New Release: Extreme Heat by @JewelQuinlan from @EvernightPub

by | Apr 8, 2014 | | 0 Comments

Part of Evernight Publishing’s Romance on the Go line

Extreme HeatBlurb: When photographer Chloe Gaige gets assigned to cover the Pro Kiteboarding finals in Morocco she never expects to run into her childhood crush. Back then, their age difference is what caused her to pull away. Would he resent her for how she treated him back then?

Fully grown, pro kiteboarder Kai Shephard is a tough competitor used to going after what he wants…and getting it. When he catches sight of Chloe in the crowd with her camera, nothing can stop him from trying to be with her again. Except Chloe, that is. Would she see him for the man he is now?

Where you can buy Extreme Heat:

Evernight Publishing | Amazon | Amazon UK | All Romance e-Books | Add it to your shelf on Goodreads

Excerpt:

“I’m glad you’re here, Chloe.”

“You are?”

He turned his head toward her and looked into her eyes, his hands pressed into her back, drawing her closer. “Because I’ve thought of that night hundreds of times.” His words were loaded with meaning.

Chloe skimmed her eyes over his handsome face. He was positively smoldering with emotion. She swallowed hard. This was the moment, the one she would never forget. Her eyes locked on his and her mind churned over the different signals and sensations her body was picking up.

“Have you?” he whispered.

They were so close. His lips were right there, and he could kiss her any second. His deep, dark eyes were drawing her in.

She nodded.

He lay still, waiting, but she said nothing more. “You have to give me more than that,” he said. “I still don’t know what happened. I thought you liked it when I kissed you.”

Anxiety filled her. It was time to come clean. What would he think of her reasons? How would he see her after she admitted what a weak person she was? “I did,” she said blurted. “It was just….”

His clasp on her back remained firm and he turned his body to face hers so their fronts were pressed together. “Just what?”

Chloe could feel her face filling with the heat of embarrassment. Did he really want to talk about it? “It was just…school and my friends and….” She stopped and buried her face in his chest, not wanting to say anything more. He smelled so good. The warm scent of athletic male and ocean breeze.

He grasped her chin with his hand and lifted her face. “What else?”

Looked like she wasn’t going to be able to get out of explaining. He had that earnest look in his eyes again, the one she remembered from long ago.

“I need to know,” he said.

She couldn’t deny him. “Our age difference,” she said with a wince.

“Seriously?” His breath whooshed out with his surprise. “I mean, I know you’ve made comments about it before, but that was the reason you wouldn’t talk to me anymore?”

“Yes. No. Sort of,” she said in a rush. “Couldn’t you see how strange it would have been?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Of course not. You are such a male. If you were a teenage girl you would understand.”

“What is there to understand?”

She pulled away from him and lay on her back once again. “All the pressure,” she said. “To fit in, to be cool, to be part of the group.”

“And you and me would have been a problem?” he asked, sounding hurt.

The tone in his voice caused her long-held guilt to well up. “Not a problem, exactly. Just…not usual. I don’t think the guys in the senior class we always hung out with would have accepted you even if some of my friends had,” she explained. “Come on, Kai. I’m sure you remember what it was like being a teenager.”

He ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the stars. “I do but what I don’t remember is ever having problems fitting in.” After a moment he gave a great exhale. “Okay, sure. I guess I can understand. Not that I’ve ever lived my life caring about that stuff, but…I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” Using the arm still cushioning her head and shoulders, he turned her to face him again. “But you did like me then?” he asked.

She nodded.

He smiled. “And what about now?”

She felt shy and squirmy under his gaze but admitted with hesitation, “Yes.”

He beamed at her response. “And does our age difference still bother you? I’m twenty-one and you’re twenty-three. We’re always going to be a couple of years apart.”

She looked away from him feeling very shy and hating it. He still liked her? Was it possible after she’d rejected him? A small thrill shot through her stomach. “No. Why should it bother me?” she said, with a small shrug. Chloe was sure she looked braver than she felt.

“Because I want to be with you, Chloe. I want what was lost to us before.” He searched her face with his eyes and then added in a low voice, “And because I’m going to kiss you.”

