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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/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

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

*****

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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.

 

Stuck with You: New Erotic Romance from Jillian Boyd

I’m always happy to promote the latest in new erotica and romance on A Hopeful Romantic, and never more so when the story is one written by a friend and sister writer whose writing journey I’ve had the pleasure to watch blossom and evolve. With that in mind, it’s my pleasure to announce Jillian Boyd’s new release, Stuck with You.


StuckWithYou CoverStuck with You Blurb:

When Bethan’s work sends her and Ivan, her ex, to a conference together, she’s less than impressed. And when their flight home is grounded due to a snowstorm, she thinks it can’t get any worse…

Stuck with You is a short erotic romance, told in Jillian Boyd’s inimitable style with witty dialogue and sharp characterisations.

 

Excerpt from Stuck with You:

He could tell she wasn’t happy about this situation. Every time she got annoyed, her Welsh accent would become sharper than a pinprick. He couldn’t blame her though; it wasn’t exactly fun to be stuck in an airport hotel during a snowstorm. With your colleague. Who’s also your ex.

“Yes, mother, I’m okay. No, I’ve not turned into a snowman yet… hang on, yet?”

Ivan watched Bethan, on the phone to her mother in Swansea. He’d only met Bethan’s mother twice during their relationship, but every time she looked at him, Ivan felt her eyes pierce his very soul. Bethan reasoned that, if looks could kill, her mother would be watching Neighbours from behind bars.

“Yes… yes, I’m not alone. I’m with Ivan.”

The sheer noise that came from the other end was unbelievable. Bethan held the phone away from her ear, letting her mother rant about ‘that no-good piece of London shit’.

“For a 75-year-old woman, she’s got a colourful vocabulary,” whispered Ivan. Bethan rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry, mother, I’m not going to let him… no, he’s not. Mother!”

“If she’s talking about that thing with the sock…”

Bethan turned his way and shushed him, before turning back to her mother. “I’ve got to go now… sorry. I’ll call you when there’s news. Right. Love you. Bye.”

After hanging up, she practically threw her phone onto the nightstand.

“So… that sounded pleasant,” said Ivan carefully. Bethan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walked up to the window, opening the curtains and peeking outside at the deluge of snow coming down from the heavens. One harsh streetlight illuminated the white sidewalks.

She turned around to face Ivan. “Looks like we’re going to be here for a while. If you want to go and do something on your own, be my guest.”

“Right,” Ivan said, feeling a little bit deflated. “What are you going to do then?”

“I don’t know. Go over the notes I took at the conference, I guess. Read a book. Watch TV.”

“Bethan. Really?”

“What?”

“You’re just going to sit here and read notes?”

“And why the hell not? I took plenty of notes, and I need to type them up.”

“The notes from the conference we’ve just attended on synergy in the work place? Are they really that urgent to type up? I distinctly remember you nodding off during the keynote speech.”

“I…” Bethan started, but trailed off. He knew he’d tread onto a dangerous path with what he’d said. Eventually she said the thing he’d been expecting. And dreading. “I just want to be alone, that’s all.”

“Okay. I’m going downstairs to have dinner. I’d love it if you could… but if you don’t, that’s fine.”

The uncomfortable silence that accompanied Ivan on his way out the room was telling of just how much Bethan was still hurting. And actually, he couldn’t blame her. Seven months was in no way enough time to get over how much of a prize dick he’d been.

The truth was that he wasn’t over it either. It was hard going getting over someone who worked for the same company, in the same building as you did.

The moment he’d found out he’d be going to this conference with Bethan, he knew he was fucked. He’d tried everything in his power to avoid any confrontation, since the last one was still painfully fresh in his mind. But now there was no avoiding it. And especially not now that they were stuck in a hotel near O’Hare Airport, miles away from their respective comfort zones and in the middle of a Chicagoan snowstorm.

Sat on his own, in the virtually empty restaurant, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Which was ridiculous. This was just about Bethan’s rejection of his dinner invitation. It wasn’t like he felt all his hopes of a second chance being dashed as the night ticked along.

Was it?

 

About Jillian Boyd

Jillian Boyd is a blogger, author of erotic short fiction and editor. Currently based in London, she’s been writing sex stories and histories—not to mention weird wonderings—at Lady Laid Bare for five years now.

