First I’d like to thank K D Grace for allowing me to guest on her blog site. She’s a diamond and has helped me through some dark times. You know it K D, and I’m eternally grateful to you.
Anyway who said being a writer is lonely. I find my mind awash with people, events, crimes, plots, erotic scenes, you name it and it becomes alive in my scrambled brain. I’ve got so much going on its unbelievable; even in my dreams characters invade every thought. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I actually began to sleep with a notepad and pen. Except without my glasses I can’t see what I’m writing so I’ve wisely given that up. LOL
It’s kind of weird; I can sit on a train look out of the window and miss all the whirring landscape. Instead I’m whisked off to the recesses of my oh so wicked imagination. I could be in the arms of a lover, one of my favourites! Or sometimes I’m the bitch that people love to hate. I discover that I play too good a part at that at times, and hope my inner self is not so dark. But know it’s not, because my sexy soul and naughty humor raises its head and takes over.
At other times maybe I’ll study a person, surreptitiously of course, LOL and wonder about their life. Who they are, what makes them laugh or cry.
What makes me cry, is being in my characters heads when they’re hitting a major sad milestone in their lives. When I’m writing, which is every day, because I cannot not write, I discover I become that person. The emotions, every part of them I feel with a deep intensity. Good, evil, sexy, it all thrives in me, I discover I’m a melting pot of emotions, of characters.
This can me a bit worrying when I write about a particularly vicious character as in Shadow Play which is the second book from the Doms of Drakos series. I loved the evilness of the characters, but again found myself in a murky pool of tears. My dark side also emerges in One Night in Heaven the third of the series, one which I found particularly stimulating. Sadly to such a degree, I began to question myself, my ethics and morals.
However the heroine from Escorting Sydney the first in the Doms of Drakos trilogy has to be one of my favourite characters. She’s overweight, clumsy, swears a lot, and has no sense of style. I can relate to her a lot. Sydney is a sweet laugh out loud rollercoaster of fun.
I’m often asked where I get my ideas from. And I really don’t know. A thought will flourish, and I will nibble at it for a day or two. Then bang! It erupts and I’m away, the words rush through me, the plots smash into each other. And quite honestly I’ve got to be the most disorganized writer around. The words shoot from my fingers, they erupt from my head, and all I know is that I can’t get them down fast enough. I have a rough draft in my befuddled mind, and an ending. I really do try to draft a rough plan, but my characters take me off on different tangents.
When I wrote Wolfsong Lullaby, my reader couldn’t work out who the killer was. How did I manage to hide it so successfully? It was simple, I didn’t know myself, I let the story take me. I have an outline the beginning middle and end. As to the rest I love to be taken along it, surprising me as much as anyone else.
My husband suggested putting up a camera to mirror my emotions. Because every word, every scene is expressed on my face, smiles, scowls, frowns, wickedly sinful giggles, and the tears. I can’t write a sad scene without a box of tissues close to hand. I don’t even know if that’s normal, if other writers experience the same intensity. I’m not acquainted with many, I’ll rephrase that, apart from K D none so that question remains a mystery.
The other problem with my haphazard writing, call it a flaw, I don’t know. But as I’m finishing one novel, my thoughts are already fishing around for another story. Recently I have discovered a love of the paranormal. And totally fallen for some rather hunky vampires along with wicked werecats. I’m currently on the third book of my Wolfsong trilogy, Wolfsong Soul. And my emotions along with theirs have been shredded, and I’m loving every moment of it.
Moving on back to my debut novel Escorting Sydney I wanted a character that everyone could relate to or actually know. A friend or a next door neighbour maybe? I love her crazy sense of humor and I love Logan. He’s so strong, sexy and oh so into BDSM. And he makes an excellent teacher as Sydney soon discovers. What Logan wants he takes, and its Sydney. It’s the classic of opposite’s attracting. An uplifting laugh out loud book that I’d like to think will give readers a happy for now day.
