Tag Archives: guest blogger

Howling With Rose Caraway

Guest Blogger, , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200Hello Everyone! Rose Caraway here. Thanks so much, KD for letting me come out and howl with you. Today I have a little scene that I’d like to share. It is a scene taken from my Erotic/Horror novel, WOLF. I know, I am all about the erotica, but as Halloween is so close I can taste it… I felt it best to celebrate by offering a little sample of something spine-tingling.

WOLF is my first full-length novel and current WIP. I began it last year for NaNoWriMo and have been slowly pecking away at it. This book couldn’t possibly be written in a single month. I expect it to be ready for beta-readers by mid-2015, (fingers crossed!).

Okay, since it is nearly Halloween let’s talk about fears. So, what am I most afraid of? Spiders make me jump. Heights terrify me. But, honestly, it’s the being alone thing that is the worst. I think it could very well be my kryptonite. Of course I enjoy me time whenever I can, but I have the security of knowing that there are four other people living with me. If I were all alone I just might go a little “Renfield”, without the eating of the spiders thing, of course! Because eww!

So, in WOLF my sweet Virginia is stuck with this very fear gnawing away at her brain, day by day. She’s trying to keep herself together for the sake of her older sister, Elise, who is dying. The death clock is ticking and Virginia feels like she is the one running out of time. Between handling the family business, taking care of her sister, teaching 6th grade—there is no personal time to spare. No boyfriends, no casual dates, unless you count the school principle who keeps hitting on her.

This scene I am posting here is the very last scene in Chapter One. It is titled; Alone. I am going to go ahead and leave you here, all by yourself, lying on the side of a winding road deep in the Colorado Mountains with Virginia. It is about nine in the evening and she is just coming to after being bitten by one of the wolves…

WOLF1st draft/Unedited Excerpt:

Alone

A slow rhythmic thud.

Her heart… siphoning.

Pain.

A pyre pulsing up her arm.

Jointed warmth webbed around her cerebellum.

Something watching her.

A wolf.

Monster!

 

Virginia opened her eyes, awake and attuned to a new crystalline night. Before she put thought into action, she cataloged her surroundings, knew them. She was lying on the cold ground, breathing in the distinct mineral-mulch scent of earth at her cheek. Her nose took stock of her surroundings. The breeze that combed through the ancient aspen colonies covering the mountainside brought with it the rejuvenating scents of pine, spruce and fir. The wind also delivered the caustic acrid scent of rubber—the Audi’s tires, about twenty feet from where she lay. An oily, actinic signature that coated her tongue.

As she lifted her head from the ground she heard the unmistakable sound of an owl’s wings, beating—no echoing against the air as it flew away. In her mind’s eye she saw with perfect clarity that as it flew away from the cliff and over the quarry, it’s meal; a furry morsel, struggled feebly until the owl’s sharp talons embedded themselves into the tiny creatures soft belly. Virginia detected the faint, sweet metallic scent of mouse blood.

But how?

She shook her head, sat upright and paid dearly for it. Her vivid night-world swooned as blood rushed to her head, disorienting her. She groaned and then held her breath. Remembering suddenly why she lying on the road in the first place. Wolves! She scanned her surroundings. Nothing hairy lay crouched in wait for her. Though her rational mind knew it was impossible, she imagined that she could just catch their fading canine scents still lingering in the air. One scent belonged to a female, which she curiously detested. The other—the other was male and for the briefest of seconds she rather liked the virility of it. She wiped the cold sweat from her grit-covered brow and peered deeper into the shadowed tree-line across the moon-lit road. For several breathless moments she concentrated. Her eyes bulged with the effort. There were no monsters cloaked in the blackness. She dusted her hands together and suddenly remembered her arm and the long gleaming teeth that had sunk into her delicate flesh. Holding her arm up to the moon’s light, she saw that the sweater’s sleeve was shredded beyond repair and stained dark red. She swallowed. The sickly scent of her own blood caused her to wrinkle her nose as she slowly pulled back the tattered fabric to see how bad her injuries were. There was no gaping flesh, no carnage, the only evidence of the attack; a few long dark lines— scars. “What? But how? I felt it… there was blood!” her voice was a shrill whisper that bordered on hysteria.

Shock.