 

About the Author:

From a young age, Jewel Quinlan had an abundant imagination and strong desire to write novels.  She particularly enjoys writing paranormal and fantasy romance. An avid traveler, she has visited fifteen countries so far (which she enjoys using as settings in her novels) and has plans to see more of the world. She has a particular fondness for Bavaria and studies the German language as one of her hobbies. During the day, she works as a pharmaceutical sales representative and, at night, she writes romance. She currently lives in Orange County, California with her two dogs; Shimmer and Penny.

For more information about books by Jewel Quinlan visit her website and blog or you can follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Caught between a Holstein and a Gander! by Karen Rock (@karenrock5)

by | Apr 1, 2014 | | 0 Comments

His Hometown Girl bannerGrowing up, I looked forward to visiting my grandparents’ Century dairy farm every Sunday. A century farm is a farm that’s been owned, continuously, by the same family for over a hundred years. Mine had raised Holsteins on their land in Malone, New York, for over two hundred plus years. Although Malone is a small, rural town, it’s famous in a way that meant everything to me as a girl. Still does. As a fan of the Little House on the Prairie books, I thrilled at knowing that my family had known the Wilder family and that Almanzo, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s husband, had grown up in this beautiful countryside. It fired up my imagination to read Farmer Boy and see Malone through Manny’s eyes. Although I loved every book in that series, especially These Happy Golden Years, I reread Farmer Boy the most since it was so close to home.

Like Almanzo, I had my own set of adventures on the farm and though some didn’t end well, as the one I’m about to relate, they’ve all stayed with me and inspired me while writing His Hometown Girl. This particular adventure began while I was spending a summer weekend at my grandparents’ farm house. I loved any excuse to stay there since it meant I got to sleep in the guest room which had cream wallpaper with a pink rosebud pattern, slanted ceilings, a four post bed and a cherry vanity. It made me feel like royalty to stay there, especially since my grandmother always fussed over me and made my favorites like chicken and biscuits and shepherd’s pie.

banner Lola's Blog ToursBest of all, I got to spend time around the farm animals. I helped my Uncle Bob in the barn a bit, though I usually got up too late to do much with the morning milking. Nevertheless, I considered myself good at handling cows and their size and strength had never intimidated me, not with those large brown eyes and docile nature. So when my grandmother told me the goslings were learning to swim in the duck pond, I didn’t think twice about jamming my feet into sneakers and heading for that pasture.

It was a bright summer day, the morning air so crisp I could have taken a bite out of it. I raced down the long driveway shadowed by towering sugar maples and ignored my grandmother’s shout to be careful around the cows. She always said that. I did, however, look for a spot to get through the electric fence where there weren’t any around. I didn’t want them thinking I had carrots in my pockets (which I usually did but forgot in my rush). The black and white Holsteins were a bit of a distance off, their heads lowered as they nibbled at the shorn grass.

I ignored the urge that always had me holding on to electric fences to see how long before I let go, and ducked between the top and middle barbed wires. Immediately, a number of the cows’ heads popped up. I was about thirty feet from the fence before I few started trotting my way. Instead of the friendly lowing I heard whenever I entered the barn, I heard their stomping feet and angry breaths. My heart hammered. Where were the gentle creatures that tickled my fingers with their velvety muzzles? Suddenly the sun felt hot on my neck and a trickle of sweat ran down my back. I eyed the fenced in duck pond area then the electric fence along the driveway. Did I need to make a run for it? If so, the driveway was closer. But through the rushes, I glimpsed a pair of tall Canadian geese and their goslings swimming on the pond. I had to get a closer look.

I raced for the pond and the cows charged. I could hardly believe how aggressive they were. They knew me. And I thought only bulls charged… boy was I wrong! These gals were tough… terrifying actually. I barely made it to the duck pond before the cows stopped short and stared me down across the flimsy divide. My breath couldn’t be caught and it left me as I collapsed to the ground. I was glad to have made it, but frightened about getting back. Would the cows forget about me? Let me sneak away in peace after I got my fill of the adorable baby geese? I hoped so.

