All posts by K D Grace

A Submissive Finale by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee)

Guest Blogger, , , , ,

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

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

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

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Blurb- The New Room

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

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

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

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

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Here’s an extract to tempt you…

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

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

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

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

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

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

The distinct brrring vibration of a refrigeration unit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

Amazon UK | Amazon US

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Thanks again!

Happy reading,

Kay xx

 

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

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

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

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

You can follow Kay on –

Twitter- https://twitter.com/kay_jaybee

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

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

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

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

Jane Riddell Shares How to Get Your Words’ Worth

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I’m very pleased to have editor and novelist, Jane Riddell, at my place today. Every writer has nightmares about not giving their babies the best possible editing, and nothing. We certainly want the best for our readers. Knowing my own angst about giving my book the best editing, I jumped at the chance to have Jane on my blog so that I could pick her brain for some ideas that might help both writers and readers at the end of the day. And so that she could tell you all about her wonderful new book on editing, Words’ Worth. Welcome, Jane!

 

book-cover-guide-a-4-smallKD: Jane, what inspired you to write a book about editing?

 

JANE: When I began editing my first novel, Daughters of the Lake, I had a small list of things to check for but found myself constantly adding to it. The more I learned about writing, the more things I felt required checking. It felt overwhelming, so I decided to put my checklists into table form, so that I could tick things off when I’d done them. It also meant that I didn’t have to follow a particular order in my checklist because I knew exactly what had and hadn’t been done.

When finding myself longing to explain my system to any writer who’d listen, it became obvious that I should turn it into a book and hence Words’Worth: a fiction writer’s guide to serious editing was created. It’s a small guide – 54 pages – but more comprehensive than it looks at first sight. I continue to use this method of editing my novels because it works, although it takes time and can be tedious.

 

KD: Tell us a bit about yourself, Jane, and about your other books.

 

JANE: I came to writing seriously quite late in life. For many years it was a hobby, something I fitted in around work. When we planned to move to France for three years (2006 – 2009), I knew I wouldn’t be able work there with such limited French. A month or so before we left, on a wet Saturday afternoon at the gym, walking on a treadmill and listening to Martha Reeves and the Vandellas singing Dancing in the Street, I had a defining moment.: I thought ‘I’ll give writing a go.’ And I haven’t looked back. Interestingly, it was only during our second year in Grenoble that I was able to tell people I’m a writer, without that critical demon in my head accusing me of being a fraud.

My first novel was Daughters of the Lake, a contemporary family drama set in Switzerland. The idea came for this while I was on holiday in Brunnen on beautiful Lake Luzern in Switzerland. It’s told in four viewpoints – the mother’s and those of her three daughters. I think that at a subconscious level it was inspired by Anita Brookner’s Hotel du Lac, although the plot isn’t at all similar.

Chergui’s Child is my second novel, and it’s about a woman who receives a large inheritance from her aunt, and also a revelation which changes her life. It’s set in London, Morocco and the south of France.

I’ve recently completed a novella – The Bakhtin Chronicles: Academia, about a Russian cat who comes to Edinburgh to final-cover-for-final-cover-for-daughters-of-the-lakestudy creative writing and struggles with literary theory. The inspiration for this came from my own experience of failing to understand the relevance of French philosophers and literary critics to writing, while I was studying for a Masters in Creative Writing. It was therapeutic after a miserable academic year.  Doubtless some will consider me mad when they read it, but as all writers know, insanity is a good personality trait. I plan to publish Bakhtin some time before Christmas.

 

KD: What is the biggest editing problem you think novelists have?

 

JANE: Eliminating unnecessary words. A big chunk of Words’Worth is devoted to this. Strong, descriptive verbs don’t require adverbs. And sometimes verbs are surplus: ‘I’m going to have to’ can be shortened to ‘I’ll have to’ without sacrificing meaning. People don’t ‘begin to laugh’, they simply laugh. By deleting words that can’t justify their space on the page, it’s possible to lose thousands of them. And I do – in each novel…

 

KD: If you could give just one piece of advice to writers to make their editing tasks easier what would it be?

