Guest Bloggers | Page 141 of 167

Guest Blogger: Lisabet Sarai

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 18, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 11 Comments

First Love By Lisabet Sarai

Anyone who takes a look at my back list is likely to come away with at least one conclusion. I write in lot of different genres – so many that I ultimately had to resort to a multi-category index [http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books_index.html ] to guide my readers. Contemporary, historical, science fiction, steampunk, paranormal, gay, lesbian, ménage, suspense, even horror – I’ve written them all. Sometimes I mix things up, as in my most recent release Rajasthani Moon, a deliberate attempt to explore just how many genres I could cram into a single novel. However, I find myself returning again and again to my first love – BDSM. My debut novel Raw Silk focused on a woman’s gradual recognition and acceptance of her submissive desires. Fourteen years later, I still find myself fascinated (and aroused) by the emotional dynamics and physical challenges of BDSM.

Exciting as it is, though, you can only write the classic BDSM initiation scenario so many times before you long for something different. In Rajasthani Moon, I experiment with a different kind of BDSM fiction, less realistic and less serious than most of my stories about D/s.

For one thing, the book plays with abduction and interrogation scenarios. My secret agent heroine Cecily is kidnapped and sexually “tortured” by her captors. Although she apparently resists, in fact she enjoys every minute of the process – as do the half brothers who inflict all those delightful indignities upon her. I hope that my readers who are used to my usual more nuanced and realistic BDSM will not be upset by the apparently non-consensual aspects of the story. The book is deliberately a bit over-the-top, designed to give readers a chance to experience and enjoy those juicy forbidden fantasies. In the real world, I subscribe wholeheartedly to the notion of consensuality. Cecily, though, lives in a fantastic imaginary universe where those rules don’t necessarily apply.

Then there’s the array of bizarre steam punk sex toys I’ve invented for my characters’ pleasure (and pain). I’ve got robotic rope, animated nipple clamps, electrical stimulators, dildos and plugs, all sorts of mechanisms that get applied to my heroine’s voluptuous flesh. In fact, I’m usually more interested in the psychological, emotional and spiritual aspects of a D/s relationship, but in Rajasthani Moon I got a bit carried away.

The core attraction of BDSM is still there, though – the release that comes from surrender to the Dom’s will. Cecily discovers some truths about herself over the course of the tale, and develops unexpected emotional connections that are rather inconvenient for a spy.

You’ll find the blurb and an X-rated excerpt below. I’m giving away a free copy of the BDSM anthology Switch (which includes my story Mastering Maya) to one person who leaves a comment on this post. In addition, I’m adding Lucy’s blog to my ongoing blog tour, so your comments also count as entries toward the grand prize of a $50 bookstore gift certificate. (For full details of the tour, go to http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2013/06/sunday-snog-more-delights-from.html.) Please include your email address in your comment, so I can find you if you win!

Blurb

Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.

Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.

Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?

Buy Links

You can buy the book at your favorite online store:

Total-E-Bound (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

Excerpt

At long last, the door rattled and then swung open. Sarita leapt from her seat, crossed the richly-patterned carpet, and sank to her knees in front of the entering Rajah.

“My Lord, I have done as you commanded. The spy awaits you.”

Amir took in Cecily’s shameful state in one astute glance. Amusement was evident in both his voice and his expression. “Excellent work, Sarita. I could hardly have done better myself.” He raised his favourite to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her lips. She pressed her lithe body against his in an attempt to prolong the embrace, but he gently put her aside and strolled over to confront Cecily.

“She looks extremely fetching in bondage, just as I’d expected.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily glimpsed the other woman’s deepening scowl.

“How are you feeling, Miss Harrowsmith?”

The mockery in his tone was not enough to prevent a surge of renewed lust, which she struggled to suppress. “I presume that’s a rhetorical question, Your Highness,” she replied after a moment. God, but his eyes are hypnotic! “Given that I’m stark naked and trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted.”

“Not entirely rhetorical.” The handsome Rajah circled around to inspect her from the rear. “It seems to me that you’re distinctly damp.” With a chuckle, he swept a finger down the length of her cleft, gathering her moisture. Her inner muscles clenched as sparks struck her clit. When he smeared her juices across her bum, she wanted to sink through the floor. “Based on the available evidence, I’d say that being bound excites you.”

