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The Tutor Now Available for Preorder

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The Tutor is now available for preorder!

 

There’s much rejoicing and happy dancing at Grace Manor! Who knew that a workshop writing prompt of a can of pears in heavy syrup and a mysterious summon to the storeroom of the local grocery store could lead to a full-length novel only a short month and a half later. Yup! That was the strange inspiration for The Tutor, and now less than a year after Kay Jaybee’s fabulous writing workshop at Smut Manchester inspired me, the novel is officially available for pre-order on Amazon and at the Totally Bound website, proving that sometimes when things go pear-shaped, it’s a good thing.

 

Now’s your chance be the first on your block to learn how a tin of pears changes the world forever for reclusive sculptor, Alexander ‘Lex’ Valentine and Kelly Blake – a struggling writer secretly moonlighting as a sex tutor. Here’s the blurb! Here are the links! And here is a sexy excerpt! Read! Enjoy! And pre-order the whole sexy, romantic read – pears and all!

 

Preorder The Tutor Now:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

TB Website

 

 

The Tutor Blurb:

When physical touch is impossible, intimacy may become a powerful work of art or a devastating nightmare—but, above all, it’s an act of trust.

Struggling writer, Kelly Blake has a secret life as a sex tutor. Celebrated sculptor and recluse, Alexander ‘Lex’ Valentine, can’t stand to be touched. When he seeks out Kelly’s advice incognito, the results are too hot to handle. When Kelly terminates their sessions due to what she considers her unprofessional behavior, Lex takes a huge risk, revealing his identity to her at a gala exhibition, his first-ever public appearance. When Kelly helps the severely haphephobic Lex escape the grope of reporters and paparazzi, rumors fly that the two are engaged, rumors encouraged by well-meaning friends and colleagues. The press feeding frenzy forces Kelly into hiding at Lex’s mansion where he convinces her to be his private tutor just until the press loses interest and she can go back home. They discover quickly that touch is not essential for sizzling, pulse-pounding intimacy. But intimacy must survive the secrets uncovered as their sessions become more and more personal.

 

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The Tutor Excerpt:

 

“Was this your idea or Dillon’s? Kelly asked, hoping to relax him.

 

“It was mine, after Andy told Dillon and he told me. I thought it was something that I …” The muscles along Lex’s jaw looked as though they were made out of iron, and a fine blush crawled up his neck tinting his ears bright pink. “I’ve never touched a woman … in that way.” He forced a laugh. “Obviously. I’ve …” the blush deepened and he avoided her gaze. “I’ve put lube on some of the sculptures – you know — down there, but I … well it isn’t the same.”

 

“The pears won’t be either,” she said, her heart suddenly aching at the physical isolation this man endured on a daily basis, and it wasn’t just her heart that ached, she felt his lack deep in her core. It had been easier with Andy. She had been almost flippant with him. She was sorry for that now. She spread one of the towels on the Queen Anne chair across from him and settled herself onto it so they were facing each other. “The texture will be different and with the pear there’ll be less give.” She dipped her fingers in the bowl and rubbed the heavy juice between her index finger and her thumb. “If you touch a woman, she’ll be much warmer.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You’ll be amazed at how warm and how soft she’ll be down there when she’s ready to be touched. With Andy, this,” she nodded down to the pears, “was improvisation, this was the best I could do under the circumstances, but a woman, well a woman feels like nothing you’ve ever touched before.”

 

He was no longer avoiding her gaze. His eyes were locked on her, and he was struggling to keep them on her face, she knew that; she understood the urge for him to drop his eyes to the place of which she spoke, the place with which she was so intimate, the place that couldn’t help but respond to the topic, to the situation, to the strange intimacy they had shared almost since the moment they’d met.

 

“You can look, if you want,” she opened her legs so that he could see the place in between clothed in black denim, completely disguised and yet so very obvious. “And I’ll look at you too,” she nodded down to his own jeans straining to contain him already. “It’s what men and woman are naturally inclined to do when there’s a sexual attraction.”

