Tag Archives: The Pet Shop

Holly on Top! A position I Could Get Used To!

It seemed like a small thing, something I wouldn’t have even noticed if the eagle-eyed Lucy Felthouse hadn’t brought it to my attention. I’m talking about an article in the online Fe-Mail segment of the Daily Mail. It was entitled:

EXCLUSIVE: Loved Fifty Shades of Grey? Sexpert Tracey Cox brings you THE ultimate guide to ‘mummy porn’ with her definitive steamy reading list

The Initiation of Ms Holly was on Ms Cox’s list with a 9 out of 10 rating! Needless to say I was over the moon. I passed on the link to everyone then happily went on about my business until my wonderfully supportive Other Half, who is much more a checker of charts and ratings than I am, since I’m always afraid if I look I’ll jinx it, called to let me know that Holly had suddenly gone to number twelve in the Amazon UK erotica charts! By bedtime last night, The Initiation of Ms Holly was number one on the Amazon UK erotic fiction charts and had made substantial leaps over all in the UK and the US, and suddenly replacing Holly in the middle of the top 100, where it had been hovering for quite some time, was The Pet Shop! Needless to say, It’s been a wild twelve hours! By the time I got up this morning, Holly was number two, just below The Story of O.

The Initiation of Ms Holly bed time Wednesday night.

It’s such an exciting time for erotic fiction right now. I’ve always believed that erotica and erotic romance would eventually dovetail with romance. Clearly we’re seeing that happen. But I could have never foreseen such an open-armed embrace of erotica in general. Ebooks, the internet, and the changing landscape of publishing have opened doors I don’t think any of us could have imagined five years ago.

Who’d have ever thought that my getting stuck in a train in the Eurostar tunnel several years ago would end up with Holly on topJ? And to celebrate Holly’s success, I’m including an excerpt from one my most often requested segments when I do a reading from The Initiation of Ms Holly. Enjoy!

Blurb:             

Journalist, Rita Holly, never dreamed sex with the mysterious Edward in the dark of a malfunctioning train would lead to a blindfolded, champagne-drenched tango, a spanking by a butch waitress, and an offer of initiation into the exclusive mysteries of The Mount. Desperate to save her threatened job, she agrees, scheming secretly to write an inside exposé on the club that will make her career. But as she delves deeper into the intrigue of The Mount and the lives of its members, she soon discovers that her heart may have other plans.

Excerpt:

Morgan walked around behind Rita to take in the over-all effect. ‘Ever ridden a Harley?’

‘Motorcycle? No.’

‘Don’t look so frightened, sweetness. I’ve been riding since I was a pup.’ His lips curled into an edible smile. ‘I promise I’ll make it good for you.’

He knelt and helped her into the boots, lingering to suckle her toes and kiss her insteps before guiding her feet into the soft insides then slowly zipping them up and up and up. At last he stood and held the bomber jacket for her. ‘Our steed awaits.’

Outside a few neighbourhood teenagers had gathered around to admire the biggest, sleekest vintage Hog Rita had ever seen, complete with silver wings painted stylistically across the petrol tank along with the words, Pegasus III. It took her a few seconds to realize that the boys’ attention had shifted away from the Harley. ‘Could we please go,’ she whispered, feeling like she did in her dreams when she found herself suddenly naked at the office or in the queue at Sainsbury’s.

But Morgan took his time buckling her into the helmet, making sure it wasn’t too tight, making certain she wasn’t claustrophobic. When she started to get on behind him, he shook his head, scooted back slightly and patted the leather seat in front of him.

She balked. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

‘Not if we don’t get caught.’ He patted the spot in front of him again and chuckled. ‘Trust me. It’s the best seat in the house.’

Trying to ignore the mutterings and the stares of the teenagers, she climbed on the Harley in front of him, a little less gracefully than she had planned. Fortunately the resulting blush was contained within the helmet.

