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Erotic Autumn by Tabitha Rayne

thingsthatgohump300x200Well hello and happy spooky season 😀

I’m delighted to take part in this supernaturual humpery here at Kd’s place – especially celebrating her Lakeland Witches!

I always think I hate leaving summer behind – I really find it tough when I have to put my wee bare toes back into bedsocks of an evening. But then, in late September, something magical happens…

web from PinterestThe spiders come out.

One morning, you wake up and go outside to see the first webs of the season laden with sparkling orbs of dew. If you’re really lucky, this sight might be accompanied by the raspy caw of a crow or two. One of my favourite sounds in all the world is the call of a  crow carried on the heavy breath of a misty morning… ahhhh. It fills me with a melancholic dread that both terrifies and excites me beyond reason.

So before I know it, I don’t give a damn about summer and I’m fully and utterly immersed in autumn. Everything smells so earthy and feral, I just love the atmosphere – expectant for something spooky and dark. I think it is the true season of erotica, don’t you?

I’m going to leave you with an excerpt of Mia’s Books – my paranormal tale of love and a sexy ghostly threesome romp… Follow me on twitter at @tabithaerotica and tweet me something spooky (not too scary, I am a total wimp) with hashtag – #KdsGooseHumps and I’ll pop you in a draw for an ebook copy 😀

Here goes – thank you so much for having me over Kd x x x

Mia's BooksMia cast the flashlight around to find one of the couches that adorned the big room. As the light caught the end of the sofa, Mia thought she saw a shadow flit around behind it.

“Hello?” Her voice quivered, and a chill ran down her neck. She thought she heard an intake of breath and flung herself around the shelf, sweeping the flashlight back and forth over the books. Nothing.

As a non-sleeper she was used to prowling the night alone, but she was most definitely not immune to scaring herself. She shrugged and took a seat on the cool, hard leather of the couch.  Cocooned in darkness, she felt a little more comfortable.

Taking off her sweater, she placed it at the small of her back, and stretched out her legs down the length of the sofa. As she took a deep breath and got ready to read, the same chill ran through her, over her chest this time, and Mia was amazed to feel her nipples stiffen under her blouse. She aimed the beam at her chest and sure enough, there they were standing proud and erect like frozen little buds. She reached up to one and rubbed it between her fingers. It really was cold. It was the oddest sensation, but one she was keen to explore further. Holding the flashlight in her mouth, she untucked her top from her waistband and slid her hand up onto her bare breast.

She opened the book with her other hand while softly massaging her nipple around and around. The story began, setting up the characters and plot, but Mia skipped on until she found the words she was looking for: pussy, cock. She felt a flush deep between her legs as the sensation in her nipples intensified to both breasts now.

The stimulation from her fingertips was being mirrored onto the other. The icy touch in her left breast was magnifying, as if it was being massaged by another person. She maneuvered the flashlight between her teeth to see the fabric of her shirt being pulled and puckered in time with the sensations. She shrieked, dropping the book and torch, and scrambled onto the floor.

“What the fuck was that?” Her voice was trembling. “Where are you?” She was met with deathly silence, and she gulped in air to keep up with her heartbeat. Warmth reclaimed her nipples, and her breathing slowed.

She picked up the flashlight and swung it around, knowing that she wouldn’t see anything. Don’t be ridiculous, she kept telling herself over and over again. Shaking with both fear and arousal, she took her place on the sofa and picked up the book. As she brought it up to lean on her thighs, she realized it felt different. Her fingers detected leathery raised text on the cover where before it had been smooth and pristine. She leafed the edge of the pages to feel them soft and worn, and inhaled the musty scent of an ancient tome.

Mia was trembling when she finally shone the light on the title.

Ghost Lover.

The beautifully embossed gold font was bordered by strange dark symbols and patterns. Mia was still shaking as she opened the first page.

It was blank, but as she looked more closely a smudge of black ink began to form and take the shape of perfectly handwritten words on the page.