 

With her heart hammering in her throat, she took one of the pear halves into the cupped palm of her left hand, then she brought it down between her spread thighs, feeling the juice of it run over her fingers and drip onto the towel as she spread her legs a little farther and held her palm to mimic the position of her vulva. “Touch it like a woman would touch it, and you’ll always get it right.” She drug her index and middle finger up from the bottom of the pear to the center and felt her own body respond in empathy. “The pear has no folds, no secret valleys, no swollen flesh to be teased open, so you’ll have to use your imagination with that.”

 

Lex gave a little moan soft and deep in his chest as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. “I know the anatomy,” he said. “I’ve watched porn and I’ve studied drawings. I know how it looks like it might feel. I know the response it elicits.” His tongue flicked nervously over his upper lip. “Of course that’s just acting, isn’t it?”

 

“Porn is about fantasy, about voyeurism, and it doesn’t matter if it’s real if it gets you off. But when it is real,” she spread her index and middle finger up the sides of the pear’s central opening, “if you’re good, if your sensitive, you’ll feel the spasms of your lover’s orgasm, even see them if you’re using your tongue; and you can feel them gripping at your cock when your inside her. If you’re paying attention.

 

“The clitoris,” she laughed softly, “Well with Andy I used a Ticktack, but he’s a chemistry major. He likes charts and graphs and periodic tables. You’re an artist, you live in your imagination, so you don’t need a Ticktack. Some women like the thumb stroking and circling while the other fingers work inside. Some women like to use their fingers.” She demonstrated on the pear, and Lex groaned. “It’s always best to ask and be sure.”

 

“What do you like?” His words were a labored rasp against the back of his throat, and

 

Kelly found herself stunned by the question, and way more aroused than she wanted to be. He shouldn’t have asked. She should have answered. But she did.

 

“I like it this way.” She shifted her hips and opened a little further so he could see her thrust and scissor, circle and probe technique, and her body responded with the tight grip and release of muscle memory.

 

“Jesus,” he whispered moving forward on the sofa and leaning closer for a better look. “And when someone uses their tongue?”

 

She caught her breath in a giddy laugh. “Afraid I can’t tell you what I do since, sadly I’m not that flexible.”

 

“But you can tell me what you like.” His voice had gone rough.

 

“I like the flat of the tongue to part me and then probe me, circle my clit and then kiss and suck.” She closed her eyes, finding it difficult to meet his gaze when she spoke about something so intimate, so secret. Come to think of it, she’d never had a man actually ask her how she liked it. The few who had given a rat’s ass about her pleasure had been happy enough to let her order them about, but never quite got the hang of it.

 

It was the loud schussing sound that caused her to open her eyes. Lex had moved the coffee table out of the way paying no attention to the slosh of pear juice all over the towel V had spread. His eyes were locked on Kelly as he fished out his own pear half and fell to his knees in front of her. When she realized what the man was about to do she dropped the pear she’d been holding with a little gasp of surprise and scooted as far back in the chair as she could. He knelt low, holding the pear in the cup of his hand, as she had, placing it against the edge of the chair between her legs! She gave a little yelp and scrambled back in the chair still further, spreading her thighs over the rise of the chair arms to keep from touching him. He moved forward, the back of his hand so close to her crotch that she could feel the heat of it, and he lowered himself still further until his hair nearly brushed the insides of her thighs. Then, still looking up at her from his position on the floor, he began at the bottom of the open pear half and ran his tongue flat and undulating all the way up, flicking in just slightly in a little circle at the top end before he closed his lips around the apex and she could hear the slurp and suck of the sweet syrup.

 

“Oh! Lex! Ah!” And then she went non-verbal, holding her breath, tightening muscles deep inside her body, the only muscles she dared to move if she were to keep from touching him. She raised both arms and fisted her hands in a suicide grip around the back of the chair to keep from curling them in his hair. Her thighs trembled from her efforts to keep her legs on the chair arms and not throw them over his shoulders for leverage. She didn’t move. She didn’t breath as he licked and nuzzled and suckled until pear juice ran down his chin and onto his tee-shirt, until his face was damp and sticky, until his forehead was sheened with perspiration, and still he held her gaze as though they were locked together in each other’s orbit neither able to move without the other’s consent.

