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Doing the Gingerbread Man

And now that you’ve had your sweet romantic Christmas tale in The Matchmaker, I though it was time for dessert with some seriously filthy holiday fiction.

First of all, let me say that I absolutely adore gingerbread! I love it any time of year, but I especially love it during the holidays. I wrote Doing the Gingerbread Man last year for Christmas when I hunted all over Guildford for some gingerbread, ginger cake, ginger anything, with no success. I even thought to bake my own gingerbread but alas, I couldn’t even find ground ginger in the grocery stores. That is how this filthy little holiday ditty came to be. Not one to be deterred, I decided to be a little more creative and make my gingerbread man fictional. I didn’t need ground ginger for that.

My gingerbread man turned out to be so deliciously filthy and decadent, that I decided to invite you over again to partake. The story is short, very sweet, and complete. It’s gluten free, dairy free, even calorie free, but oh so very naughty. Enjoy!

BTW, I did find some totally delicious ginger cake this year in the local farmers market.

 

 

Doing the Gingerbread Man

It might have been too much mulled wine, or perhaps a sugar high from eating damn near as much of my holiday baking as I … well as I baked. It might have been just a longing for a little bit of that holiday magic I remembered from my childhood. Whatever it was, on a whim, I decided to bake gingerbread men. I mean why should kids have all the fun. I was alone over the holiday and I had decided that I was going to make the best of it, that I was not going to feel sorry for myself. I was going to have a good time if it killed me, and that good time involved making, decorating, and eating gingerbread men.

The recipe I found online not only promised that my ginger bread men would be tasty, but that they would also be chewy. My mouth watered at the thought. I had all the ingredients, and in my cupboard I found red hots for buttons, dried cranberries for lips and slivered almonds for eyes, plus I had several tubes of icing in primary colors all ready and waiting to spiff up those men when I took them out of the oven.

The recipe was supposed to make sixteen gingerbread people – gender of your own choosing, but I never was great at following a recipe. I reckon they’re just guidelines anyway. Instead of the requisite sixteen biscuit boys, I opted for one giant, macho, gingerbread man, one that would fill the entire cookie sheet. By the time I had the dough mixed up, I’d switched from mulled wine to Prosecco. Truth be told, most ginger bread men were entirely too unmanly for my taste. I intended to create a testosterone charged, hunk of a gingerbread man, one that would seriously make my mouth water and give me something to wrap my lips around. I wanted my big GBM – something that size had to have a name — to have bulging biceps. I’m a commercial artist by trade because it pays the bills, but I’m artsy fartsy by nature, and well-shaped biceps and decent pecs and abs sculpted from liberally-sampled ginger cookie dough were not beyond my artistic abilities. Strangely enough the more Prosecco I sipped, the more creative I became. In no time at all I decided GBM didn’t need red hots for buttons because GBM wasn’t going to wear a shirt. I was having visions of Magic Mike by the time I got down to GBM’s trousers. I had plans for a little blue frosting thong with just enough pouch to cover GBM’s junk. But then I decided maybe I didn’t want said junk covered. After all this was a private performance for an audience of one. “It’ll be much easier for me to eat you and taste your yummy gingery goodness without frosting,” I said to my creation. “Besides who needs all those extra calories?” I could almost swear I heard a low throaty moan, but then more than likely it was my own. I raised my glass to my buffed biscuit boy feeling a bit like Dr. Frankenstein in her laboratory as I polished off the alcohol, rubbed my hands together and went to work on making sure GBM was … um…err … anatomically correct.

When a girl has her hands on a man’s cock, and she gets the feel for it, the shape of it, the way it responds to her touch, well how can she not get a little wet, a little squirmy, a little hot and bothered, and who would have thought that was true even with a gingerbread cock? I’ll admit I took time out from my efforts for a little browsing of the internet researching just exactly how I wanted GBM’s cock to look, making him wait on the table unformed and unfulfilled while I checked out schlongs online. I decided to go for heavy, somewhere in between flaccid and semi, resting languidly against GBM’s golden tan belly so as not to obscure the view of his weighty balls.

