Category Archives: Guest Blogger

Sweet Spot – A New Lesbian Sports Romance by Lucy Felthouse! (@cw1985 @8britbabes) #erotica #romance #lesbian

June 30, 2014Guest BloggerEllora's Cave, erotic romance, erotica, guest blogger, hot pink, lesbian, lesbian erotica, lesbian romance, Lucy Felthouse, new release, raw talent, sapphic, sports romance, sweet spot, tennisK D Grace

Blurb:

A Raw Talent book.

Virginia Miller is an up-and-coming tennis star. She’s gone from a ratty tennis court in a park in south London, England, to the world’s top training facility—Los Carlos Tennis Academy in California. In awe of the talent around her, Virginia is all the more determined to make the most of the opportunity and show that she’s worthy of her place there. Her mentor, Nadia Gorlando, has every faith in her.

But Virginia finds herself distracted—Nadia, as well as being a top-notch tennis player, is seriously sexy, and Virginia’s mind keeps wandering where it shouldn’t. Will her crush get in the way of her career, or can she find a way to push the other woman out of her mind before it’s too late?

Buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/sweet-spot/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21521972-sweet-spot

*****

Excerpt:

Nadia Gorlando and I had just gotten off the exercise bikes in the gym when one of the academy’s coaches, Peter Ross, headed over to us, all smiles.

“Hey, Nadia,” he said, his all-American grin widening and his blond hair flopping down over his forehead, “I need a huge favor.”

I flicked my gaze to Nadia. She raised one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows and waited for him to continue. He did.

“I totally lost track of time just now and I have an appointment with Travis Connolly. Would you mind wiping down my machine for me? Or maybe stick a note on it saying it’s out of order? I don’t want to leave it all sweaty for someone else. You’ll be doing me a real solid. I’ll owe you.”

My jaw almost hit the floor.

Now Nadia rolled her eyes, looked over at the offending machine, then back at Peter. “Sure, I understand,” she said, as cool as ice. “The world’s number one can’t wait. Go right ahead—I’ll fix it for you.”

He babbled a load of thanks, then jogged out of the gym.

I gaped at her. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”

Nadia chuckled. “Of course not. He may be coaching Travis Connolly and Rufus Lampani for the US Open, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to clean up his mess.” She pointed with her chin over to the machine Peter had just vacated. “Come on, V, I’ll show you how I’m going to deal with this.”

I followed her, grinning. Her tone told me that it was going to be something fun. Well, for us, anyway. Probably not for Peter.

Sure enough, when she returned from the room off the side of the gym, she had a pad of paper and a pen in her hands. Deliberately shielding the pad from my view, she wrote something down, then pulled off the top sheet. Folding it, she then propped it on the sweat-slicked seat so the writing was on view to anyone who happened past.

When I’d read and absorbed the words, I turned to Nadia, impressed. Her smile lit up her face, showing dimples in each cheek, and her brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

It was in that moment that I decided I had the serious hots for Nadia Gorlando.

The sign read,

PLEASE EXCUSE THE STATE OF THIS MACHINE. PETER ROSS, TENNIS COACH SUPREMO, “LOST TRACK OF TIME”.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Channeling the Cat by Lisabet Sarai

June 25, 2014Guest Blogger, New Releasesbooks we love, erotic romance, erotica, guest blogger, Lisabet Sarai, paranormal, shifter, supernatural, the eyes of bastK D Grace

The Eyes Of Bast It’s almost a joke – the common association between authors and cats. I haven’t done a systematic survey, but I would estimate that at least 75% of the authors I hosts as blog guests mention feline companions in their bios. I’m no exception. I currently have two cats who traveled with us from the United States to southeast Asia ten years ago, and who have settled in quite comfortably.

Of course, many famous writers were renowned for their close relationships with their felines. Colette, Papa Hemingway, Jean-Paul Satre, Ray Bradbury… the list goes on and on. The inspiration for my erotic writing career, Portia da Costa, is a huge cat lover – that’s one of the things that forged a bond between us.

Many explanations have been offered for the feline-author affinity. A cat doesn’t need to be walked, so we can spend our time at our desks as opposed to trucking around on the street scooping up their business. Cats are mysterious creatures with many layers of personality – rather like effective characters. Cats have an elegance and precision of movement we writers might use as a model for our prose. Many authors have cited their felines as sources of inspiration. Noted Canadian writer Robertson Davies once said “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reason.”

