A Dead Man’s Debt by Grace Elliot

by | Nov 4, 2013 | | 1 Comment

A Dead Man's DebtBlurb

After publicly humiliating a suitor, Celeste Armitage is sent from the ton in disgrace. Exiled to the country she discovers a sketch book of nude studies and is shaken to discover the artist is her hostess’s eldest son, Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum. This darkly cynical lord is exactly the sort of dissipated rogue she most despises – and yet her blood heats at the thought of him!

Ranulf Charing, Lord Cadnum is being blackmailed over his late brother’s debts. Whilst visiting his mother, he discovers her new companion, Miss Celeste Armitage, to be a woman of unusual perception and starts to fall in love. But then the jealous fury of the blackmailer is unleashed and Cadnum must cast Celeste aside in order to protect her. However, in underestimating her resolve to clear his name – Cadnum places his true love in mortal danger…

 

Available from
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Excerpt

So be it.  Cadnum gritted his teeth as he grasped the leading leg and pushed.  It was like fighting against a brick wall, the calf barely moving.  A lamb was difficult enough; how much more so a calf?  Just as he was wondering if one man was strong enough, a shower of pebbles rattled down the bank.  Concentrating on the calf, he barked to whomever approached, “Don’t just stand there.  Get down here!”

“I beg your pardon!” a woman’s voice answered.

With a flash of annoyance, he glanced upward.

A wide eyed young woman wearing a straw bonnet peered down.  “I say, is everything all right?”

“Does it look all right?” he muttered under his breath.  All he needed was some sensitive miss fainting on him.  “Go!  Fetch help from the house.”

He saw her hesitate, biting her top lip.  “But you need help now.”

A contraction clamped around his arm as the cow’s tail switched across his face, stinging his eyes like a cat-o-nine-tails.

In a flurry of muslin and lace, the miss slid down the bank, landing with a thud in the ditch.

“Ouch.”  She rubbed her ankle.

Cadnum glared back, dark eyes flashing.  “You should have gone to the house.”  Damn it all, she could make herself useful then.  “Hold the tail aside.”

Pulling a face, she limped over.  His gaze lingered; up close, she merited a second glance.  Of middle height with a tidy waist and curves where God intended them, she appeared quick-witted and bright-eyed.  Without further ado, she stripped off her gloves, throwing them onto a bramble bush.  Long, sensitive fingers grasped the muddy tail.

Practical, he thought, silently impressed.  “Why didn’t you go for help?”

“There isn’t time.”  Her bonnet slipped backwards, revealing a quirky face with a pointed chin, her lips finely drawn with an arched cupid’s bow.  The sort of face an artist could lose himself in; all shades of the sea were found in deep emerald eyes framed by a tangle of chestnut hair.

Cadnum tightened his grasp and pushed.  Sweat beading his brow.  The calf retreated an inch.

“What are you doing?”  Her voice was gentle and calm, if somewhat deep for a woman.

He guessed it would be husky in bed, whispering over a pillow after a night of passion.  Her eyes were on him, deep green eyes, lively and entrancing.  He suddenly remembered that he was undressed to the waist, her curious gaze on his skin as he imagined those lily-white hands gliding over his naked chest, her almond shaped nails digging into his skin.  He shook away the thought, trying to remember her question.

She watched with innocence and interest, blushing faintly in a charming way; and yet, he realized, she was no wilting flower.  He shook his head.  The woman had asked a question; damn it, he would answer.

“The calf is breech,” he grunted. “I need to push her back into the womb to turn her.”  He wanted to shock this stranger, to test how bold she truly was.

She stared back, biting her top lip, exaggerating her snub nose.  “Ah!”  Her gaze met his.

“Think of the calf as a carriage in a narrow driveway.  To turn it around, you push it back into the stable yard.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” he growled.

Throwing him an angry look, she anchored the tail with a log and scrambled around to the beast’s head.  After a moment’s thought, she placed her pelisse under the cow’s head, stroking the broad nose and crooning words of comfort.

“She’s relaxing.”  Cadnum’s arm was numb from the contractions.  He fell forward as the first leg finally slid back into the womb.  “That helps.”  His hair had come free from the ribbon, falling thickly about his shoulders.  He glanced at the woman.  She was leaning forward, her bosom straining a tight bodice, a satisfying cleavage between her breasts.  He swallowed hard.  She was odd looking, he decided, not exactly beautiful but eye catching nonetheless.  Her face showed character and determination.  Her complexion was too healthy to be fashionable, all rosy cheeked and peppered with freckles.