 

JANE: Have checklists rather than keeping in your head everything that needs to be done. Allow enough time for the editing process – it may take longer than writing the first draft did.

 

KD: Tell us a little bit about your next project.

 

JANE: When I’ve finished my current novel, I plan to write a second version of Words’Worth, this time targeting business writers. And I’m considering writing another Bakhtin novella, perhaps about working life after university, or perhaps about a writer struggling to promote his/her work.

 

KD: Do you, as a writer, have editing shortcuts that make your life easier? If so, what are they?

 

JANE: Not really. I plod through my lists each time. But a key point in Words’Worth is that the writer can personalise the checklists for every novel. Initially, I included checking for unnecessary adverbs and unnecessary prepositions. I don’t include these items now because searching for them rarely showed either of these and I was wasting time.

 

KD: Is there anything else you’d like to share with writers?

 

JANE: The often dispensed advice, ‘Keep going’ is fine, but only if at the same time you are working hard to improve your writing technique. This makes sense: if you made a chocolate cake that no one liked, you’d find another recipe rather than continue to use the old one in the hope of finding someone who thought the cake was yummy.

I’ve found that the best ways to improve my writing are to read the ‘how to’ books, read fiction as much as possible to see how other people write. Receiving feedback on my writing has been invaluable, but it’s important to be discerning about choosing readers.

 

Buy Words’ Worth Here:

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/WordsWorth-fiction-writers-serious-editing-ebook/dp/B01H2B9ZF0/

 

https://www.amazon.com/WordsWorth-fiction-writers-serious-editing-ebook/dp/B01H2B9ZF0/

 

Here’s a peek at Jane’s novel, Chergui’s Child:

 

Blurb for Chergui’s Child:

 

cc-front-cover-jpgOlivia is recovering from a traumatic event five years earlier, when she is summoned to the bedside of her dying aunt, Dorothy. Shortly afterwards, she learns that her aunt has left her a large sum of money and a letter containing a startling revelation. From Morocco to London to the south of France, this is the story of one woman’s journey to make her life whole again.

 

Links:

https://www.amazon.com/Cherguis-Child-Jane-Riddell-ebook/dp/B00YTE9XWE/

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/ebooks/dp/B00YTE9XWE/

 

Extract:

 

Two days later as I handed a £20 note to the taxi driver, I could still visualise my aunt’s pallid, dying face.

‘Hey – your change,’ he called after me.

I took the money, scrambled up the steps and pressed heavily on the brass doorbell of the lawyer’s office.  In reception, I removed my jacket and perched on a leather armchair, wondering again why I’d been summoned.  What was so important it couldn’t be discussed over the phone?

The paintings on the drab green walls did nothing to lift my spirits: cherubs hovering round a tormented loin-clothed man; mountains tumbling into a murky lake.  My fingers drummed the armrests as my thoughts reverted to the evening before. James had arrived late, and from the window of my third floor flat, I’d watched him adjust the metal coat hanger that served as an aerial for his Citröen.  His perfunctory peck on my cheek irritated me.  When he left early, claiming a headache – from my incense, of course, not his smoking (nothing that happened to James was ever his fault) – I’d been relieved.

Exhaustion permeated me: no Dorothy, and the funeral to endure tomorrow.  Ten fifteen.  Where was the lawyer?  I flicked through a National Geographic article about Iceland, closed the magazine.  The door opposite opened, two men shook hands and one of them left, smiling at me as he passed.

‘Miss Bowden, I’m Charles Minto.  Apologies for summoning you at such short notice and for keeping you waiting.’

I followed him into a large, sparsely furnished room, sat down and surveyed my surroundings, wondering if their soothing cream colours eased the stress of divorce, financial worries and problems with neighbours.  Outside, the wind buffeted leafless trees and the sky showed no inkling of sunshine.