The other day, I was suddenly struck by a new theory. I was thinking about the fact that so many authors report hearing “voices”. “I just listen to my characters, and write down what they say,” one of my guests commented. Writing sometimes feels like something driven from outside, beyond our conscious control. Well, what if that’s true?

What if it’s not our characters who are dictating the story? What if it’s our cats?

Ridiculous, right? But Mr. Toes sits behind my monitor most days I’m writing. He pretends to be asleep, but if I should get up for a bathroom break or a drink of water, he stirs and gives me a look, as it to say, “Where are you going? The story’s not done yet!”

I grew up with cats. I grew up writing fiction. When I went off to college and then grad school, I left the felines behind, and although I wrote lots of poetry during that period, I didn’t pen a single story. Then I met my husband, a confirmed ailurophile, and filled my life with felines once more. Next thing you know, I was a published author.

Ever tried to write when your cat was sick? Tough to concentrate on the tale, isn’t it?

And wouldn’t this explain why our characters are larger than life? Why they have so much vitality, such powerful passions, such intense adventures? How could a mere human imagine such creatures? Cats, though – they have superhuman abilities. Just ask them.

Of course to really test this, we’d all have to get rid of our felines and then see if we could still write.

That might be informative. It might restore our self-respect. But it’s simply too painful to contemplate.

If I’m channeling my cats, I’m okay with that. As long as they don’t want their names on the cover.

Meanwhile, I’ve finally written a story in which a cat has center stage. The Eyes of Bast is a shifter tale with a difference. Read on to learn more.

*****

Excerpt:

Tom finally broke the kiss and leaned back with a sigh. “Ah, Shaina! I should never have allowed you near me. But I was so very lonely… I wasn’t thinking straight. Now I’ve put you in danger too.”

“Danger? What kind of danger?” I reached over to flick the switch on my reading lamp, so I could read his expressions. Then I seated myself cross-legged at his feet and clasped his hands in mine. “Tell me, Tom. Tell me everything.”

“You will not believe me.”

“How could I not believe after – after what I saw this morning?”

His brows knotted together. “I never wanted you to see – I was careless…”

“But I did see. And now I know, at least something about you. But I don’t know enough to help you out of whatever trouble you’re in. Tell me the whole truth. I promise I’ll keep it private, if that’s what you want. And I promise I won’t be shocked.”

Tom’s lush mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. “You might not be able to keep that promise. But never mind. You’ve asked. I’ll tell you.”

He stared off into the distance, above my head. “I was born in a small town in coastal Maine, about seven years ago.”

“Seven years…?”

“I was born a cat.”

I choked down my cry of surprise. How could it be…?

“Yes. I was born under a wharf. I spent the first six months of my life as a black kitten, a stray living off the scraps from the fishing boats and clam shacks. Then she caught me and made me her prisoner.”

“She?”

“I don’t even want to utter her name. There’s danger in the very word. She is a witch, centuries old, a practitioner of the darkest arts – the epitome of evil. Out walking one evening along the rocky shore, she caught sight of me and wanted me as her familiar. It was easy for her to lure me into her clutches.

“At first she just used me to facilitate her spells. The rumored powers of black cats are more than just legend. Before long, though, she began to experiment.”

His ominous tone sent a chill through my naked body. I pulled the towel around me.

“You see, her advanced age hadn’t diminished her lust. Quite the opposite. She wanted a sexual plaything, someone she could use to satisfy her perverted desires. A male body she could own and control. So she delved into her books of magic, seeking a spell that would turn her poor innocent feline familiar into a man – at least when she wanted him that way.

“Her first attempts failed.” Tom shuddered at the recollection. “She barely managed to save my life. I guess she’d grown fond of me at that point – in her own twisted way.”

“Oh, Tom…”

“Finally, she found a ritual that would change an animal into a human during the hours when the sun was banished from the earth. I’ll never forget the terror of that first transformation, when I found myself wobbling on two legs in front of her naked body. It was even worse than what came after.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, Shaina – I was human, but scarcely a man. I was barely thirteen.”

*****

Blurb:

Trust your heart. Follow your dreams.

Shaina Williams’ grandmother bequeathed her that wisdom, along with a old pendant from the Islands, carved from an ocelot’s tooth. When instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’d set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice, She discovers she’s caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape – the tomcat she’d rescued.