I remember as a little girl secretly pretending that my Barbie and Ken were fucking, even though poor Ken didn’t have the equipment for the job. I only ever did that when my rather conservative mother wasn’t home, and even then I felt guilty. Not tonight though! Tonight I felt empowered. Tonight was all about indulgence, all about my fucking pleasure, and here I was making it up to poor Ken by creating right proper, and proportionately substantial, bits for GBM, shaped to suit my very active fantasy life. For a long time now, my sex life had been solo, so my fantasies tended to be doozies. That meant I saw and heard sexual innuendo everywhere in everything, and eating a hot gingerbread man was just too delicious not to fantasize about.

When I finally got down to serious hands-on with GBM’s meat and two veg, my buzz was way more than alcoholic. I was the queen, I was the creator, the dominatrix, I was GBM’s goddess and he lay before me passive and obedient to my will. And then the true artist in me came out. In my imagination, the feel of a cock became almost tactile. I imagined a man asleep not yet aroused to my touch. I imagined sliding close to him, under the blankets, all naked and needing, needing the feel of maleness — of maleness needing me back. In my mind’s eye, I traced the silken smoothness of hard growing beneath soft. I cupped the weighty sac, slightly cooler to the touch, full and tight, resting in my hand. My mouth watered anticipating the taste of maleness, ginger and spice and everything nice, everything so fucking nice.

“Run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.”

“Oh trust me, my little humunculous, you don’t want to run from me, not when I have your cock in my hand. Oh yes, I can see that smile on your face. You can’t fool me. I know what you want, and when I’ve made it so hot you can’t stand it, I’m going to eat you.”

I would have considered taking a break to tuck my set of shiny love balls up inside me, to jiggle and tease me while I worked on my creation, but I couldn’t leave him alone in such an unsatisfied state. Instead I stood at the counter hunched over his prone body, shifting from foot to foot, pressing my thighs together. The heady smell of ginger and heat flaring my nostrils and filling my mouth with saliva as I touched and fondled and formed the cock of my dreams. Lust heated the kitchen far more than the oven did. Sweat trickled down my spine, and thoughts of Pygmalion, in love with his own creation, thoughts of breathing life into grain and spice, leavening and oil connected me to an age old story of wanting, needing to create something to love, something that would love me back, something that I knew intimately because I had touched him as no one else had or ever would. Even in my state of arousal, my state of need, I found myself waxing all Biblical to GBM, with my slightly enebriated, more than a little bit self-centered version of Psalm 139.

 

For I created your inmost being;

I knit you together on my kitchen counter.

 You are fearfully and wonderfully made,

Even if I do say so myself

 

In the heat, I had shed my shirt and jeans, standing before my man in my red Christmas knickers and bra with a sprig of mistletoe in my damp hair, anticipating some serious mouth action when GBM was complete. At last, pleased with the shape of him, I got down on my knees and tuck him on his non-stick surface into the oven raising my arms to the heavens as I shut the oven door and steamed the glass all but shouting, “live, damn you! Live!”

Okay, now I know this sounds insane, but the second I did that, there was a flash of lightning and the electricity buzzed popped and crackled, and then went out, leaving me in the dark with GBM in his super-heated prison. But never fear, my oven is gas, and while I lay half naked curled on my side with my fingers in my panties, GBM got hotter and hotter and more and more ready, and I swear, his cock got bigger and bigger. Okay, yes, I know that’s the result of baking soda, but you gotta remember, I was in an altered state, I was just this side of Nirvana, I was having a religious experience.