‘I am sorry about your aunt’s death,’ he said, smoothing back his white forelock.  The glare from his specs reminded me of my former headmaster, but the lawyer’s aura was calmer.

‘I didn’t manage to talk to her.  I was in St Albans when she had her stroke.’

‘Your father told me.  I contacted you to tell you about Dorothy’s will.’

How much more caring he sounded, using Dorothy’s name.  ‘Her will?’

He nodded, studying me with sudden intensity as if I were a specimen in a lab.   I wanted to parachute myself home, to work, anywhere.

‘She changed it the day before she had her stroke.  You are the main beneficiary.’

My pulse raced.   ‘But… this isn’t…  What about William, what about my mother?  Does she know?  Will I have to tell her?’

His eyes softened.  ‘Your aunt was adamant you have the money.  She has provided well for William but the rest has been left to you.  The figure is about £700,000.’

I imagined Mum’s outrage.  £700,000!

‘There’s something else.  Dorothy dictated a letter to you on the day before she died.  This was when she changed her will.’

‘A letter?’

He handed me the envelope.  ‘Take your time – the contents are… unusual.’

My heart clamoured for escape.  I wanted Dorothy, not her money.  I didn’t want to read a letter, I didn’t want to discuss finances.  All I yearned for, in fact, was my cosy duvet and sleep.

After peering at my name on the envelope, I opened it and scanned the letter.  Then I reread it, the letters dancing like pixies.  When finally I glanced up, the green and maroon circles on the lawyer’s tie swirled.  Struggling to breathe, I reached into my bag for my inhaler.

Mr Minto waited for a moment, then handed me a glass of water.  ‘Drink this, please.  You’re in shock.’

 

 

About Jane:Jane Riddell

Jane Riddell is a Scottish writer based in Edinburgh. For years she worked for the NHS as a dietitian and health
promoter, writing being a hobby. In 2006 she impulsively moved her family to France, and during her three years there writing became a passion.

Jane summarises herself as: enthusiastic, well-intentioned, hopelessly inadequate with technology, having a dysfunctional relationship with time and addicted to chocolate, her only vice (to date). Her partner describes her as a benign crocodile. She loves: sash windows, perfume, wild weather, photography and films. Travel is her passion, especially pet sitting in other countries. To date she has looked after: dogs, cats, stick insects, turtles and parrots.

 

Find Jane Here:

 

www.quietfiction.com.

 

Jane also offers an editing service. Check out Choice Words Editing on her website.

Shameless Selfie Sunday from Lyme Regis

Blog, New Releases, , ,

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Hi my Lovelies! I’m away from the blog and away from my usual haunts for my annual writing retreat in Lyme Regis. Every year I look forward to this one precious week in early autumn passionately, always wishing there was a way to make it longer. For this one week, I totally clear my decks of all PR, all ironing, all correspondence, all social media commitments, all everything that doesn’t involve writing, and by writing, I mean working on a novel! OMG! I’m all a quiver!

This year I’ll be working on the sequel to In The Flesh — Blind-Sided — and what a romp it will be! SOOO … in honour of an entirely fabulous week of writing dark, sexy paranormal cool stuff, this Shameless Selfie will be a little bit different. For those of you who have purchased your copy of In the Flesh, you’ll know that at the end you’ll find the teasingly tense first chapter of Blind-Sided. And no! I’m not going to give you a spoiler, BUT what I will do is give you a sexy little snippet from Landscapes because Alonso Darlington and his friends are figuring majorly, not only in In The Flesh but also in Blind-Sided, so here’s a tasty teaser of a shameless selfie for you. Oh, and yes, the selfie is from Lyme Regis. But this one is from last year, and as you can see from the background, it’s all about inspiration. Hold on to your hats and let Alonso take you away. I promise I’ll be spending a lot more time with him and Reese this week. Colour me excited!