Morgan knew only one speed and that was suicidal. The g-force of acceleration strong-armed her back against his chest with a yelp that was thankfully drowned out by the roar of the Hog. It seemed to her that Morgan was taking the fastest way out of town, weaving in and out of traffic with such terrifying maneuvers that she feared heart failure was imminent. They had only gone a few blocks when she gave up shouting at him to stop. He either couldn’t hear, or was ignoring her.

As the traffic lessened, and he headed out the A3, she realized he was controlling the Hog with one hand. The other arm was wrapped low around her waist. There was an electronic crackle next to her ear, and his voice filled the inside of her helmet. They had contact. ‘Just relax, sweetness. This is gonna be so good.’

His hand slid lower on her belly until it rested against her pubic bone where it began to fumble until she felt a tug and a zip, and suddenly cool air bathed a horizontal swath of flesh exposed to the night. ‘I love zippers. Don’t you?’ His voice was like a kiss against her earlobe.

There was more tugging and zipping until she felt the pressure of the cat suit lessen against her crotch, as though she had just split her trousers. She caught her breath.

‘Mmm, there. Oh that’s nice.’ His voice was inside her helmet again just before his fingers slid down between her folds and pressed up into her in such a way that the vibration of the big bike beneath them seemed amplified as though it were a giant vibrator. She was suddenly in danger of forgetting that she was in danger of losing life and limb. My God, the bloke’s fingers were expressive as he slipped the middle one deep into her cunt while his thumb raked her pebble-hard clit.

He swerved to pass a lorry. ‘We’re gonna die!’ she yelped inside her helmet. Then she bore down against his hand and the vibration of the Hog, hoping he could keep from crashing until after she came.

She didn’t know if he had heard her yelp, but she wondered if he’d heard her thoughts. ‘Lift your bottom,’ his velvety voice filled her helmet again.

‘Are you crazy?’ She gasped.

‘Trust me. Lift your bottom. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. I promised Edward, didn’t I?’

She held her breath, cursing between her teeth, and struggled to do as he said. She grabbed on to the petrol tank until she was sure her fingernails would dig holes in the paint. Then she squealed as another zipping loosened the hug of the cat suit even further until she was certain the whole crotch of the garment had been zipped away. As if to confirm her suspicions, Morgan’s large hand now stroked her from behind, spreading her lips.

‘Sweet Jesus, you’re slippery, kitten. I believe you really like riding a Hog.’ Then she felt him inch forward on the seat.

He wouldn’t… Surely he couldn’t… ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped. What was crowding against her bottom and nestling up to her pout was too thick and too stiff to be his finger.

‘That’s my girl,’ came the voice in her helmet. ‘Lift your bottom for me. Just a tiny bit more now. Almost there. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.’ He tightened his arm around her and maneuvered his hips. ‘That’s it, oh yes that’s the place I want to be. Jesus, Rita Holly that’s some hot pussy you got there.’ Then all she could hear was accelerated breathing followed by a hard thrust that nearly sent her over the handle bars but for the strong arm wrapped around her. And he was in. Her pussy felt like it would split in two from the sudden, unexpected fullness.

‘That’s my girl. Now lean forward. All the way forward and let the Hog do the work. She felt him down shift and the beast rumbled beneath them. With the substantial length of him so far up inside her, she felt physically compelled to lean forward over the petrol tank until she could feel the cool chains of the cat suit pressing into her bare flesh, until her erect nipples felt like they’d drill clear through the tank.

Then with a hard thrust, Morgan scooted forward again, and she heard him sigh. After that the thrusting and maneuvering became much more subtle using the power of the Harley roaring beneath them as the driving force. He had positioned himself perfectly so that each undulation of his hips drove her distended clit against the vibrating leather of the seat. My God, she thought, it was a brilliant way to die.

His breath was soft little grunts inside her helmet coming faster and faster until she thought he must have stopped breathing altogether. The movement of his groin against her became less and less, all the while building in intensity until each minuscule shifting penetrated up her spine clear into the crown of her head, until she was certain the imminent orgasm would surely explode her brain.