Born a cat, Tom was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate – even though it might mean losing him forever.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK | Amazon US

*****

About the Author:

When I was a little girl, my dad would make up stories for my siblings and me, fabulous sagas about ghosts and monsters, magical races with mysterious powers, heroes on impossible quests, hidden treasures awaiting only the most courageous seeker. I blame him for my lifelong fascination with the magical and miraculous.

Now that I’m grown up, I create my own tales of wonder, weaving in generous portions of human desire with its potent enchantments. In my paranormal tales, love works the most powerful magick.

Find out more about me and my books at my website, Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) and my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). I also hang out on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) and Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai). I also have a VIP readers email list where I share release and contest information and run exclusive monthly giveaways. To join, just email me: lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com.

Wolfsong Lullaby: A Sneak Peek at H D March’s New Release

June 23, 2014Guest Blogger, New ReleasesEllen March, erotic romance, erotica, guest blogger, H D March, new release, paranormal eroticaK D Grace

Thank you again K D for this opportunity to blog on your site. Only this time as H D March the alter ego of Ellen March. I’m still writing erotic romance, only this time in the paranormal. And I love it. The first of my vampire trilogy signed up with Passion in Print is available on release 21^st June. Wolfsong Lullaby will be followed by Requiem and Soul. I adore my vampire bad boys, along with the sexy Werelion Chaya. He’s such a wicked cat, and awesome, a real pain in the ass to Quest the hero of Lullaby.

When wild child Lyric arrives on Coral Island to write her thesis on sex, she soon discovers a world she never knew existed. Lyric is torn between the hot vampire Quest and the mischievous Werelion Chaya. But there is something that intends spoiling her fun. Fuelling a long delayed destiny. One that is entwined with a curse. Because Lyric’s presence has awakened an evil entity. Its target, her soul. Only Quest stands in the way but will his strength be enough to save her.

The tale takes you through love, revenge, courage and betrayal as each of the three Declare brothers discover their own nemesis. They fight for their loved ones and are forced to consider what they’d always abhorred now needs to be understood. Yet only one emotion will free them, that’s’ love, but is it enough to unchain them from years of hatred by another. If your wish is to curl up into a wicked fantasy. Delve into the lives of hot sexy heroes, and flawed heroines. To melt beneath the intense love scenes, weep for them, and laugh with them then Wolfsong delivers.

I love the freedom that writing paranormal gives me, leaving my imagination fly. The research has to be my favourite part and in particular studying mythology and putting my own slant on things. It also gave me a nudge in another direction and recently I’ve had Song of the Dragon accepted by Passion in Print, a humorous tale of Dragon shifters, with a crazy kleptomaniac fairy Elspeth who’s crude and swears like a trooper along with her not so sexy angel boyfriend Troy. Greylan is my awesome Dragon King who takes a shine to heroine Raven, until he discovers who she is. And does what any self-respecting Dragon would do, kidnaps her.

I have so much fun writing hot paranormal the ideas come fast and furious and currently I’ve just completed another vampire story Rune and already have rumbles of its sister book.

EXCERPT:

Lyric checked the time, and at exactly seven, a knock sounded from the door. She moved to answer it; a swell of nerves swirled in her belly. Opening it, she snatched in a gasp at the sight of Quest dressed all in black.

He looked all male, hot and totally fuckable. A testosterone delight that she would take great pleasure in unwrapping and licking. A truly alpha male experience.

His gaze, she noticed, dropped to the plunging neckline of her dress.

It clung to each curve; a creation made to invoke a man’s sexual thoughts and dreams. Her calling card. She didn’t miss his gaze liquefy as it dusted over her.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Quest waited. A lot of things the vampires had outsmarted; learnt to live with. But the request for entry remained in force.

It was called good manners.

A slither of a wicked grin played around her lips, and she stood back. “Please, come on in.”

Quest gave the briefest of acknowledgements and entered.

Lyric tried to swallow the posse of nerves rampaging through her. Hell, he looked hot. A virile magnetism bounced off him. His gaze, the hot promise from his golden eyes, sent a host of ripples shooting over her. A veritable riptide dragging her under, and she so wanted to skip the banal talk and fuck him stupid. “What would you like to drink?” Relief hit her that she could speak. This man took everything from her, speech, thought, and common sense. And she prayed he’d give it back in return and take. Take what she needed to give him, what she craved off him.

“Nothing. I’ve already eaten.”