 

“Oh God, I’m gonna come.” She barely managed a warning when his own convulsion brought him dangerously near her body. He had stopped breathing, she was sure of it. She practically climbed the back of the chair to keep from touching him as he lost control. Then with a tremendous gasp of oxygen, he straightened, let the pear fall from his hand onto the aubusson carpet and looked up at her.

 

“I’m going to pass out.” And he did.

 *****

Early Download (on the TB website): 13th September

 

General Release: 11th October

 

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.

*****

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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.”

*****

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

*****

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/

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A Bit of Garden Porn for Shameless Selfie Sunday

IMG_5995Since The Psychology of Dreams finished a few weeks ago, (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, with my Weekend Shameless Selfies. There’s always be 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.

And you guessed it! Tis the season for garden porn! I couldn’t think of a better choice for a sunny August weekend that Surrogates. So, indulge in some sweet, succulent summer fruit, let the juice drip down you chin while you read a truly filthy way to enjoy your courgettes.

 

WARNING! This is garden porn, so no holds barred. Enjoy the entire first chapter!

 

Surrogates Blurb:

DANIEL ALEXANDER III takes his marriage vows seriously. Until he gets the balls to ask his wife, BEL, for a divorce, watching each other masturbate is all he can offer his beautiful gardener, FRANCIE CARTER. But when Dan’s friend, SIMON PARIS, agrees to be his surrogate, affairs of the heart get complicated.

 

Surrogates: Chapter One

‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’surrogates 2
Dan made his way around behind the jungle of runner beans, getting a shoeful of

soil when he stepped off the path. As the warm, moist earth infiltrated his dress socks, he would have cursed his clumsiness, but then he saw her on hands and knees, the swell of her hips slightly raised in her efforts to pull stubborn weeds. She didn’t have to do that. She was the head kitchen gardener, a goddess in her domain. He hired underlings to do the weeding, but fuck, he was glad she took the hands-on approach, especially at times like this. She had kicked off the silly blue plastic gardening clogs she always wore, and her bare toes curled into the soft earth as though the very touch of it was an irresistible pleasure. How could soil between toes be so goddamned sexy?

The thin summer skirt she wore barely covered the heart-shaped roundness of her bottom, hugging her and clinging in the heavy summer heat to the delicious juncture where her thighs met. There were clearly no panty lines. She gardened in skirts, like she wanted to expose herself, like the acts of planting and digging and cultivating made her a naughty bitch who couldn’t get enough. But then that was the way he saw her in his fantasies, and oh shit, did he have fantasies about her! His cock jerked with an insistence that nearly took his breath away. ‘There you are,’ he breathed, fingers already fumbling at his fly.

‘Go away. I’m busy,’ she said, giving some unfortunate weed an angry tug, an act that made the thin skirt quiver, made the firm muscles of her buttocks beneath clench and release. And his balls surged, sending a testosterone buzz clear to the crown of his head.

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He ignored the anger in her voice. Well, he didn’t actually ignore it. Her saucy temper made his cock even harder. ‘It’s all right, darling, you keep on working. Just lift your skirt for me.’ He grunted softly as he released his cock into his hand.

‘Lift it yourself. I said I’m busy.’
‘You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.’
She growled something particularly feral under her breath. He figured it wasn’t fit

for polite company, which made him wish all the more that he’d heard it.
‘I’ve got such a load for you. I’ll come all over it if you don’t lift it for me,’ he

said.

‘I have other skirts, Daniel.’ She only called him Daniel when she was really angry. ‘Why do I care where you come?’

‘Because you know where I really want to come, darling, and you have to know how badly I want it.’ He moved slightly to one side, not so far that her magnificent bottom wasn’t the centre of his attention, but far enough that, in her peripheral vision, she might catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock. Even if she couldn’t, she knew what he was doing, and he had no intention of being quiet about it. He lifted his balls free from his boxers and groaned at the feel of himself, so full, so heavy for her.

