Christmas gifts because we both got exactly what we wanted on the 15th of December. We’ve never really been big on giving gifts to each other. Maybe it’s because Christmas always comes early for us, and every year over and over again, we keep on getting exactly what we want, and so much more than we’d hoped for.

The excerpt I’m sharing with you today is from Cariad’s Love Under the Mistletoe collection. It’s from my novella, A Valentine for Christmas. Though it wasn’t my plan when I wrote the story or chose the title, it is pretty fitting, since on the 15th of December, a long time ago, in Zagreb Croatia, I did get my Valentine for Christmas.

 

And now, I’d like to celebrate the day with the gift of a Pet. With Blissemas, there’s always a whole lot of fantastic giveaways going on, and this time is no different, but if you’d like to comment and tell me what was the best gift you ever received, I’ll be giving away a copy of my novel, The Pet Shop, to the winning commenter.

Please remember: By commenting on this post you get 1 entry into the Blissemas  grand prize for a Kindle Paperwhite stuffed with smut. For a list of rules and other Blissemas blogs please check http://blissemas.co.uk .

The season of Blissemas starts on the Ist December and will finish on the 21st December. Every day of Blissemas a different author will post up gems of delight in the guise of festive stories, excerpts, recipes, hints and tips and more.

The Grand prize this year is a Kindle Paperwhite fully loaded with Smut with other hot and sexy random spot prizes EVERY DAY. So check back to the Blissemas site regularly and comment, share, like and tweet to win.

 

A Valentine for Christmas:

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

Excerpt from A Valentine for Christmas:

blissemas-btn6It was late when Gerard got home – even later than he’d anticipated, but that was fine. Being tired enough to sleep for a week made facing the next few days a lot easier. He shoved out of his jacket and slung it over the ladder-back chair by the door, then loosened his tie, somehow not finding the strength to actually remove it completely. Ignoring the evergreen bunting strung across the balcony above the stairs, he made his way into his study. From the credenza across from his desk, he poured himself a whiskey, neat, then dropped into the Cordovan leather chair beside the fireplace. He tossed back the shot, then closed his eyes. He only intended to rest them for a few minutes before he went to the kitchen where he knew Olga had left food prepared for him. He’d specifically overseen the menu this time to make certain not a slice of turkey nor a smidge of cranberry sauce darkened the fridge. It was bad enough his apartment was decked out like Rockefeller Center, but at least he could dictate his own meals.

Yes, he had only planned to close his eyes for a minute, but it was a scuffling sound and a soft moan that startled him from sleep and from dreams of falling into deep, icy water. He opened his eyes and looked around. In the silence he could hear heavy breathing. There was another moan. He exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Carefully, cautiously, he leaned forward in the chair, wrapped his fingers around the poker in front of the fireplace and pulled it free from its stand. Holding his breath, he came slowly to his feet.

There was more scuffling and a sharp, low grunt. It sounded as though it were coming from behind the Christmas tree. Fucking tree was a health hazard, a fire hazard, and Twyla never stopped to think that it was perfect for a thief to hide behind, though how the hell anyone could have gotten past his security was beyond him. He tightened his grip on the poker and raised it like a baseball bat. Bracing himself, he took a step forward, but the next moan he heard was decidedly feminine and it was coming from under the tree! With a quick movement, he reached for the lamp near the chair and switched it on, and the moan became a little yelp of surprise

‘What the …’ Words died in his mouth as he lowered his arm and dropped the poker against the chair. He blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Surely he still had to be dreaming. Thought this dream beat the hell out of the usual drowning dream. There was another moan and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it came from the woman lying on her side under the tree. She was completely naked except for the red velvet ribbons that seductively bound her wrists and her ankles. The only other thing she wore was a sprig of mistletoe pinned in the muss of thick dark hair that fell over her shoulders partially obscuring breasts that were obviously full enough to balance the rest of a figure that curved dangerously in all the right places. Even in that confused post-wake-up state, Gerard’s cock got the picture just fine, thank you! But what the hell was a naked woman doing tied up beneath his Christmas tree?