“Nonsense—” she began. Her attempts at a cool, sarcastic response were interrupted by the ferocious slap he landed on her arse. “Ow! Oh…” The sting from his spank vanished, overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of his fingers playing in her cunny. “Oh…ah…”

“And it’s clear that, like many of your compatriots, you find corporal punishment arousing.”

“No—ow! That’s ridiculous…Ow! Ah! Ow!”

He alternated sharp blows to her buttocks with exquisite explorations of her cunt.

“Fondness for punishment is one of the many intriguing cultural phenomena I encountered during my sojourn in your dank country.” He circled her back hole with a slick finger, then probed gently. “I suppose that being exposed to those notions at a tender age might have shaped my own predilections in that regard.”

She tightened her sphincter, trying to keep him out, without success. Guilty pleasure rushed through her as he wiggled his digit just inside the entrance. “Oh—you…uh—you spent time in England? Ah…” Though he pulled out, the effects of his lewd touch continued to ripple through her body. Her sex gaped, hungry, dripping with excitement she couldn’t hide. If only he’d stop chattering and simply take her…

“I was schooled there. Pratan as well. My father believed in the value of knowing one’s enemy.”

“I’m not— We’re not—oh!—your enemy, Your Highness. Ow!”

The Rajah had pinched one of the welts raised by his brother’s whipping. “Hmm. We’ll see. Speaking of Pratan, it looks as though he did quite a job on you yesterday. Perhaps I should refrain from inflicting any further damage on your delectable bottom at present.”

Cecily bit back a moan of disappointment. She hung her head, appalled by her reaction. Her hair tumbled around her face, hiding her shame.

“Fear not, sweet Cecily. I have other ideas about what to do with you—equally nasty and painful, I guarantee.” He gave both her butt cheeks a solid squeeze, waking echoes of her previous beatings, then moved away.

She heard a lock click on some chest or cabinet behind her. He must be seeking some new instrument of punishment or humiliation. She shuddered, from fear or anticipation, or perhaps both at once.

“Where is Pratan?” she ventured as the noise of his rummaging continued. At the moment, she would have felt safer in the company of the bandit.

“He’s—um—indisposed at the moment. That is why I was delayed. Ah, here we are! Don’t worry. I fully intend to share you with my brother.”

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

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

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)

Guest Blogger: Liz Crowe

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 17, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 4 Comments

Jealous? Or Just Competitive? By Liz Crowe

We all get jealous. I, for one, am envious of anyone with a neat house, organized fridge and “meal plans” for the family. My idea of a “meal plan” typically has the name of a restaurant at the top, preferably one with a bar. But that surely will not earn me any Martha Stewart Mom of the Year awards. I avoid Pinterest because of this—as it makes me feel:

underdressed
overweight
like a failure because I don’t pack fresh quiche and steamed veggies in my kid’s lunchbox (she’s lucky I remember to buy bread)

But the older I get and the more self-realized I become as a result, I will fully acknowledge that my innate competitiveness makes it tough for me to handle NOT being “number one.”

I am in the unique position of not only being a striving, scrabbling published author in a teeming sea of the same but also part owner of a business that is also becoming very trendy, and, some would say, easy to get into. The craft beer biz is hot right now and more breweries pop up around me daily. This of course, in addition to the many successful ones who have been around for 20 years or more. Do I get down when other breweries find success, have longer lines at their beer fest booths, get coveted national publicity? Sure I do. It’s the competitor in me. I want that for me and my brewery and I feel I work just as hard to get it.

Just because their investors have bottomless pockets to dip into for fun things like swag, advertising and other awesomeness that I do not, should not be a reason that they get ahead. But, that is how it works. So I get down, then I get back up and find a new outlet for publicity, or plan a new event in my Tap Room to get a few more folks on board with my brewer’s beers.

Same goes for books. We’ve all done the “my life is great, my books rock, and I’ll prove it with a bunch of facebook posts/twitter updates” game. And, conversely, tsk-tsked when others spend a lot of energy and time bitching about their lives and how badly they’ve been treated or how hard they have worked for nothing on their time lines. But I will be the first to admit that sometimes I let everyone else’s “I got a six-figure contract for my self published book, I got movie deal, I got 8,000,000 followers” updates and their “NYT Best selling author fill in the blank with your name here” tag lines make me fume and want to open my own rant about the relative unfairness of life pursuant to the fickleness of the reading population.