The woman glared at him now, her skin glowing bright pink.  Had he been staring?  His heart raced as he returned to the calving.

Timing his efforts, he used all his strength to push the second leg back.  His shoulder felt as if it were being ripped from the socket.  With gritted teeth, he found a slippery hoof and clung to it, guiding it from the womb into the birth passage.  Grimacing with the effort, he found the other foreleg, dragging it forward to match its mate.  Pulling first one leg, then the other, he inched them forward.

The muscles of his back burned as he braced, digging his heels into the damp earth.  He pulled in time to the cow’s weakening contractions, but as her effort became more feeble, even that assistance was lost.  The beast lay stretched on her side, head extended, breathing erratically and growing weaker by the second.  It was going to be a close thing; all the effort would be for naught if he couldn’t pull the calf out soon.

After minutes of heaving, two small cream hooves presented themselves.  Cadnum sat back on his heels, sweat dripping into his eyes.  So intense had been his concentration that he’d completely forgotten the woman.  But there she was, slightly pale but watching him intently.

“I need your help…” It wasn’t so very difficult to say.  The woman nodded silently, her face so serious he almost laughed.  “The cow’s spent, she can’t push any more.  I need you to pull with me.”

Licking her lips she nodded weakly.

“Come here.  Grasp my waist.  Pull when I say.”

She stood and, with a whisper of skirts, was at his side.  As her arms wound hesitantly around his waist, he suppressed a shiver of excitement.  Her hands where peach soft and cool.  She smelled of lemongrass.

“Hold tight.”

The thin feminine arms around the hard plain of his belly made his body ache unexpectedly.

“Pull as hard as you can, when I say,” he barked more gruffly than he intended.  “Now.”

Digging his heels into the dirt, his muscles strained as he struggled to keep hold of the slippery hooves.  But his attention was not wholly on the calf as he became aware of the press of her breasts against his bare back, of her sweet warm breath against his neck.  If he wasn’t mistaken, he could feel her heart hammering against his ribs.

With a desperate heave, he pulled the calf and the woman pulled him.  The calf moved another few inches, the forelegs exposed to the wrist joint.

“Again,” he urged.

Another pull and half the forelegs were out.

“Stop.  I need to check if the calf’s head is coming nose forward.”

The woman released him.  Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed her pink tongue darted out of her mouth to moisten her dry lips.

Turning back to the cow, he knelt, feeling inside, satisfied that he could feel a muzzle lined neatly along the forelegs.

“Nearly there.”

The woman’s arms circled back around his waist, wiry with feminine strength.  This time they fitted snugly, her cheek against his back.  A ringlet had broken free of her chignon, brushing his skin.  His groin tightened—much to his annoyance.

“Ready?  Heave!”  Never had he been more glad of the distraction from a woman’s unnerving affect on his body.  He noticed her soft mossy eyes and sweetly tempting curves, yet her bravery and determination excited him most.  Innocent, yet bold.

The calf slithered free with a slippery suck, sliding to the ground in a flood of fluid and membranes.  Man and woman rolled backwards.  Cadnum landed on her skirts, pinning her down.  Her face was flushed, her pupils large.  He stared into her eyes, which were framed with thick dark lashes now modestly brushing her cheek.  He noticed her breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her neck, chest heaving.

Neither moved.

The temptation to lean forward and claim a kiss was dizzying.  It was like looking up at a high church tower against scudding clouds, making him giddy.

Scowling, he turned away.  When had he become such a cad that he’d consider taking advantage of an innocent stranger?  He deserved to be horse whipped.  It didn’t help that the throb in his groin reminded him of his weakness.

“The calf?” a small clear voice questioned.

It was a bull calf, steaming slightly in the cool morning air.  Hooking a finger in the calf’s mouth, he cleared away the mucus.

“The cord.  I need to tie off the cord.  Quick, find me something.”

With a whisper of satin, she held out the ribbon from her bonnet.

“Will this do?”

When she didn’t immediately release it, it occurred to him that she was waiting for him to say thank you.  He acquiesced.  With a humph she handed over the ribbon.