My gift to you, Mia, it spelled out in stunning calligraphy…


TabithaAnd there you have it…

If you like hanging out on the internet, you can find me and my links and my saucy drawings at www.TabithaRayne.com

Hope to see you around and don’t forget to join in Kd’s giveaway and guests for the rest of the month x x



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Out Now – Timeless Desire by Lucy Felthouse @cw1985 #erotica #romance #paranormal #ghost

Timeless DesireBlurb:

Emily arrives at Westbury Hall with a job to do. She’s to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She’d expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a revised and extended of a previously published title, Love Through Time.

Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/timeless-desire/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22911436-timeless-desire



Emily received some strange looks and frowns from the people she passed as she walked across the graveled drive towards the front entrance of Westbury Hall. She could appreciate their confusion. It was closing time for the stately home and the last of the visitors were being politely ushered out of the building, yet she was heading inside. What’s more, she’d been invited. She had a job to do.

An elderly lady stood in the porch smiling and nodding as she held the door open for those departing the property. Most of them seemed in no hurry to leave, stopping to make comments to the woman, thanking her for a lovely visit and so on. Emily waited patiently, allowing the patrons to leave before attempting to get in. When the staff member—most likely a volunteer, Emily thought—caught sight of her, she gave her a polite nod of acknowledgment.

Finally, the last of Westbury Hall’s visitors moved out, leaving Emily free to enter. Climbing the single stone step to the threshold of the front porch, she took the hand that had already been offered to her.

Shaking Emily’s hand with a surprising firmness, the woman said, “You must be Miss Stone.” Her smart appearance and the intelligence in her eyes indicated that despite her advancing age, she was far from past it, “I’m Mrs. Thompson, house supervisor.”

“I am,” replied Emily, dropping her hand back to her side, “but please, call me Emily. It’s lovely to meet you. So, house supervisor? Do you live on site?” Not a volunteer, then, but a paid member of staff.

Indicating Emily should step inside the entrance hall, Mrs. Thompson proceeded to close and lock the porch and front doors of the house, securing them in.

“I do,” the older woman said, turning back to face Emily, “I have rooms in a separate building just off the back of this one. So you needn’t worry about me disturbing you.”

“Oh no,” said Emily, worried she’d inadvertently rubbed Mrs.  Thompson up the wrong way, “I didn’t mean that. I was just curious, that’s all. You’re more than welcome to see me at work, Mrs. Thompson, although I’m afraid you won’t see anything terribly exciting.”

Mrs. Thompson smiled now, the warmth reaching her eyes. Emily almost sagged with relief. She’d yet to see the extent of the work she had to do, but she’d been told it was no easy task, so she could be here for some time. The last thing she needed was to upset any of the staff.

“Oh, you’d be surprised, my dear. This is a fascinating old place. Of course, all these old houses have history, but Westbury Hall’s is particularly rich.”

Emily smiled. The woman’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Well then,” she replied, “I can’t wait to learn more about it. I hope you’ll feed me some historical tidbits throughout the time I’m here?”

Mrs. Thompson gave an enigmatic smile. Then, startling Emily somewhat, she turned smartly on her heel and walked deeper into the house. “Come, my dear, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll show you to the library, where you’ll soon start uncovering Westbury’s illustrious history for yourself.”


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


Elise’s Top Ten Halloween Movies (@EHepner)

thingsthatgohump300x200Hocus Pocus: This is what I say to people who’ve never seen my favorite 1993 classic:


Also, can we please discuss the hotness that was Thackery Binks before he was a cat?

This movie started my obsession with Thora Birch as well.

Practical Magic: This is my feel good, women power, tingly feeling movie. I always happy sigh, no matter what age I am when I finish watching it.



Beetlejuice: Say it three times, you know you want to…


Casper: Come on, how badly did you want to dance with Devon Sawa? What? I’m the only one?


The Blair Witch Project: It’s a little corny now, but back in the day I used to post up with my best friend with a 24 pack of Mountain Dew and watch this movie on repeat until the sun came up.


Paranormal Activity: This was the second coming of The Blair Witch Project for me…until they started making sequels.

The Cabin in the Woods Joss Whedon Version: Those who don’t know, I’m a Joss freak. I have his quote and name on my arm.

What Lies Beneath: There was something about this movie that always tweaked my creep factor and I couldn’t tell you exactly what, but I still love it.