However, just like with my beer jealousy, I must have it, own it, and put it to use. Because at the end of the day, I am competitive. I know my beers are great and unique and also know my books are the same. They are not formula, either in characterization or style or even settings. They will not appeal to some but buried within them is a nugget of reality that my rapidly expanding fan base is latching onto with gusto. I respect those who have made a success of themselves, study their methods, adapt if I think I need to and move forward. I tip my hat to formula book writers who get those NYT BSA letters behind their name but remind myself I have no intention of writing what they do, no matter how tempting it may be JUST to get those letters.

One More Reader.

One More Wolverine Beer Drinker.

One more convert….one day at a time.

Happy Reading!

*****

Excerpt:

“Jack!” He heard his name, rolled over, tried to hug her close. But his hand found air. “Jack! God damn it.” Something hit his head, and then again.

“Cut it out.” He grabbed at it, still half asleep, aching deep in his muscles, his cock raw and sore under the sheet. “Go the hell away.” Once he realized he was in his own bed without Mindy to curl around and mess with, his mood darkened immediately.

The whole of the last few weeks had been a blur, but a pleasant one. Until recently, when Jack had been getting a distinct sensation of rejection, of having to work too hard for Mindy’s attention. It was pissing him the fuck off. And setting off all sorts of alarm bells.

“Get up, you ass.” Brandis’ voice was clear now. “Your room is a pigsty. Are you on drugs or something? Drugs you aren’t sharing? Because I’ve never seen you like this. Get up!” The pillow hit him again, making him grunt, sit, and glare at his oldest friend.

For some reason, the serious look on the boy’s dark-skinned face made Jack want to burst into laughter at the utter absurdity of what he’d been doing —fucking himself into sweet oblivion. In every possible way, shape, and position with the woman who, at the same time, wanted to marry his father.

He groaned and lay back, tugging the blanket up over his eyes, wishing the whole stinking mess away.

“Come on, dickhead. Let’s go…. I need some hoops time, and I’m sick of your excuses.” Brandis stood to his full six-foot-three inches, glaring down at Jack.

Jack blinked then put his feet on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to sort out why he was so god damned pissed off. He was the same guy in the same body, albeit one that had come a long way since he’d walked into the office that day eager to go to a party and grope a girl.

“All right.” He got up and stretched, relishing the way his sore muscles sang out and his body tingled all over. “Hold your water.” He made his way to the bathroom, took a piss after his morning hard-on receded, then wandered out naked. He grinned at Brandis who’d reached for Jack’s not-so-secret stash of Penthouse mags.

Jack got dressed, then flopped back onto his bed and put an arm over his eyes. His head still pounded from lack of sleep and a strange sort of elusive stress he couldn’t pin down. Oh, right. Mindy. She of the teaching skills who had let him more or less live with her for nearly three months then told him last night he needed to “move on.” To “find some girls his own age and use his new skills on them.” This after he’d fucked her standing up, in the hallway, unable to even wait the short few steps to the bedroom.

Jack ran a slightly shaking hand down his face. Truth was, he didn’t want any “girls his own age.” He wanted nothing more than to hole up with Mindy, eat the crappy Chinese takeout she loved, watch whatever she wanted on TV. Just be with her, content, totally at ease in his skin.

Well, and fucking her a lot, like four or five times a day. He sighed as his cock stirred to life, then sat, needing to redirect his energy. Maybe Brandis was right. He needed to get out and use his body for something other than getting laid.

“Let’s go before you have to spank your monkey all over my magazine.” Jack smacked the titty mag out of his friend’s hand and walked out of his room.

“Are you calling me a monkey, you racist pig?” Brandis ran past him into the hall, hitting the door and tumbling out into the light of the early summer day, making Jack smile.

“No. Just a poor, sex-starved loser. I couldn’t give a fuck less what color you are.”

“Ha, you don’t know me very well, do you?” Brandis snapped, tossing Jack a basketball then climbing behind the wheel of his Shelby Charger. “Don’t get your loser germs on my leather seats.”

Jack grinned, flipped his friend off, then licked his palm and wiped it, ostentatiously, across the steering wheel. “There. Some of my ‘hitting it with regularity’ mojo for ya.”

Brandis snorted. “You’re such a liar.”

“Oh no, I’m not,” Jack said mildly, staring out the window and trying to come to terms with how lonely he felt at that moment.