It had to be because of shock. Shaking, sweating, unable to think clearly, all symptoms of her recent attack. She couldn’t possibly know for sure if anything out there might actually be stalking her. Yet, as she looked around once more, some part of her felt certain of it. She licked her lips and continued counting off symptoms. Loss of blood, exposure… that had to explain it. But there weren’t any gashes. Nothing but scars! Had she imagined everything, then? She couldn’t have, her sweater was shredded and stained. Even in the darkness she could tell that it was blood all over her sleeve. Hell, she could smell the heady metallic scent of it! Her stomach rolled when she could feel herself almost falling off the cliff again. Then the sight of the wolf’s head as it loomed over the edge, the moon behind it accentuating its shape, and the teeth that bit and tore into her arm and then dragged her back up—it was real.

Clutching her arm to her chest more out of the need to be consoled than anything, Virginia gathered her feet beneath her. She took a breath and then mentally counted.

One…

Two…

Three…

Move your ass!

She sprinted, helter-skelter, her heals on fire as she imagined that she was wrong. That she wasn’t alone on the mountain road. That the shadows themselves were hungry wolves wanting to finish the job.

Her white tennis shoes slid on the gravel road, crunching too loudly in her ears. It felt like she was moving in slow-motion toward her Audi. It took ages before her fingers curled around the door’s trigger handle, swung it open, got in and then slammed it shut and shoved the locks down. Her heavy breaths were loud. The tangy scent of adrenaline—fear—filled the car. Her head jerked left then right as she checked each window, verified that nothing was barreling after her, ready to devour her.

Relief washed over her skin and tears of exhaustion blurred her vision. Trembling, she reached for the key, and her fingers felt the empty ignition slot. Her scalp tightened, her palms became damp.

“God damn it!” she pounded the steering wheel. “Why?”

The keys were somewhere out there on the ground still.

“God damn it,” there was no way that she was going to leave the safety of her car and search for her keys. She had no recollection of which way she’d even flung them.

She was alone.

Helplessness settled into Virginia’s bones with a heavy silence. If she’d only remembered her phone, then she could call a tow truck.

The tears flowed until exhaustion closed her puffy eyes. Virginia fell asleep in the driver’s seat.


KMQ CoverRose Caraway BIO

“A short story is a different thing all together – a short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.” ― Stephen King

Rose Caraway is a native Northern California writer, editor, blogger, narrator, audio book producer and podcaster for the hit show “The Kiss Me Quick’s” Erotica Podcast. She freely celebrates all things erotica with her wonderful Lurid Listeners and is fondly know as “The Sexy Librarian” who scours the globe searching for more sexy stories for her fans, which includes inviting many of today’s most influential erotica authors to guest write for her show.

You might also find Rose Caraway over at her newest hit podcast, “The Sexy Librarian’s Blog-cast” where she not only discussing her own journey in writing and her latest audio book projects, she also interviews and gets to know some of her favorite erotica authors, fellow narrators and anyone else interested in just hanging out for fun and engaging conversation, while along the way, offering helpful tips of the trade to aspiring writers. “The Sexy Librarian’s Blog-Cast” is a new way to get know Rose Caraway and her amazing friends!

Rose’s writings have always prominently showcased her sex-positive approach to life, as well as shown her commitment to both feminism and masculinism. Being a staunch supporter of the LGBT community, she believes that people of all genders and orientations should be considered complementary and interdependent and are necessary for a truly healthy and functional society.

In addition to writing, Rose’s other passions revolve around her soul mate, Big Daddy, her three beautiful children, her dogs and her avid erotica reading tortoise–Spike. Rose keeps an active lifestyle and has a deep love of music and its many incarnations. She is immersed in the martial arts and has earned a Black Belt in Kenpo Karate. She also studies and practices, Brazilian Jujitsu, Krav Maga, and Mixed Martial Arts.

 

Contact Links

Web: thekissmequicks.com

E-mail:  thekissmequicks@gmail.com

Phone # 202-810-KISS

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rose.caraway.7

Twitter:  @RoseCaraway

Instagram:  http://instagram.com/rosecaraway

Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/rosecaraway7/boards/

Tumblr:  http://rosecaraway.tumblr.com/


Stupid Fish Productions

P.O. Box 2962

Orangevale, CA 95662

*****

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Fierce Enchantments by Janine Ashbless

Guest Blogger, , , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200Inspired by my love of M R James – and by a bunch of like-minded friends – I started writing ghost stories years before I wrote any erotica. The very first story I wrote (Wah!) was about a man who murders his wife by throwing her into the sea. She doesn’t stay there. This is how it ends, as he gets into bed with – he thinks – his lover:

After a few days of being unoccupied the air here in the master bedroom was, he thought, a bit stale. Tomorrow he would see to that, but it wouldn’t matter while they slept.

He blew out the candle. Darkness thickened around him.