Tucker and Dale Versus Evil: I found this movie recently on Netflix and my Halloween wouldn’t be the same without it. Had me laughing so hard I almost passed out.

Sean of the Dead: A classic.


Now onward, to books!

Furious LustFurious Lust:

One mistake can change a life—let alone an eternity.

Tisiphone’s a revenge demon working for Hades in the Underworld torturing damned souls. When she escapes for three days under the sun with a human male, her leash is pulled tight. Tisiphone’s banished from the Underworld to Earth and stripped of her demonic powers. But that’s not what drives her horrendous nightmares.

Cithaeron’s human life was dedicated to revenge, until a demon walked into it. The wickedly intense, sensually destructive Tisiphone takes over his life with probing questions and haunting caresses. It’s over in a blink. After centuries of torture in Limbo, Hades brings him back for a judgment call that could change their intertwined lives—dead or alive.

Their future is in their past. Their lust can burn each other to the ground. But they’ve got to learn to work together or they’ll both go to Hell for good.

Amazon | B&N


Furious TemptationFurious Temptation:

For millennia Megaera, a Fury, has functioned as Hades right hand by passing judgment on demons who break the sacred laws. Stalwart in her moral compass, but harboring a curse triggered by rage, she walks a thin line between perfection and destruction. But when she digs into a case uncovering a string of demon rapes, she incites a war with Mount Olympus that could ripple chaos throughout the ages.

Omen Cole was demon made during the Civil War after repeated torture at the hands of his enemies. Sentenced to an eternity as watchdog over his emotionally frail, once human ex-wife, he’s haunted that he couldn’t save her from a brutal assault.

Now it’s happened again. And Megaera needs his testimony. Omen will sell his body—and anything else—to avenge his fragile ex-wife. If that means an alliance with Megaera, he’ll make it the most memorable of their eternity.

Amazon | B&N


Elise HepnerBio: Elise Hepner lives with two spastic cats and a very supportive, slightly crazy husband. There is never a dull moment in the house, unless the caffeine runs out, which it never does. She’s a multi-published erotica author with Cleis Press, Entangled, Ellora’s Cave, Xcite, and Secret Cravings Publishing.

She’s driven by her tea addiction and a tiny stuffed turtle her husband picked up from Disney World that sits on her desk and “supervises” her work.

When not writing (which is rare), she’s watching countless hours of reality television, playing the Sims or shopping online. Plus there’s that odd obsession with the color purple. Everything is purple. Visit Elise at her website www.elisehepner.com to keep up with her naughty ramblings, random tidbits and future work.

She has a newsletter where you can sign up for sneak peeks, contests, giveaways, new release news and other fun things: http://eepurl.com/pW8Sj

Website: www.elisehepner.com

Twitter: @EHepner

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/elisehepner

Blogger: http://celise91writer.blogspot.com/

Facebook: Elise Hepner

Instagram: Elise_Hepner



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Mixing the Spooky With the Sexy by Vanessa de Sade

thingsthatgohump300x200Mixing spooky with sexy…  For me that’s a cocktail so delicious that it often proves quite irresistible and, as an author, it also allows me to indulge in some of my darkest fantasies.

So when the nights begin to get longer and the dark comes early along with foggy evenings and the scents of fires being lit, it’s nice when emails from editors start filtering in with requests for Halloween stories for their October anthologies.

Being a lady of certain years, shall we say, and well past the spring chicken stage of life, I grew up on Hammer re-runs in our local Odeon on Sunday nights, and there was always a certain thrill in the way that old Jimmy Sangster movies used to mix men with hairy chests with large-breasted women in diaphanous nightgowns and copious buckets of blood.  (What can I say, I’m weird and I know it!)

Of course, I’ve always been into weird cinema where they love to put the erotic hand-in-hand with the forces of darkness, and there’s been a big helping of sexiness in the weirdos who slide out from under our beds when the lights go out at night from the silent-era German expressionists onwards.  Just Google Conrad Veidt as the Somnambulist if you’re feeling horny some dark sleepless night, and you’ll see what I mean!  And, oh,  Bela Lugosi’s eyes as Dracula…  Sorry, Robert Pattinson, you’re a beautiful boy but you just don’t have those eyes, oh those eyes…  [Slaps self in face to regain composure.]