Perhaps I passed out. Perhaps I really was temporarily traipsing around Nirvana. I had to be dreaming, though, because when the lights came back on the oven door burst open and wow! GBM crawled out all bronze and rippling and fully grown. Some parts of him were way more fully grown than others. And what do you think? The first words out of his mouth were, “I want to eat you, my lady, and then I’m going to fuck you.”

I always figured I’d be a beneficent creator, so I laid back in front of the oven and let GBM open my legs and run his hot, gingery, very talented tongue all over my juicy landscape. And just when I was writhing and grinding and guiding his ginger head closer to my itch, he pulled away, and I got my first look at that magnificent spicy, bronze cock, raised for the occasion.

The heat of him all but scorched me raw as he shoved his sizzling thickness up inside me and began to hump and thrust, filling the whole kitchen with the spicy, humid scent of sex and ginger – some of it his, but a good bit of it mine. He rode me until I knew I’d have bruises on my ass, and I didn’t care. I wrapped my legs around his floury ribs and met him thrust for thrust, slipping and sliding up and down his well-buttered torso. When I came, he pulled out and straddled me, holding his heavy staff up to my lips. “Eat me. Eat me now,” he said. I barely managed a few delicious licks and sucks down his gingery length before he came in buttery, spicy purts at the back of my throat. “I heard you love cream fillings,” he managed as he exploded again and again until butter and ginger and crème ran down my chin and onto my tits and I sucked and slurped and mewled like a kitten. How could anything taste so good?

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

I came to feeling a little singed around the edges and looking up into startling brown eyes. I blinked, not sure but what I was still dreaming, then I blinked again as I took in the total package, looking up into an outdoorsy tanned face with strong cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose that looked as though it might have been broken at one time. There was a full-lipped smile and a dimpled chin and the whole lot was topped off with bed-headed ginger-bronze hair and matching stubble.

“What happened?” I managed through a parched throat.

“You had me really worried there for a minute,” his voice was a toffee rich baritone I could have eaten with a spoon. “I think it was some sort of an electrical surge, or something. I heard it from outside and saw this bright flash of light. When your door was standing open, I feared the worst.”

“I was baking.” I did a quick glance at my oven, then did a double take only to find that the cookie sheet was empty and smoking heavily.

“Mm,” the man said, glancing first at the recipe for gingerbread men on my phone, which now lay on the floor next to me. Then he stood, grabbed a potholder and pulled the empty cookie sheet from the oven with a hearty chuckle. “What happened, did your gingerbread men run away?”

“I guess maybe he did,” I replied, looking around the room, as he offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. “I did threaten to eat him, after all.”

“Him?”

“There was just one. A big one.” It was then that I noticed my state of undress. “Oh god, I’m sorry. It was, well it was really hot in here, so I …”

“It is, hot.” He said, the smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he looked away to give me a little privacy. “Could have been all the heat that caused the electrical surge.”

“I’m sure that was it.” I replied.

“I’m Nick, By the way,” he said, still keeping his eyes averted. “I just moved in next door.”

“Janet,” I replied, zipping my jeans and turning to face him. “Welcome.”

He shot me a quick glance and when he saw that I was decent, he offered his hand. “I was just delivering a little Christmas cheer.” And then he gave me a flirty little grin that made me feel hot all over again. He nodded to the plate of gorgeously perfect gingerbread men setting on the table. “Perhaps these’ll make up for the one that got away.”

“Thank you. I had my mouth set for gingerbread men.” Then I added quickly, “sometimes my imagination runs away with me.” I looked around, half expecting GBM to be peeking out from behind the pantry door. “With the size of the one I made though, I imagine he’d still be gooey in the middle.”

“Gooey in the middle is all right as long as he’s hard where it counts. Oh God, I can’t believe I said that.” He ran a hand through mussed ginger curls.

“Well you can hardly be blamed under the circumstances,” I replied. “What with finding me in my underwear all sprawled on the kitchen floor in front of the oven.”

He looked around. “You don’t suppose he has something sinister in mind, this giant runaway gingerbread man of yours, do you?”