As he worked, she stood, regarding the newborn with wonder.  For some inexplicable reason he wanted to hold her tightly in his arms and smooth her hair, to kiss that perfect oval of a mouth.  Damn her for distracting him!

Cadnum rounded on her, squaring his bare chest.  She recoiled, threatened by his unabashed maleness.  She shrank back, making Cadnum angry at himself for frightening her.

“Well don’t just stand there, now go and fetch help!  Tell them to send men to the ditch between the five acre field and the hazel copse.”  Her presence had become intolerable, eating away at his self-control.  “Look sharp about it!”

She jumped and scrambled up the bank with a flash of neat ankle, but not before giving him on last angry glare.

A wave of heat washed over Ranulf, who silently gave thanks that her back was turned.  It was not his habit to ravish complete strangers, especially those so obviously gently born.  But for some reason that was exactly what he wanted to do to this mysterious chestnut haired stranger.  Only as she disappeared over the brow of the hill did it occur to him to inquire who this practical Miss was and what she was doing on his land.

Author Bio

Grace Elliot leads a double life as a veterinarian by day and author of historical romance by night. She is housekeeping staff to five cats, two teenage sons, one husband and a bearded dragon (not in order of importance)

Fall in Love with History (blog) http://graceelliot-author.blogspot.com

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Twitter:  @Grace_Elliot

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New Release: Faustina and the Barbarians by John McKeown

by | Nov 1, 2013 | | 0 Comments

Faustina and the BarbariansBlurb

Rome wasn’t built in a day but Faustina Maxima, antithesis of the passive Roman matron, can screw herself out of a threatening situation quicker than you can say, “Veni, vidi, vici!” This statuesque beauty, descendant of a famous emperor is a one-woman sexual killing machine that eats savage Goths and Saxons for breakfast—and is also partial to a Pict or two—while lunch, dinner and supper is any Roman who takes her fancy. Like any great general she’s blessed with imagination, and open to every possibility for maximising pleasure. For, as she writes to her daughter-in-law Flavia, the lucky recipient of her mother-in-law’s unblushing exploits among the barbarians, “what is life without ever fresh adventures?”

Warning: This title contains graphic language and is suitable for adults only.

‘Faustina and the Barbarians’ is a 21.000 words historical erotica novella

Published by ahotterstate.com

 

Excerpt

To: Flavia Maxima, Rome

From: Faustina Maxima, Amorgos, August 410

My darling daughter-in-law, what thrilling news! The Barbarians at the gates of Rome, at last. You and your friends are in for the time of your lives. I’m green with envy, exiled as ever on this barren Grecian rock with nothing but goats and wizened goat herders for company; not to mention that boring, obnoxious bag-of-bones, your father-in-law Flaccus. As soon as you hear Alaric’s Gothic cavalry pounding down the street, get outside and scream for attention.

I know you won’t do that, of course, but I hope this letter of mine will persuade you to stop being such a shrinking violet and have some fun with the gorgeous Goths before they’re completely Romanised. You really must make the most of them, my dear. All disrespect to my darling son, but you must be bored stiff in the bedroom. He’s just like his wimpish father; prefers a blowjob from a eunuch to fulfilling his conjugal duties.

Darling, in all earnestness, the Goths are just the influx of virility the women of Rome are crying out for. I speak, as always, from experience.

Twenty years ago, when the Goths first began seriously troubling our northern borders, Flaccus, appointed Legate by the Emperor Valentinian, was sent to keep an eye on them. I, of course, having the ear—and more vital organs—of His Imperial Majesty, was allowed to accompany him. I was a very excited twenty-year-old, who couldn’t wait to feast her eyes upon those blond giants from the far north.

When we arrived it was high summer, and the forests of Germania were steaming, and not just with fires from Barbarian encampments. Disguised as an officer, I rode with my valiant husband into the centre of the Chief’s camp to parlay. Darling, I simply couldn’t see what threat the Goths posed, for all their energy seemed to be spent in fucking their buxom-arsed women, and often each other, senseless. As we rode in, my saddle was damp with the sights we saw. They were fucking against trees, on the ground, and, one couple I remember, were shafting each other precariously balanced in the boughs of an oak. And what beauties they were! As Flaccus did his ‘fearsome Roman’ bit with Chief Athalaric, I let my eyes take in the tall blonds who surrounded our mounted embassy. Long blond hair turned to gold in the slanting rays of the sun, gemstone eyes set above rich, red mouths sculpted for kissing. And do you know, as I sat, looking as martial as I could, one of them met my eye and made a very provocative gesture with his closed fist. That night I lay in our tent stroking myself and feeling those strong fingers probing inside me.