Before he could ask, the woman moaned again – louder this time – and doubled over as though she were in pain

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ He asked, dropping to his knees, forgetting the fact that this chick had invaded his privacy

Rockefeller Center at Christmas‘Oh, God!’ She gasped. ‘It’s my leg. I have a cramp. In my left hip and it’s making my butt numb.’ She bit back a curse that he was pretty sure would have curled his hair if she’d let it fly. But he figured perhaps she was on her best behavior – red ribbons, mistletoe and all.

It was then that both he and his cock remembered, at exactly the same time, that she was tied up. He was in complete control. He settled on his haunches and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He asked

She moaned again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which made her breasts bounce and her hair slide away to reveal nipples darkened and stiff atop goose-fleshed areolae. ‘I’m your Christmas present.’

He blinked. ‘My what?’

‘Christmas present? You know, happy holidays, noel, peace on earth … ouch! Oh hell that hurts.’ She hissed between barely parted lips and writhed in a way that should have made him sympathetic, but only made him hornier. ‘Could you please untie me so I can take care of this cramp.

‘My Christmas present?’

‘Yup. Ouch! Ow! Please!’

‘From whom?’ Oh fuck, the more she shifted and shimmied, the more her breasts bounced and they were exquisite, and the more they bounced, the more of his brain function rerouted itself to his cock.

‘I don’t know,’ she bit back. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘But how do I know you’re for real?’ Surely Terrill and Twyla wouldn’t be so cheeky. Would they? He added quickly, ‘How do I know that the minute I untie you, you won’t try shoot me and rob me?’

She gave him a sour look. ‘Seriously? Where would I put a gun?’

His eyes followed down the curves of her body to the juncture between her legs with its tight nest of dark curls

Whatever it was she was about to say, she swallowed it and offered a forced smile that was not quite coquettish, and all the sexier for it. ‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’ She nodded down over he belly. ‘Just please untie me so I can work out this damned cramp.’

He studied her for a long moment while she writhed and bit a full bottom lip he found himself wanting to taste. ‘It was pretty ballsy of someone, anyone really, to send me a prostitute as a Christmas present.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t need to buy sex, you know?’

‘I’m not a prostitute and you’re not buying me.’ She sucked back a sharp breath. ‘I’m a gift. Pleeeeese,’ she begged, ‘Untie me.’

I don’t need a gift. I didn’t ask for a gift.’

‘Of course you didn’t ask. That’s why they call it a gift.’ She practically bounced off the floor as another wave of pain hit.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to see a woman in pain either.’ He heaved a hard-put-upon sigh and leaned forward, pulling her into blissemas-btn1his arms. She yelped as he scrambled to his feet and moved to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. But instead of laying her down on it, he sat and turned her over his knee. What the hell was he doing? He should untie her, toss her in a taxi and send her on her way.

‘You’re gonna spank me?’ her voice came out high pitched and breathy. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘Might do, if you give me any grief,’ he said, realizing too late that draped across his lap as she was, she could definitely feel his erection. Well she was naked, wasn’t she? And he was a healthy male. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting to make him hard. ‘So tell me now,’ he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he did in the boardroom in spite of the message his body was giving, ‘where does it hurt?’

Buy Links: 

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Please remember: By commenting on this post you get 1 entry into the Blissemas  grand prize for a Kindle Paperwhite stuffed with smut. For a list of rules and other Blissemas blogs please check http://blissemas.co.uk .

 

More than a Kiss in a Cold Canyon! Blissemas Sunday Snog!

Blissemas 2013indexTime to pucker up! It’s Blissemas Kissmas, and who isn’t up for an icy bracing winter snog to warm more than the cockles of your heart? Sex al fresco in the cold is fast and furious and no matter how cold it is outside, hotter than hot! Today I’m sharing a kiss with you between Stacie Emerson and Harris Walker, the heroine and hero of The Exhibition, book three of Grace Marshall’s Executive Decisions trilogy. After a hard hike up a dry canyon in the High Desert of Central Oregon, or couple is rewarded with views of a pair of mountain lions mating. Something very rarely seen by humans. The experience leads to an estonishing confession by Stacie and cold-hot sex al fresco.