They screeched out onto the quiet street, stereo blaring, and parked at the high school where a couple of outdoor courts were already busy. Brandis kept his hands on the wheel a minute, staring out the windshield. Jack barely noticed, so sunk in his own stew of self-pity.

“Where have you been?” he said quietly.

Jack blinked then looked at his friend. “What do you…?”

Brandis held up a hand. “Gordon, it’s not like I need you around me or anything but shit, dude, you are like…gone somewhere. You’ve missed the team workouts more than once. You never go out on the weekends. I mean…what is it?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” Jack said, suddenly needing to spill it, to tell somebody. Why not his best friend since elementary school? He rolled the basketball around in his hands, its familiar leather contours comforting.

“Try me.”

“I’ve been, uh, sort of hanging out, I mean, staying over…um…well,” he sighed and rubbed his neck. “I’ve been banging my father’s secretary nearly constantly for about three months. She’s um…been teaching me stuff and…ah….” He stopped, glanced at his friend who was staring at him, open-mouthed. “What?” Jack frowned, suddenly angry. “This is too much for you?”

“Je-sus H. Christ. You lucky bastard!” Brandis smacked his shoulder. “Damn. I thought you were in a cult or got some bad acid or…I don’t know. Fuck!” He pounded the steering wheel. “Finally, no longer the Big V!”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered, the day darkening around him again. He wanted Mindy, needed her. Did not want to be here, doing this. That made him furious with himself. He jumped out of the car and headed for the court. Movement, that would help and mindless hours of playing his favorite game.

*****

It takes a wealth of collected experiences, emotions, successes and failures to craft the personality of a true Alpha Male

Jack Gordon, real estate broker, licensed builder, Juris Doctorate, has had his fair share of strife. His ability to cope, to fall down and pick himself back up has lead him to a place where he believes he has it all. Friends, money, cars, more women than he can count, and a club in Detroit where he can exorcise his inner demons, fill his days and his nights.

When he walks up to a penthouse door on a hot Ann Arbor summer afternoon, frustrated, exasperated and ready to call it quits after hours of condo shopping with a wealthy couple, the last thing on his mind is meeting his destiny.

House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story. A prequel novella of the Stewart Realty Series.

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble

*****

Microbrewery owner, best-selling author, beer blogger and journalist, mom of three teenagers, and soccer fan, Liz lives in the great Midwest, in a major college town. Years of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as an ex-pat trailing spouse, plus making her way in a world of men (i.e. the beer industry), has prepped her for life as a successful author.

When she isn’t sweating inventory and sales figures for the brewery, she can be found writing, editing or implementing promotions for her latest publications. Her groundbreaking literary fiction subgenre, “reality fiction,” has gained thousands of fans and followers who are interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”)

Her beer blog a2beerwench.com is nationally recognized for its insider yet outsider views on the craft beer industry. Her books are set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch and in high-powered real estate offices. Don’t ask her for anything “like” a Budweiser or risk painful injury.

For more information on Liz Crowe, please visit her website www.lizcrowe.com or www.brewingpassion.com (her author blog). She enjoys interacting with her fans on her Facebook author page www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor. Information for all of her books, including eBook and print formats (where available), can be found on her Amazon author page.

www.lizcrowe.com

www.brewingpasssion.com

www.a2beerwench.com

www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor

www.twitter.com/beerwencha2

www.facebook.com/groups/romanceforreallife

www.facebook.com/jackgordonrealtor

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The Fugitive’s Sexy Brother by Annabeth Leong

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 13, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 0 Comments

Blurb:

Emily Boysen is sick of low-level bounty hunting jobs that don’t pay her rent, and sick to death of her ex-boyfriend taking credit for her work. Ready to claim her due, she takes on the quarry of a lifetime, the notorious Fernando Bonavita. But instead of the fugitive, she captures his sexy younger brother, Javier.

Javier Bonavita never wanted to know the truth about his older brother’s activities, instead protecting him out of loyalty. When he uses his hacking skills to pose as Fernando, he never expects to uncover crimes he can’t stomach. Beautiful Emily has no idea how glad he is to be in her custody—as long as he’s her prisoner, he doesn’t have to face his brother.

Passion flares between Emily and Javier, and soon he’s putting the handcuffs on her. Suspicion grows along with their feelings, though. A sinister plot centers around Fernando, and untangling it will test their loyalties to the limit.