I was well on the way to coming when I heard Delicia, my hand-maiden, scream. The curtains around my bed were torn back and there stood a gang of young Goths laughing, swords unsheathed.

“Oh Aphrodite, don’t let me wake up now,” I prayed as they gathered close, their eyes bulging with lust in the lamplight.

Buy Links
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Direct from publisher

Author bio

John McKeown is a British writer based in Dublin. He lived in Prague where he was a teacher and freelance journalist and part of the ex-pat literary scene in the 1990s, then moved to Ireland in 2000 becoming a columnist for the Irish Examiner, and arts feature writer for the Irish Times. He was theatre critic for the Irish Daily Mail from 2006 to 2008 and is currently reviewing theatre for the Irish Independent and UK online theatre magazine Exeunt while raising his daughter Julia. His erotic short stories have been published by Xcite Books in the UK, who have also recently published his first novella Gooseflesh Abbey. JMS Books in the US is publishing two other erotic novellas, also in 2013, Prague Memoir and The Time Sex Machine. In addition to erotica John has four collections of poetry in print, the last, Night Walk published by Salmon Press in Ireland (available from Dufour Editions in the US). He has also collaborated with Leo O’Kelly of Irish folk-rock duo Tir Na nOg, on an album of songs entitled Will released in 2011 on Life and Living Records in the UK.

Guest Blogger: Iyana Jenna

by | Oct 31, 2013 | | 1 Comment

A Midnight CallerLucy, I’d like to say thank you so much for having me on your blog. I would like to share with your readers my new m/m short story, A Midnight Caller, published by Bitten Press.

I’m a writer. Right?

I just read a blog post about how difficult it is for someone to show others that he is a proper writer. The blog writer said, rather sarcastically, that if he writes 1,000 words a day, then he is a real writer. It’s not enough that one is published because right now everyone can publish his own work.

My question is, why do you need to be called a proper writer? Aren’t you one already? You write something—doesn’t that make you a writer? Whatever you write, whoever reads it, wherever and however you share it, whether it’s for your own satisfaction or other people’s joy. And who says authors should publish books? What about those working for a magazine or newspaper? Script writers? Copy writers? They have the title ‘writer’ attached to their job already. They might not need to write 1,000 a day to show that they are writers.

Just do what you love to do. Write, and enjoy the ride. No matter whether others call you a writer or not.

A Midnight Caller

Summary:

Actor Ashley Ferguson had received several mysterious calls for the past couple of nights. The caller said he was also an actor. Ashley tried to find out who he was and guessed it was Colt Harper, a young actor whose show was also playing on TV. Ashley thought of reporting the calls to the cops several times but he kept delaying doing it.

One night after Ashley was finished shooting someone grabbed him in the parking lot. The man said he was the midnight caller. Ashley was afraid that his earlier guess was wrong and his decision not to report to the police would end up really bad for him.

 

Excerpt:

“Hey, I’m sorry, man…”

“And you said you’d call the next day but you didn’t.”

“Oh, were you expecting that? Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Shut up. I’m just so stupid. Get out of my life, okay?”

“Hey, wait. Please, I didn’t mean that. I’m so grateful you want to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, thanks for giving me the chance to talk to you. By the way, Ashley…”

“Listen. You sound like a good kid. Why don’t you tell me your name and end all this weirdness?”

“And then we can meet?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Don’t you want to see me?”

Available from:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords

 

About the Author:

Iyana lives in Jakarta, a city famous for its traffic jams, a lot of cars and motorcycles, and people selling stuff on the roads. You can spend two hours on the road going to a place you can reach in half an hour in a normal situation. Thanks to the traffic jams, though, Iyana can come up with a lot of stories, mostly shorties, as she prefers to spend the time during her trips writing into her cell phone rather than sleeping.

Another thing Iyana loves is kitties. Right now she has five of them. Their names are Larva, Nyil, Cil, Mermood, and Horus. When she doesn’t write, she plays with them, or they would play with her when she writes.