Anyway, you get what I’m saying.  Dark and sinister, sexy, it’s a foregone conclusion.  Plus erotic horror gets to be that little bit darker than ordinary work-a-day erotica too!

So, to this end, I thought I’d treat you all to a little excerpt from one of my spine-chillers (though it will –hopefully – effect some other parts of your anatomy too!) – a naughty little piece of surrealism called First Blood that goes off into all sorts of forbidden places.  Here’s the blurb:


First Blood

World War II England. A voluptuous girl is led from her towering iceberg-like mansion while the midnight sky is aflame with the sound of bombs and gunfire. Taken across a gleaming black lake she is left bound, naked, to a tombstone, waiting for whatever is roaming the derelict island cemetery to slake its lust…

“A darkly Gothic tale which skilfully combines the macabre with the erotic, resulting in a ghoulish exploration of taboo sexuality that will make even the coldest blood boil.”

It’s available as part of my two-story collection called Crimson Velvet and I’m pleased to say that my wonderful publishers have several copies of this to give-away.  Just “like” my Erotic Fairy Tales Facebook page

( https://www.facebook.com/eroticfairytales?ref=br_tf  ) and I’ll send you one on!


Here’s a little excerpt for you:

But my hungers, far from being appeased, only became magnified ten-fold from my constant masturbation and I yearned constantly for the touch of another’s flesh, the hot sweet juices of an excited pussy all over my face as my lover buried her tongue deep inside my sopping slit.

And then one morning I discovered my power.

My family had lived on our land for millennia, constantly rebuilding our stately homes as fashion dictated.  We owned the valley in which we abided and the salt water lake that gleamed in front of us.  We owned the hills behind us and the fields in the plain and the wooded slopes and meadows beyond our hills.  More importantly, we owned all the people who lived here and worked for us too, the servants, the farmers, even the officious estate stewards who still exercised my long-dead father’s hunter in the frost-kissed parklands each winter dawn.

Thus when Rose came to my room with my tea that morning I asked her to undress for me.

I was trembling as I spoke the words, fearful and uncertain still of my power, but she simply looked at me from beneath her long lashes and nodded.

“Is there any special way that you would like me to disrobe, Madam?” she asked, a slight tremble to her voice as her fingers toyed with the pearl buttons on her blouse, her little breasts pert beneath the shimmering white silk.

And I knew that I should strip her slowly and savour the moment, like a fine French confection constructed from layer upon fragile layer of spun sugar and filo pastry, peel her garments from her like the petals of a warm artichoke dripping in butter.  And yet I could not.  I was like a starving man before a banquet, a carnivore with the scent of blood in my nostrils, and I just wanted to throw myself upon her and taste the salt of her cunt.

And so I told her to lift her skirt and pull her panties down, and, to my astonishment, she obeyed wordlessly, her fingers tremulous as she drew the stiff black material up, quickly turning it inside-out and pulling it over her heaving little breasts, standing there breathing heavily as my eyes ate her up.

I had expected her to be wearing cami-knickers like my own, loose and silky, but instead she had on a pair of tight snowy white cotton interlock panties, the thin fabric glued to her frame like a second skin with a deep indentation at the crotch, like a camel’s foot.

“Do you want me to pull my pants right down or just flip them over?” she asked.  She should have been wearing stockings but the war had all but stopped the production of nylons and I knew that she was saving the only pair she had left for dinner time, her utility white suspenders hanging nakedly over the bleached cotton of her underpants.

“Turn them inside out and then pull them down to your knees, so that you cannot run away,” I managed to blurt out and she immediately obeyed, denuding herself for me.

At first I thought that she had shaved herself, but then I realised that her cunt was just as hairy as mine except that her silky vixen fur was so fine and blonde that it was almost white, like a snowdrift, her big deep slit like a chasm, all her pink low slung labia clearly visible.

“Am I what you imagined, Madam?” she asked in a low tremulous voice, touching herself.

“How do you know that I imagined?” I countered, eating her up with my eyes and inhaling her scent.

“Because I take your silken undergarments when they are still warm each night and press them to my face and breathe in your desire, and I imagine kissing your hot and hairy cunt and feeling your tongue in mine,” she whispered, then added respectfully, “Madam.”