“I did feel a bit like Dr. Frankenstein when I was making him,” I said. “It’s possibly he’s now out on the street running amok.”
“If the villagers all turn up with torches and pitchforks later tonight, we’ll know why,” he said.

“Best be vigilant.” I put on the kettle and nodded him to sit at the flour dusted kitchen table, still wondering what had happened to GBM. “So what do you do for a living, Nick?” I asked.

“I just opened a bakery down the street. While I do seriously delicious cookies and cakes, my specialty is breads.”

“Oh my God,” I dropped into the chair next to him, feeling like I’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone. “You own The Ginger Bread Man?”

He raised his brown eyes to meet my gaze, and a smile split his face. “Yup, that would be me.” He pointed to his hair. “I am the ginger bread man.”

 

 

The Naughty Book – A Guest Post by Janine Ashbless (@sinfulpress) #giveaway

I’ve been very naughty. I know, as an erotica author I’m supposed to be, right?  I’m supposed to use transgression and shock for erotic effect in my work. Well, in my novel The Prison of the Angels, which is all about – surprise! – fallen angels and their wickedness, there’s an intricate scene in which I turn the kinky sex up to eleven – and I kick it all off by quoting the Bible. Extensively. Egregiously. With malice.

My heroine, Milja, has a lot of issues by this stage in the trilogy. She’s a Christian who has betrayed God, according to all that she’s been told. She has a definite propensity for public exhibitionism and submission. And she is carrying a TON of guilt regarding how she has treated her angelic lover Azazel. So in a scene that is pretty much her ultimate guilt/BDSM fantasy, she finds herself naked and surrounded by a load of leering guys, and there’s a preacher excoriating her with bible verses.

The Bible’s got a lot of filthy stuff in it, if you know where to look. Much of it’s under the guise of condemnation: “I will shew unto thee the judgment of the Great Whore that sitteth upon many waters, with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication”. (Revelation 17)

That’s metaphorical of course – Babylon, the Great Whore, is a symbolic figure. But there’s a strong Biblical thread of denouncing nations/peoples/cities by slut-shaming them in the symbolic guise of errant wives and/or prostitutes who just can’t give up the game because they just love to fuck.

“She gave herself as a prostitute to all the elite of the Assyrians and defiled herself with all the idols of everyone she lusted after. She did not give up the prostitution she began in Egypt, when during her youth men slept with her, caressed her virgin bosom and poured out their lust on her.” (Ezekiel 23)

The Prophet Hosea, for example, was commanded by God to marry a “harlot” in order to provide a living sermon. “Let her remove the adulterous look from her face and the unfaithfulness from between her breasts. Otherwise I will strip her naked and make her as bare as on the day she was born.”

In Milja’s fantasy all this bubbles up to shame, frighten and excite her, because there’s really nothing like a sense of transgression and sinfulness to get people thoroughly overwrought:

“For thus saith the Lord God; Behold, I will deliver thee into the hand of them whom thou hatest: And they shall deal with thee hatefully, and shall leave thee naked and bare: and the nakedness of thy whoredoms shall be discovered, both thy lewdness and thy whoredoms. I will do these things unto thee, because thou hast gone a whoring after the heathen, and because thou art polluted.” – (Ezekiel 23)

And the filthiest verse in the Bible? That’s in Ezekiel 23 too: “There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses.”

That’s a simile even I would balk at, normally – but hey, it’s in the Good Book! Thank you, Biblehub!

xxx

Janine

*****

Excerpt from The Prison of the Angels:

The cold water flashed like white fire over every inch of my skin. It burnt my eyeballs and my lips and the inside of my throat, and beyond the white fire was a darkness so immense that it swallowed me whole.

I fell forever.