She gave another angry yank at the offending weeds, and the resulting squeeze of her buttocks nearly sent him over the edge.

He spat on his hand noisily, rubbed his saliva over the length of his cock and groaned again, squinting at her exquisite backside as though if he just stared at it hard enough he could slide the skirt up over her hips with sheer desire. And the view would be magnificent. The way her knees were open, the way she braced herself on the garden mat,

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would showcase the tight dark bud of her anus nestled just above the splayed pout of her pussy. And her pussy, he had no doubt, would be slickened from knowing what he was doing, from knowing what he’d come for, what he so desperately wanted … needed.

‘You were with her, weren’t you? You were with your wife,’ she said, reaching a gloved hand to deposit a handful of weeds in the trug next to her, an act that made the skirt ride up even further, leaving him breathless.

‘What? No! I wasn’t. I promise. I had a meeting with my accountant that overran. I swear it, Francie darling. I haven’t seen Bel since I got home. Besides she’s staying over at her sister’s this evening. They’re having a girls’ night out. Sweetheart, you know if I were with her, I’d tell you. Haven’t I always been above board about what goes on between Bel and me?’

She knew he had. Not that there was much to tell, but on the odd occasion when Bel had had too much wine with dinner and demanded he do his husbandly duty, or when she was feeling morose about her advancing years, all thirty-four of them, and needed to be shown she was still sexy, he never lied about it. It didn’t matter what sex acts he’d had to perform to please his wife; when Francie asked for details, he gave them. A part of him hated that she always asked. Surely she knew it would be easier if she didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And he didn’t hold back anything, even though he was always careful to remind her that, when he did his duty where Bel was concerned, it was thinking about her, Francie, that made him come.

And all the while he told Francie what he’d done to Bel, told her details that made him blush, details that made his cock stretch and arch towards her, she listened while her cunt got slick and fat. Even as those details made her angry and unhappy, she asked for

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IMG_5999them. And while he told her, she played with herself, fingers darting furiously in and out between her heavy slippery folds, hips shifting and grinding as she asked him in clipped, breathless words for more details. What did Bel’s pussy look like? How did she smell? Could he taste the wine she’d drunk or the spices from Cook’s curry when he ate her out? How hard did her nipples get? Did she talk dirty when he pushed into her? Jesus, having sex with Bel, even though he knew it hurt Francie, was almost worth it to watch the way Francie took the pain, twisted it, turned it, reshaped it and came on it, came in lovely gushing female squirts at what she had made of it in her filthy little head.

Of course she didn’t like it that someone else got his cock while she only got to watch him wank. He didn’t like it either, but there was nothing for it at the moment. As much as he wanted Francie, as much as he dreamed of riding her raw, he was still married to Bel, and he would stay faithful until he got the balls to ask for a divorce. No matter how badly he wanted Francie, he could never behave towards Bel the way his father had towards his mother.

So why was he such a coward? People got divorced every day. Lots of people. Hell, he knew people who had already been married and divorced multiple times. It was a simple thing to ask for a divorce these days. And yet here he was like a damned adolescent begging for a peek under a girl’s skirt. ‘Please, darling,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend what I do have with you.’

He saw the sigh shiver up through her body, and he knew he’d been forgiven. She knelt up enough to take off her gloves, then with one hand she eased the skirt up over her hips and wriggled slightly to open her legs a little wider on the mat.

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He pressed his thumb to the head of his cock. The urge to come at the sight of her all engorged and open was nearly overwhelming. The pearlescent sheen on the inside of her pouting labia told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to come. As she arched her back downward and forced her bottom even higher, her clit came into view looking like a heavy swollen marble at the apex of her pussy. ‘Oh, Francie,’ he breathed, ‘touch it for me.’

She dipped her index and middle fingers in between her slick folds then drew them upward tightly against either side of her clit until it bulged still further, like soft, ripe fruit waiting to be nibbled. And, fuck, how he wished he could!