I crept to the pond’s edge and sighed in delight as I spotted them. They were so tiny as they paddled after their magnificent parents! As their feathers hadn’t come in, they were still covered with a fuzzy- looking beige and tan down. They kept calling to their mother and the din made me forget, for a little while, about the huffing cows that still hadn’t left the pond’s fence. Lost in that moment, I laid on my stomach and watched the water ripple behind the proud family as they circled the pond. I must have closed my eyes because I loud squawk made them snap back open. The gander had spotted me and he wasn’t happy to have an intruder near his children. I jumped to my feet, remembering times I’d felt the pinch of a beak on my hand when I’d fed overeager birds. Scrambling backwards as the male goose waddled faster than I could have ever imagined, I slipped and fell hard. His nip on my sneaker had me back on my feet and this time, I all out raced to the fence. Only… the cows that had chased me there hadn’t left. I was literally caught between a protective goose and territorial cows. What to do?

Since we didn’t have cell phones back then, and the farm house was too far away to call for help, I raced around the pond, the gander on my heels, honking all the way. I leaped on top of a small house we’d built for them, out of reach of his snapping beak. Hours passed, or at least it felt that way, as I sat on the roof, my knees clutched to my chest. Eventually, the goose returned to his family, but the cows never wandered far, essentially pinning me down.

At last, I saw one of my uncle’s farm hands driving a tractor up the drive and stood up to flag him down. He waved his hands up and down when he entered the pasture, and the cows shied away from him. I was so relieved that I hugged him when we were out of the pasture. Later, at dinner, he stayed to regal everyone with the tale about how I’d been held hostage by a twenty pound goose and a bunch of cows. It was hard not to laugh along with the story, but I never forgot to have a healthy respect for ‘innocent’ farm animals again! 🙂

*****

his hometown girlBlurb:

He’d always managed to best her…

Jodi Chapman will do whatever it takes to get top care for her autistic son. If that means going home and convincing local farmers to sell their land, so be it. Even if her biggest opponent, childhood rival Daniel Gleason, is equally determined to convince farmers to buy into his co-op plan. And he’s not playing fair.

Facing off against Daniel is the last thing Jodi wants. The attraction that’s always fueled their competitiveness is as strong as ever and just as distracting. But with both their futures on the line, and years of distrust between them, how can they ever be on the same side?

You can find His Hometown Girl on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20501051-his-hometown-girl

You can buy His Hometown Girl here:

– Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1daYrXx

– Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1ktNqWq

– eHarlequin: http://bit.ly/KaSxKm

*****

karenrockAbout the Author:

Karen Rock has adored romance since receiving Harlequin Presents books from her grandmother each summer. She formed her Young Adult writing partnership, J.K. Rock- pseudonym for the CAMP BOYFRIEND series, with her sister-in-law and Blaze author, Joanne Rock in 2011. When Karen heard of a call for submissions to Heartwarming, Harlequin’s latest line, she was inspired by the possibilities of writing unforgettable, deeply romantic, tender love stories that mothers would feel comfortable sharing with their daughters. Since then, her first Harlequin, WISH ME TOMORROW came out in September, 2013 and her next novel HIS HOMETOWN GIRL comes out in March, 2014 with three more releases expected this year.

When she’s not writing, Karen loves scouring estate sales for vintage books, cooking her grandmother’s family recipes, hiking the ‘high peaks’, and redesigning her gardens. She lives in the Adirondack Mountain region with her husband, daughter, and two Cavalier King cocker spaniels who have yet to understand the concept of “fetch” though they know a lot about love. For more information about Karen’s upcoming books, check out her website at http://www.karenrock.com, Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/karenrockwrites or follow her on twitter at http://www.twitter.com/karenrock5 . She’d love to hear from you!

You can find and contact Karen here:

– Website: http://www.karenrock.com

– Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/karenrockwrites

– Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/karenrock5

– Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6761362.Karen_Rock

– Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/karenrockauthor/

*****

His Hometown Girl Grand Prize

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Billionaires Abound… by Sommer Marsden (@sommer_marsden)

by | Mar 31, 2014 | | 1 Comment

Really. They were everywhere for a while there. I guess we can thank Christian Grey for that one. And how many are there in the real world? I have no answer, maybe you do. Probably more than I expect but a lot less than the fiction world would lead us to believe. So when I was asked by an editor I adore to write an erotic romance that maybe included a rich guy, I had to think…how rich did I want to make him?

Lost In YouI wanted Dorian Martin to be believably rich. Not the kind of rich where I’d be like: really? Who can do that? Who can afford that? So I settled for old money. Family money. And just enough of it to have some luxury without testing the limits of my belief.