Something grabbed my wrist. Something so hot that it boiled away the darkness, so that there was suddenly light flashing in my eyes. I felt myself grabbed up bodily and lifted. I felt heat against my lips, blowing fire into my frozen lungs. I saw the wooden posts of a flight of steps, and then I pitched forward onto hands and knees in the shallow snow, choking up pond-water. In front of my blurred vision an inchoate swirl of darkness poured up the steps onto the lit porch and then disappeared. Unseen, something slammed against the door, a knock that made the house shake.

I was on the ground beneath the back porch of John’s house, I realized, shuddering.

Mama. Oh Mama. The thought seemed to come from nowhere.

Three times the knock sounded, and on the third the door burst open—outward, onto the porch—to reveal Egan in the lit room within; shaven, shirtless, and frozen mid-lunge for what I could only assume was a weapon of some sort.

He stared.

I tried to cry out.

“Milja?”

Grabbing his pistol he ran out barefoot onto the porch and looked around for enemies that were not there. Then he clattered down and pulled me up into his arms. I pressed my face to his neck and he carried me up the steps and over the threshold—not like a bride, but like a child he could hold tight against his torso, his wrists locked under my thighs. His skin blazed against mine. He hefted me into the kitchen and propped my ass on the table in front of the range.

“What the hell?” he demanded in a low fierce voice, sweeping locks of sodden hair back from my face. My hat seemed to have disappeared. “What happened, Milja? What were you doing out there?”

“Ice. I fell in the lake.” My jaw chattered. It was obvious I was telling the truth—I was soaked from head to toe, and after clasping me so close he wasn’t much drier himself.

“Feckssake, woman!” he growled. “What the hell were you thinking of?” He shucked off my coat, which lifted a sodden ton from my shoulders, then stooped to pull my boots off; ice-water spilt all over the floor.

I tried to strip off my gloves but my fingers weren’t capable of gripping anything.

“Come here, come here,” he said softly from where he knelt at my feet, grabbing my wrists and peeling away the useless gloves. He pressed my hands on either side of his warm neck, holding them there. They must have felt like ice-blocks to him, but he didn’t wince.

He looked like a knight kneeling before his queen, I thought. I could feel his pulse.

“I’ll go get towels, Milja. Are you going to be okay a sec?”

I nodded, though he probably couldn’t see it through the shuddering. He rose and hurried off, leaving me with the radiant warmth of the stove. I thought I should probably get the rest of my clothes off, but even after I struggled with my fly zipper my jeans seemed determined to cling to my bum-cheeks.

I heard the back door bang shut and I flinched.

Azazel?

Had he been gathering himself to come get Egan? Was he the one who had saved me from the black waters? Where was he now?

Egan came back in carrying armfuls of towels. “Alright?”

“I’m okay,” I told him, smiling through my shudders. He was still shirtless, and I could see the faint Ethiopian scars on his arm and chest.

He wrapped my hands one at a time in a towel, chaffed them dry, and then set them deliberately against the hard, hot wall of his torso.

Oh God.

Then he slipped all the buttons on my thick flannel shirt—the one I’d chosen this morning precisely because it wasn’t provocative or distracting—and he only slowed when he realized I was wearing just a bra-top underneath. My nipples stood in shamefully hard points under the stretch cotton. I tried to wriggle out of the long tartan sleeves of my shirt on my own, to spare his blushes, but everything clung like a freezing cold second skin and he had to help.

The shallow slash on my forearm wasn’t bleeding anymore, but each brush of his fingers felt like hot coals.

My wet garment made a slap as it struck the floor.

He draped a towel around my shoulders and another over my head. He started rubbing the water from my face and hair and scalp, his movements precise and gentle. For long moments I was buried in a soft darkness. I reached out, blind, to put my hands back on his bare ribs. I could feel his heart pounding beneath them, like a beast pacing a cage.

I have no idea when it all changed for him. When his grueling self-denial simply fell apart, like a garment worn and washed until the fabric was weakened beyond all use. All I knew was that he dropped the towel off my damp head, cupped my face in both his hands and—absolutely without warning—kissed me.