‘Do you like that?’ she murmured, glancing over her shoulder.
‘Oh God, yes,’ he grunted.
‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I was angry,’ she said. ‘Oh, I definitely had

plans for the vegetables I was sending Cook for your dinner tonight.’ She nodded at the basket of mixed phallic veg sitting on the ground next to her.

His cock jerked. ‘Show me,’ he whispered. ‘Show me what you were going to do to my veg.’

She took a heavy courgette slightly thicker than his cock, crooked and arched nearly in the shape of a banana. She gave it a leisurely deep-throating that had him thumbing the underside of his cock again, that had him imagining how it would feel if it were him getting the benefit of her delicious tongue. Her cheek muscles tugged and pulled on the courgette like it was a rod of steel.

When she was absolutely certain she had his full attention, she repositioned herself to face him. She wriggled her bare arse down on to the mat with her legs splayed.

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With one hand she scrunched her skirt into a wad just below her navel, raking her long slender hand over tightly
trimmed pubic curls, then she slid two fingers into her milky cunt and opened herself. With a little lifting of her buttocks and shifting of her hips she was ready. She snugged the hard jut of the courgette up tight against her reluctant pout.

Suddenly it was as though he weren’t even there, and that made it all the harder for him to hold his wad. She spat on her fingers and rubbed saliva around the place where the courgette met the tight press of her cunt hole. As though the task at hand demanded all the focus in the world, she alternately lubricated and pushed, lubricated and pushed, all the while making tight little grunting sounds low in her belly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the slow but relentless yielding of her grudging pussy to the press of the veg. With each push, with each shift, her clit marbled and beaded harder and harder just above the nudging of the courgette. She continued to push and stroke, push and stroke until at last her pussy hole yielded, her eyes fluttered and she caught her breath in a little gasp as the veg slid cock-deep into her gash.

‘Ah!’ she breathed. ‘That’s better. That’s just what I needed. Such a tight fit, but oh so yummy.’ Then she raised her eyes to meet his and offered him a smile that was almost shy. ‘Now I’m ready to come.’ Fingers still wet from her efforts with the veg, she undid the buttons of her sundress, releasing high firm breasts topped with heavy raspberry nipples into the pinching, kneading caress of one hand.

‘I don’t know about you –’ she grunted as she began to thrust and gyrate against the veg ‘– but I won’t be able to hold back long with all this heft up in my tight little fanny. And when I’m done coming, I’ll let you take the veg to the house for Cook. That way if you want to sneak a taste of my cunt, who’ll know?’ With each breathless thrust

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she lifted her arse off the gardening mat, giving him teasing glimpses of her gripping anus, and she knew exactly what he was looking at. She offered a throaty chuckle. ‘Maybe next time I’ll let you watch me shove a nice plump carrot back there. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

He only nodded. This was the point in their wank sessions where he always fell silent, too taken in by the heat of her, by the want of her, by the knowing that this was as much as he could allow himself of her, no matter how willing she was. He yanked at his cock like it was a wild thing he had to tame. He yanked until it hurt, and he kneaded his balls, feeling the surge at the base all ready to spill out on to the warm earth in front of Francie. It was the best he had to offer her right now, his humiliation, his need, his lust once removed.

She fell back on to the ground with a little cry, legs apart, offering him an exquisite view of the tremors of her orgasm tightly stretched around the courgette. The view, combined with the ripe scent of her, was more than he could endure, and he unloaded in heavy spurts on to the ground scant centimetres from her bare thigh. He unloaded till he thought he’d turn himself inside out, convulsing and grunting until he was spent, bent forward on his knees in the veg bed next to her, gasping and gulping for breath.

It was almost enough to give him the courage to ask Isabel for a divorce. He was sure he could almost do it after such erotic bliss, and what a lovely surprise it would be for Francie. But before he could verbalise that bliss, Bel’s voice rang out over the garden wall.

‘Dan? Dan, are you there?’ Fortunately they heard her before she found them.

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Francie cursed under her breath, grabbed the basket and fled into the greenhouse.