Author’s Links:

Blog
Website
Amazon
Goodreads
Facebook
Twitter

 

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Guest Blogger: Jocelyn Dex

by | Oct 28, 2013 | | 0 Comments

Valia's VillainThanks to Lucy for having me here for the release of Valia’s Villain, book two in my Sempire Seductions series!

Valia’s Villain was a blast to write. Valia is a little weird, she’s incredibly confident and she goes for what she wants. She’s also not afraid to use any or all cuss words if the mood strikes her.

Rydin is serious, vengeful and lets nothing get in the way of what he wants. He will maim, kill or steal if the situation calls for it. And, of course, he is super sexy.

These two kept me on my toes during the writing process. They’re both so strong willed, I occasionally had to fight with them to get them to do what I needed them to do. Sometimes, I won the fight. Sometimes, they did. Either way, in the end, it all worked out. They’re happy. I’m happy. And I certainly hope the readers will be happy.

I hope people have as much fun reading Valia’s Villain as I had writing it. If you liked Araya’s Addiction (book one), hopefully you’ll love Valia’s Villain.

*****

Excerpt:

Valia couldn’t remember ever wanting another being so desperately. Her body hummed as his tongue worked her into a frenzy. Bossy son of a bitch, he was, but she expected no less from a Ferox.

She shuddered and moaned as he rolled his tongue around her clit, the pressure building in her lower abdomen. With her free hand, she wrapped her thumb around one of his horns as her fingers dug into his scalp, urging him to send her over the edge.

He growled and bit the inside of her thigh.

“Stop,” Rydin commanded.

“Stop what?” Valia asked.

“Don’t touch my horns.”

“But they’re so sexy.” She gave him her best pouty face.

He blinked at her, a look of surprise crossing his face, quickly replaced with a scowl. “Are you teasing me, female?”

“I told ya, my name is Valia, male. And no, not teasing. Your horns are super sexy and I wanna touch them.”

He looked at her for another long moment as if searching for something. He dipped his head and bit the inside of her other thigh. God, he was going to drive her crazy. He looked back at her and said, “They are sensitive and I am already too stimulated. I want to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you. If you do as I say, I may give you permission to touch them later.”

Oh wow. She hadn’t known his horns were an erogenous zone. Now she really wanted to touch them. His tongue lapped at her clit furiously. She avoided his horns but couldn’t stop herself from grabbing a fistful of his hair. Her hips ground against his tongue, his lips. Intense pleasure knotted deep inside. Little sparks began erupting inside her but just as she was about to fall over the edge, he stopped.

She groaned and still with a fistful of his hair, tried to force him to continue.

His eyes dark and his lips glistening with her pleasure, he said, “You were about to come. I did not give you permission.”

She choked out her words. “If you don’t want me to come, you shouldn’t lick me like that.”

His lips quirked into a cocky smile. “My tongue pleases you?”

“It’d please me if you’d put it to better use than asking me stupid questions,” she grouched.

*****

Blurb:

When Valia approaches the Ferox demon, hoping for scorching sex and a feed, she doesn’t expect to be handcuffed, transported to the demon realm, accused of dirty deeds she has no memory of committing and held captive for three days.  Even though she believes her captor to be crazy, she feels a connection to him she’s felt with no one else.

When Rydin senses the Sempire who locked him up, fed on him and used him as a sex slave many years ago, he knows his wait for revenge is finally over. Burning with the need to punish her, he imprisons her in the demon realm, where she is at his mercy, but as much as he tries to ignore it, a connection sparks between them every time they touch.

Available from:
Ellora’s Cave

*****

Jocelyn DexAuthor Bio

Jocelyn was born in Iowa and currently resides in hot-as-hell Texas. She shares her home with her very own 6’4″ alpha male and varying numbers of spoiled cats and dogs. Teaching one of her dogs to file his nails is one of her all-time favorite accomplishments.

She thinks dragonflies are awesome, spiders are creepy and it’s rumored that she sleeps with a machete by her bed in case zombies attack in the middle of the night. Jocelyn loves to paint, loves to read, and loves to write sizzling erotic romance about yummy demons that would make your momma blush.