When she’s not writing filth, she can most likely be found at her day job or in the dark of the cinema. Her stories have been published by the likes of Cleis Press, Ladylit and House of Erotica.

 

Buy Stuck with You here:

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01HYN3RR8/?tag=sexylittlepages-21

iTunes – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1131132377

Barnes & Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stuck-with-you-jillian-boyd/1124065506;jsessionid=1FBBC59C43C57F14B42D26306F2EF42F.prodny_store01-atgap07?ean=2940153392868

 

 

Cold Nights, Hot Bodies by Lily Harlem

coldnightshotbodies_amazonNew from bestselling author Lily Harlem, Cold Nights, Hot Bodies, a steamy first-time romance set in beautiful Cotswolds and a must for anyone who loves their fictional heroes.

 

Back Cover Information.

 

All my life I’ve been the quiet bookworm, the office mouse. It hasn’t bothered me. Immersing myself in erotic novels has kept me wriggling on the edge of my seat at work and firmly entrenched in my own fantasy world at night.

 

Though one thing is bothering me—my damn virginity. If only I could find a sexy bedroom expert to introduce me to the delights of having a lover. Someone handsome and charming, who can rival the hunky alpha males in my books. I have a very vivid, very well-fed imagination—he’ll have to keep up.

 

Then, one bitterly cold night, thanks to a devious, conniving, so-called friend, the perfect opportunity to rid myself of this pesky virginity problem comes along. Before I know it, the heroes in my novels have come alive in the person of Shane Galloway, who’s pleasuring me with every trick in the book and wheedling into my heart in the hottest ways possible.

 

**Please note Cold Nights, Hot Bodies was previously published with different cover art.** 

 

Cold Nights, Hot Bodies Excerpt:

 

I stood, arms hanging at my sides, knees buckled, as he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to mine.

It was a gentle kiss, not wet and not dry, the perfect combination of smoothness and maleness. I parted my mouth and held my breath as he delicately traced my bottom lip with his tongue, then I captured his taste—wine and water, man and musk. Pulling in air, I was treated to his gorgeous light scent again.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, pulling back a fraction. “Like a little sugary doll.”

Pushing to my toes, I pressed my lips to his, wanting more of his taste and his desire.

This time the kiss quickly turned hotter and harder. Still he kept my face cradled in his hands, holding me just where he 11058553_1472825089625996_7686604483102317647_nwanted me as he probed his tongue deeper, searching for mine with the hot, insistent tip.

I lifted my tongue from the base of my mouth and tentatively touched it to his. He gave a small groan and slanted his head. Our tongues tangled and I reached up and curled my hands into the material of his shirt. Hung on as our breaths quickened and our mouths fed off each other. I became lost in his kiss, he was all I could think of. His taste, his smell, the way he was holding me was my entire universe. Bubbles of pleasure erupted deep within me. A crazy new need flowed like lava through my veins, settled in my breasts, seeped between my legs and spread over my skin.

He pulled back and dropped his hands from my face.

I opened my eyes.

His mouth was shiny from our kiss and his eyelids heavy. “Lose this,” he whispered, sliding his fingers beneath the thin shoulder straps of my dress.

I prayed my heart wouldn’t give out, it was beating so hard and fast. He wanted me to take off my dress. Of course he wanted me to take off my dress. We were going to have sex for heaven’s sake. The dress had to come off.

I slid down the zip and the material loosened around my ribs. He stooped, gripped the hem and began to lift. It smoothed up over my thighs and waist and air breezed over my buttocks, which were exposed by my thong.

He straightened, his expression heavy with concentration as he carried on peeling the dress upward. I stretched my arms above my head and was blinded momentarily as the dress brushed over my face.

Shane didn’t drop the dress on the floor. Instead he shook it straight and laid it on the back of the sofa. Instinct made me want to cross my arms over my breasts, flatten a palm over the shockingly tiny piece of lace that made up the front of the thong Dawn had provided. But I forced my arms to remain still, hanging at my sides as he turned to me.

“Phew,” he said, blowing out a breath and scanning my legs. “I must have been a really good boy this year to get stockings filled so sweetly.”

I couldn’t help but notice there was a long, hard bulge straining against his fly. My stomach flipped and I quickly averted my eyes and glanced down at my legs, which were encased in black fishnet. The scalloped tops looked fine and dainty against my pale thighs. The flickering shadows from the fire caressed their outline and even I had to admit, they looked damn good.