To celebrate winter kisses I’m giving away a free copy of Gracefully Aroused, the Best of K D Grace. All you have to do is leave a comment for a chance to win. And don’t forget to check out all the other hot winter snogs on Blissemas Kissmas!

Also while your in the festive spirit, don’t forget to check out all the Blissemas fun. More chances to pick fabulous prizes and check out fabulous blogs with amazing posts. Not to be missed!

The Exhibition Blurb:

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

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TE new coverExcerpt from The Exhibition:

Harris didn’t know what to say. There were not words for what he felt, for what Stacie had been through or for what he wanted to do to Jamison. For a long time he said nothing, only sat next to her looking out over the dry canyon as though somehow by avoiding her gaze he could give her a little space, a little privacy for her vulnerabilities, for how she had lain herself bare before him. It was only when he realized she was shivering that he settled closer and pulled her to him.

At last he gathered his thoughts from the maelstrom enough to speak. ‘Why did you go back to him? I mean this time?’

She pulled away and chafed her arms. ‘I told you I was desperate.’

‘You don’t really expect me or anyone else to believe that do you?’

‘It doesn’t matter what you believe.’ Her reply was cool, distant. ‘What matters is that I’ll pay my debts. I promise that I will. Then all of this’ll be over with.’ She stood to put her pack back on, and he came to his feet and caught her by the shoulder, not wanting it to end like this, not wanting her to leave until they were good again. When she tried to push him away, he pressed her between his body and the stone of the cliff face. ‘You can’t just shut us all out, Stacie.’

‘I never wanted you involved in the first place. I never wanted any of you involved but you couldn’t leave it alone,’ she jerked back against him but there was no place to go. ‘You couldn’t just let it go.’

He moved in closer until his body pressed up against hers, holding her tightly against the stone. ‘No, I couldn’t, and I can’t and neither can anyone else who cares about you and neither would you if the situation were reversed. So whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay. We’ve already discussed this, so get used to it.’ He punctuated his point with a harsh kiss that couldn’t have been very pleasant for her, but then he was angry, worried, scared for her. Instead of shoving at him as he’d expected her to do, she curled a hard fist in his hair and ravaged his mouth with every bit as much ferocity as he had given her, pulling him still closer, rubbing her body against his, making him instantly and startlingly erect.

She snaked a hand down between them and savaged his fly until he feared for what lay beneath, until her fingers wriggled and dug their way into his walking trousers to possess his cock with a tight grip as though it were a weapon, one she were about to use to do serious damage.

He fumbled to return the favour, with her ripping at her own fly to make room for him, to guide his fingers down over her mons. Her eyes locked his in a devastating gaze that felt as though she could see right through him. ‘I need you to touch me there.’ Her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘Where I’m wet, where I’m open, where I’m always, always hungry for you.’ Her breath caught; her eyelids fluttered and she sucked her bottom lip as he found her cleft, wet and open as she’d promised. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t want to be like those cats.’ She guided his hand still further and manipulated it until first two, then three fingers pressed up into her. ‘You can’t tell me that when I present myself to you all hot and ready and begging for it, you don’t want to service my need. You can’t tell me you don’t want to get a little primal with that cock of yours.’ She gave him a hard squeeze and drove her hand up and down his length, thumbing the already abundant pre-cum over and around the tip until he gritted his teeth and held his breath while his hips bucked hard against her efforts.

He scissored her deep with three fingers and raked the silky slickness of her up and over her clitoris, and the sounds from the back of her throat easily resembled the sounds the female cougar made when the male mounted her. They wildly, madly fucked each other’s hands. The wind had risen and even on the clear morning, the chill left no doubt about lingering for more than the quickest of releases. Then she shifted, pressed her back hard against the stone and rested both of her hands on his shoulders. Before he could protest the removal of her fingers from his cock, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her still clothed crotch rubbing tight and insanely hot against his exposed cock as she began to rock and gyrate, and it was all happening way too fast.