I have to admit, now that he’s available for the world to read, I think Dorian turned out quite yummy. Buying and revamping a luxury mall, having access to a small private plane, wooing a girl with his magical key that opens any store, offering up a trip to Paris…not very hard to believe for a lot of people.

And he’s not just rich. He’s handsome, funny, kind but no pushover. He’s perfectly imperfect and the kind of man it would be damn near impossible not to fall in love with. More than anything, he’s one of my favorite heroes ever. He’s a dream come true and not just because he has some moolah but because he had a very generous heart. And his body certainly isn’t hard to look at.

What’s not to like?

Blurb:

Trapped inside a luxury mall during a violent storm, small town girl, Clover Brite, is thrust into the arms of international playboy Dorian Martin. Lightning strikes inside the building as well as outside…

Clover is the site manager for the renovation of the Baltimore Rotunda and first meets the owner, Dorian, when the ‘storm of the century’ traps the two of them inside the luxury mall. Upscale stores surround them and all are available at the end of Dorian’s keyring, and though money doesn’t impress her much, they begin to fall for each other.

Too aware of the differences between them and struggling with angst from her childhood, Clover flees back to her small town world. Dorian follows in hot pursuit. But will Clover realise that what happened that stormy night could lead to a future?

Excerpt:

He pulled me to him, his hand chivalrously against my lower back. He held my right hand, not stiffly and formally but close to his chest, and pressed his cheek to mine. We danced.

I shut my eyes and simply let myself be. I didn’t want to analyse this situation, I wanted to cherish it.

He hummed softly and we rocked. It wasn’t a big shiny dance number, it was subtle. It wasn’t that flashy movie moment, it was two people holding each other and moving just a bit as a storm raged outside.

‘What are you humming?’ I whispered. It felt right to whisper.

‘You don’t recognise it?’

I inhaled deeply and the scent of Dorian Martin filled my head. It was magical. It made me feel unhinged in the most wonderful way.

‘I do but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘My mother used to play it endlessly when I was growing up. On an album, no less.’

That made me laugh. ‘You really are ancient, right?’

He chuckled. I felt him kiss my hair and desire, sudden and startling, hit me. I tried to remember wanting a man the way I found myself wanting this one. I couldn’t recall a single instance.

‘I know. Old as dirt.’ Then he turned me slowly and I could see the empty marquee over his shoulder. He hummed a bit more and then, softly, ‘Strangers in the Night . . .’

I smiled. ‘Only it’s not night.’

‘Sounds better than strangers in the rainy afternoon.’

‘Strangers in a monsoon?’ I teased.

‘It’s actually a super-storm. Like a sci-fi movie.’

‘When does the octosharkogator arrive?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Up close his eyes were a true evergreen. He watched me intently. I’d never felt more naked. Especially while utterly clothed and upright.

‘Oh.’ I’d run out of pithy responses.

‘But I know I’d better do this before it gets here.’

We didn’t stop moving. We kept rocking gently, more of a cooperative sway than a dance, as he pushed his hands into my hair and held my head. His mouth was warm and soft and tasted of sweet red wine.

When he kissed me, I felt something in me crumble. Some part that I had fought to hold tight to, calm and stiff against all worry and loneliness. I had my grandmother, sure, but that was all I had. I treasured her but it was no substitute for some kind of romantic attachment in my life. I didn’t need a knight in shining armour, but a person to share things with wouldn’t hurt. It was a fact I rarely let myself examine. A craving I rarely let myself surrender to.

I kissed him back and the hunger in that kiss scared me. It was terrifying, in that moment, how my hands roamed over him and my heart beat just for him. How the sound I made was a very simple broadcast of desire. Normally I’d have been mortified, horrified, embarrassed.

I wasn’t. I was happy right there, right then, in his arms as the weather raged on.

[To be continued]

 

Buy Links:

Mischief Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Sommer MarsdenBio:

Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called “one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre” by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora’s Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She’s the author of numerous erotic novels including Lost in You, Restricted Release, Boys Next Door, Restless Spirit, and Learning to Drown. Visit http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

Paisley Smith (@Paisley_Smith) Tells All About Her Lesbian BDSM Series

by | Mar 24, 2014 | | 0 Comments

My current three book series is called Honkytonk Angels. Each novella is a lesbian BDSM story set in one of my favorite towns, Nashville. In my series, record producer, Mallory Hayes (who also happens to a premiere dominatrix at the local ladies only BDSM club, The Beaver Dam) formulates a theory about putting together an all-chick Rockabilly band. It’s been her experience that her best clients are also sexual submissives, so Mallory decides to test her premise by offering positions in her band to those who are willing to be trained by a skilled domme.