When his ejaculation erupted inside her, she felt as though his cock had suddenly expanded to fill the entire space within her pelvic girdle, and her own orgasm tightened and gripped on him until he cried out.

She would have surely catapulted off the Hog with the double explosion in her pussy had Morgan not held her tightly with his free arm, as they sped down the A3 toward the Guildford exit.

 

 

 

The Pet Shop: A Free GIFT

I’m very excited to announce a free taste of my critically acclaimed novel, The Pet Shop! Alongside the original novel, The Pet Shop is now being offered by Xcite in a limited Kindle edition three-part series. The first part, The Gift is available for FREE for the next five days on Amazon beginning on Saturday 16th June. And, since Xcite is only too aware that Pets are addicting, to help feed your addiction for hot kinky romance, Part Two, The Secret Life of Pets, and Part Three, The Taming, are just £.77 each in the UK and $1.19 in the US.

The Gift Blurb:

In appreciation for a job well done, Stella James’s boss sends her a Pet – a human Pet. The mysterious Tino arrives equipped with a collar a leash and an erection, and Stella quickly learns that keeping Pets, especially this one, is extremely addictive. Will a chance meeting with reclusive philanthropist, Vincent Evanston, who looks an awful lot like Tino, but couldn’t be more different, double Stella’s pleasure or just be double trouble?

About The Pet Shop

The Pet Shop is a modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast. In part, the theme of the story is our effort to understand the beast that lives within all of us, to tame it and make it acceptable to polite company. Of course in the taming of anything wild we run the risk of losing that wildness that compelled us to love it in the first place. The Pet Shop explores the effort to find a balance between the two.

I’ve always been fascinated with our animal nature, and I’ve often wondered how much of that nature is ancestral behaviours reasserting themselves and how much of it – especially from the standpoint of the human pet situation I’ve created in The Pet Shop, is simply a need to be loved and adored, and to be able to trust someone enough to give up control to them.

Beauty and the Beast and my retelling of it in The Pet Shop are both about seeing the true nature of a person, with all their flaws and neuroses, and loving them anyway. But ultimately the story is also about trusting enough to allow oneself to be loved, and believing that one is worthy of love, warts, blemishes and all.

Excerpt:

‘I’m sorry, Tino,’ Stella shoved to her feet, tearing her gaze away from the gorgeously horny man sitting on the floor by her chair. ‘But I just can’t do this. If I had known what Anne – what Strigida – had planned for me, I would have never consented, surely Anne knew that. Anyway, I feel really bad that I’ve wasted your time, but this is just not something I can do.’

The pet only looked up at her with adoring and expectant eyes.

‘I’ll gladly give you taxi fare home, of course. I mean that’s the least I can do. None of this is your fault, after all. Anne told me that you were a gift, so I assume you’ve already been paid.’ She raced through the last sentence breathlessly, her face burning at the very thought that the company had paid for a prostitute for her.

Did they really think she was that desperate? And never mind how desperate she was, surely she had worked at Strigida long enough for them to realise this was not the gift for her. And she was bloody well certain Anne knew that. There would definitely be words when she returned from Bath. ‘Is that all right, if we do that? If we just call it even and I get you a cab home?’

Tino made no response. Instead, he rubbed his cheek affectionately against her leg and moved to sit back on his haunches, a position that made his erection look even more enormous, bulging heavily against his thigh. At the sight, her stomach muscles tensed low and tight and her pussy clenched and half convulsed.

‘I forgot,’ she looked down at the manual still gripped in one hand, ‘Pets don’t talk. But since I really don’t want a Pet, couldn’t you break the rules just this once?’

He brushed her leg again with his cheek, then with his lips, making delicious shivers run up her spine.

‘Guess not. OK. Well, I realise this is an awkward situation, Tino, and I’m really sorry about that. I know you’re expected to stay here. I appreciate your position. Really I do. I’m sure we’ll get through this if we work together.’ She nodded down the hall. ‘I have a guestroom. You’re welcome to sleep there. It’s small but comfortable.’ He followed her on silent feet, and looked on as she showed him the guestroom.