She shrugged her shoulders, not quite the answer, but hey ho. Then walked in front of him to the small lounge. Lyric had her questions laid out, at least some of them, curious to know how he would reply. She tried to focus, to tear her thoughts away from his erection sitting snug in his trousers. One that she wanted to take deep inside her.

She tried not to glance down; he wasn’t hard yet, but even so, he had an impressive package. One of the biggest lazy lobs it had ever been her pleasure to sift her eyes over. She licked her lips, not missing how his attention devoured her.

Lyric motioned to the chair, the one she intended conducting her interview from. “Take a seat.”

“So, what is it you want to know?” Quest crossed one leg over the other, the material of his trousers strained taut over his heavily muscled thigh.

“I have a number of questions, which obviously we won’t get through tonight. I need an insight into a man’s prospective.” Her hand shook as she checked the paper out and cursed, wishing she could keep in control

“Begin.”

“Well, first of all, what does it for you? What makes you horny?” She shuffled the papers and tried to quell her nerves. That one word he spoke smashed into her defences; her blood boiled; her skin shivered. God knows what I’d do if he speaks dirty to me. And she wriggled her hips, a distinct dampness between her legs.

“You.” His gaze melted over her.

Oh, fuck. “Whoa, I mean give me a description of the person that would attract you and why.”

“It’s not the looks, it’s the emotion, the connection; do you understand?”

“How do you mean it?” She ran the pencil around on her piece of paper. Doodling. Pretending nonchalance. Anything to keep from pouncing on him, dragging his body to the floor. Lyric continued to draw little star shaped signs. Her mind, her predatory thoughts, on him.

God, she needed to release his so impressive cock, one that she knew lurked beneath his trousers. With determination, she kept her gaze from his crotch because any second she would throw her pad, pencil, and sanity into the air and jump him. She fidgeted, her damp panties soaked against a randy clit.

“I could look at a woman and not feel a thing, yet with you…” He flashed a sexy wink. “You do it for me; I want to sink deep into you.”

Lyric all but groaned. “Okay, what makes you hard?”

“Same answer sweetheart, you do.”

“Bullshit, aside from me, name an instance.” She hauled in a hungry gasp of breath. Unaware, the words blasted out, echoing her thoughts. She spoke them without thinking. “Would you like sex with me?” Fuck, did I just say that? Please God, say yes because, honey, I’m going to leap your bones.

He turned to her, a splash of pure lust burned across his face. “”Hell, yes, why do you think I’m here?”

Thank Christ for that! A raze of relief hit her, so hard she shuddered beneath its onslaught. She liked him. No, she didn’t, she argued with herself. Like was too mild a word. She wanted to fuck him; heck his body, his everything, did it for her. And also, she admired the fact he knew his own mind. That he needed sex as much as she craved it.

Lyric rose and moved to him. She leaned across and draped her hand over his so evident hard-on, her hand palmed his jaw, caressing. With infinite care, she bent her head, her lips seeking his; she licked him across his cheek. One super luscious slurp that smacked of sex and longing.

Her lips hovered over his. “Then kiss me.” Her words sprinkled over him in a hot whisper.

“No, baby, I never kiss, only fuck.” He continued his wandering tease over her skin.

Lyric reared back; it smacked of rented sex. A fuel of anger exploded. “Then, in that case, I suggest you leave, now.”

“What?”

“You heard me; you don’t kiss, then, honey, trust me, that cock of yours is going nowhere near me.”

Quest’s face hardened; his eyes wide, they flared in surprise. And quickly narrowed, a deep molten gold burned into her. An intense heat blasted from him. “What did you say?”

Lyric pointed, her finger quivered with anger that he thought her a quick jump, with no emotion. Even though it would be, but under her terms. “Get the hell out now!”

“What about the tutorials?”

“Has got nothing at all to do with you; now, if you would kindly leave.”

Quest glared at her; no one, and that meant no one, ever told him what to do. Yet it seemed this galling woman had managed to succeed in doing just that.

He gave a sharp nod and, with a sweeping, glaring glance, left, swearing he’d be back because she would bow to what he wanted. And in the meantime, he’d watch over her, only too aware that Chaya sat in the wings.