Here’s where you can find Jocelyn on the web

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Blog  * Goodreads

*****

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The Exhibition, Book Three of The Executive Decisions Trilogy By Grace Marshall

by | Oct 24, 2013 | | 0 Comments

Here’s yet another new release from a Brit Babe! This time it’s Grace Marshall, aka K D Grace, who’s serving up the goodies. This is the third part of her amazing Executive Decisions trilogy. I can’t wait to read it!

 

The ExhibitionBlurb:

Successful NYC gallery owner, Stacie Emerson, is ex-fiancée to one Thorne brother and ex-wife to the other. Though the three have made peace, Ellison Thorne’s friend, wildlife photographer, Harris Walker, still doesn’t like her. When Stacie convinces Harris to exhibit his work for the opening of her new gallery she never intended to include him in her other more hazardous plans. But when those plans draw the attention of dangerous business tycoon, Terrance Jamison, Harris comes to her aid. In the shadow of a threat only Stacie understands, can she dare let Harris into her life and make room for love?

 

Available from:

eBook:

Amazon UK
Amazon US

Print:

Amazon UK
Amazon US

 

Excerpt:

She stood to put her pack back on, and he came to his feet and caught her by the shoulder, not wanting it to end like this, not wanting her to leave until they were good again. When she tried to push him away, he pressed her between his body and the stone of the cliff face. ‘You can’t just shut us all out, Stacie.’

‘I never wanted you involved in the first place. I never wanted any of you involved but you couldn’t leave it alone,’ she jerked back against him but there was no place to go. ‘You couldn’t just let it go.’

He moved in closer until his body pressed up against hers, holding her tightly against the stone. ‘No, I couldn’t, and I can’t and neither can anyone else who cares about you and neither would you if the situation were reversed. So whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay. We’ve already discussed this, so get used to it.’ He punctuated his point with a harsh kiss that couldn’t have been very pleasant for her, but then he was angry, worried, scared for her. Instead of shoving at him as he’d expected her to do, she curled a hard fist in his hair and ravaged his mouth with every bit as much ferocity as he had given her, pulling him still closer, rubbing her body against his, making him instantly and startlingly erect.

She snaked a hand down between them and savaged his fly until he feared for what lay beneath, until her fingers wriggled and dug their way into his walking trousers to possess his cock with a tight grip as though it were a weapon, one she were about to use to do serious damage.

He fumbled to return the favour, with her ripping at her own fly to make room for him, to guide his fingers down over her mons. Her eyes locked his in a devastating gaze that felt as though she could see right through him. ‘I need you to touch me there.’ Her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘Where I’m wet, where I’m open, where I’m always, always hungry for you.’ Her breath caught; her eyelids fluttered and she sucked her bottom lip as he found her cleft, wet and open as she’d promised. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t want to be like those cats.’ She guided his hand still further and manipulated it until first two, then three fingers pressed up into her. ‘You can’t tell me that when I present myself to you all hot and ready and begging for it, you don’t want to service my need. You can’t tell me you don’t want to get a little primal with that cock of yours.’ She gave him a hard squeeze and drove her hand up and down his length, thumbing the already abundant pre-cum over and around the tip until he gritted his teeth and held his breath while his hips bucked hard against her efforts.

He scissored her deep with three fingers and raked the silky slickness of her up and over her clitoris, and the sounds from the back of her throat easily resembled the sounds the female cougar made when the male mounted her. They wildly, madly fucked each other’s hands. The wind had risen and even on the clear morning, the chill left no doubt about lingering for more than the quickest of releases. Then she shifted, pressed her back hard against the stone and rested both of her hands on his shoulders. Before he could protest the removal of her fingers from his cock, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her still clothed crotch rubbing tight and insanely hot against his exposed cock as she began to rock and gyrate, and it was all happening way too fast.

‘Stacie I –’

‘Shut up, Harris,’ she spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I need to come, and so do you. You can fuck me properly when we get back to the SUV. It’s too damn cold to linger.’ With each sentence she ground against him, baring down with the extra leverage the cliff at her back afforded and, almost before the words were out of her mouth, she convulsed. Her spine stiffened and her shivers had nothing to do with the cold. Harris could stand no more. He felt the eruption deep in his groin. It might have been embarrassing had the circumstances been different, but as he tried to cover himself, tried to hide the results of Stacie’s hard ride, she shoved his hand away, pushed him back and practically fell into the space between them positioning herself so that she caught his release, all of it in her mouth. What could he say to that? What could he do but hold her there, helplessly grunting the weight of his need into the back of her throat. It was an act as intimate and as primal as the cougars mating on the rocks minutes ago. And sex, any kind of sex, with Stacie Emerson was worlds apart from any other sexual experiences he’d ever had. As she stood and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the look of hunger in her eyes, the promise of more sex to come in the SUV before the trip home couldn’t help but lighten the mood. As they straightened and tucked and donned their packs, he wondered if that was maybe why she did it. Whatever her reason, it definitely worked for him in ways he was still trying to get his head around.