‘The closet’s there.’ She pointed. ‘Though I guess you won’t need that. Extra toiletries are on the dressing table there. Those you might need. And the remote for the telly, well it’s a little tetchy. Here let me show you.’ Suddenly she realised he wasn’t paying any attention. His gaze was locked on her – more specifically on her crotch. She blushed hard and forced a smile. ‘Never mind. I imagine you can figure it out if you decide you want to watch telly. Anyway, make yourself at home. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to drink?’

Again, he plopped down on the floor. This time he wrapped his arms around her leg and began to rub his cheek against her thigh.

‘Tino, really. I don’t think I can …’

He made little grunting sounds and shifted his hips forward and back. If anything, his erection seemed still bigger. She suddenly remembered the manual said the Pet Shop kept their Pets horny. Hadn’t Anne said he usually didn’t have to wait this long before he came?

She found herself blushing again at the sight of his heavy hard-on. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how … uncomfortable you must be. I know you’re not allowed to touch yourself unless your keeper gives you permission, and, well, since we can’t, since we’re not going to …’ She nodded to his cock. ‘It’s all right with me if you do what you need to do. You know, for some relief.’ She felt like her face would burst into flames.

For a long moment he looked up at her with his bottomless cinnamon eyes, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what she wanted of him. Then, slowly, carefully, holding her gaze, he laid a hand against his cock and ran a curled palm up the length of it. A shudder ascended his spine. He threw back his head and released a trembling breath that ended in a deep animal groan at the back of his throat.

Almost before she realised it, she replied with a little whimper of her own that slipped between her lips. Her nipples pearled through the thin silk of her blouse, and her pussy felt slick and giddy. She closed her eyes only for a split second, but the next thing she knew, Tino was standing beside her, so close that her hand, resting low against her belly brushed his cock, and they both gasped at the feel of it. Before she could do more than marvel at the velvety softness that felt like it sheathed granite, he pushed in closer, and his large hand engulfed hers easing it gently against his cock with just enough pressure to encourage her fingers to wrap around the girth of him.

She should have stepped back, she should have commanded him to stay in the room and do what he needed to do and not come out until he was done. But she didn’t. Instead she curled her fingers around him and felt his hand tighten over hers. She expected him to hump like a dog, but he only stepped closer, engulfing her in a feral scent not unlike cat fur on a sunny day.

The shifting of his hips was almost invisible but for the tensing of the muscles low in his hard belly, tightening and lifting until his soft pubic curls just grazed the inside of her wrist. Instead of the blatant sexuality she expected, he simply laid his head on her shoulder, his warm breath raising the fine hair along the back of her neck. His heart hammered a heavy drumbeat that matched her own, and her nipples seemed to be pressing ever forward to get nearer to it.

His free arm encircled her, resting just above her hip, where his hand moved in a gentle caress up and down her ribs, almost tickling. The sensation of it all accumulated warm and heavy just below her belly. The heat of his lips rested close to the pulse of her neck. They were slightly parted, his breath coming in fast little puffs.

She knew she should be pushing him away, making him bend over for the spanking a misbehaving Pet deserved. She hadn’t asked him to touch her, and she hadn’t volunteered her services. ‘You’re a very naughty Pet, Tino.’ She barely managed to gasp before he tensed, and a strangled groan escaped his throat just as his cock twitched and she felt the silky slick heat of his come spill over both of their hands and against his bare belly. Then his whole body convulsed, and involuntarily he pulled her tight against him, an act which sent her into her own convulsions. She let out a startled cry. She hadn’t expected to come. She hadn’t intended to come, and yet there she stood quivering out her pleasure against the Pet, who held her in a powerful, sex-stimulated bear-hug.

From Amazon.com

The Gift

The Secret Life of Pets

The Taming

From Amazon.co.uk

The Gift

The Secret Life of Pets

The Taming

 

Happy Endings and Great Beginnings

Happy Endings

Some of 2011 pubs. Still waitning for copies of some.