‘Stacie I –’

‘Shut up, Harris,’ she spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I need to come, and so do you. You can fuck me properly when we get back to the SUV. It’s too damn cold to linger.’ With each sentence she ground against him, baring down with the extra leverage the cliff at her back afforded and, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she convulsed. Her spine stiffened and her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. Harris could stand no more. He felt the eruption deep in his groin. It might have been embarrassing had the circumstances been different, but as he tried to cover himself, tried to hide the results of Stacie’s hard ride, she shoved his hand away, pushed him back and practically fell into the space between them positioning herself so that she caught his release, all of it in her mouth. What could he say to that? What could he do but hold her there, helplessly grunting the weight of his need into the back of her throat. It was an act as intimate and as primal as the cougars mating on the rocks minutes ago. And sex, any kind of sex, with Stacie Emerson was worlds apart from any other sexual experiences he’d ever had. As she stood and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the look of hunger in her eyes, the promise of more sex to come in the SUV before the trip home couldn’t help but lighten the mood. As they straightened and tucked and donned their packs, he wondered if that was maybe why she did it. Whatever her reason, it definitely worked for him in ways he was still trying to get his head around.

The walk back to the SUV was at speed. They had seen the mountain lions and the wind had risen to a howl bringing with it fast moving nimbus clouds that, this time of year, could easily enough drop their load on the Cascades in the form of snow.

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Best of KDG final cover imageRemember! Leave a comment for the chance to win a copy of Gracefully Aroused: The Best of K D Grace.

Gracefully Aroused: The Best of K D Grace:

From a love spell that doesn’t quite go to plan to a farmhand who needs a little discipline; from a woman who is addicted to the confessional to a personal trainer with a very unorthodox method of guaranteeing his clients they’ll look fab come bikini season, K D Grace will tell you a naughty story with a twist. Before there was Ms Holly and The Pet Shop, before there were sexy ghosts, before Grace Marshall upped the romance ante, K D Grace was into quickies, and here’s a selection of her naughtiest.

 

 

Savouring the Sweetness

It’s Blissemas time again! Time for fun, frolick and prizes. 

Blissemas 2013indexOne of the very best things about Blissemas every year is sharing our treasured memories of the season, and sometimes those memories are bittersweet. For me that’s the case this year, and yet as I reflect on such a treasured part of my life, the sweet far outweighs the bitter.

This will be my first Christmas without Barbara. Some of you may recall that this spring I lost my dear friend, who died at the young age of 93. Barbara taught me more about life and joy and finding happiness in less than ideal situations than anyone I know. Barbara was my go-to person for gardening. Barbara was the person I always ran to to share my latest ‘cool bird’ spotting. Barbara was the one who could appreciate a little brown beetle as much as she could appreciate a lovely singing robin. And most of all, Barbara was the one who taught me to appreciate the moment and embrace what you have now, not what you had or what you hope to have.

Barbara was in ill health when I first met her after Raymond and I moved to England the first time. It was a good day when she could actually get out in the garden and enjoy the sunshine and instruct me on what little pruning and weeding I could do for her, and yet, she never complained. She always found the good in the moment.

It’s my first Christmas without Barbara and without the traditions we shared. Every Christmas evening for the past eight years Raymond and I have bundled up and walked in the brisk evening air over to share a Christmas drink and Christmas good wishes with Barbara. We never arrived  but what we found her half-buried in the avalanche of little gifts and yummy treats from friends who had stopped by to wish her a happy Christmas. Barbara had lots of friends. Her walls were always nearly hidden in the bright glitter of dozens and dozens of Christmas cards and her tiny tree with its fiber optic lights sparkled merrily on the table in front of the window that overlooked the park, the table on which we always shared coffee and Danish while we watched the birds and speculated at the goings on of people with their dogs and kids in the park.