I was speechless for a second before I managed to gasp, “Come here.”


Vanessa Biog

Vanessa de Sade is a forty-something full-figure gal who likes to write hot stories about real women exploring the darker regions of their own sexuality. She is a regular contributor to anthologies, plus is the author of the solo story collections Black & White Movies; Nude Shots; In the Forests of the Night and Tales from a Tangled Bush.



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Janine Ashbless Interviews Her Latest Hero

thingsthatgohump300x200Hello everyone – I’m Janine Ashbless and today I’m delighted to announce that I have managed to blag an interview with Azazel, the hero of my new novel Cover Him with Darkness

Azazel [smirks audibly]

Janine: Er … I’m sorry? Did I say something wrong?

Azazel: Not at all. Please, do go on.

Janine: Okay … Azazel is, of course, a leader amongst the fallen angels. He was imprisoned under a mountain in the remotest part of southern Europe, and guarded there for millennia by a family who kept him secret until the last of that line, Milja, disobeyed the Divine command and risked her life and soul by letting him go free. You must be feeling pretty relieved then, Azazel?

Azazel: That’s not the word I’d pick.

Janine: Really? Okay – so how do you feel?

Azazel: Angry. Yes, that’s not inaccurate. Imagine you’d been tied up for five thousand years. That your wife and children had been slaughtered. That your brothers had all been incarcerated too, for the heinous crime of becoming sexually involved with humans. Then tell me that you wouldn’t be feeling a teensy tiny bit like burning Heaven to the foundations and pissing on the ashes.

Janine: That’s your human wife and children, yes? That’s where it all went wrong, wasn’t it? You were set to watch over the human race, but you ended up…

Azazel: Falling for them.

Janine: [laughs uneasily] Well, I’ve got to say you don’t seem to have learned the lesson from your time in prison. You launched straight into a relationship with Milja, didn’t you?

Azazel: She was my only hope, my only joy, in five thousand years of torture.

Janine:  So don’t you feel bad about risking her life? Exposing her to the wrath of the Heavenly Host, and all those priests who are trying to recapture you?

Azazel: That’s a subject you might find it safer not to bring up.

Janine: Fine – let’s stick to some easy questions. Say … How old are you?

Azazel: Four billion years. Give or take. Slightly older than life on this planet.

Janine: Well that clears up the “seven days” question … And Milja is twenty-three. It’s hardly a relationship of equals, is it?

Azazel: Did I say it was? She’s mine. She loves me. That’s what matters.

Janine: She loves you? Don’t get me wrong—I can sort of see why. You’ve got the whole gorgeous Byronic dark-n-dangerous look going for you … even if the silver eyes are kinda creepy … Look, is that even your real form, or is it something you put on to please the girls?

Azazel: What do you think?

Janine: I’m thinking No, then.

Azazel: Pray you never find out.

Janine: Um, where was I? Oh yes – clearly there’s a mutual lust, but it takes more than red-hot filthy sex to sustain a relationship. Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you love her?

Azazel: Of course. I told you – she is mine.

Janine: You see, that’s the bit I’m struggling with. She must be like a mayfly from your point of view – here today and gone tomorrow. And fragile and useless and completely ignorant. How can someone like you, with all your power, love that?

Azazel: Hardly useless. She freed me. She saved me. She loves me. And we all need love, don’t we?

Janine: You mean that literally?

Azazel: The Almighty has withdrawn His love from His outcast sons. We must have something to take its place, or we go out like flame with no fuel.

Janine: So you … I mean, that sounds a bit vampiric, if I’m understanding you right. You need Milja to love you because you’ll die otherwise?

Azazel: I’m sure your readers will find that terribly romantic. Won’t they?

Janine: Uh … it’s not exactly hero material.

Azazel: I never said I was the hero. You’re the one who used that description.

Janine: Um. Well, it’s a romance, you’re supposed to be…

Azazel: If anyone’s the hero it’s that Egan who keeps trying to rescue Milja. He’s like a faithful dog, bounding to her side at every crisis.

Janine: No, he’s not exactly … he’s not telling the … Oh.