Buy Links:
All Romance
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Ellora’s Cave

Excerpt:

Javier’s smart phone buzzed in his pocket. He paused his video game and glanced at the screen. The vibration originated from the custom application he’d written to monitor the motion sensors he’d set up around the perimeter of his brother Fernando’s house. Returning his attention to his computer, Javier quit the game and pulled up a view of the exterior cameras.

A girl was crawling beneath Fernando’s hedge. Even with the cameras, Javier would never have seen her if the motion sensor hadn’t pinpointed her exact position. She held her body low, wore clothes that blended in perfectly with the hues of the yard’s greenery, and moved slowly enough that she wouldn’t attract the casual eye.

Game time.

Plans and strategies tumbled through Javier’s head, but he remained still for a moment, frozen by discomfort. No jilted lover Javier could imagine would act this way, approaching the house like a single-member SWAT team. He squinted at the grainy image of her. He supposed she was a woman, not a girl, but she was a slip of a thing. Her body seemed slight in comparison to the thick, tawny hair bound at the back of her head. Skin only a shade lighter than the hair peeked out of the camouflage clothes in a few places—Javier caught a glimpse of a light brown shoulder blade and the back of a thigh. He remained glued to the screen, fascinated by her strange grace. She didn’t seem like his brother’s type at all.

Javier cleared his throat, struggling again with suspicions he didn’t want to acknowledge. But what harm could it do to play along? That girl couldn’t hurt him, and more than anything he wanted to repay Fernando for all the years he’d looked out for his kid brother. It wouldn’t hurt to earn recognition as an adult in the process. Maybe if he could gain Fernando’s trust he’d be rewarded with true explanations instead of obvious fabrications like this one.

Javier glanced down at his clothes. He should really be dressed as Fernando, but hadn’t had the patience to wear suits when he didn’t have to. He frowned at the image on the screen. He’d locked all the doors and the ground-floor windows were sealed and made of shatter-resistant materials. He had a minute before he had to decide his next step with the girl.

He went to the closet, stripping off his T-shirt on the way and stepping out of his jeans. Fernando’s clothes hung a little loose on him—their bodies were close, but the tailored touches Fernando had added emphasized his thicker physique. Javier was slightly taller and slightly leaner. He found a pair of dark-gray pants that fell far enough down on the leg and looked okay in the mirror. Javier turned to the dress shirts and found himself confronted with a dizzying array of fits and colors. How did his brother deal with all this complication every morning? And why did he care so much?

Javier shook his head at himself and reached for the nearest one, only to freeze at the sound of Fernando’s upstairs bedroom window sliding open. Had the woman really climbed up here in a matter of minutes? She hadn’t been carrying any gear.

He shrugged on the shirt and stepped out of the closet, still buttoning it. She stood just inside the window, her stance wary and her eyes on the computer screen. Handcuffs and restraints swung from the belt loops of army-green short-shorts. Her gaze flicked toward him, her blue eyes large and bright against the sandy backdrop of her face. She wore no makeup, but a generous scattering of freckles added plenty of interesting color and shape to her features. A smile spread over Javier’s face before he could think the situation through.

The interloper scowled in response, producing a can of mace. “You think this is funny, Bonavita?”

Javier held up his hands quickly. He didn’t want to get sprayed. But he couldn’t back down completely or the game would be up before it had even begun. He imitated the cool confidence his brother always possessed. “You wanted to see me so badly you couldn’t knock?”

Her frown deepened. “You watched me approach the house on video monitors, and decided to…change your clothes?”

“Couldn’t let you think I didn’t care about our date.”

She glanced at the monitors and shook her head, her lips forming the word “stupid.” Javier cocked his head, but before he could ask she brandished the mace more fiercely. “Take whatever weapons you’ve got and put them on the floor.”

“What you see is what I’ve got.”

“Yeah, I’m going to believe that.”

Javier shrugged. “If you want to strip-search me, I won’t stop you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pig.”

“Then I guess we’re going to stand here all day.”

The woman sighed and set down the can of mace. Javier’s body relaxed, but before he had a chance to enjoy it he was on the floor, the woman on top of him. She couldn’t have weighed much, but she knew how to make her body heavy. Her legs wrapped his thighs in an intimate hold that kept him immobilized, and the blade of her forearm wedged under his chin threatened his windpipe.

Javier gasped from the shock of his back crashing to Fernando’s hardwood floor, but recovered as quickly as he could. “Beds are much more comfortable.”