For Christmas, I usually brought Barbara a bird calendar of some sort because of our shared love of birds. She was particularly fond of owls. But the thing Barbara looked forward to the most, and the thing I looked most forward to sharing with her, the thing I only ever made for Christmas and for her birthday was the snickerdoodles.  I’m not much of a foodie, and I’m not interested in anything I can’t make quick and easy, but snickerdoodles were different. Snickerdoodles were the one treat that Barbara loved almost as much as I did. I would never make them just for myself, because like most very special treats, I knew I would have no control. And yet when I made them to share with Barbara they became a special decadence shared between two friends.

It was never elegant. I brought them to her in a recycled ice cream tub, of which she heartily approved, being a recycler herself. Plus I could fit more snickerdoodles into the ice cream tub, as she pointed out to me once. ‘Oh, I know what these are,’ she would always say with a wicked little laugh as though I’d given her something ever so slightly naughty. Then she would take one from the container and eat it like it was the best thing ever.

Winter scene clip artAfterwards we’d share a drink, and she would talk about the queen’s speech. Barbara was a real fan of the queen. We’d talk about who Barbara had seen during the course of the day, and she would fill us in on the latest gossip from the apartment block. After we’d chatted and toasted and wished each other all the best, we would leave her sitting with her feet up, the light of the little tree making her face look flushed and rosy.

Barbara was way better at rationing her snickerdoodles than I was. Mine were long gone while she still savoured hers with her morning coffee and afternoon tea. I only made one other batch of snickerdoodles a year and those were for Barbara’s birthday in May when we’d repeat the ritual, and she’d savour hers and I’d scarf mine, and they were always our little decadence, just Barbara’s and mine.

This year in honour of my dear, dear friend, Barbara Steele, I would like to share Christmas decadence with all of you and pass on the recipe for snickerdoodles. If you get the chance and want a delicious treat, make up a batch.  I don’t care if you scarf them or savour them, but share them with someone special and enjoy  all the delicious sweetness of the moment

Snickerdoodles

(makes about 6 dozen)

1 Cup butter softened

1 ½ Cups sugar

2 eggs

2 ¾ Cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons Cream of Tartar

2 teaspoons baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons Sugar (I use more)

2 teaspoons cinnamon (I use more)

Heat oven to 400 degrees F (200 C, gas mark 6)

Blend together flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt. Mix thoroughly butter, 1 ½ cups sugar and the eggs, then blend in flour mixture. Shape dough by rounded teaspoons into balls.

Mix 2 tablespoons of sugar and the cinnamon. Roll balls in mixture. Place 2 inches (5cm) apart on ungreased baking sheet. Bake 8-10 minutes or until set. Immediately remove from baking sheet.

Happy Holidays!

If you’d like something naughty and sweet to read while you scarf your snickerdoodles, comment to win a copy of my novella, Migrations. Winner to be chosen 20th December.

Merry Blissemas!

To join in simply leave a comment on this post and the others at http://blissemas.co.uk and you could be in to win your choice of eReader or $100 gift voucher to spend on eBooks! The prize will be drawn on the 21st December. Merry Blissemas!

 

 How to Join In the Blissemas fun!christmas-jingle-bells-thumb17244964

  • Visit the Blissemas site every day of the compeititon and open that days envelope.
  • Leave a comment on the days blog to get an entry into the Blissemas Prize Draw.
  • One Entry Per Person Per Blog each day.

Pick Your Prize!

Choose from one of the following:

  • An eReader of your choice (Pick from either a Kindle, Nook, Kobo or Sony)
  • A $100 Gift Card (Choose either All Romance, Amazon, Totally Bound or B&N)

Terms & Conditions

  • Blissemas this year runs from the 25th Nov – 19th Dec.
  • The Winner will be drawn at Midnight GMT on the 21st Dec 2013.
  • The Winner will be announced on the Smutters.co.uk Blog and Smutters Facebook Page
  • The competition is open to everyone over the age of 18.
  • The prize is non-transferable, non refundable and cannot be exchanged

 

 

 
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The Romance Reviews

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