*****

Blurb:

Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart.

Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries.

She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether – torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost.

But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja.

Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it.

Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel.

This time, the choices she makes will change everything.

This time it’s the End of the World.

The Prison of the Angels is the third in the acclaimed Book of the Watchers trilogy, following on from Cover Him with Darkness, and In Bonds of the Earth.

Buy links:

Amazon

Kobo

iTunes

Google Play

Barnes and Noble

*****

Author bio:

Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure. She likes to write about magic and myth and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.

Buyer beware! If you like dark romance and a hard-won Happily Ever After, try “Cover Him with Darkness,” “Heart of Flame,” or “The King’s Viper.” If you prefer challenging erotica, go for “Red Grow the Roses” or “Named and Shamed” instead. All her other books lie somewhere on the spectrum between.

Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000. She’s also had numerous short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance, Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology ‘Geek Love’.

Born in Wales, Janine now lives in the North of England with her husband and two rescued greyhounds. She has worked as a cleaner, library assistant, computer programmer, local government tree officer, and – for five years of muddy feet and shouting – as a full-time costumed Viking. Janine loves goatee beards, ancient ruins, minotaurs, trees, mummies, having her cake and eating it, and holidaying in countries with really bad public sewerage.

Her work has been described as:

“Hardcore and literate” (Madeline Moore) and “Vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death and love.” (Portia Da Costa)

Author Links:

Janine Ashbless website: http://www.janineashbless.com/

Janine Ashbless on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/janineashbless

Sinful Press website: https://www.sinfulpress.co.uk

*****

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://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/janine-ashbless-4/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Out Now— April Swings, Erotic Menage Romance by Adriana Kraft @AdrianaKraft #giveaway

 

Series: Meghan’s Playhouse, Book 3

Blurb

April Day deeply loves her husband, Derek, but something’s missing. To heat things up, she books them on a Caribbean cruise for their seventh anniversary. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but she knows she’s found it as soon as she spots the delectable sprite of an actress who stars in the ship’s daily shows.

Meghan Keenan’s having a blast with her latest squeeze, Clark Hendricks, who writes and directs the shipboard main shows. Should she turn down April’s request to heat up her marriage? And if she accepts, where will Clark fit in?

Derek is stunned by his wife’s brash pursuit of the hot young actress. Must he match her boldness to keep her from leaving him?

Available From:

Amazon (universal link) http://mybook.to/aprilswings

Extasy Books http://www.extasybooks.com/april-swings

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36423768-april-swings

*****

Excerpt

“Crap, you haven’t pounded me like this for years,” April panted.

Derek felt her fingers clawing at his back. She hadn’t been a wildcat like this for years, either. He lifted her butt off the bed and continued plowing in and out of her. Her heels pounded his backside.

“I’m coming!” she keened. “Come with me. Do it.”

Her verbal barrage rattled his brain, and then his cock exploded. He worked his wife’s hips back and forth along his length, spurting and filling her like she’d demanded. Breathing heavily, he flexed his arms and settled April on the bed, then leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her giggles confused his muddled thoughts.

“Good grief.” Grinning broadly, she lolled her head from side to side. “Does this look like a woman in pain?”

He shook his head. “Not really. But let’s roll over so I don’t have to worry about crushing you.” He rolled them easily until April beamed down at him.

She licked perspiration from his chin. “So watching me ride Meg’s fingers must’ve been a turn-on after all.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “That, and imagining her howling into the night.” He ran a finger along her nose. “You didn’t do badly in that department, yourself.”

“I hadn’t realized how silent I’d become over the years until Meg quizzed you about me. I could hardly keep my mouth closed in the lounge.”

“I noticed.”

“So are you ready for Meg to get more involved with us?”

He scowled. “Do we have to? Wasn’t this good enough?”