Buy Wolfsong Lullaby Here:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wolfsong-Lullaby-HD-March-ebook/dp/B00L6F8L0Y

http://passioninprint.com/ShowBook.php?10=HDM_WOLFSONGL

Find Ellen March Here:

https://twitter.com/Ms_ellen_march twitter page

https://www.facebook.com/ellenmarchauthor facebook

http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com/ website

New Release: The Attack of the Woodwose by Selena Cooper

June 20, 2014Guest Blogger, New Releaseserotic romance, erotica, fantasy, new release, selena cooper, the attack of the woodwoseK D Grace

BLURB

THE ATTACK OF THE WOODWOSE: LEGENDS OF MAGH MEALL, Book One

Two enemies must stand together to face a common foe!

Upon returning home with his human fiancé Berta, Reghan the Leprechaun learns that his brother is hiding the sister of Sloan, the Clurichaun who, along with his men, recently attacked Reghan. Reghan goes to tell Sloan that his sister is safe before the Clurichauns determine she’s been kidnapped.

At Sloan’s manor, the men are informed of an impending attack against both the Clurichauns and the Leprechauns by a vicious tribe known as the Woodwose. The only way they can win a battle against the woodwose is to stand together. Now they must convince their clans of that!

BUY LINKS
Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/the-attack-of-the-woodwose
Our direct sales: https://ganxy.com/i/94059
All Romance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theattackofthewoodwose-1532419-340.html

EXCERPT

Berta was nervous. She stood on the porch and stared out at the pitch dark night. Living in the farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with her Leprechaun lover had been pure bliss for the past three months.

The Clurichauns, who’d beaten Reghan and had abandoned their pursuit only when Berta’s dog and a team of coyotes had driven them away, had left Berta and Reghan in peace once their leader had realized Berta was carrying Reghan’s child. Every day the couple had grown more in love, and every day she’d learned something new and wonderful about her lover. But now Reghan’s father had sent word that a delegation was on its way to get them and bring them home.

The screen door creaked and then clicked shut as Reghan stepped onto the porch behind Berta. He slid his strong arms around her slightly bulging middle. He brushed aside her long blonde hair and kissed her neck. “My parents aren’t ogres, you know.” His voice was a low rumble vibrating against her skin.

“Are there such things as ogres?” “There are…but there aren’t many in these parts…not anymore,” he said.

“But there were?” Berta still couldn’t quite make herself believe that Reghan’s being a Leprechaun wasn’t just some elaborate hoax. When he spoke of other “mythical” beings so offhandedly, she didn’t know what to think.

Reghan didn’t look like she’d have imagined a Leprechaun to look. He wasn’t a tiny little man with a green top hat, buckles on his shoes, and a pot of gold in his hand. In fact, he was a rather large man with dark red hair, bright blue eyes, and a neatly-trimmed beard. His handsome face and chiseled body might’ve made some women think he was a demi-god, but Berta doubted anyone’s—at least, any human woman’s—first thought upon seeing Reghan would be, “Hey, look! A Leprechaun!”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Reghan murmured against her neck. “You have nothing to fear from my parents.”

“What if they don’t like me?” she asked, for what had to be the hundredth time.

“They’ll love you.” He turned her to face him. “Now come back to bed and make love to me again before the delegation arrives.”

“A delegation,” Berta said. “The very fact that they’re sending a delegation to get us terrifies me.”

Reghan tilted her chin up. “You worry too much.”

AUTHOR BIO/LINKS

Selena Cooper lives in the Southern United States. She’d love to hear from you! Send her an email at selena@selenacooper.com and/or follow her tweets and posts on Facebook. She’d love for you to consider becoming a part of her street team, Les Chats Noire. To learn more about it, visit her website!

Author Website link: http://www.selenacooper.com
Author Social Media Site links:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SelenaCooperBks
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SelenaCooperAuthor
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/cooper2478/

Warm Up for World Cup with Lily Harlem’s Sizzling Football Novel, Scored

June 16, 2014Blog, Guest BloggerBrit Babes, erotic romance, erotica, football, guest blogger, Lily Harlem, novel, Score, sports romanceK D Grace

Thanks so much for inviting me over today, Kd, it’s great to be here. I’m so excited about the FIFA 2014 World Cup. Mr H and I are planning parties with our friends and family. There will be England flags and banners, cakes and hats all with the England flag on them. No doubt some face-painting going on too!

Football fever really grips my family. I have five brothers-in-law plus three brothers of my own and they are all football crazy. It’s always loud, fun and to be honest, there were many years I didn’t ‘get’ it, but then I decided “if you can’t beat `em, join `em” which is exactly what I’ve done.