With a painful effort, Dan shoved his cock into his trousers and kicked at the earth to bury the evidence. ‘Coming, Bel.’ He fought hard not to sound breathless as his wife, dressed in tight jeans and a vest that showed plenty of her ample cleavage, stepped through the gate. He forced a smile. ‘I thought you were at your sister’s for the night, sweetheart.’

‘We had to cancel. She’s down with some sort of stomach virus.’ She grimaced. ‘God knows, I don’t need that.’ She took IMG_5998his arm. ‘I’ll be keeping you company this evening, darling. I thought maybe we’d make our own entertainment a little later. My massage therapist says sex is great for keeping the skin looking young. She says you’d be surprised at all the health benefits of an active sex life.’

Dan gave a quick glance over his shoulder, hoping desperately that Francie hadn’t overheard, but she had disappeared.

Bel continued. ‘Cook told me you were out here, so I thought I’d come down and have Francie send up a few more veg for dinner. During my massage today, Ellen also told me that we’d both benefit from eating more veg. She says a diet full of veg is the next best thing to the fountain of youth.’ She gestured exuberantly. ‘She says veg and sex are the keys to health and vitality. She says Francie probably grows most of the veggie superfoods right here in her garden.’ She looked around. ‘Where is Francie anyway? You haven’t seen her, have you?

Buy Surrogates Here:

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“Full of quirky characters, kinky sex, unusual settings and clever writing, Surrogates is definitely an erotic romance novella I’d recommend if you’re looking for something a little different.” Erotica For All

*****

“This was an exciting and sexy read at the turn of every page, with a storyline that was so original it was brilliant. If you want a fun, fast read with great character flow and connection and hot sex on almost every page this is for you.” Midnight Boudoir

*****

“Surrogates is the perfect novel for any erotica reader out there… hot, sexy, sensual… it definitely defines erotica it in it’s own right. K.D Grace is one amazing author whose novels simply should be devoured!” A Redheads Guilty Reads

*****
“There are plenty of hot hot sex scenes and a case of mistaken identity and misunderstandings. It is a fun and quick read. Overall, very well written. The characters come alive on the pages and they feel real. I recommend it to anyone who likes short, erotic tales and who aren’t put off by some f/f action and threesomes.” Hearts on Fire Reviews

*****

“Surrogates is full of tongue in cheek comedy, and has just the right amount of erotica to fill readers minds with accounts of how both Daniel and Bel get their orgasms. This is a voyeur’s version of heaven.” 5 out of 5, Love Romance Passion

 

Out Now! Mean Girls – M/F BBW Erotic Romance by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Mean Girls, a M/F erotic romance by Lucy Felthouse, with Rubenesque and body confidence themes, has been re-released with a stunning new cover and a lower price! Please note, however, if you’ve read it before, that the content hasn’t changed.

*****

Mean GirlsBlurb:

Adele Blackthorne is a big girl, a curvy chick. She knows it, and she’s been picked on all her life because of it. But she’s gotten to the stage where she doesn’t care. She may be Rubenesque, but she’s healthy, too. Much healthier than the mean girls at the leisure center that point and stare and say spiteful things about her. Adele rises above it all, and simply enjoys her secretive glances at the center’s hunky lifeguard, Oliver.

As the bullying of Adele becomes worse, Oliver finds it increasingly difficult not to intervene. He doesn’t want to get into trouble with work, but equally he can’t stand to see Adele treated in such a horrible way. Especially since he doesn’t agree that she’s fat and unattractive. He thinks she’s a seriously sexy woman, and would like to get to know her better. Much better.

Buy links:

Amazon: http://mybook.to/meangirls

All Romance eBooks: http://bit.ly/29USu5p

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/29NMwE1

iBooks UK: http://apple.co/29TCrpv

iBooks US: http://apple.co/2af9Rga

Kobo: http://bit.ly/29H4e8E

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/29HNIeH

 

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18147145-mean-girls

*****

teaser_meangirls

Excerpt:

As usual, Adele Blackthorne felt the weight of gazes on her as she walked from the changing room to the steps to get into the swimming pool. She was used to it by now, and had learned not to react, to just carry on as though she hadn’t noticed people staring and not-so-subtly pointing at her.