About Ellen March
Ellen March lives in Cefn Cribwr in South Wales. Her three grown up children have left home. She lives with her husband Phil, one cat and five Alaskan Malamutes. Her hobbies are showing her dogs (Her dog Drago has taken two firsts at Crufts) She also enjoys back packing with them in the glorious countryside but her first love is writing.
Since she was a child she devoured any written word and acted out her fantasies in print. Her books take her from the usual nine to five into another universe.
Her ambition is to become a full time writer. She has written twenty five novels, including her first erotic romance, followed by psychological thrillers and recently the paranormal. She is currently writing a trilogy on Vampires and Werecats.
BLURB for Escorting Sydney:
Pretty is an apt description, an exclusive word that just about sums up Sydney. Pretty plain, pretty overweight and pretty devastated when she finds her sister in bed with her boyfriend.
Can life get any worse? Sydney doesn’t think so until she mistakes a billionaire property developer for the male escort she’s hired.
Logan is only too keen to introduce her into his world, fulfilling all her deepest sexual fantasies. The ones she’s stored into the dark recesses of her mind. Under the compartment called filth, shackled with the chains she has dreamed of.
What Logan wants he takes, and it’s Sydney. For two weeks only, she’ll give her body, and he’ll introduce her into a world of sex she’s only ever dreamed of.
So why is she worried when he tells her he’ll only give her what she asks for
Sydney snuggled beneath the sheet, dreaming. A smile touched and teased her lips. The bitch was there. Looking on when Oliver kissed her, she could almost taste his tongue running along her lips. God, it was so real.
“Mmm, Oliver,” she whispered, a sudden blast of cold air smattered across her skin. Her eyes flew open, straight into the harsh face of Logan. An arm each side of her, he leaned across her.
“Sorry to interrupt your dream.” His voice scraped over her, chilled and hard.
“It’s not what you think.” She attempted to assemble her jumbled thoughts. “I mean yes, I was dreaming and then you kissed me. And I kind of, well, got confused.”
“Honey, don’t you ever fucking confuse me with that asshole.” He was powerless to understand the consuming rage that splintered through him.
“Hey, calm down.” she said. His blazing gaze was directed at her. For fuck’s sake. “And aren’t you the lucky one walking out of my life tomorrow evening?” She felt bad, in fact felt like shit. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but Christ, what the hell did he expect off her, apart from sex?
Yeah, she knew, a paycheck at the end of the day. He’d be moving on, screwing some other lonely, lucky bitch whilst she—it went without saying—would be back dabbling in her toy room. Losing her mind talking to a frigging vibrator, and arguing with a fucking battery, then thought of bully. Her sweet golden boy.
Logan glared down at her, and was amazed that instead of looking nervous, worried, or even guilty, she was lying there with a mysterious madonna smile haunting her lips.
“What the hell are you thinking of?” His steaming anger scrambled through his confused thoughts. “More of Oliver?” he rasped, furious with her reaction.
“No, I was thinking of my toy room,” she admitted, at last glancing up at him. “When you leave that’s what I’m back to. Deciding who or what to use.”
Lady, I’m going nowhere, at least not without you. Logan leaned over, threading his hands through her hair, or attempted to and gave up. God, it was a mess. Forget threading fingers through soft tresses—hers was like an untamed hawthorn hedge.
“Did you use your toys with Oliver?” Wanting to know, he almost choked spitting the last word out.
“Er, no, why?”
“Were you adventurous in the bedroom with him?”
“No, strictly missionary. I wasn’t allowed anything else.” She didn’t want to elaborate in case he thought her strange as well.
“Why? Didn’t you go down on him?” Remembering the blow job, his dick began twitching again.
“Wasn’t allowed.” She fixated on her hands, not wanting to witness the sympathy cross his face.
“Nope.” She twisted the sheet.
“So he never fucked your ass either.” The words dripped out. At last he was beginning to see what sort of sex life they’d had, in total contrast to the night he’d spent with her. “Would you have liked that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Shame blazed across her face. His hand slid beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Tell me what else you’d like.” His almost-black eyes bored into hers, commanding, not asking. “Now!”