I’ve finished 2011 with good news and happy endings. I wrote two novellas and got them out the door since the beginning of October. My dance card is already full of new projects for 2012, even before the year begins, and both The Pet Shop and Body Temperature and Rising are getting great reviews. That would have been happy ending enough for 2011. But there were double cherries on top of all the lovely whipped cream goodness of the year.

Honourable Mention

My novel, Body Temperature and Rising, made honourable mention on Violet Blue’s much coveted list of Top 12 Best Sex Books of 2011. That’s one huge cherry! Here’s what she had to say:

I am a huge fan of K.D. Grace’s explicit, well-crafted writing (I’ve selected and published her work in multi-author “Best” collections), and this novel did not disappoint me. It’s the first of a hardcore paranormal trilogy, and many readers think it is her best work to date.

Thank you, Violet, for the happy ending!

 

Xcite Awards Finalist

I’ve always been able to count on Xcite Books for cherries and whipped cream, and they didn’t disappoint! The second gigantic cherry topping off 2011 came in the form of a nomination as one of the finalists of the Xcite Awards in the Best Blog or Author’s Page category! I’m over the moon about this, especially since a year and a half ago I was the one dragging my feet about even having a blog. I know now that it was my fearful technophobia rearing its ugly head. I played around with a blog for awhile, then, enter Lucy Felthouse (also nominated, BTW. Talk about stiff competition!) who created my fabulous site and endured my ignorance with calming encouragement, teaching me what I need to know and giving me the occasional virtual pat on the back and pep talk to keep me from panicking when I was in over my head. Thanks Lucy! You rock!

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very proud of my site now, but I’d also be lying if I took all the credit. What I’ve loved, what’s been the best part of this blog, is having so many fabulous people as guests. We’ve talked about wonderful books, we’ve talked about major problems, we’ve celebrated sexuality, we’ve groused and laughed and played on my site in the past year. My life is so much richer because of all of the great guests who have shared their time and creativity here. And I’ve had loads of fun promoting my books, whether walking the Coast to Coast Path with The Initiation of Ms Holly, or climbing down in derelict slate mines in the Lake District while researching Body Temperature and Rising. We’ve talked sex and books and fun ad launches and inspiration, we’ve learned the story behind some of the fabulous novels and works that came out this year, and all in all just had a great time. So, if I can take credit for anything, it’s for having way more fun with my blog than I would have ever imagined, thanks to all the people and all the great experiences that made A Hopeful Romantic the blog it is.

Thanks, Xcite, for this fabulous honour. And best of luck to all the amazing women I’m up against! If I could, I’d vote for all of them because they’re all terrific women with wonderful sites!

Here’s the link for voting: https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/XciteAwards
 

Great Beginnings

Fun in 2012 has already begun. Riding the Ether, book two of the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, is on its way! There’ll be more research trips to the Lake Districts. You see how I suffer for my art. I’m already training hard for our next long distance walk, which will be shared on this blog, and closely associated with Riding the Ether. There’ll be more garden porn, more launches, more readings and more sneak peeks of the latest works of some of your favourite sexy writers. There’ll also be some exciting new writers as well. And there’ll be some amazing interviews with fascinating people. Of course, there’ll be plenty of surprises along the way. So, Happy 2012, everyone! Enjoy the ride. It’s gonna be a good one!

The Crowded Room

I feel really privileged to put the cherry on the top of the First Annual RomFan Reviews Holiday Blog Hop, especially when the last few days of the year have a very special place in my heart. It’s been great to share this fabulous time of year with so many wonderful writers and bloggers, and to make some new friends in the process. You all rock! Annette Stone, a special thanks to you for making it all happen. And now, I’d like to tell everyone just why the last few days of the year, the last week, to be exact.