 

Landscapes Blurb:

Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’ life?

 

landscapes-cover-12654238_1515192535449022_5292046566866535088_nLandscapes Excerpt: Sex Vicariously:

 

It was nearing dawn when Talia returned to our accommodations smelling of sex, as I knew she would if she were to obtain for me what I wanted. By then my blood burned in my veins, and my body felt too close to me, as though the flesh that I dwelt in suddenly conspired to crush me with its demands. And though I knew that Reese Chambers could not have refused her even if she had come to him as a toothless, foul-smelling hag, I hated her that he had poured himself into her body while I had been left with only my fantasies kindling my lust to an inferno.

Though my need was such that my flesh was fevered and my cock an insistent throb, until she returned, I held myself contained within skin that felt too thin. When she saw the state that I was in, she pulled the heavy drapes with an efficient tug, then with a nod of her head, motioned me to follow her down into the basement room that had been prepared for me. When she turned to me at the foot of the bed, before she could opened her kiss-bruised lips to speak, I took her mouth, starving for the first taste of him, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his blood, mixed with hers. She’d bitten him; he’d bitten her back. He was rough, and he liked to be treated rough, but he kept that to himself. He was embarrassed by it. His lips were slightly chapped from so much time in the sun and wind, and they’d slid against hers, suckling and stroking and pressing until her mouth opened to his. With ravenous laps of my tongue, I tasted him in her mouth, and she held back the moan of response, so I could hear the echoes of his groans, heavy with need he’d not satisfied in awhile, and I felt kinship in my own unsatisfied needs. Images of him flashed through my head. Christ, his eyes were green, dark green like the evergreen forests of the north, and he kept them open when he kissed her, taking her in with his eyes.

I shoved aside the silk of her low bodice exposing her breasts, breasts that his hands had cupped. My nipples peeked to sharp aching points at the feel of his calloused thumbs raking, pressing and releasing. I breathed in his scent on her breasts, burying my face in her cleavage, licking the taste of salty, slightly picante maleness, sniffing and tasting until I could stand it no more. In one violent jerk, I tore the dress all the way down and shoved it off her shoulders, away from the flesh he had licked and kissed and mounted. I cried out at the feel of him, weight on one elbow, knee spreading her thighs, fingers opening her heaviness, anxious to penetrate, anxious to relieve his need. And then, with Talia free of clothing, Reese Chambers’ essence filled the room. Talia’s panties were still wet with his semen mixed with her humid desire, and I tore them from her and forced her onto her stomach, onto her hands and knees, so that it was not her face I saw, but his that I imagined. With hands on her hips, I raised her bottom in the air and spread her still swollen, still slippery folds with fingers made awkward by my arousal, letting the scent of his hot bread and honey release intoxicate me. Then I buried my face in her snatch and, as I ate his lust from her, I knew him.

He was Cumbrian born and bred, and his accent was the soft lilting sound of the fells. He was a landscaper and a gardener by trade. His hands held the magic of the earth and his mind conceived ideas for beautiful outdoor spaces; those he liked best were patterned after Renaissance and medieval gardens. He was homesick and heartsick. He’d gone to Surrey to work with his father because the money was good. But his father had died recently and he had returned home to Cumbria. He didn’t care if he had to work in a pub or muck stables. He wanted to be home. He missed the people and he missed the fells. He missed the simpler, more honest rhythms of life. He was shy, even a bit reclusive. He read voraciously and widely, he liked astronomy and he was afraid of snakes, though it embarrassed him to admit it. He hadn’t had sex in a long time, and found it better to have a wank session than a meaningless encounter. The facts of him, the details of his life raced at me in a flood I consumed ravenously with each lap of my tongue.