“In your dreams, Bonavita.”

Moving with practiced confidence, she rolled Javier onto his side without relaxing the strength of her hold. She snapped a set of handcuffs around his wrists.

“Whoa, whoa. Baby, let’s talk about this.”

“Very funny. Like you don’t know why I’m here.” A light layer of sweat had appeared along her neck. She smelled wild and powerful, like leaves, salt and sun. Javier knew he should be more concerned about himself, but he couldn’t get his mind off the idea of her lying on top of him for an entirely different reason.

She returned Javier to his back, the position forcing his cuffed hands to dig in to his spine. He curled up to remove the pressure, but a sharply placed knee to his chest forced him back down and pinned him. “Woman, you are serious.”

“Are you just figuring that out?” Her hands slid inside his shirt. For one delicious moment, Javier’s eyelids fell shut and he shivered at her touch. She stopped moving and he opened his eyes slowly to confront her solemn stare. “You are enjoying this way too much,” she said.

If his hands had been free, Javier would have tried to enjoy it a lot more. He’d forgotten how it felt to roll around with a woman, forgotten the sensation of soft, warm flesh against his own. Sure, the situation clearly meant serious trouble for Fernando, but Fernando wasn’t here, was he? Javier felt wild and invincible. He grinned up at the woman. “How could I not? Look at you.”

She glared, but her cheeks turned rosy, bringing out a clearer view of her abundant freckles. “Wonderful. The first man to be stunned by my good looks happens to be the most dangerous quarry I’ve had in years.”

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written erotica of many flavors. She loves shoes, stockings, cooking and excellent bass lines. She always keeps a new e-book loaded on her phone and a paperback stashed in her purse, but her eyes are still bigger than her stomach whenever she visits a bookseller. She blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong . Watch for her next contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave, Get Laid.

Love For The Not-So-Beautiful by Cynthia Sax

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 11, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 2 Comments

Anna, the not-so-innocent-yet-virginal heroine of He Watches Me, considers herself plain. As she explains, “The plastic surgeon’s wife, with her blond hair, blue eyes, and big breasts, is the epitome of L.A. beauty. I’m not. I have brown hair, brown eyes, and a flat chest.” Anna is accustomed to being overlooked and she’s fine with that.

Until she meets Gabriel Blaine, her enigmatic billionaire neighbor. Blaine sees the beauty in Anna no one else does. In his brilliant green eyes, she’s a gorgeous, almost mythical creature. He calls her his nymph.

Blaine’s appreciation of her understated beauty drives changes in Anna. This isn’t an ugly duckling transformation. She doesn’t get a boob job and dye her hair. It is more like an unveiling. She discards her baggy clothes and wears formfitting suits. She also gains confidence and there’s nothing sexier on Earth than confidence.

This unveiling has consequences. People, men especially, notice Anna. There’s a reason she doesn’t want attention drawn to her, a serious life-changing, love-shattering reason.

I have a special place in my heart for plain heroines because I’m not-so-beautiful myself. I’m fine with my lack of looks. I have friends who are beautiful (both inside and out) and I know being beautiful comes with a different set of challenges.

I was also very fortunate because I had a not-so-beautiful great aunt who passed along the secret of plain women everywhere. Aunt Ethel was always surrounded by attentive men, much to the envy of the other women in the retirement home. One day, while I was visiting, she leaned over to me and said, “Girl, it’s not how you look FOR a man that counts. It’s how you look AT a man.” She then glanced at one of the men in her constant entourage and gave him THAT look, the look that says ‘you big stud, I want to lick you all over.’ The man straightened to his full height, sucked in his gut and hurried to her side, a naughty sparkle in his eyes.

I’ve used THAT look plenty of times and I still use it look with my (ironically handsome) hubby of over twenty years. THAT look doesn’t seem to ever lose its power.

Everyone notices a beautiful woman. It takes a unique hero to notice a not-so-beautiful woman. Thankfully both my hubby and Blaine, Anna’s sexy billionaire, are unique heroes.

Do you like reading about not-so-beautiful heroines? Why?

***

Blurb:

She desires to be seen. He wants to watch.

Anna Sampson has a naughty secret. Every night, she slips into her neighbor’s yard and swims naked in his pool. She fantasizes that the dynamic young billionaire watches her nightly nude aquatics, his brilliant green eyes gleaming with lust.