Now I’m now the one planning the party, organizing the get-together and Googling all the kick-off times. There will be beer, cheers, sighs of dismay and much discussion until the small hours of the morning – all good fun! Go England!

Scored, my sexy football novel, isn’t about the World Cup but the European Cup, specifically the 2012 European Cup hosted by Ukraine. I watched it avidly and was so inspired by all those sexy athletes shooting up and down the pitch that I created an England captain all of my own – enter Lewis Tate. Yum! He’s the perfect combination of alpha male, considerate English gent and single-minded athlete.

The heroine in Scored is a sports journalist, and a serious one at that. She isn’t interested in the gossip and the scandal surrounding the players, she wants to give the lowdown on the formation, the starting line up and the on-pitch skills. Yes, of course she does, she also can’t help having a major crush on Lewis, and despite some of her Bridget Jones’ ways, it seems he kinda likes her too!

Blurb

Okay, so I eat, sleep and breathe football and reporting the beautiful game is my dream career. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for a major crush on the England captain, Lewis Tate. The bloke is sex on legs, hot with a capital H. Add in his awe-inspiring talent, his brooding good looks and what’s not to lust after?

So my excitement is sky-high as I set off with the official press team to cover England’s battle for the European Cup. But when a series of unfortunate, or as it turns out fortunate events, attracts Tate’s attention my way, who am I to say no?

Add in a misogynistic manager, an over-zealous colleague, two blue silk ties and some incredible ball-handling skills and it becomes clear the road to victory, for me, will be an intensely erotic journey. Determined to savor every moment, I hang onto my sanity as best I can while living the fantasy and wondering if it can ever become reality. Because once Lewis Tate has taken me to heaven and back, its clear no one else will ever compare.

Here’s a snippet taken from when Nicky and Lewis have secretly met up in a Cathedral in Donetsk…

“But I’m just Nicky Thomas, sports journalist. I come from Stoke and have a middle-class, unremarkable background. Why would someone as amazing as you, with all your footballing credentials, want me?”

He shook his head and appeared bemused. “What does football have to do with me admiring your professionalism, being comfortable with who you are and fighting for what you want?” He paused. “You do still like me, don’t you?”

I nodded. Unable to trust myself to speak and gush about just how much I liked him. How much I would like to cover him in whipped cream, sprinkles and chocolate drops and spend an entire day eating it off him.

“Good,” he said. “Because if you can just cope with this craziness for a little while longer, in few weeks the tournament will be over and we won’t have to sneak around.”

“You mean—”

He brushed his lips over mine. “Yes, honey, I mean this is just the start of something. Well, it is for me anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone who’s been my last thought as I’ve gone to sleep and my first thought each morning.”

Oh, fuck. Now he’s got me.

I became a puddle of romantic ideals falling toward him. Didn’t he know what kind of effect sentiments like that had on a girl? I reached for his shoulders, pressed my body to his and allowed him to kiss me into a stupor of longing. He was my every thought too. When I wasn’t with him I was thinking about being with him and when I was with him I just couldn’t get close enough.

He tangled his fingers in my hair and held me firm as he kissed and explored my mouth. I let him in and melted under his touch. The way he was clasping me was so possessive, so masculine and dominant. Little thought kernels of what he could do to me, how he could make me feel, in bed, began to pop like candy in my belly. Imagine if he held me like this when he…

Oh, sweet Jesus. I was getting turned on again. Shit, and in a holy place.

Lewis groaned and sent kisses across my cheek, tugged my hair firmer so my head tipped, then licked and nipped at my neck. Lust shot to my pussy. It was like there was a wire from the skin on my neck to my clit and his attentions sent white-hot streaks of pleasure zapping down it.

“Lewis,” I murmured, trying to move my head but unable to. I discovered that far from feeling frustrated I reveled in the hold he had on me. That fact that I couldn’t move and he was doing what he wanted to my neck was a massive turn-on.

“Ah, honey, I could have fucking killed Fellows the other night. Walking away from you took every ounce of control I had.”

His breath was scalding hot against my flesh and I shivered with pleasure at his heated words.

“It was okay for you, though,” he went on.

“What do you mean?” He released the grip on my head and brought my face level with his. “I think you know.” I swallowed. I did know.

“You used it, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Don’t act coy.” A slow smile spread on his face. “Because it makes me so horny to imagine you using your vibrator and thinking of me.”