Azazel: What do you mean?

Janine: Nothing. Never mind. Forget it. Oh dear. If you’re not the hero, Azazel, then what are you?

Azazel: I’m a fallen angel. I’m damned for eternity. I imagine I must be the villain, surely?

Janine: I don’t … I don’t think it’s that simple.

Azazel: [smiles] Tell that to God, Janine. See how far it gets us.




I was book-smart, as they say in America – there was no such phrase in our village, though they understood the concept perfectly – and I was burning with curiosity, and not wise. One day I lay down beside him on the stone and nested my head on his chest. I could hear the slow beat of his heart. The bars of his ribs were like carved prehistoric rock-glyphs, and I walked my fingertips across each ridge and furrow. The skin above his hip was so smooth it was like stroking feathers, but the old altar cloth felt damp and coarse in comparison. There was something repulsive about the feel of the grimy cloth that preserved his modesty. With my right hand I drew off that swatch, and then for the first time I touched him without the excuse that I was tending him. Without any excuse at all.

Hair, matted into curls. Below that, duskier skin. I shut my eyes. My hand, for once, was bolder than my gaze.

A small cool heft in my hand, yet heavy with a secret weight: the significance invested in the forbidden. My heart was racing, far faster than the heavy beat against my ear. My mind shied away from what I was doing. But my body seemed to be sure of what it wanted, and urged my hand to its task.

Tentatively I began to caress him.

He responded to that. Not just that sleeping creature stirring to wakefulness under my open palm, but his heartbeat waking with a kicking thud  and then his whole frame following on – his back stretching, his breath catching in his throat, his toes flexing and curling. I snatched my hand away, terrified and thrilled, and when he groaned deep in his chest I felt it through my bones.


I didn’t recognize the name, if it was a name. His eyes were wide open, staring, but I couldn’t be sure he saw anything. I pushed myself up into his line of sight.

“Milja,” I whispered. “I’m Milja.”

His cracked lips parted, and he made a sound of need. He was beautiful in a way I couldn’t understand: so beautiful I felt it as pain. So I returned my hand to its former position, and nearly jumped with shock when I found that everything had changed. Nothing soft any more, and nothing cold, and just so much more of him, flesh brought into existence from the nothing, from the void. Like a miracle.

I wrapped my hand around that burgeoning miracle.

So heavy. So strong. My hand embraced that hardness, stroking. His breath started to come faster, with a little tremble at the end of each exhalation, interspersed with murmured, unintelligible words. Soon he was so eager that he was too thick for my grasp.

I paused. I wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, or how long it would take to get there. My own body was a cauldron of conflicting needs and fears.

“Milja!” he groaned, desperate.


Cover Him with Darkness


What happens when an archangel banished from heaven falls in love with a very human woman? Milja’s story begins when she is shown the winged prisoner her father, the village priest, keeps hidden away in a mountain cavern. This mysterious and unearthly charge is a beautiful being like the most handsome of men – and yet not. Unable to keep away from this silent creature chained in darkness, Milja is torn between family loyalty and her growing connection to their prisoner. One day her father discovers their forbidden intimacy and sender her off to America to be raised by her aunt in Boston. But Milja cannot forget her the one she loves—and she determines to free him even though that puts everything at risk: her family, her life and her soul.

Cover Him with Darkness, the story of what happens when a young woman releases a fallen angel from centuries of imprisonment, is available from October on Amazon US : Amazon UK

“If you loved an angel, how far would you fall with him?”


“Calling Cover Him With Darkness a romance is like calling a Lamborghini a cute little car. Janine Ashbless has broken every unwritten rule of writing romance and makes it work most spectacularly—it’s dark and gritty and so beautifully written that the words are pure poetry.”

—Kate Douglas, author of the Wolf Tale series


“Janine Ashbless has long been a master at conjuring the erotic in myths and legends. Now she’s taking on religion and all I can say is wow. Just wow! What is evil? What is good? Could the faithful have completely missed the point? Sexy food for thought: Cover Him With Darkness is an intensely wild ride.”

—D. L. King, editor of Seductress and The Sweetest Kiss


“This book was truly a fantastic read.”

—Rose Caraway, editor of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica



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)



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