 

britbabes_kink_hotnsaucy_3About Grace Marshall:

Grace Marshall lives in South England with her husband and the growing gang of hooligan birds who frequent their feeders. When Grace isn’t busy writing something sexy and romantic, she’s busy digging in her ever-expanding veg garden or walking across the British countryside. She finds inspiration outdoors in nature, and most of her best story ideas come to her while she’s walking or gardening.

Grace is the author of the fast paced, quirky Executive Decisions Trilogy published by Xcite Romance. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis and the final instalment of the trilogy, The Exhibition, are all now available at all your favourite book sellers with lots of romance and thrills served hot.

Grace Marshall’s alter-ego, K D Grace writes critically acclaimed, best-selling erotic romance. Whether it’s sexy romance or romantic sex, between The Graces, there’s a story for you.

 

Find Grace Here:

Websites:  http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/

http://kdgrace.co.uk/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GraceMarshall

http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter:     http://twitter.com/GM_Romance

https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Guest Blogger: Tracey H. Kitts

by | Oct 23, 2013 | | 1 Comment

Have you ever had something you felt like you just had to do? Well, for me that was writing my own version of Dracula. I first read Bram Stoker’s Dracula when I was about twelve years old. I think it’s safe to say I have been obsessed with vampires ever since.

Dracula In the FleshMy biography doesn’t lie; I have always been drawn to the macabre with a fondness for anything with fangs. Even as a young child I was fascinated with werewolves, witches, and vampires. While other girls were playing “house” with their Barbies, I was playing, “Let’s bite Ken,” or “Ken is a werewolf.” Ha. Ha. Ha.

Like many classic villains, I never felt that Dracula had a fair shake, so to speak. In truth, I never saw him as a villain at all. For so long now he has been the man of my dreams. Maybe that’s why in my story Mina has dreamed of him all her life.

This story is more a part of me than I can fully describe. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life to write this book, as if I was working up to it.

A few people have asked me why I wrote this book as T.K. Hardin. Especially, since I still put my name (Tracey H. Kitts) so prominently on the cover. I have chosen to write this book as T.K. Hardin simply to let my regular readers know that this book is a change from the norm. Although there are elements of horror in many of my other books, they are not erotic horror stories. Normally, I write erotic paranormal romance. Though there is certainly a love story in Dracula: In The Flesh, there are also many other elements that might offend someone expecting something a bit milder. My beta readers loved the story just as well as my other books. However, I didn’t want anyone walking into this one without fair warning. Dracula: In The Flesh is not for the faint of heart.

Dracula: In The Flesh is what I believe the story should be. In one instant it is brutal, violent and frightening, and the next heartbreaking and romantic. I am thrilled to present this book to readers and I sincerely hope that everyone enjoys this story as I have.

Book Info:

Jonathan Harker, a young English lawyer, is traveling to Castle Dracula in order to finalize a real estate transaction. He has been personally requested by Count Dracula. What Jonathan doesn’t realize is that Dracula’s interests do not lie with him, but with his beautiful fiancée, Mina.

As soon as he saw her face, Dracula knew the ritual was a success. After all these long years, his love has returned to him. However, many things (such as Van Helsing and Jonathan Harker) stand in the way of their happiness. Sure, he could kill them all and take what he wants. However, his greatest desire is not to possess Mina, but to love her and have her return his love.

Therefore, Dracula’s fate and the fate of those closest to her lie in Mina’s hands. She has dreamed of him all her life. But what will she do when she learns her dark prince is real? What will happen when she knows him, not as a dream, but in the flesh?

WARNING: This book contains graphic violence, and graphic sex. This is NOT a romance novel, although there is a romance involved. This is Erotic Horror and might offend some readers.

Purchase your copy here:

Amazon US
Amazon UK

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