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

He took full advantage and kissed me again. This time he slipped his hand up my top and cupped my breast over the new bra.

I pressed closer for more. Why did we have to be fully clothed and in a cathedral? Right now I would sell my soul to be naked in bed with him and no other person for a hundred miles around.

“I can just imagine you,” he said, tweaking my nipple through silk. “Lying on the bed, legs spread, that buzzing shaft penetrating your sweetness, getting you off, making you pant and sweat.” He paused. “Did you think of me?”

Fuck yes.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “Please, I want to know.”

“Yes. Yes I did.” I felt his body tense and his shoulders hitched, like he was pulling in a deep breath.

“And did you say my name?” He switched his attentions to the opposite breast.

“Yes, over and over.”

He fluttered his eyes shut and let out a long deep sigh. “Oh, fuck, that mental image of you is so hot,” he muttered.

“Lewis Tate,” I said in a scolding whisper. “You’re a bad boy picturing such things in a holy place.”

His eyes pinged open and his gaze trapped mine. For a split second I thought he might grin. He didn’t. “Tell me you’re not thinking them too.”

“Yes, I am, but—”

“But the difference is you’re not going to have zipper marks permanently imprinted on your genitals.” He shifted on the seat. “Fuck, you make me so hard.” He shook his head and muttered, “So hard it hurts.”

That knowledge thrilled me utterly. “Is that so?” I ran my hand down over his chest, his abdomen, then settled it on the solid wedge of flesh at his groin that was pushing and straining against the denim.

“That’s not helping.” He moaned. His face twisted and his eyes screwed up tight.

“I know what will, though.”

Fuck. Had I really just said that? Double fuck. Had I really just thought that? I had, and it seemed I was the biggest sinner of the lot because I didn’t care. I wanted to act on my impulse. In fact, I wasn’t sure anything could stop me. Not now the need, the desire, had flooded my brain like a tsunami.

I tugged at the button on his jeans, freeing it with a quick flick of my wrist.

“Nicky,” he said, parting his lips on a pant. “What are you doing?” He opened his eyes. They were dark and smoky, their normally crystal-clear depths clouded with lust.

“I’m going to help you out with that zipper problem.” As I spoke I tugged down the zip on his jeans. The flesh beneath burst forward, the cotton of his briefs not as efficient at containing his cock as the denim had been.

“Ah, fuck, really, here?” He hissed in a breath as I cupped his shaft through cotton.

I glanced around. “We seem to be alone.”

“But anyone could walk in—”

I kissed him, cut off his words, the same way he had me earlier. “I somehow don’t think it will take long.” I sought the waistband of his boxers and delved inside. Bulging, heated flesh strained forward and I gripped it eagerly. Ecstatic to finally

have his cock in my hand.

“Now just let me down there,” I said, nodding between his knees and finding myself admiring the proud, scarlet shaft filling my palm. The head was wide and shiny and blushed with arousal.

He didn’t speak, just spread his thighs and let me maneuver myself between him and the pew in front. “Keep look out,” I said, finding a prayer cushion for my knees and settling into the softness.

“I’ll try.” His cheeks were flushed, his jaw tensed.

I gave him a sexy grin then poked out my tongue and stroked it through the deep slit on the head of his cock. Pulled in his flavor and swept it over my palate. It was sweetly bitter with a salty creaminess to it. Delicious.

“Ah, shit, that’s so horny seeing you do that.” He tipped forward and gripped the backrest of the pew behind me, effectively embracing me within his bulk and engulfing me in shadows. “Fuck, be careful. I’m so near coming already.”

“Keep looking out,” I said.

*****

Oh Nicky you’re so bad, but it does get good for her, really good! Against the wall, in the bath and tied to the bed good! Here are a few reviews for Scored…

Lily Harlem’s story of a famous footballer and a hardcore sports writer is one of the best happily ever after erotica novels I’ve read.”

“Explosive, and oh my god wow, that’s all I can say. I could not put the book (Scored) down till I was finished. A must read!”

“From strangers to friendship to lovers, Nicky and Lewis were amazing. It felt like real life and I could picture all the events taking place. This is a must read!”

“An amazing story.”

“This is a must read. 123 pages of yummy goodness.”

And if you like Pinterest this might be right up your street… http://www.pinterest.com/lilyharlem/sexy-soccer-scored/