Mallory discovers talented songbird, Polly Purefoy, crooning on stage at Tootise’s World Famous Orchid Lounge, and hits her up to join the band. The catch is that she undergo training as a submissive with icy dominatrix, Vivien Blackheart.

When Polly reluctantly agrees, she’s swept into a world of lesbianism and BDSM—perhaps even love.

My past books usually feature one dominant heroine, but other than a couple of fetish novellas I penned for Ellora’s Cave, I’ve never ventured into writing serious BDSM. Okay, okay—light BDSM.

For me BDSM in the context of a sexual relationship between two women is all about the psychological connection. The sex is there, but the mental power play between the heroines is what fuels the plot. I enjoy writing in the submissive’s pov the most because the focus there is on the character’s learning to accept and enjoy play she previously considered taboo.

Both characters ultimately find complete acceptance from the other—but in BDSM books, it’s all about the journey rather than the destination.

 

Here’s an excerpt from the first in the Honkytonk Angels series, Fall to Pieces:

“I will tell you everything you need to know. No need to ask.” Vivien’s tone was completely businesslike. “Step inside. Take off all your clothes. All of them. Then come back out here, kneel on the carpet and wait for me.”

Liquid dampened Polly’s panties. As she crossed the entry to the dressing room, an out-of-control mix of anticipation, dread and excitement fired through her body awakening every nerve ending. Every muscle and tendon. Every inch of her skin.

She glanced into Vivien’s eyes, hoping to find a smidgeon of humor, lust, anything, but that beautiful face was as devoid of emotion as a mannequin. Polly wondered how she could feel so much while Vivien didn’t seem affected in the least.

Once she was inside the dressing area, Vivien released the curtain. It fell with a swoosh. As Polly stepped out of her wedge heels and began to undo the buttons on the front of her high-waisted retro shorts, she listened to the sound of Vivien’s heels as the dominatrix walked toward the door.

A click of metal and the door was locked. The lights dimmed.

This was happening. Really happening.

The interior door closed and Polly realized Vivien had left the entry hall. Polly stepped out of her shorts and hung them on the hook. Though the garment hadn’t covered her legs, she felt exposed without them. She slipped her striped shirt off over her head, hung it alongside the shorts and then reached behind to undo her bra.

Naked.

Completely naked.

She’d thought maybe Vivien would at least let her keep her underwear on, so she’d worn a cute matching set she’d bought at the Bettie Page store. Her nipples grew diamond-hard as soon as she was free of the vintage-inspired bra.

When she pulled down her panties, she realized her pussy was drenched with wetness. Damn! Vivien hadn’t done anything but mindfuck her so far.

Peeping out of the curtain, Polly made sure she was alone before venturing out. All the things she’d agreed she was willing to try filtered through her thoughts. Nipple clamps. Butt plugs. Collars. Restraints. Blindfolds.

She shouldn’t have had that glass of wine before going through the checklist last night.

The foyer was now dark and shadowy. The red glow of a soft spotlight marked the place where she’d been instructed to kneel. Inhaling, Polly went to the spot and sank down on her knees.

A sense of sweet shame filled her at the knowledge she was naked and waiting for Ma’am. Expectant, she watched the door, her mouth dry as cotton, her body humming with desire.

All coherent thought—the normal chatter in her mind—drifted away as this situation transported her to another realm.

A realm where she wanted and needed Vivien to ravage her.

Long minutes passed. Polly ached with erotic hunger, gritting her teeth, willing Vivien to open the door.

Finally, the knob turned and the hinges sang as the door swung open. Polly’s spine straightened. Her heart fluttered. She’d never dreamed she of all people would be so eager to submit.

*****

Fall to PiecesAbout Fall to Pieces:

Rockabilly crooner Polly Purefoy can’t believe her luck when she’s approached by Mallory Hayes, a Nashville record producer, with an invitation to join the Honkytonk Angels. There’s just one problem. Ms. Hayes moonlights as a dominatrix and she’s formulated a theory that submissive band members will make her job easier. Intrigued, Polly agrees to meet sultry Domme Vivien Blackheart.