“Goodnight, love, he said softly, as he pulled back the coverlet. Then Richard climbed into bed with a woman in whose hair was the smell of the sea.

 

From the start, it now occurs to me, I was combining Bed and “Boo!”

When my erotica career kicked off, I made sure to include at least one ghost story in every one of my collections. From Cruel Enchantment (2000) comes Montague’s Last Ride (See what I did there?), in which a very icky revenant is summoned from his tomb by the power of lust:

“My poor Lord Montague,” she murmured, “lying there all alone in a cold bed. No warm body to hold you close. I’ll bet that never happened to you when you were alive.”

Then she discovered that, standing, her mons was directly on a level with the top of the tomb slab. Where she stood now the corner of the stone pressed into her groin, and she could rub her swollen, needy sex against its cold thrust.

 

Dark Enchantment (2009) includes two ghost stories among all the gods, monsters and other scary mythological creature. Pique Dame is about a ghost who haunts a theatre and possesses two opera singers:

What if he comes back? I asked myself. Would he stand and watch, delighted, or would he pull up the back of my skirt and wrench down my knickers and stuff me hard from behind with his eager cock, just as I deserved? 

Reflected behind me, in the shadow behind the costume rack, two eyes glinted. A dark figure stirred.

 

Whilst Cold Hands, Warm Heart is about a night in a haunted house that goes incredibly wrong for the two upstanding Edwardian gentlemen who dare it:

Directly at my shoulder, barefoot in the pool, stood a young woman. She had not been there a moment before; she was there when I turned. My heart nearly flew out of my mouth. She wasn’t looking at me; she was staring up at Morgan, her eyes wide and unblinking. She was soaking wet. That was what you noticed about her first of all: she wore a sleeveless white linen shift of some sort and it was so sodden that it clung to her body and had turned half transparent on her pale skin. Her long dark hair was plastered to her shoulders.

 

This autumn Fierce Enchantments (Sweetmeats Press) is being published and I’ve included stories about a zombie apocalypse, a group of traumatized vampire-hunters, Shakespeare’s Tempest, a Russian water-demon … and At Usher’s Well, a Scottish-set tale of three brothers who come home after being lost at sea for weeks:

‘Meg, stay here and serve at table. Bring them anything from the kitchen that they choose. My sons are to have all they desire, tonight.’ She turns away and walks off down the hall, leaving me alone with the dead men.

There’s a long, unpleasant silence. I know there’s no point in offering them food. The three men watch me from eyes filled with the grave’s darkness.

‘So Meg,’ says Rory quietly, pushing out his chair. ‘Will you sit on my lap, for old times’ sake?’

His thighs are as broad as ever, though his slowly drying clothes are stained with salt. I remember his playful embraces and the rasp of his hairy skin, rough as bark, against mine. I shake my head. ‘I think not, Master Rory. Your lap has grown cold since last I knew you.’

He doesn’t react, except with the slightest inclination of his chin. He doesn’t even blink. Not one of them has blinked since they arrived, I’m suddenly sure.

I fold my hands before me, determined to wait it out. The platters of wasted food steam.

‘Pretty Maggie,’ says Allan, with something approaching expression in his voice and—to my horror—a movement of his grey and bloodless lips that approximates a grin, ‘will you play at bob-apple between my thighs once more, for old times’ sake?’

Oh how well I remember the fever-heat of his lithe body beneath mine, and the unaccustomed narrowness of his bucking hips, and the urgency of his thrusts.

‘I will not, Master Allan,’ I answer him. ‘That’s a fruit that does not keep well in salt water.’

He nods.

Finlay presses his hands to the table and bows his head, and then lifts it to look at me directly. ‘Will you kiss me, my Margaret?’ he asks, his voice as stripped and thin and strange as sea-worn driftwood. ‘For auld lang syne?’

Oh Lord, help me.

His kisses had always made me blush, unaccountably. They’d been nothing like his brother’s straightforward pecks, but instead gentle, lingering creatures of breath and warmth, caresses bestowed on my mouth and throat that seemed to have no other purpose than their own pleasure. They’d made me feel almost uncomfortable. I feel a tear escape and run down my cheek, which I don’t doubt is as pale as theirs.

‘The taste of your clay-cold lips would be awfy strong now, Master Finlay,’ I say. My voice is hoarse, but I try to speak gently. ‘It would do me terrible harm, I fear.’

He doesn’t reply, but his expression holds me. I don’t know what to read in his still, harrowed face. It seems to me that there is pain there behind the mask of cold flesh: an ache that cries for respite. But whether it is the fires of Hell or the gnawing cold of the sea that torments him, I cannot tell.