“You think so?” I asked nervously, trying not to dwell on the size of the bulge I’d just seen.

“Hell, yeah.” He stepped back over. “I must have accidently found a cure for cancer or secured world peace to get such a great present.”

A small, apprehensive giggle escaped my lips. “You like the stockings then?”

“I’ve never liked stockings more than at this moment in time,” he whispered onto my mouth. “Promise me you’ll keep them on, even when you take everything else off. I want to feel them rubbing against my skin when you’re wrapped around me.”

I shivered in a breath at the wonderfully erotic image he’d just created. “I promise.”

He glanced down at my jutting breasts. “You’re beautiful, you know that.” He traced his finger over the soft curve at the top of my right breast and into my newly deepened cleavage.

A dart of pleasure shot to my nipples, as though the weight of my breasts had doubled under his touch. They were suddenly tingly and tight.

“You do know that, don’t you?” he said again as he traced over my left breast. “Of course you do, I’m sure you’ve been told by plenty of guys.”

“Er, no,” I said, pressing my palm over his shirt and feeling his hard pectoral muscle shifting slightly beneath.

“No, you don’t know it or no, you haven’t been told?”

“I…well…I…”

His gaze captured mine and he tipped his head to the side. “Are you okay?” He stilled his finger.

“Yes, it’s just…” I slid my hand up to his shoulder and held on for support. I had to tell him. I didn’t think I could go through with “wrapping myself around him” if he thought I was experienced and confident. I’d be sure to disappoint or let him down somehow. He deserved to know. Besides, Saffron had told Tobias, so had Felicity in Lord Morton’s Maid and Skye had left a note for Ralph in Optimum Pleasure. All my heroines told their men it was their first time. It was the right thing to do.

“What is it?” Shane asked again, his eyes searching mine.

“I-I haven’t, you know, done it before.”

“Done what?” He creased his forehead into a frown.

“You know, it, had sex.” I stared down at my dark, stockinged feet. They contrasted sharply with the golden carpet. “I’m a virgin.”

His whole body snapped backward. It was as if he’d been electrocuted. “Jesus,” he said, shoving his fingers through the hair on the crown of his head and stretching his elbows out to the side. “What the hell?” He stared at me with wide eyes.

I crossed my hands over my chest. “I’m sorry.” A shard of fear sliced into my heart. He didn’t want me anymore. Now he knew I was a virgin he no longer desired me. He’d wanted an experienced lover for the night, not some naïve little girl.

“And you let it get this far before you told me?”

“What do you mean? We haven’t done anything other than kiss.”

He huffed. “Yeah, one hot kiss with you looking like the best damn Christmas present of my life.” He shoved his hands down his waistband and appeared to re- arrange the bulge behind his fly.

“I’m sorry. Partly for letting it get so far and…” I paused. “And partly because you appear to be in physical discomfort.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” he said, glancing at the door and pulling his hand from his pants.

“Well, clearly there is.” I was getting frustrated now. “If I wasn’t a virgin we’d be heading into the bedroom by now. ddd2c5391d79a6b51b0e9ccc6e4deb91Clearly my inexperience has put you off.”

“I had that in mind actually,” he said, pointing at the deeply cushioned sofa next to us. “It’s wide and soft and by the fire. It would have done just fine.”

I tightened my arms around myself. He’d wanted to make love to me on the sofa. Just the thought of it sent a tremble up my spine. It would have been so perfect. So sensual and sweet.

He rubbed his hand around the nape of his neck. His dark, tousled hair fell over his ears and he cast his eyes downward.

“I had to tell you,” I whispered, shivering despite the blasting heat of the fire.

“Thank goodness you did. Imagine if I’d just gone for it, not knowing. It would have been catastrophic.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been with a woman for a while,” he said, frowning. “And you in those damn stockings and with your sexy little body.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I was just about to lose control. It wouldn’t have been the gentle initiation to sex that you deserve, Ashley, it would have left you dazed and confused and wondering what kind of beast you’d invited to your room.”

He didn’t look like a beast, and he certainly hadn’t touched me like one. His fingertip on my flesh had been gentle and reverent. Although now he mentioned it, when he’d looked at my stockings there’d been a glint in his eye that had made me wonder how much control he had.

“Does it change things between us so much?” I asked quietly.