The pretty songbird obeys Vivien’s illicit commands with a vulnerability that chips away at the seasoned Domme’s icy exterior. But Vivien has been hurt before. And she’s resolved never to let another sub into her heart.

From their first encounter Polly enjoys every decadent punishment Vivien metes out, but the long, lust-filled sessions in Vivien’s dungeon leave Polly wanting more than just spankings from her seductive Mistress. She wants love. And she’ll do anything—anything—to get it.

Inside Scoop: From the moment Vivien orders Polly to take off her panties the two engage in wicked-hot BDSM play.

A Romantica® female/female erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

BUY DIGITAL EBOOK

Ellora’s Cave | Amazon | Amazon UK | B&N | ARE

Book 2 – Satin Sheets – is coming soon from Ellora’s Cave!

*****

About Paisley Smith

Paisley Smith is a full time author who can usually be found in front of her computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas.

She attended college in the Deep South where she obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor.

http://PaisleySmith.net

https://twitter.com/Paisley_Smith

https://www.facebook.com/paisleylsmith

Blood is Thicker… from Suz deMello (@Suzdemello)

by | Mar 20, 2014 | | 1 Comment

Blood is ThickerBlood is Thicker… a short story (previously Immortal Hunters)

Genre: Paranormal action-adventure.

A century-old vampire, Rama is used to shadows and loneliness.

She uses the name Hestia White and lives in a coastal town working as a private investigator. If some bad guys disappear on her shift, no one cares…until John van Helsing shows up. Bearing the name of the vamps’ greatest foe, he interferes in her case and in her life.

Friend, lover or enemy?

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

*****

Suz deMelloBest-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press, where she is currently Managing Editor. She also takes private clients.

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

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

–Find her books at http://www.suzdemello.com
–For editing services, email her at suzswift@yahoo.com
–Befriend her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sueswift, and visit her group page at https://www.facebook.com/redhotauthorscafe
–She tweets her reading picks @ReadThis4fun and @Suzdemello
–Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/suzdemello/
–Goodreads: http://bit.ly/SuzATGoodreads
–Her current blog is http://www.fearlessfastpacedfiction.com

The Birth of The Collector by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee)

by | Mar 17, 2014 | | 1 Comment

The Collector

The Collector…What I really loved about this book was the fact it all felt very real. The author herself admitted that there are embellishments on some of the stories, and that some have come purely from her imagination. But what makes it so interesting is the fact that the erotic escapades between the covers of the book could happen.

The tales aren’t about desert islands or exotic places we can only dream about. It could be real. Your neighbour could be doing it. Your colleagues could be doing it. That woman in the supermarket. Anyone, anywhere. And for me, that made it very, very sexy… (Review by Erotica For All)

I was sat in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport when the idea for The Collector came to me. I watched the ever moving crowd, and began to wonder what sort of sexy story each individual would want me to write for them. What would their fantasies be? What kinky secrets of their own would they share given half the chance?

From these musings the outline of The Collector began to form in my mind. A book of stories ‘collected’ by a woman in pursuit of as many sexual exploits as she could.

 

Blurb-

The Collector sits silently alone, engrossed in her tales of lust, submission and dominance. Has she already engraved your erotic exploits on her salacious list? She may look like she is scribbling randomly in her notebook, but she is secretly listening to, and recording, the overheard fantasies and indiscretions of others.

Forever hungry for stories, when The Collector’s sources run dry, her appetite for tales of instruction and voyeurism drives her to do some research of her own before sharing her provocative experiments on paper.

It is time for the world’s raunchiest chronicler to come to light.

 

I wanted to produce a work that could introduce first timers to the erotica genre to its huge variety of styles and tastes; while also giving the connoisseur of erotica some satisfying bursts of kink. The result was a linked anthology- 21 different tales, all of which have a brief introduction from ‘the collector’ about how she acquired them.