She discovers this isn’t pure fantasy. Gabriel Blaine has been watching her via his security cameras, and now that he has returned to L.A., he doesn’t plan to stop. That’s all he wants—to watch. Anna knows she shouldn’t allow him and she certainly shouldn’t want more, but she craves Blaine’s attention, needing his gaze fixed on her body.

Part One of The Seen Trilogy

Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/He-Watches-Me-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B00CD36FS8

http://www.amazon.co.uk/He-Watches-Me-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B00CD36FS8

Author Website: http://cynthiasax.com/

Blog: http://tasteofcyn.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.sax

Twitter: @CynthiaSax

Bio:

Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you”, they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.

Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.

Coming, Ready or Not! by Liv Honeywell

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 4, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 0 Comments

Meet Will and Abby. An ordinary couple that you wouldn’t give a second glance at if they were walking down the street. Except they share a wonderful secret and bond as they explore their Master/slave relationship.

This is a loving couple, full of good humour, but nothing in any relationship is perfect and sometimes things go wrong. Even the strongest will in the world can’t always obey and with that comes consequences…

Three vignettes, The Edge, Bad Girl, and Breathless focus on control. Can Abby be taken to the edge of pleasure and not cross over? She wants to obey and to hold on. But can she? And what will happen to her if she can’t?

Holding on has never felt so good…

*****

Excerpt:

“Will, please.”

“Excuse me? I think you mean ‘Sir,’ and do you really think this is up to you?”

“Er, no, Sir. I guess not. I’m sorry.”

“I should think so. Now lie back. Go on.”

I lie back against the chair. I don’t have another choice anyway. My legs are spread wide apart and strapped tightly to the chair legs, so I couldn’t close them if I wanted to, and my arms are tied behind my back and then secured to the back of the chair frame. I’m really not going anywhere until my Lord and Master lets me.

You grin at me, knowing full well that there’s nothing I can do.

I narrow my eyes. “You evil b…”

You grab my chin and force me to look into your eyes.

“I really don’t think you want to finish that sentence, Abby. I wouldn’t advise it.”

You continue circling my clit with just the tip of your finger, as you have been doing, agonisingly slowly, for the last few minutes. I moan and throw my head back.

“Oh, please, Sir. Please may I come?”

You pretend to consider my request, as if you haven’t already made up your mind. “Hmmmm, no. No, I don’t think so.” You run your other hand over my breasts, pausing to tweak first one nipple and then the other.

“You need to learn that this body does not belong to you any more. It belongs to me and it’s up to me if you get any pleasure and up to me when and how. Understand?”

“Ye…he…Yes, Sir”, I pant, trying desperately to hold on.

“Good girl.” You grin evilly again. “Besides I’m nowhere near done teasing you yet. I’m having far too much fun enjoying that lovely tortured expression on your face.”

I let out another low moan, borne of frustration and desire; at the same time feeling a tingling warmth and excitement in my stomach at your dominance over me.

Your touch builds me dangerously close to orgasm again, leaving me hovering right there on the edge. I try to think of something else, anything else. What are we having for dinner? What shall I make? Are we out of peas? Or perhaps His Domliness will decide he wants to go out when he has finished working up an appetite by torturing me!

The thought brings me right back into the room, back to the sensation of your fingers sliding in and out of me, your thumb lightly rubbing my clit ever closer, ever nearer. I buck in my seat, half torn between wanting to push myself forward against your thumb, wanting release so badly, and not wanting to let you down by coming without permission.

“Sirrrr,” I groan.

“Yes, Abby. What can I do for you? Do you want me to stop? Good idea!”

You remove your hand from my pussy and I let out an animal yelp of frustration. Oh God. This is the third time you have brought me to the brink of orgasm and I really don’t know how much more I can stand.

*****

Buying Links:

Amazon US
Amazon UK

*****

Author Bio and links:

When not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading, baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming, Ready or Not is my first solo book.

You can follow me on my blog – http://liv-honeywell.com, Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/LivHoneywell, Twitter – http://www.twitter.com/LivHoneywell or Facebook –https://www.facebook.com/LivHoneywellErotica

Rock Your Soul by Sara Brookes

by Lucy Felthouse | Jun 3, 2013 | Guest Bloggers | 0 Comments

Book Blurb:

Beth has been scarred both inside and out by a sadistic Dom and has worked hard to put the pieces of her life back together. However, the successful disc jockey knows one piece doesn’t quite align. She yearns to submit and searches for the one Dom she’s convinced will help bring her to lusty new heights.