He sighed. “Of course it does.”

“But why?”

“Because your first time should be special, with someone you care deeply about…love.”

“I care about you.”

“But we’ve only just met.”

“But I still care about you more than any other guy I’ve ever met.” I swept my hands down the exposed skin on my body. “No one else has seen me like this before.”

His eyebrows twitched as his gaze roamed my underwear. “Lucky me.”

I frowned. “Shane, I want to do this, with you. Tonight.”

“But surely you want more than…” He shrugged and clamped his lips into a tight line.

“Than what? Go on, say it. We’re both adults. We both know what we’re doing.”

“Okay, surely you want more than a one-night stand to give away your virginity to?”

My jaw clenched. Of course I knew that’s what this was. But having it said aloud hurt. Quickly I shoved that stupid bit of hurt way down deep. I had a more pressing matter to concentrate on and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. “I’m twenty-three, Shane, I’m still a virgin and I don’t want to be.” I pulled in a deep, determined breath. “I’ve chosen you over a bunch of losers who’ve chatted me up and asked me out over the years. It’s taken me a long time to find someone I want to have sex with. One-night stand or not, I want you to make sure I’m not a virgin when I wake up in the morning.” I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes. “Do you think you’re man enough to do that?”

“Oh, I’m man enough all right. I’m also man enough to walk away and stop you making a mistake you’ll never be able to undo.”

“But how can it be a mistake if it’s what I want?”

“Because you don’t know what you want. Why can’t you see that?”

“How dare you.” I stepped up to him, poked out my index finger and pressed it against his chest. “You have no idea what I want or need.”

He looked surprised by my sudden rise in voice and stern tone.

“I’m a virgin not an idiot. I know about love and lust and I know there’s a difference. I also know I want to be initiated into the world of sex by someone handsome, intelligent, experienced and…and…”

“Expert?” He raised his eyebrows.

tumblr_nqdyzeipn61uppic1o1_400I tutted and lowered my finger. “Yes, that will do quite nicely, expert. I want someone who isn’t going to fumble and
falter. I want someone who knows which buttons to press.”

“Buttons?” He gave a hesitant smile and a lock of hair fell over his right eye.

“This is not funny, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, there’s nothing funny about the ache in my pants I can’t do anything about.” He pushed his hair from his face.

“Of course you can.” I lowered my voice, gentled my tone. “I’ve been reading up and I know what you need too, I know what you’d like, Shane. It doesn’t have to be boring because it’s my first time.”

“What have you been reading?”

I shrugged. “Stuff.”

“Elaborate.”

“Stories about sex, men and women, things they do other than just the missionary position.”

A flicker of interest crossed his face. “Like what?”

“Things like oral sex,” I said quietly. “A woman taking a man into her mouth, sucking and licking until he comes down her throat.” I paused, sensing his heightened attention at my words. “I want to try that.”

“Anything else you been reading about?” he asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yes, tying up a lover and doing whatever you want to their bodies, making them squirm with pleasure and cry out for more.” I could hardly believe I was saying all this stuff.

“You want me to tie you up?” His eyes widened.

“Not my first time.” I silently congratulated myself on not blushing.

“Your second?”

“Maybe, perhaps I’ll wait ’til third though.” I reached for the first, fastened white button on his shirt.

Opportunity. Grab it like a terrier.

“There’s something else I want to try before that,” I whispered.

“And what’s that?” he asked, watching me undo the button. His voice had calmed, his body was still. He was no longer stealing glances at the door.

“I want to try it from behind.”

“What, in your—?” His eyes snapped up to mine.

“No, no, just from behind so I can find my G-spot.”

“Jesus, you have been reading up.”

I undid the next button and the next and reached for the cuffs. “Yes, I like to do my research.” I tugged his now-undone shirt from the waistband of his smart black pants. “If I’m going to do something, I like to do it properly.”

“Me too,” he said in a quiet, calm voice.

Shoving the shirt over his shoulders, I stepped in real close and let my breasts press into the tightly coiled hair sprinkled over his chest. “Which is what makes you so perfect for my needs,” I said, sliding the shirt down his arms and letting it fall on the floor.

“Damn, you’ve nearly got me persuaded,” he said, lowering his head. His lips rested against my temple and I heard him swallow tightly.