The first story in The Collector was written on the aeroplane, only an hour after I’d had the initial idea for the book. Having hastily called a friend to check that the fantasy he had confided in me some years before still ‘did it’ for him, I combined his sexiest dream with my own dream, to one day be a successful writer of erotica – and  New Territory was born…

Here’s a little taster for you…

New Territory

It hadn’t seemed significant when he’d noticed which page she’d left the colour supplement open at. Perhaps it wasn’t; coincidences happened all the time. No. He saw now that it was no accident; she had been trying to tell him something.

She was sat at the corner table at the very back of the coffee shop. The armchairs were rather comfortable in that area; he always tried to sit there. As he worked his way along the queue, collecting an almond danish and ordering a frighteningly large black coffee he watched her. Sitting slightly upright, she was partially obscured by a copy of The Observer, her long booted legs curled under the armchair, her red hair framing her small face. She was sipping a cappuccino. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her develop a foam moustache, and quite uncaring, lick it off with her tongue. He looked away and concentrated on his tray as he pushed towards the till. It was disconcerting to find himself aroused by such a simple act. He paid, collected his sugar and turned to find a seat.

He could have sat anywhere, but she already felt like an itch needing a scratch. He had to talk to her. So what if she told him to piss off, he was only going to ask if he could share the table.

He asked and she inclined her head, not glancing up for more than a second; so he sat. This was new territory for him; he’d never felt such a need to say something, anything. He was the good looking one; the one who never had to say anything. They came to him.  Now the silence seemed to be an oppressive presence in itself, like a whole extra person in the room who wasn’t saying anything.

This was ridiculous. He picked up his own paper, folded it to the business pages and took a bite of his pastry, trying not to mind that icing sugar was dusting his new black jacket.

She’d finished her drink. He flirted with the idea of offering to buy her a new one, but quickly dismissed it. He hadn’t even said hello to her. So why did he feel that time was running out? Why did he feel a strange sensation of panic that she was going to leave before he’d heard her voice?

As she unfolded her legs and tided her papers she picked up her large brown rucksack, pulled out some keys and stood in front of him. He looked up into her face. He was being assessed. It was a strange sensation; he usually did the assessing.

‘Are you coming then?’ She spoke very softly, her green eyes shining with a sort of inner power.

He was about to ask if she was sure, but she’d already turned around and was heading for the door.

He was well aware of the fact that he was probably about to make a total fool of himself, but he followed anyway. She walked very quickly; striding along in impossibly high heels. It hadn’t occurred to him until that point that she might be a hooker. What if she was? He’d just walk away. Maybe?

He followed as she turned down a gap between two shops. There was a flight of black iron stairs that led up to a flat above one of them. She stopped. ‘Two things,’ she undid her leather jacket as she spoke, hitching her scarf open to reveal a delicate neck completely unadorned by jewellery, ‘one; I do not do this for money, and two; I am not inviting you in for coffee.’

He nodded, undid his own coat, and followed her up the steps.

The hall was very narrow; it led into a modest kitchen diner, where she placed her paper open the table. Sorting out the magazine, she opened it up as if she was going to settle down to read, but then didn’t.

He hadn’t got as far as making small talk. In fact he hadn’t even got as far as attempting to make small talk, when she took him by the hand and led him into the small living room, sitting him down on the small cream sofa. She knelt and, placing a restraining hand on his leg, undid his shoes and placed them neatly to one side. Then she did the same with his socks. ‘I don’t like naked in socks.’

That was when his body stopped making his hands clammy and his heart beat faster, and sent all excess blood directly to his dick. He’d known he’d been half way to a hard-on already, but now there was no disguising the fact.

‘You would be a Coldplay man, or maybe Keane? Dido?’ She stood by the tiny stereo.

‘Dido.’

She nodded, pressed buttons and waited as the haunting notes built up to the opening number.

He should do something. He tried to stand, but she just raised her hand, and he quickly sat down again. Maybe this wasn’t his show; new territory.

She was standing about two metres away from him. Her jacket had already hit the floor, and he caught his breath as he watched her long slim fingers begin to undo the buttons of her white blouse. She looked straight at him the whole time; each movement was in time to the music, and he found himself wishing that he’d chosen something with a faster pace.

His throat felt dry as she revealed a beautiful cream bra. He could see her nipples, hard and dark, pressing against the thin lace. He started to wonder how wet she would be, and then stopped himself; if he started to think like that he’d shoot his load before he even got his trousers off; if that was her intention. He’d never felt so unsure of himself as she stepped out of her suede skirt, letting it drop over her boots.