It’s that time of year again. It’s time to wax slightly nostalgic and do a little navel gazing and reflecting. The last week of the year has always fascinated me. It’s not like the rest of the year. It’s almost like there are really only fifty-one weeks in the year, then there’s the crowded room of a space tacked on to the end, a place not unlike my grandmother’s living room was, all crowded full of the bits and pieces and memorabilia of eighty-three years of living.

The last week of the year is a mini version of that living room that happens anew every year, a mental version, a room that everyone has in their head. It doesn’t matter how expansive or how crazy the previous fifty-one weeks have been, this final week is the tiny space into which we crowd everything that has happened, and for those last seven days of the year, we reflect and remember.

At the front of that crowded room is a big picture window looking back onto all of the past years of experiences. During this last week of 2011, we’ll go inside that room, shut the door behind us, knowing we’ll never go back through that door again. There we’ll settle in to the one comfy chair, the only space that isn’t avalanching with memories and emotions and experiences, and we’ll reflect. Occasionally we’ll stop for a long stare out the window into the years past to try and make out how it all fits together. I often write a massive journal entry at the year’s end. I settle in with wine and chocolate and good coffee and all my favourite things and write. The entry is always full of reflections and memories and plans for the future, all done during the time spent in that crowded room that’s the last week of the year. I wager I’m in good company in that endeavor.

I used to ask my grandmother who was in this old photo or that, or where she got this porcelain doll or that china figurine. Every item in her living room had a story. It was a gift from someone, or a souvenir from some marked event in her life, or something someone had made for her or she had made for herself. My grandmother’s living room was a book full of stories I only ever experienced through her eyes, stories that were lost in the mist to anyone but her and the few of her older friends who still remained, all with story book living rooms of their own.

This time of year, in this last week, we all sit in our mental story book living rooms and tell ourselves one last time the stories that have been our life for the past fifty-one weeks. We laugh at our joys, we mourn our losses, thankful that they’re now passed and we nod our heads in satisfaction at our successes, promising they’ll be even bigger next year.

My grandmother lived to be eighty-three. There was a finality about her over-crowded living room. That last-week-of-the-year room we all occupy right now has its own finality. After midnight tomorrow, we can crowd no more into that room. We leave it as it is, papers strewn, boxes open, bed unmade, cup of tea half finished. Mind you, some of us spend our last hours in that room frantically trying to crowd just a little more into it. That’s me, sitting in the recliner madly tapping away at the laptop trying to get another chapter written, another short story out before I have to leave this room and lock the door behind me.

And it’s been a good year, a wild rambunctious year crowded with laughter and tears and the celebration of two new novels, a challenging Coast to Coast walk across England, conferences, readings, vegetables planted and eaten. I have lots of pictures in my year’s mental photo album, I have lots of triumphs and losses, and lots of time spent with wonderful friends and loved ones. Hold it! I’ll stop right now because once I get going, I’ll give you the whole inventory, and you, no doubt have your own crowded room to inventory.

It doesn’t matter though, if we’re sitting reflecting on all that fills this room, or if we’re frantically trying to fill it fuller before the clock strikes. At midnight tomorrow night, we’ll all take a deep breath, open the door and walk out into the empty room waiting for us, the empty room that’s 2012. All we’ll take with us is our memories of the room we left and our hopes and plans for how we’ll fill this bright new room that stretches promisingly before us. Some of us make New Years resolutions, some of us just plow in without a plan of action, but one thing is for certain, this time next year, if we live that long, we’ll be sitting in the full room again reflecting on how the experiences of 2012 have shaped us, anticipating how we’ll take the experiences into the next empty room. And that’s all we’ll be allowed to take with us, our experiences, our memories,

My wish for you all is that your reflections in your crowded room will be good ones, satisfying ones. And at the stroke of midnight, that you’ll enter that bright new empty room of 2012 with hope and joy and anticipation of how wonderfully you’ll fill it up.

I’d like to help you heat up your empty room by offering a choice of either of a PDF version of either of my novels, The Initiation of Ms Holly or The Pet Shop. Winner’s choice. Leave a comment to be included in the drawing for the giveaway. All the best in the New Year!