I pulled back and looked up at his dark eyes, they were thick and velvety. I parted my lips and held them a whisper from his. “Will this persuade you?” I cupped my palm against the taut material of his pants and gave his cock a firm, confident squeeze.

britbabes_newrelease

Buy Cold Nights, Hot Bodies Here:

 

Amazon

 

Amazon UK

 

(free on Kindle Unlimited!)

 

Reader Reviews:

 

“I have read a good number of Lily Harlem books, but this might be my favorite.”

 

“This was a great book that really showed two characters that had amazing chemistry and how the author was able to tweak them in just a way as to make the story different from all the others on the market today.”

 

“I love this couple and the HEA was brilliant. This is the perfect story to keep you warm at night.”

 

“Well all I am going to say is DAMN it is one steamy hot read…Loved it!”

 lily-harlem

 

About Lily Harlem:

 

Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning author of erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Pride Publishing, Evernight Publishing, All Romance eBooks, Stormy Nights Publishing, Tirgearr and Sweetmeats Press. Her work regularly receives high praise and industry nominations.

Before turning her hand to writing Lily Harlem worked as a trauma nurse and her latest HarperCollins release, Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse draws on her many experiences while nursing in London. Lily also self-publishes and The Silk Tie, The Glass Knot and Scored have been blessed with many 5* reviews since their release.

Lily writes MF, MM and ménage a trois, her books regularly hit the #1 spot on Amazon Best Seller lists and Breathe You In was named a USA Today Reviewer’s Recommended Read of 2014. Her latest MM novel is Dark Warrior.

Lily also co-authors with Natalie Dae and publishes under the name Harlem Dae – check out the Sexy as Hell Trilogy – The Novice, The Player, and The Vixen – and That Filthy Book which has been hailed as a novel ‘every woman should read’ and is available in book stores nationwide.

One thing you can be sure of, whatever book you pick up by Ms Harlem, is it will be wildly romantic and down-and-dirty sexy. Enjoy!

Check out Lily’s website for details of her other books and her Amazon Author Page. Subscribe to her newsletter to get a FREE ebook and be the first to hear of new releases and free reads, and if you enjoy Facebook, hop on over there and say hi!

 

 

 

 

 

Out Now—Passion’s Last Promise (Club Aegis #4) by Christie Adams

Passion's Last PromiseBlurb:

Hers to protect…his to serve…

When a failed kidnap attempt leads to CEO Dr. Simon Northwood acquiring a bodyguard, he isn’t prepared for close protection specialist Ros Edwards, a former captain in the Royal Military Police. Experienced submissive though he is, having a woman stand between him and any further threat is completely untenable.

Assigned to protect the genius behind a project of national importance, Ros unexpectedly encounters the most delicious man she’s met in a long time. As a Domme, she’d love to play with him, but even if he weren’t in need of her professional skills, there’s no way he’s submissive.

A determined man. A stubborn woman. When passion flirts with danger, the last promise is the toughest one of all…

 

Buy links:

Amazon: http://getbook.at/PLP

All Romance eBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-passion039slastpromise-1940493-147.html

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/passions-last-promise/id1131728778?mt=11

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/passion-s-last-promise

*****

Excerpt:

“Problems, Miss Edwards?”

“Not at all, Dr. Northwood.” She turned towards him and slipped the smartphone back into her jacket pocket. “A minor logistical issue, that’s all. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I was wondering if we were still on schedule to depart for Oxford as planned.” From what he’d heard, Simon had his doubts.

“Of course, sir. As I said, a minor logistical issue.” She paused, fixing him with her coolly assessing gaze. “I was just about to make coffee—would you care to join me?”

He had a conference call in a few minutes, his third of the day, but Simon suddenly found himself more in need of a shot of caffeine, and another opportunity to try to goad her into going Domme on him. He’d been trying all week, and this morning was the closest he’d come yet. He strode over to the desk to call his PA.

“Alicia? Can you let Martin know that he’ll be handling the finance call in ten? Give him my apologies—something’s come up that requires my attention elsewhere. Thanks.” He replaced the receiver and turned his attention back to his bodyguard. “I don’t mind if I do, Miss Edwards.”

She gave a brief nod in acknowledgement. He watched her disappear into the adjoining kitchen, only to hear seconds later the crash of breaking glass followed by the colourful and creative cursing he was coming to associate with his beautiful bodyguard. Simon headed for the epicentre of the disaster.