When Ryan agrees to assist Beth, he’s surprised by her determination to persevere. Intrigued, he pushes her limits by using his gifted carpenter’s hands to bring her wild, erotic pleasure. Ryan, though, has scars of his own, and a tragic past filled with death keeps him at a distance.

Two broken souls will find a way to heal together. Beth discovers what she needs in Ryan, and her journey mends Ryan’s heart. But when the life Beth abandoned rises from the shadows, Ryan realizes there’s something far worse than his tortuous past—a future without Beth.

Warning: Get your world rocked by two very tortured souls who come together in a blinding explosion of sensual passion that knows no bounds. Except when there are ropes, custom-carved floggers, glass dildos and motorcycle sex involved. Oh, and did I mention the m/f/m ménage scene? One can never have too many skilled men ready to lend a…hand.

Book Link:

Ellora’s Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/rock-your-soul.html

Book Excerpt:

“To your knees.”

She blinked, stunned at the power and command in his voice. As the control washed over her, she wanted to respond, but she found herself too annoyed things weren’t going according to plan. While she’d expected him to ask her questions to find out what he was in store for, she didn’t expect anything of this magnitude.

Angry, she returned his glare.

He smirked. The reaction caused her insides to turn to jelly, her vitriolic thoughts vanishing on the chilly night air. Why did he have to be so goddamned handsome and annoying at the same time?

“I suggest you listen if you want me to consider taking you on as I don’t like repeating myself. To. Your. Knees.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he tilted his head down just enough to give her another message. A very stern one she couldn’t help but listen to. He would not be ignored.

She dropped her hands to her sides and slowly lowered to her knees. The rough rocks immediately bit into her shins, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him she was in pain. She heard the unmistakable sound of buttons popping on his jeans and looked up just in time to see him part the denim. What in the Sam hell did he intend to do? If he expected her to suck his dick right here and now, he’d better think again.

“Eyes down.”

The authority behind those two words coursed through her, compelling her to obey. It had been a long time since she’d had this kind of reaction. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she complied. The denim pooled around his ankles and she found herself staring at the pile.

Just as she started to wonder if Elena had been out of her mind to recommend this man, his hand slid against the top of her head. His touch was almost calming and, despite her annoyance, a feeling of tranquility washed over her. His fingers combed her hair, catching the elastic holder from her ponytail, pulling it free. He continued to run his fingers through the strands, fanning out her hair. She relaxed under his persistent touch. The pain in her legs melted away and she gave a soft sigh as her body started to quietly buzz.

Yes.

The crunch of rocks jolted her back to the moment. She listened to him move away, leaving her alone on the rock path in front of his house.

What in the hell?

Beth looked to the left and her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted him. He strolled toward the small lake at the front corner of the field, towel swinging in his hand as he walked. Those jeans of his were at her feet and she now had an unobstructed view of his bare ass.

A very firm, very tan, perfectly formed ass.

Christ on a slinky going down an up escalator if he doesn’t look even better out of those jeans. Transfixed by the bunch and pull of the muscles in his thighs and butt as he walked over the uneven ground, she forgot her place and openly gawked.

When he reached the bank at the water’s edge, he dropped the towel and walked right into the lake. She expected him to dive under the surface, but instead he slowly moved until the water lapped as his hips. He sunk as if he were a knife cutting through the water, disappearing with no more than a quiet ripple disturbing the surface. The lake smoothed in seconds.

The only indication she ever had company were those damn jeans on the ground in front of her.

Author Bio:

Sara Brookes is an award-winning author who has always been fascinated by the strange, the unusual, the twisted and the lost (tortured heroes are her personal favorite). She is an action movie junkie, addicted to coffee and has been known to stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing RPG video games. Despite all this, she is a romantic at heart and is always a sucker for an excellent love story. Born and bred in Virginia, Sara still lives there with her husband and daughter. The entire family is owned by two cats, Galahad and Loki, who graciously allow the family to cater to their every desire.

Author Links:

Website: www.sarabrookes.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Sara_Brookes

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/brookesofbooks

Facebook Author Page: http://www.facebook.com/authorsarabrookes

Announcement List: http://eepurl.com/mbG31