As I ate Talia I felt the shape of his face, the curve of his chin, the rise and fall of his chest as he had done the same. I felt the soft tuft of bronze curls nestled between the hard rise of his pecs and the courser, deeper curls that caressed his testicles and his cock when it was at rest, but it hadn’t been at rest. How many times had he taken her? He was thick enough to fill her and the friction of him inside was delicious and maddening. The shape of him – I wanted to caress the shape of him, with my hands, with my mouth, and the taking of his essence from Talia was an act of ripping away something that should have been mine. As I bruised her arse with kneading fingers and, as I licked the last of his release from her, she managed a breathless moan. ‘Take the rest. God, Alnso, take the rest, and release me.’

 

itf_teaser01

 

You can buy my new release, In The Flesh by following the link. 

You can also buy the prequel novella, Landscapes.

Both are on my Books Page. 

 

Out Now – Ladies Only Anthology by Various Authors #lesbian #romance #lesfic

Guest Blogger, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The amazing Ladies Only anthology hit the shelves today, courtesy of Pride Publishing! Here’s the skinny:

ladiesonly‘Worth A Shot’ by Cari Z

Samara Wynne thinks she’s finally found the perfect roommate, but Katie’s keeping a secret that could turn their dream home into a nightmare.

Samara Wynne was dreading getting a roommate, but Katie Hansen changed her mind. Katie is everything she could want: she likes Sam’s cooking, she shares her dog when Sam’s feeling low, and there are signs that Sam’s one-sided attraction to her renter might not be so one-sided at all. Katie is safety conscious to the point of paranoia, though, and she won’t quite tell Sam why.

When a thoughtless mistake by Sam leads to their home-sweet-home being violated, it’s the beginning of the end of everything she had hoped for them. With no home, and no Katie, what does Sam have to look forward to anymore? Fortunately for her, Katie isn’t as ready to give up on them as Sam thought.

‘The Woman Next Door’ by Helena Maeve

What’s a girl to do when her arch nemesis moves in next door?

After months of endless renovations, Ziva can’t take the racket anymore. Her commissions aren’t going to fulfill themselves and she’s nowhere near ready for her next exhibition. She is, however, more than able to give her new neighbors a piece of her mind—until she discovers that the people moving in next door aren’t new faces at all.

Yvonne Barros couldn’t be less of a stranger. Eight years ago, Ziva might even have said they were friends. That was before Yvonne destroyed her business and nearly drove her to bankruptcy. Almost a decade later and Ziva desperately wants to hate the woman who stole everything from her. Yet with every run-in, Yvonne proves to be a changed person, her sharper edges chiseled smooth, her losses now worn on her sleeve.

Unexpectedly thrust into close quarters by their living arrangements, it’s not long before Ziva and Yvonne rekindle their old connection—and with it the spark of mutual attraction. But Yvonne misled Ziva once before. What’s to say she won’t do it again—especially when she is spotted embracing another woman?

‘The Tiny Blue House’ by R.A. Padmos

I am Molly Knowles. Please, marry me.

Young chef Molly Knowles travels with her tiny blue house through the country. She isn’t sure what she is looking for, but when she tastes the food of Chiara Loss, she knows that she has found it.

After two years of hiding from the world, mourning the unexpected death of her lover, Chiara is ready to fall in love again. When Molly stumbles into Chiara’s life, both women have no choice but to accept that there is no way back.

Sometimes one day filled with food and love is all it takes.

‘In the Flesh’ by H K Carlton

Working undercover, nothing is ever as it seems…

Assigned with the unenviable task of taking down the untouchable Travino crime family, undercover ATF Agent Kate Benson and her veteran partner Mike Pennington are thrown into the seedy underworld of organized crime.

Kate is asked to draw on her past experience as a dancer and infiltrate one of Travino’s skin clubs, the In the Flesh.

Posing as Vivienne, Kate meets exotic dancer Carly. From the moment they first dance together, she can’t seem to keep her mind or her greedy hands off the dynamic dancer. Together they sizzle on-stage and off. She soon realizes she’s falling for Carly but knows from past experience beginning a relationship built on half-truths is a recipe for failure.