I want to stroke back his damp locks. I want to see peace in those troubled eyes.

‘I’ll go fetch more wine,’ I mumble, though they have done no more than touch their full cups to their closed lips until now. But I cannot bear this. I have to get away. My insides are knotting under my ribs.

I get as far as the passage to the kitchen before my Mistress blocks my way. ‘Meg!’ she cries forlornly. ‘Their bedchambers are damp and drear—the rain has entered and ruined the linen. I didn’t know!’

‘Wheesht now,’ I say, daring to place my hand upon her arm. ‘It’s the weather; it’s not your fault.’

 ‘I wish them to sleep in my own great bed tonight. It’s warm and dry. We will make shift elsewhere tonight.’ Her voice, so weak and plaintive, becomes suddenly stronger as she pulls away and looks me in the face. There is something in her eyes—something that burns, that hurts, and that frightens me far more than the darkness in the open, watchful eyes of the dead brothers. ‘Go pile the fire in my room high, Meg. Don’t stint with the wood. I want them to be warm.’

No, I want to say. But she is my Mistress, and she is so alone, and love has broken her heart and her mind. I bite my lip and I nod. And I go out to the woodpile.

Up the dark stairs with the log-basket on my back I go, as I have done a thousand times. But not like this night. When you lay a corpse out for a vigil you normally keep the room cold, for obvious reasons. But not tonight.

On my knees in the split ashes, I build up the fire, coaxing the flames with my breath until they roar. The blaze scorches my pale cheeks. My insides are in turmoil. I don’t know what to feel. I am torn between horror and exultation at this dreadful miracle. I am torn between pity and a wicked, secretive pleasure I will not confess to anyone until my dying day: the joy of looking upon a face thought lost forever, a face longed-for and hotly desired. I am outraged that God has let them walk again—and yet, in my deepest core, sick with gratitude.

I am so afraid.

But not just of the dead.

Then I hear their feet, heavy and measured, upon the stair, and my heart nearly climbs out of my throat and bolts across the room. What do I do? I cast about myself in panic. I don’t want to be cornered here in their bedchamber. But to go to the top of the stairs as they ascend—to see those corpse-faces looking up at me through the darkness, while they tramp slowly toward me—that I cannot bear. There’s no other way out, only a door to the tiny garderobe. I might go hide in there all night, crouched over the draughty, stinking hole. Would I be safe in there? I’m as sure as I can be that they have no need for such facilities.

Ach—I have dithered too long. Their tread is at the door. My heartbeat punches me in the entrails, over and over and over.

The door creaks and falls back with a slam.

I look up. I have to. All pretence is over.

The dead men stand, all three of them, beyond the foot of the bed. Finlay is a little to the fore, his brothers to either side. There is no sign of my Mistress; perhaps she kissed them goodnight downstairs. They are still as posts, still as earth: no breath, no flicker of an eyelid.

* * * * *

 

I love writing spooky. Have a very happy Hallowe’en season!

xxx

Janine Ashbless

 

*****

Fierce EnchantmentsCover Blurb for “Fierce Enchantments”

Inside the covers of this, Janine Ashbless’ third collection of erotic short stories, you will find delight and terror and lust – and perhaps even unexpected tenderness.

The wayward daughter of Shakespeare’s sorcerer Prospero; a runaway slave who becomes king only for as long as he can stay awake; a servant girl whose three dead lovers return for one last tryst; vampire-hunters haunted to the point of madness by what they have been through; warriors in a desperate future war for the survival of humankind – and one very dangerous frog prince – all appear in this collection of erotic stories that will take you to the edge and then pull you over into the glittering darkness beyond.

Weaving worlds of fantasy, Janine Ashbless draws from fairy stories, history, myth and the darkest depths of her imagination to bring you tales of passion and desire that will enchant, shock and dazzle you.

Buy-links for Fierce Enchantments:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

*****

JA-colorBio:

Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure – and that’s “fantasy” in the sense of swords ‘n’ sandals, contemporary paranormal, fairytale, and stories based on mythology and folklore.  She likes to write about magic and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.

Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000, and her novels and single-author collections now run into double figures. 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.

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)

 

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

Goodreads

Janine Ashbless Facebook

Amazon UK Author Page

Amazon US Author Page

*****

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Werewolves: Scary or Sexy by Sommer Marsden (@sommer_marsden)

Guest Blogger, , , , , , , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200When I was growing up werewolves were definitely scary. They were never portrayed as hot, buff men with raging libidos and a secret tender side. There were only Werewolf in London werewolves. And then, eventually, in the 80s, we got Teen Wolf werewolves. But a lot of time when werewolves were mentioned, they brought to mind the Wolfman. And that wasn’t sexy.