April shook her head. “Who knows what good enough is? Do you really want to turn your back on Meg? Do you really want me to turn my back on her? We may never have this kind of opportunity again. We’re free to try whatever we want here.” She kissed his mouth and dragged her tongue across his lips. “Don’t you at least want to try? For us. Or at least, for me.”

*****

Behind the Scenes at Meghan’s Playhouse

What’s your favorite erotic fantasy? Does it include ménage – maybe a man sandwich, or making love with a woman and a man at the same time? Have you ever kissed a girl?

We started writing our Meghan’s Playhouse series to deliver some of our favorite fantasies for our readers. When we began book 1, we simply planned to write an erotic romp. We knew we wanted a young “sprite,” a bisexual woman full of energy and inventiveness, as the star in our story. We thought of her as a modern-day Aphrodite, bringing other couples together through sharing sex with both partners.

In the beginning, we didn’t give too much thought to her motivation, or to that of the other major players. Characters have a way of taking over, though, and Meg wasn’t satisfied with just being a piece of fluff having hot sex scenes. Each book in the series is its own love story, stirring up emotions even Meg wasn’t prepared for.

The original five-book series was first released in 2009 by a different e-publisher. It’s been unavailable for over four years, and we’re thrilled Extasy Books has contracted to re-release it, completely revised and re-edited. In the meantime, Meg insisted we write one more adventure. The six books are releasing approximately every ten weeks.

Seducing Cat, May, 2017

A Woman for Zachary, August, 2017

April Swings, October, 2017

A Ring for Christmas, December 7, 2017

Vegas Gambler, February 23, 2018

Meg’s Folly, May 4, 2018

*****

About the Author

Winner of the 2014 Bisexual Book Award for erotic fiction, author Adriana Kraft is a husband wife team writing Sizzling Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance for Two, Three, or More.

Readers can count on our Romantic Suspense line for gutsy characters, hot sex, and breathtaking intimacy as our hero and heroine battle outer threats and inner demons to stay alive and fall in love.

We write our Erotic Romance stories to entertain, of course, but most of all we write them because we believe in happy endings for all who fall in love, whatever their gender, sexual orientation or numerical combination. Here you’ll find multiple partners, three-way, four-way and more, swing lifestyle, lesbian, bisexual, ménage and polyamory, in both contemporary and paranormal settings.

Together we have published more than forty romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. We love hearing from readers at adrianakraft99@yahoo.com.

Links:

Website: http://www.adrianakraft.com/

Blog: http://www.adrianakraft.com/blog

FaceBook Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Adriana-Kraft/182846025133440

Twitter http://twitter.com/AdrianaKraft

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/1578571.Adriana_Kraft

Newsletter http://eepurl.com/uRvCr

Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/adrianakraft

Google+ https://plus.google.com/102791537641895264573/posts

*****

Giveaway

Two winners will win their choice of Book 1 or Book 2 in the Meghan’s Playhouse Series:

Book 1 Seducing Cat

What could college English Professor Caitlin Shanahan ever have in common with the brash carpenter Kurt Davis?  The sexy sprite Meghan Keenan, that’s what. 

Book 2 A Woman for Zachary

It’s New York! Broadway beckons, but Meg has more fun keeping an erotic triangle going with her current flame, Zach Cullen, and her drama coach, Josie Patrice.

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Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Erotica Collection Classic Felthouse by Lucy Felthouse Now Available in Audiobook Format! #audio #audible #audiobook

Classic Felthouse: Stories from the Archive is now available in audiobook format for your listening pleasure. Listen anytime, anywhere (though probably not so other people can hearits HOT!) as Elizabeth Crain delights you with her fabulous narration of these five incredibly sexy erotic stories.

Blurb:

Fancy a blast from the past? Then dip in to five short stories from the Lucy Felthouse archive. A handful of her earliest published tales have been polished up and presented to you in one seriously hot collection. Enjoy a sexy soldier, a buxom babe, erotic daydreams, filthy phone sex and a language barrier, and see where it all began for this prolific author of erotica and erotic romance.