“Chains and handcuffs, to be taken, to be dominated.” Sydney closed her eyes, convinced he’d think her sick.
“I’m glad you’re honest with me.” Fucking hell, woman. Your ex is one screwed-up asshole.
“So why are you asking? Do you think I’m sick?”
“No,” he swore. “Why? Did he think that?”
Dropping her gaze, she nodded her head. “You don’t agree with him?”
“No way.” His thumb grazed across her lip, an oh-so-suckable lip. “I like your freckles.” With a wicked slow tempo, a finger drizzled down her nose, edging across her cheekbone.
“Yeah, bloody great.” Dissolving beneath him, she tried to work out how the hell she was going to cope after tomorrow. She was determined to make the most of tonight, her last night of pure mind-blowing sex. She was going to miss him like hell, still debating whether to ring the agency for an extension.
“I like your wrists.”
My what? She tried to work out where the hell that came from. A fetish of some kind? She hoped so. Kinky?
“I’d like to tie you up.”
Whoa, now we’re talking. “And?”
“And blindfold you.”
“And?” God, she was breathless already.
“And fuck you till you didn’t know what day it was. Hear you screaming, begging me to come. But only when I allow it.”
Oh God! She slammed her thighs together. Her mind raced ahead, trying to work out where the hell she could get handcuffs at this time in the evening.
Logan’s lips twitched, skimming his hand under the sheet, polishing his fingers over her pussy. She was hot and wet. He wanted her now, but needed to keep her waiting.
Slowly, with an almost clinical precision, he dipped his finger in—first one, the second following, number three shimmying close behind. They slid deep, awakening a path of lust, invading her, massaging the spot that could drive her crazy, brushing the walls of her cervix. Flicking and searching, his thumb lazily circled her clit, pushing down, and his fingers tinkled and teased with a seductive tempo until she couldn’t breathe. His gaze slipped down. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising in rapid breaths. She was going to be such a responsive pupil. Then he stopped.
Sydney fluttered her eyes open, staring up at him in confusion. The all-consuming pulsing she was experiencing was sending her insane. She wanted him. Now. “Logan?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own: low, almost keening.
“That’s to remind you of what’s to come.” His voice dripped with promise, adding with a harsh growl. “And it won’t be off fucking Oliver!”
Oh shit, she’d hit a definite nerve there.
She wished he’d stop his intense search of her. His smoke filled gaze soldered over her, igniting her lava flow. He’d peaked her to the edge, and with or without him she was going over. She’d become a natural at masturbation over the last five years. And not all of it required toys. Scuttling a hand between her legs, she rubbed herself.
Logan caught the movement, and flicked the sheet back. “Come for me, Sydney,” he murmured, feasting on her, the rash of color that rose across her face.
“No, I can’t.” Closing her eyes, she felt his hand on hers. Massaging and circling, leaving it there to sweet talk her clit. She kept her eyes shut, drowning in the heady sensations. They plummeted, flooding over her, a cataclysmic effervescent whirlpool that surged with the speed and devastation of a cyclone.
“Come on, baby.” Logan’s words careened her over the edge, releasing his cock he fisted himself in unison. His hand slid up the entire turgid length with an unhurried ease.
She bucked into an excruciating arc. Her body quivering, she whimpered, groaned aloud, and shuddered with a crash of relief against her hand.
Sydney felt his hand on hers again, smooth yet rough, a mixture of contrasting textures. She refused to open her eyes. Her whole body flushed in a deep shameful cringe, and embarrassment colored her. She couldn’t believe she’d masturbated in front of him. Oh Christ almighty, what was he doing to her?
“Open your eyes and look at me.” The tone of his voice commanding,
she couldn’t deny him.
Beautiful grey eyes smouldered into hers. His fingers dipped low, moving in an indefinable lazy stroke between her sensitive folds. Raising them, he licked each digit, sucking on them, little by little, one by delicious one, and her stomach flipped over.
“I like the taste of you honey,” he whispered.
Oh, fucking hell.
Buy Escorting Sydney Here:
Find Ellen March here:
Web page http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com