Boy, how far we’ve come. We have hot werewolves everywhere in fiction and in TV shows. I’m a happy girl. I’ve always been more about claws than fangs (not that werewolves don’t have fangs, mind you, but I’m referring to the vamp versus wolf debate). I want warm and hard and fast and strong not cool and smooth. I guess, technically, they share the fast and strong thing. Okay, you got me.

I came up with the idea of Ellis Bach on a walk. His name was a magician’s trick performed by my brain triggered by a sign for local politics. I took the last name of one man—Ellis and the last named, which I truncated, of another—Bach(man).

And once I had the name my imagination took off. What it supplied me with, all those years ago, was a handsome, big, kind wolf who had a past. Physically, Ellis was inspired by Scott Conant, celebrity chef, because—truth be told—writers and chefs are my rock stars. I gave him the same hair of indeterminate color—sometimes brown, sometimes red, sometimes a bit of a lighter shade shines through. And I gave him his soul mate—Ruby.

Talking about Ellis brings to mind a few of my favorite werewolves now. You can’t go four feet without tripping over them—it’s true. I’ll name just a few:

Alcide on True Blood. Um…yeah. What’s not to like?

Derek Hale on Teen Wolf. Yes, please!

Isaac on Teen Wolf. I must say, when I found out the actor who played him was 26 I was relieved. Because a girl could feel like a weirdo crushing on a teen wolf. But he’s not a teen so…whew.

Scott on Teen Wolf (yeah, yeah, we watch a loooooot of Teen Wolf)

Garrett from my book Base Nature. Yeah, it’s cheating but I wrote him because I lusted after him, so technically it’s cool.

Lucian from Underworld. See, now I would have, upon a glance, cast him as a vamp. Until I really started to pay attention and then…Yeah!

George from Being Human. I must admit to loving that girly pitch his voice hits when he’s startled. It’s brilliant considering he’s a bad ass killer when he sprouts fur.

Josh from Being Human (USA version). Adorbs.

Jake Marlow from Glen Duncan’s The Last Werewolf. The grittiest of all listed. And I love it.

 

Those are mine. For now, I’ll leave you with a blurb and a passage and wish you a Happy Halloween. Be on the lookout for big, furry men with glowing eyes and bulging pecs. If you see one, by all means, call me!

 

XOXO

Sommer

*****

Big BadBlurb:

Lust according to Ruby:

You read those books where they explain it all away. They make it fine with rationalization. But what if I just want to? What if that’s my whole reason? My life is not a romance novel. I don’t need justification. I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants.

I want Ellis. And I want Tyler.

And I won’t apologize…

What’s worse than wanting both your best friend who’s a vampire and the just-back-in-town alpha werewolf you find yourself fixated on? Finding out that the werewolf in question wants you, too. But he isn’t too keen on the sharing part. Oh, and by the way, you’re his dead mate.

Okay, okay, dead is harsh—reincarnated.

What’s worse than that? Realizing that you believe the whole crazy tale of reincarnation. Because it seems to be true.

And yet you still want them both—together. Vampire and werewolf and you in the middle. Stuck between two predators who want you and only you. To complicate it all, you find out that you can have it. With your new/old mate’s blessing. But just one time before he claims you as his.

Are you brave enough to take it? That one shot?

Well…Are you?

*****

EXCERPT:

“I need to go back,” I whispered.

Ellis gave a short nod. He looked a lot of things at that moment. Happy, sad, angry, determined. His personality was so big, his presence so huge. He scared me on so many levels and many of them good. In a moment of impulse, I turned and kissed him. Pressing my hands—shaking and freezing in fingerless grey gloves as if they could help me—to his rough cheeks.  I held his face as I kissed him. He growled low in his throat. A constant drone of aggression and want as a back beat to the kiss. Ellis grasped my hips with strong fingers, sank them in so I worried I’d bruise—hoped I’d bruise.

Without thinking, I clasped my hands behind his neck and brought my legs up to wrap his waist. He had only three inches on me and maybe thirty pounds. He was strapping and burly but not bulky, I was curvy and solid but not fat. Our bodies pressed together in the perfect meld and I felt the hard ridge of his cock pressed the cleft of my pussy.