With a polite nod to Oliver, the lifeguard, as she passed him, Adele was grateful for his much more favorable reaction. If he thought she resembled a beached whale, he hid it much better than everyone else did. The warmth in his eyes as he nodded back even looked genuine. But she had no illusions, he probably slagged her off the moment he got into the staffroom, or home, talking about the fat woman who went swimming three times a week without fail. But for now, she’d pretend he didn’t. Pretend he thought she was sexy, and wanted to get lost in her abundant curves. God knows she’d like him to.

It was true, she was a big girl and she was most definitely aware of it. Ever since she’d gotten to the age where her excess weight could no longer be called puppy fat, she’d tried to do something about it. Every diet under the sun, ridiculous amounts of exercise… nothing worked. Adele had grown so depressed in her teens that she’d become bulimic. Naturally, she’d lost some weight that way, but she’d also made herself so ill that she’d had to be hospitalized. It had terrified the life out of her, and ever since, she’d resolved that she’d much rather be healthy than skinny.

Which was why she visited her local leisure center three times a week. She used the gym and sauna, and went swimming. And every single time she went, she’d catch someone gawping at her. But because of the years she’d spent—especially at school—being called all the names under the sun, she’d developed an incredibly thick skin. She was happy and healthy—so healthy in fact that she could probably beat all of those skinny bitches at a swimming race. Of course she never offered, never called anyone out on their rudeness and ignorance, but it made her feel better to know that she was fitter and much more polite than them.

Slipping into the fast lane, she settled her goggles carefully into position—she hated getting water in her eyes—then lifted her legs to rest the bottoms of her feet against the end of the pool. Looking at the clock on the wall that counted seconds, she waited until the hand reached the top, then pushed off from the side and launched herself into the lane. It was quiet, so she had this section of the pool to herself. Her arms cut through the water, her legs flapped wildly and she did ten laps without losing any speed. Emerging from the water, she checked the clock again and was pleased to note she’d beaten her previous time.

She was just about to start another ten laps, when she heard voices from the other side of the pool. Voices that clearly forgot how well they carried on water. It was as though they were right next to her.

“God, I’m surprised all the water doesn’t jump out of the pool when she gets in. And the way she swims—she’ll cause a tidal wave one of these days.”

The spiteful words were followed by a trio of sniggers, and Adele gritted her teeth. Part of her wished that she could create a bloody tidal wave, so it would sweep those bitches under water and drown them. The other part of her tsked at the thought. Ideas like that made her just as bad as them, just as unpleasant, just as cowardly.

Because they were cowardly—the way they spoke about her behind her back proved that. If they ever passed her somewhere in the leisure center or its car park, they never said anything, not one word. They’d just scurry away as fast as they could, then titter when they thought she was out of earshot. She hoped that just one time, someone would say something to her face, so she could retaliate, speak up for herself. There was no way she’d start anything—she didn’t want to add confrontational to the list of faults that the mean girls had obviously compiled about her.

Sucking in a deep breath, Adele launched into another ten laps, allowing the chilly water and the exertion of powering through it to burn away her irritation. Because that’s all it was—irritation. She wasn’t angry. Anger was too powerful an emotion, and one that was totally wasted on those ignorant women. She almost felt sorry for them, actually. If they had nothing better to do than to stare at her and slag her off all the time, then they clearly had very dull lives.

The thought cheered her considerably and when she completed her twentieth lap, she lay her forearms on the edge of the pool and hoiked herself up. Her back was pressed against the side, and from here she had a perfect view of the rest of the pool. Tugging her goggles down so they hung around her neck, she had a damn good look at everyone else. The small children and their guardians in the kids’ pool right at the other end of the enormous hall, the old people who swum so slowly as they chatted that she was surprised they stayed afloat, the relentless movement of the man in the medium-speed lane and, of course, the mean girls who were in the same sort of position she was, but at the side of the pool rather than the end. The side which faced the lifeguard station.