As if someone had flicked a switch, his nonchalant attitude came to an abrupt end. Ros was running her hand under the tap, washing away the blood that was oozing from a cut to her hand. Broken glass littered the worktop and the floor.

Simon’s protective instincts kicked into action, sweeping aside all thoughts of provoking her again. He grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cupboards. “Let me help.”

“It’s all right, I can manage.”

“No—you can’t. What happened?”

To his surprise, she allowed him to take her hand in his. Strong and capable, it was at the same time neat and feminine, with short but immaculately manicured nails. No rings, but as he’d told himself the first time he’d checked, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Kamikaze glassware.” Ros glanced up at the open cupboard. “When I was getting the mugs to make the coffee, I accidentally nudged a couple of tumblers. They decided to take their name seriously and try out for the Olympic gymnastics team. I can tell you now, their technique sucked.”

Simon pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh at the latest glimpse of her taste in humour. She’d caught him unawares like that once or twice before, with a little nugget of dry wit. “What were you trying to do? Catch them or juggle with them?”

She shot him a dark scowl. At that precise moment, she looked more like the recipient of a sense of humour bypass, then he realised she was more annoyed with herself.

“I was picking up the pieces. Some of the shards started slipping out of my hands and I grabbed at them on instinct. Stupid thing to do. At least it’s not my right hand.”

He quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“Trigger finger.” She waggled the digit at him. “Can’t pull a trigger if I’m bandaged up.”

“Or if you end up slicing through tendons.” Simon’s slightly harsh tone was a reflection of his discomfort at the way she spoke so candidly of using firearms. “A dustpan and brush might have been safer than trying to pick up the broken glass.” He nodded in the direction of the tall corner cupboard.

For a moment she looked like she was about to argue, but then the change in her expression and a tiny, careless shrug acknowledged the truth of his words. Simon turned his attention to her injuries. There were some superficial cuts but the main one wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought—she’d probably get away without needing any stitches in it. Having confirmed there was no glass in the wound, he pulled on some surgical gloves and ripped open a sachet containing an antiseptic wipe.

She was standing so close now. He tried not to be distracted by the calm rise and fall of her breasts, or the subtle floral scent of her perfume. He tried not to respond to her steady gaze resting squarely on him. He tried not to think of the probable reasons why a former RMP officer never even flinched at the sting of the antiseptic.

Having put a couple of Steri-Strips on the cut, he then made the move that was his downfall. It was the small, insignificant act of glancing up at Ros’ face. She was staring at his hands in rapt fascination, lips slightly parted, almost inviting a kiss.

Carpe diem. The Latin phrase blazed through Simon’s mind like a meteor. She hadn’t responded to provocation, so perhaps a different tactic was called for. He swept aside the memory of the altercation they’d had a few hours earlier, focusing instead on this moment.

Simon pulled off the surgical gloves with a snap. In a club, he’d never dream of doing what he was about to do—it went against everything he’d been trained for, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.

Before Ros could move away from him, he took her uninjured hand in his and raised it to his lips. Before his inner voice could convince him he was making a huge mistake, he pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.

“Dr. Northwood.”

He wasn’t expecting the sound of his name to send a delicious shiver through his body. The formality, though…just as guilty of that as she was, maybe even more so, but he wanted it to end. “Simon.”

Desire would be held back no longer—he claimed the sweetness of her mouth, and prepared to take his punishment for crashing through her boundaries…

*****

Author Bio:

After winning an erotic short story competition, Christie Adams waited over twenty years to follow it up with her first full-length erotic romance. The second publisher she approached picked it up, and after a brief spell with them, she moved into the exciting world of indie publishing.

When she was asked about how she got into writing, Christie realised she’s been putting pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—for longer than she thought. It all started in her teens, with stories featuring characters from her favourite TV shows—usually action dramas—but in her imagination, those characters were given a romantic life to go with the all-action one their audiences saw.

From there, she progressed to romantic novels featuring characters of her own invention, but success eluded her until she spotted the erotic short story competition in a magazine.

Christie lives in north-west England. When not at the day job, she can usually be found wrestling with the characters in her latest novel. Occasionally she finds time for sleep, and maintains her social skills through, among other things, regular attendance at a pub quiz, which forces her to think about other things besides plots and characterisation.

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