As Kate attempts to straddle the line between doing her job and being as honest as she can be with Carly, while still maintaining her cover, Kate and her partner, Mike, are caught snooping around the club, after-hours by none other than the mob boss himself.

And Kate knows there’s not a two-step in the world that can save them now.

ladies-only-antholoy_promosquare_outnow_final‘Window Dressing’ by Lucy Felthouse

Can Jessie work with a woman with the looks of a pixie and the personality of a dragon to complete the most important task of her career?

Shop-fitter Jessie is sent to London’s Oxford Street to work on a flagship store’s front window overnight. It’s the first time she’s completed such an important task by herself, but the plans and organisation are solid—it’s just a case of getting it turned around before the store re-opens the following morning. What she’s not betting on, however, is the woman in charge of the project—Edith. She has the looks of a pixie but the personality of a dragon, and it soon becomes clear to Jessie that the job isn’t going to be plain sailing, not with Edith being awkward and putting Jessie down at every turn. As the hours drag on, Jessie somehow manages to peer beneath Edith’s frosty exterior, and much to her surprise, she kind of likes what she finds. But will she abandon her principles—and potentially risk her job—for a one-off thing?

Available from:

eBook:
Pride Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Amazon DE
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo

Print:
Pride Publishing

Marissa Farrar’s Dirty Shots Now Available!

Blog, Guest Blogger, New Releases, News, , ,

 It’s my pleasure to welcome Brit Babe extraordinaire, Marissa Farrar, to A Hopeful Romantic today to share a little hot snippet from her novel, Dirty Shots. 

 

dirty_shots_finalDirty Shots Blurb:

Eric Rutherford is a photographer at the top of his game. Young, handsome, and rich, he burst onto the art scene like a rock star. His black and white portraits sell for massive sums, but Eric wants to take a new direction in his work. He longs to create erotic art. He wants to photograph the imprints of rope across a woman’s skin, and the red stripes left by a flogger on a pale bottom. And so his search for the perfect model begins, and when blonde Anya walks into his apartment, his only fear is she’ll say no.

Art student Anya Rhinne knows all about Eric Rutherford. She knows how he’d had every spotlight turned on him, only to fall from grace spectacularly with some kind of breakdown he only described in interviews as his ‘dark days.’ When he offers her the job as his model, and their sessions together grow more intimate, she struggles to divide what is professional from personal. As his work takes a turn toward obsession, a desire to create perfection at all costs, she has to wonder if she’ll ever mean more to him than just a beautiful image on a photograph. Will she sacrifice everything for his art?

 
*Please note, this book was originally released as the serial ‘Model Wanted’ and has been rewritten and relaunched as the novel, ‘Dirty Shots’.

 

Buy Dirty Shots Here:

Amazon: viewBook.at/Dirtyshots

Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dirty-shots-marissa-farrar/1124567347

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1151472567

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/dirty-shots

  

Dirty Shots Excerpt:

She stood before him, completely naked, her breasts jutting forward, the small powder puff of blonde hair nestled at the juncture of her thighs. “Because I’ve opened myself up to you in a way I’ve done to no other man and you haven’t so much as laid a finger on me.”

 

He remembered what he’d done in the shower the previous morning and glanced away guiltily. To hide the emotions he
felt sure would be clear in his eyes, he busied himself by reaching into the box where he kept all the accessories he’d gathered for the photo shoot. With a clinking of metal, he pulled out a set of handcuffs and placed them on the floor, followed by a spreader bar. Her eyes widened at the spreader.

 

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“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

 

“It’s designed to hold either the arms, or more often, the feet apart at the ankles. These cuffs,” he lifted one in his palm, “are designed to go around your wrists or ankles, and then the bar can be adjusted, depending on how wide you need to be spread.”

 

A smile played on her lips. “Sounds kinky.”

 

He held her gaze, one corner of his lips quirking up. “I thought you wanted kinky.”