Adele narrowed her eyes and watched them—the two waif-like blondes and a brunette—as they chatted and giggled, and it seemed for a change, not about her. They’d clearly changed the subject since their previous spouting of vitriol. Their focus was very firmly on Oliver as he sat on his lofty perch, surveying the pools before him, ready to jump in should anyone get into trouble. She often toyed with the idea of faking a problem, just to get him into the pool and his strong arms around her. However, she knew that although he’d undoubtedly do his duty and help her, he’d never believe such a strong swimmer would need his assistance. Then he’d lose all respect for her, and probably stop hiding his disdain for her so effectively. And the polite nods and smiles she got from him were the only thing—aside from the center’s top-notch facilities—that made the place bearable. She was sure that if the three witches—a nickname she’d secretly come up with for the women—had their way, there would be a sign on the main doors to the building saying ‘No Fat People Allowed.’

*****

About Lucy Felthouse

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller) and Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 140 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter and Facebook. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

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Release blitz hosted by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Pre-order blitz! A Variety of Chains – Erotic paranormal novel by Christine Blackthorn (@CBlackthorn @sinfulpress)

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Sinful Press is proud to announce the pre-release of A Variety of Chains by Christine Blackthorn, the first in the Bloodhavens series.

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?

Pre-order links

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2a4jYr6

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2aia1Sf

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-variety-of-chains-christine-blackthorn/1124090277?ean=9781910908051

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Christine_Blackthorn_A_Variety_of_Chains?id=6GOzDAAAQBAJ&hl=en_GB

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/a-variety-of-chains

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/a-variety-of-chains/id1136255585?mt=11

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30762429-a-variety-of-chains

*****

Excerpt

He calmly straddled her, and as he leant forward to take her mouth in a deep kiss, his long hair curtained them in a world of their own. His kisses were deep and addictive, a leisurely play on her senses, an instant aphrodisiac. He took his time to taste and feel every last corner of her mouth and only let up when both their lips were swollen and sensitive.

“That’s it. I want you to be only aware of me.” There was a wicked light in his eyes – wicked, aroused and full of gentle laughter, a combination more desirable than anything.

“First, I will narrow your world so that your busy little brain cannot take you away, and then I will play with you. The rules will be simple. I get to do whatever I want and you have to take it. If you tell me something I do not know and cannot find out any other way, something secret and intimate, then and only then will I give you relief.”

She did not understand what he meant but her confusion was quickly overtaken by alarm when he covered her eyes with a soft cloth. She did not like the limitation to her sight even though he had blindfolded her repeatedly over the last two weeks. It made her tense, and increased her awareness of both his touch and his taste. She felt his lips stroking over the cloth, gentling her into the darkness. She was surprised when his hands slipped under her shoulders and he made her upper body more comfortable – she had not noticed the discomfort from her muscles, but he had. He had noticed the increased tenseness and adjusted her body to avoid it. That realisation was terrifying and reassuring in equal measures.

She felt him get off the bed, though his hand remained a calming pressure on her skin at all times. A gentle pressure was laid over her torso, just under her breasts, and as it tightened her body was further immobilised by what she realised was a strap. A second strap followed the first just over her breasts. Both straps were tight but not painful, smooth lines of warming leather on her overheated skin.

“I am just making sure that you cannot move suddenly and risk hurting yourself.” His voice was an anchor in her world, a deep note of calm in her rising nervousness. It almost failed to stave off the waves of panic when he gently lifted her right leg and bent it to attach a thigh cuff to the side of the bed, leaving her exposed. She tried to struggle but he had ensured that her range of movement was already so limited that any resistance was ineffective at best. Quickly he attached a second cuff on her other thigh and tightened the ankle restraints, leaving her laid out on the bed, restrained and open, her legs parted and bent, entirely helpless and accessible to his touch.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are like this – splayed for my desire, unable to resist the pleasure I can give you.”

*****

Author 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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Pre-order blitz hosted by Writer Marketing Services.

 
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