“You’d better stop or I’m taking you right here,” he said. His voice was rough and righteous and I believed him beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I stroked my tongue down over his and tugged the finer hairs at the nape of his neck and the growl turned dangerous. He started to move, to lay me down and I let go of him—falling away as quickly as I had latched on.

“Not yet, not yet!” I said, my hands up in mock surrender.

“Ruby,” he drew the word out and made it sound dirty and sexy and fine.

“I’m sorry. I am. Soon. I will. I just—” I didn’t know what so I shook my head instead of finishing that sentence.

“I can smell the lust on you. It’s thick and smells like lilacs.” When he grinned at me, I wanted to change my mind.

“I know you can.”

“I don’t scare you being a lycan but my want of you does?”

“And the whole dead mate thing,” I said, turning so fast my coat swept open for an instant. I hurried through the dry and brittle grass with Ellis right on my heels.

“Why are you drawn to me? Certainly not because I came into your store and bought sausage as Tyler explained.”

I snorted, shaking my head. How stupid that sounded but in a way it was true. “That’s when you caught my attention. That’s when I started…” I blew out a breath.

“Coveting me?” he chuckled, taking three big steps and grabbing my hand in his big warm one. Heat baked off of him like I was standing close to an oven or a grill. It felt good, that heat. I swore I could smell him even above the cold winter wind. He smelled like a man. Campfires and tobacco and earth.

“Coveting, yes.” My hood flew back off my head and my hair rose up. Tendrils got caught up in the wind and swirled around my head.

“But you want Tyler too,” he said and tugged me so I had to stop.

“Yes, not as…” I stared at my beat up boots until he pushed my chin up with his fingers.

“Not as…?”

I had been about to say not as much as you but realized that wasn’t so accurate. More like “In a different way.”

“He’s your friend?”

I nodded, pushing my unruly hair back even as the wind yanked it away and tossed it asunder again.

“But you want to fuck him?” He grinned.

I felt a stain of embarrassment flood my cheeks but I forced my shoulders back and my head high. “Yes,” I said defiantly.

“Okay. I can live with that. For now.”

I wanted to ask Ellis why the hell I would care if he could live with it. But I did. Why I’d want his approval. But I did. And why it mattered that he accepted it. But it did.

So I simply nibbled my bottom lip until he pulled my hood up and pressed my hair under it. He kissed my nose and said “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

 

Buy Links

Excessica | Barnes & Noble | All Romance eBooks | Amazon UK | Amazon US

bigbadposter

*****

Bio

Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. That sums it up.

Sommer Marsden has been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler), “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen),and “Erotica royalty…” (Lucy Felthouse). Her erotic novels include Restricted Release, Restless Spirit, Boys Next Door, and the Zombie Exterminator series. Sommer currently writes for Ellora’s Cave, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief, Pretty Things Press, Excessica and Resplendence Publishing.

You can find Sommer’s short works in well over one hundred and twenty-five (and counting) erotic anthologies. Visit her at Unapologetic Fiction http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Media Links

Blog: http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Twitter: @sommer_marsden

Facebook: http://facebook.com/sommermarsden

Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/sommer_marsden

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/sommermarsden

*****

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Things Go Hump in the Night in Suz deMello’s Vampire Stories (@suzdemello @MFRW_ORG #vampires #vampireromance)

Guest Blogger, , , , , , , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200Why do we love vamps?

In a word: they’re hot

Like great chocolate, vampires are smooth, seductive and dangerous. They’re invariably wealthy because they prey upon whoever they please and can steal for a living if they choose. Anne Rice’s Lestat is the classic example.

And many female fans enjoy the fantasy of losing control to a sexy, dominant male. On top of that, our culture worships the young and the beautiful.

 

In my writing, I emphasize not only the vampires’ sensuality, but also their unnatural strength and speed. In Blood is Thicker… my heroine works as a PI. In one scene, she leaps with ease onto the roof of an apartment building.

 

Blood is ThickerHere’s an excerpt from Blood is Thicker…, a vampire tale set in northern California. A paranormal action-adventure, it features two vampires, one selkie and a kidnapped baby.

 

I cannot begin to describe the communion that’s created when two immortals connect. Kissing is like an orgasm not only of the body, but of the mind and soul as well. Yes, we have souls, unnatural though they may be.

I tugged him closer, frantic to feel his chest against mine, desperate for his cock to enter me. It had been so long… Besides, up close and personal, John’s sheer masculinity overwhelmed me. I’d forgotten how seductive lust could be. I could become addicted to his kiss, the hard planes of his body beneath my questing fingertips, his raw animal blood-scent.