 

Without another word, she held out her wrists to him, but Eric shook his head, dropping the spreader and picking the handcuffs back up. “Turn around.”

 

She did as she was told and he reached down to grasp her hand from her side, pulling it behind her body and clicking on the cool circle of metal. He took her other hand and repeated the motion.

 

“Are you trying to punish me, Eric?” she said, a teasing tone to her voice.

 

“Why? Do you need to be punished?”

 

“I guess you’ll find that out at some point.”

 

Not knowing what to make of her words, he busied himself with the spreader bar. “I want you to get down on your knees.”

 

Carefully, her hands cuffed behind her back, she did as he asked.

 

“Put your face, shoulders and breasts on the floor, but keep your bottom lifted high, your legs spread.”

 

“If I try to lean forward like this, I’ll smack my face on the floor.”

 

She was right; he’d clearly not thought the practicalities through. He should have done the cuffs last.

 

“Here, let me help you.” Careful not to allow his hand to brush her breasts, he reached around her body and supported her upper chest, so she was able to lean forward into the position he wanted without fear of hurting herself.

 

In this position, he attached one cuff of the bar to her ankle and then spread her legs farther to attach the other one. A small chain connected each cuff to the bar, allowing some movement but not enough for her to close her legs to him. He’d never been this close to her before, not naked with her pussy spread open just inches from his face.

 

Eric cleared his throat and forced himself to his feet. His job was to photograph her, not imagine how she would taste as he pushed his tongue inside her.

 

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He adjusted the lighting hanging from the rail on the ceiling and then picked up his camera. He started with shots of her face, one cheek crushed against the white paper-covered floor, her eyes wide and innocent, portraying her vulnerability. Such contrast to the pose she was in. He moved to her back and hands, taking shots of the metal bound around her slender wrists.

 

Finally, he moved the camera to aim between her thighs, at the way her spread position exposed her pussy and ass to him in all their perfection.

 

“Are you going to fuck me like this?” she asked out of the blue.

 

He lowered the camera in shock. “That isn’t what this is about.”

 

She twisted her neck as best she could and locked eyes with him. “What if that’s what I want this to be about?”

 

“Anya …”

 

But he didn’t know what he was going to say. Surely he didn’t intend on telling her no? The position she was in, with her cheek pressed against the floor, her ankles forced apart, her perfect heart-shaped bottom pushed into the air, was just ripe for fucking hard. Between her slender thighs, the swollen lips of her vulva peeped out. He didn’t think he imagined the sheen on her pussy or the inside of her thighs.

 

His balls ached and his cock lengthened in his pants. Her gaze shifted, resting on the increasingly obvious bulge in his crotch.

 

“Anya,” he tried again. “It’s crossing a line. I don’t want to be that kind of man …”

 

“But I want to be that kind of girl,” she said. She spread her ankles wider, pulling the small chains between the spreader bar taut. The metal clinked in response. The position widened her stance, her thighs even more spread than before, exposing the star of her asshole and the delicate inner folds of her pussy.

 

“Oh, God,” he moaned.

 

Fuck it. He might want to be a professional when it came to his photography, but he was still a man.

 

About Marissa Farrar:

Marissa Farrar has always been in love with being in love. But since she’s been married for numerous years and has three young daughters, she’s conducted her love affairs with multiple gorgeous men of the fictional persuasion.

 

The author of more than twenty novels, she has been a full time author for the last six years. She predominantly writes paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but has branched into contemporary fiction as well.

 

If you want to know more about Marissa, then please visit her website at www.marissa-farrar.blogspot.com. You can also find her at her facebook page, www.facebook.com/marissa.farrar.author or follow her on twitter @marissafarrar.

 

She loves to hear from readers and can be emailed at marissafarrar@hotmail.co.uk and to stay updated on all new releases and sales, just sign up to her newsletter! http://forms.aweber.com/form/61/19822861.htm