Available from:

Audible UK: http://adbl.co/2yWaN5c
Audible US: http://adbl.co/2ylqUvZ
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2xPpmah
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2xVjCxD
iTunes UK: http://apple.co/2hJBy8O
iTunes US: http://apple.co/2xQ2hEF

eBook buy links here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/classic-felthouse-stories-from-the-archive/

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uks 100 Modern Erotic Classics That Youve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Cafs Best Mnage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 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 or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

 

Singapore Fling: New from Lisabet Sarai

In the cleanest city in Asia, things can still get messy.

 

 

Contemporary multicultural erotic romance (X rated)

 

 

Singapore Fling Blurb:

 

Thai entrepreneur Ploy Kaewkornwattanasakul has come to Singapore to close a deal. Ploy needs to convince tech whiz Jason Chow to license his ground-breaking innovation to her company on favorable terms. The future of her startup depends on her negotiating skill. When she meets Jason, though, she realizes she wants not just the invention, but the inventor, too.

 

Jason Chow is a brilliant engineer, a successful businessman and a bit of a rebel. He’s attracted to Ploy from the moment he sets eyes on her. However, he doesn’t dare respond to her advances, for fear she’ll discover his secret vice.

 

Ploy doesn’t understand why the sexy CEO has rejected her. She figures she’ll have to content herself with the cold comfort of a signed contract—unless the strength of Jason’s desire overwhelms his shame.

 

 

 

Buy Singapore Fling here:

 

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0768YSZMX/

 

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0768YSZMX/

 

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/752384

 

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/singapore-fling-lisabet-sarai/1127210397?ean=2940154581056

 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36380813-singapore-fling

 

 

Singapore Fling Excerpt:

No sooner had Ploy pushed the dish away than a uniformed staff member rolled up next to her with a plastic bin of dirty utensils. It took no more than a few seconds for the employee to grab the bowl, balance it on top of a pile, wipe the table clean, and disappear.

 

Ploy glanced around the open space. Every table was full, most with multiple people, eating with single-minded determination. Clearly at the height of lunch hour, available tables were rare. Throughput was critical.

 

Probably she should vacate her table, but she didn’t like feeling pressured. Anyway, she’d just paid the equivalent of two hundred baht for a single bowl of not-very-exciting noodles. For that price, she could buy a full dinner in Bangkok. She had the right to sit here for a while.

 

She glanced around at the other customers in the busy, noisy hawker center, a mixture of shoppers and business people judging by their clothing. Most alternated between animated conversation and shoveling food into their mouths. Others sat glued to their phones, swiping away with one hand while manipulating chopsticks in the other. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.

 

Three tables away, though, she noticed an anomaly: a solitary young man, reading a hard cover book. She couldn’t make out the title at that distance—it could have been in Chinese, for all she could tell—but whatever it was, it completely engrossed him. He was oblivious to the bustle around him, including the frequent accusatory looks he received from the cleaning staff.

 

A real, printed book! Ploy was surprised to see anyone his age opting for dead trees as opposed to a touch screen.

 

There was nothing remarkable about the man himself. A bit taller than average for a Singaporean, slender but not skinny, he had typical Chinese features. He wore the dark pants and white shirt, sleeves rolled up, that was the common business uniform in the steamy climate. His slightly shaggy black hair fell into his eyes as he bent over the book. A pair of dark-framed glasses and a phone rested on the table next to him.

 

Something about his utter stillness drew her, though. Attracted her, in fact. She found his focused concentration exciting. This was a man with a powerful will, a person who had no difficulty ignoring what did not concern him. A bit of a rebel, too, given his willingness to flaunt social convention in this aggressively polite city. Like her, he wasn’t about to bow to the unreasonable demands of his inferiors.

 

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

 

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

 

 

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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