 

If you like what you read, find the complete short story here:

http://www.ellorascave.com/blood-is-thicker.html

 

suz w name venice maskAbout the author:

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s held the positions of managing editor and senior editor, working for such firms as Totally Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press. She also takes private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.
find Suzie’s books here:

 

http://www.tinyurl.com/SuzDeMello (publisher’s site)

 

http://www.suzdemello.com (website)

*****

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

When Darkness Comes Out To Play by Lisabet Sarai

Guest Blogger, , , , , , ,

thingsthatgohump300x200I’m thrilled to be here at K.D. Grace’s blog, helping her to celebrate Halloween and the relaunch of her Lakeland Witches trilogy.

When I was a child, I enjoyed All Hallow’s Eve more for the costumes than the candy. I loved becoming someone else – a gypsy, a gargoyle, a princess, a pirate – leaving my shy, awkward, bookish self behind for a few marvelous hours of night-time adventure. In our family, we scorned store-bought attire, sometimes working on our Halloween disguises for weeks before the big night. And on November 1st, as my brother and I tallied our sweet haul, we were already discussing who we’d be next year.

As I reached adulthood, Halloween for me became associated with sex. Okay, I’ll admit that during my twenties, sex colored pretty much everything in my life, but Halloween always seemed a particularly auspicious time for erotic encounters. The costume possibilities expanded to include slinky vamps and cat-women, scantily-attired genies and voluptuous she-demons. Halloween parties partook of some of the abandon of a Carnival masked ball. Leaving your mundane self behind for the night, you could also relinquish your inhibitions. Magic was afoot, kindling shadowy desire and promising fiery consummation.

What’s the essence of All Hallow’s Eve? It’s the night when darkness comes out to play. Each of us has a dark side, no matter how much we might like to pretend we don’t. Halloween calls to that side of our nature, luring it from the depths where we keep it hidden, tempting us to release it and revel in the chaos it might bring.

We externalize the darkness as ghouls and werewolves, specters and vampires. We find them fascinating, thrilling, not recognizing them as mirrors of our own lusts – for violence, for power, for pleasure. On Halloween, though, we’re moved to welcome darkness, at least for a time, to stop acting as though we’re one hundred percent civilized – to let our inner beasts howl.

Necessary MadnessI’ve played with darkness a bit in my erotic fiction. In my M/M paranormal Necessary Madness, my sorcerer-villain tries to steal my hero’s talent for prescience in a ritual of sex and blood, where he’ll excise his victim’s heart just as they both climax. In Rendezvous, the ghost of a nineteen fifties Lothario haunts the run-down motel room where he used to bring his conquests. Invisible and insubstantial, he still manages to teach the young woman stranded there about the pleasures to be found in pain. In The Eyes of Bast (coming from Totally Bound next March), my heroine Shana finds her own powers trying to save her cat-shifter lover from the vindictive witch who cursed him.

Although my M/M/F vampire ménage Fire in the Blood is set in sunny Jamaica, it has a shadowy tone that seems appropriate for Halloween. One reviewer called it “edgy, dark and smoking hot”. Anyway, I thought I’d share a bit from that tale to whet your appetite for the Halloween revels that will soon be here.

Oh, and if you leave a comment with your email, I’ll enter you in a drawing for a copy of the book.

 

Fire In The BloodIn the heart of darkness, eternal passion burns.

Maddy and Troy hope that a care-free vacation in tropical Jamaica will re-ignite the passion in their five-year relationship. On a scenic mountain trail, Maddy’s horse bolts and carries her deep into the jungle. Injured and lost, she is saved by a seductive giant of a man whose mere presence kindles unbearable lust. By the time she understands his dark nature, it is far to late for her to escape.

Bitter and alone, Etienne de Rémorcy haunts the forest around the ruined plantation of Fin d’Espoir. He has sworn to never again taste human blood, but when slender, raven-haired Madeleine begs him to take her, he cannot resist.

Troy is hugely relieved when Maddy makes her way back to their hotel after her ordeal in the mountains, but he finds her greatly changed—fiercely passionate in bed, restless and disturbed at other times. The tall, elegant stranger he meets on the beach hold the key to her transformation, and soon has seduced Troy as well. Even Etienne’s most potent magic can’t extinguish the fire in Troy’s and Madeleine’s blood.

 

Watch the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzVRy4LTQe0

 

Excerpt

Etienne dragged his belt from the loops of his dungarees. “Give me your hands,” he ordered. Madeleine held them out, palms turned upward in supplication. “I plan to bind you to ensure that you cannot escape me once we have begun. I will give you one more chance. Do you still want this?”