Now he desperately wanted to touch. The smooth shoulders that had just been revealed cried out to be caressed. Anyway, he was becoming uncomfortable; his cock was digging into his waistband, as it struggled to force itself from his jeans unaided. He should say something, but he didn’t want to break the spell.

She stopped. He stared at the floor by her feet and worked his eyes slowly upwards. He tried to imprint the vision before him onto his brain inch by inch. High heeled boots; beige. Soft pale flesh emerging from lace hold ups; cream. Slightly see-through French knickers; cream. ‘Keep going; try to drag your eyes away from the neat silhouetted triangle your eyes can just make out’, he thought to himself as he swallowed, continuing his inventory. A flat stomach with a neat belly button. A cream lace bra encasing neatly rounded breasts which poked tantalisingly over the top. He took a deep breath and looked at her face. Small features, bobbed red hair, deep green eyes which gave absolutely nothing away.

The room was charged with electricity; so enticing, so dangerous. She moved forward and gestured for him to stand. He hadn’t been able to suppress his groan as he stood. His stomach felt strange and his dick ached to be free from its confinement.

He waited, doing nothing. He didn’t know what to do, so he let her take control; keep control. She took his belt first; pulling it out very slowly, loop by loop. She smoothed the brown leather between her fingers. ‘I like belts’. That was all she said, but he suddenly realised that he wanted to hit her with it. He needed to yank down her knickers and punish her for being perfect.

She undid his shirt next. His arms hung against his sides. He wanted to touch so badly, but he sensed that that would screw things up. This ritual, so painfully slow, was possibly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

When she kissed his nipples he’d yelled. It was like someone placing an ice cube down his front on a scolding day; wonderful, but totally agonising. Her mouth worked its way across his tanned chest. His hands automatically went to hold her face, but she took hold of them and kept them firmly by his sides, whilst her teeth began to graze the skin above his jeans waist band.

He’d read about women who could undo jean flies with just their teeth, but had dismissed them as pornographic fantasy. It appeared that he was wrong. It took a very hard tug of his jeans however to get them right down. His cock had swollen so much that it was now stuck with its shiny red head sticking out of the top of his white briefs. He would never forget that moment, it was the first time he saw her smile as he flushed with embarrassment at his obvious need for her body.

‘No, don’t worry. I think he looks gorgeous,’ and with that she’d yanked off his underwear and stared with sheer lust, admiring him standing to attention before her. Never before had he felt so utterly naked; so totally observed.

Her eyes flicked to a small table by the sofa. A condom sat waiting. He nodded in silent understanding, hope flooding through him.

She had begun to quiver then. Perhaps she was real after all and not some incredible apparition with iron clad self control. He watched amazed as she came in front of him, without a single finger being laid on her. Power; she’d made him want her, and that alone had got her off…

****

Once I’d returned home from my travels, my search for interesting story triggers, ideas, and sexy dreams began in earnest. So- how much of The Collector did I really collect, and how many stories were made up? Are any made up? Well- that would be telling, but if I haven’t thanked my sources of inspiration already, then I do now!

The Collector (pub. Austin & Macauley) paperback and e-book is available from-

Amazon UK | Amazon US

Kay JaybeeBio

Kay Jaybee was nominated as the Best Erotica Writer of 2013 by the ETO.

Kay wrote the The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (Xcite, 2011-14), Making Him Wait, (Sweetmeats Press, 2012), The Voyeur (Xcite, 2012), as well as the novellas, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (2nd ed. 1001 NightsPress, 2013), Digging Deep (Xcite, 2013), A Sticky Situation, (Xcite, 2012), and The Circus, (Sweetmeats Press). She has also written the anthologies The Collector (Austin & Macauley, 2012 & 2008), The Best of Kay Jaybee (Xcite, 2012), Tied to the Kitchen Sink, Equipment, (All Romance, 2012), Yes Ma’am (Xcite e-books, 2011), Quick Kink One and Quick Kink Two (Xcite e-books, 2010). Kay has had over 70 short stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite, Penguin, Seal, and Sweetmeats Press.

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

You can follow Kay on Twitter http://www.twitter.com/kay_jaybee

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

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane www.jennykane.co.uk

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