Maddy shivered, imagining herself restrained on the rough bed, powerless and at his mercy. Lust and fear warred in her body. Liquid dripped from her pussy, soaking the satiny robe bunched under her buttocks. She and Troy had played at bondage, silk scarves and velvet blindfolds. This was real.

She sought Etienne’s eyes, seeking reassurance. Fire flickered in the depths of those dark pools. His face was a beautiful mask that offered no solace. He gripped the belt in both hands, twisting as if testing it. “Et bien, Madeleine?”

She wanted it. She could not pretend otherwise. She wanted him, on any terms, wanted whatever he would do to her. Nothing mattered, not his terrifying strength, not his grim warnings, not the feeble image of Troy awaiting her back at the hotel. She reached for the bonds he offered. “Take me,” she whispered.

In an instant, he had slipped the end of the belt through the buckle and caught her wrists in the resulting loop. She felt the leather begin to bite into her skin as he pulled her arms above her head and a further tightness as he secured the other end to the metal bedstead. She tugged at the restraints, verifying the stark fact she could not, in fact, work herself free. Terror and arousal swept through her in alternating waves.

Her heart slammed against ribs. Her nipples and her clit throbbed with her pulse. Without being told, she spread her damp thighs. An oceany scent rose from her exposed pussy.

He shrugged off his vest and pushed his trousers down over his hips. Naked, he was even more formidable, his ebony thighs corded with muscle, his sculpted chest and flat belly gleaming like black marble. His erect cock sprang from the wiry thicket of his groin, on the same gigantic scale as the rest of his massive body.

The shaft looked thick as her wrist. Veins meandered along its endless dark length like creepers on a tree branch. The cap was dusky pink, taut, polished flesh that glistened with moisture.

Maddy moaned at the mere thought of that cock invading her. Saliva gathered in her mouth. “Etienne…” she pleaded, splaying her legs wider in lewd invitation. “Please…”

“Little harlot! Have you no shame?” Even as he chided her, however, the black giant climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her thighs.

She expected ferocity, his power unleashed. She imagined him forcing that awe-inspiring cock deep into her body. Instead, he bent his head and flicked his tongue along the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee.

“Ah…” Pleasure rippled through her, converging on her pussy. He licked again, moving upward, painting her with his cool saliva. She squirmed under his mouth, wanting to feel those thick lips on her aching clit. Gradually, he came closer to her centre, yet still he lingered on her thighs, kissing, nibbling, lapping up the juices that spilled from her hungry, empty sex. She arched up, pushing her pelvis towards him. Without effort, without removing his mouth, he forced her back onto the bed.

He rasped his tongue over the gash she’d received during her wild ride through the forest. Pain sliced into her cocoon of pleasure. The rum had probably disinfected the cut, but her bath had prevented it from clotting. His touch made it throb. When he licked again, the pain intensified.

“Ow! What are you doing?” Etienne ignored her. It felt as though he was probing the wound with his tongue, opening it further. “Wait! Don’t…”

Without warning, there was a hand dabbling in the moist folds at the entrance to her sex. A bolt of pleasure seared her. A finger rocked her clit back and forth, making her shudder and moan. Her lust flooded back, washing away the pain. She felt an odd pulling sensation at the wound site, and her nipples responded, as though he were sucking on those sensitive nubs instead of her thigh. He pushed several fingers deep into her pussy. She clenched around him. Delight rippled out to her extremities as the pull of his mouth intensified. Now she felt the suction in her clit as well as her breasts. Her whole body trembled, balanced on the edge of release.

Etienne plunged what felt like his whole hand into her depths. Something sharp tore into the flesh of her thigh. Her climax hit her, as sudden as a breaking storm, thundering through her, scattering every thought in its wake.

Before she could recover, he was on top of her, his cock nudging against her still-quaking opening, his face inches from hers. His eyes glowed with a fierce, wild light. His lips stretched wide in a grimace of triumph, exposing the pointed teeth of an animal. Blood smeared those lips—her blood. Its rusty scent mingled with his aura of roses. She shuddered, even as her pussy wept tears of new desire.

“Do you still want me, cherie?” he growled. “Now that you know what I am?” He ground his rock-hard erection against the softness at her centre, striking sparks that burned away her fear.

“Yes,” she had time to whisper, before he fastened his gore-stained lips on hers.

 

RendezvousAbout Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. 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 – more than fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.  She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). To get updates on her releases, contests and other news, join Lisabet’s List (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lisabets_list).

*****

GIVEAWAY

a Rafflecopter giveaway