Emmy leaned in the doorway of the room in a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue fleece. She had her arms crossed casually across her chest, and her face was completely neutral. Nathaniel had walked in and looked around, far wiser than he had been the day before; not nearly as intimidated by it in the bright day light filtering in.
He walked to his left and studied the objects on the wall. He pointed to each of them. “Floggers, whips, canes, cat o’nine tails.” Emmy nodded, her face completely empty of any emotions—she was all Domme at this point. Nathaniel inwardly grimaced; he was having trouble adapting to how quickly she could turn it on and off. “Well, we know I don’t have a problem with the floggers, not the light ones anyway. The cane is off the menu. Um… hard limit, right?”
“Right,” she said, and walked over and took the three of them off the wall. “What else?”
“I don’t know what the cat o’nine tails does,” he said, “but I know what the whips do. I’ve been hit with bullwhips before and that’s a no. Hard limit.”
She nodded and pulled the four whips off the wall. She took the object to a closet on the right side of the head of the bed. She leaned in and placed the whips and canes inside. She closed the closet, and leaned against the wall there. “What else?”
“The cat…” he said.
“The lighter ones work sort of like the flogger, but there’s more sting, less thud.”
Right, sting and thud. He took a deep breath. “I’ll call a soft limit on anything more than the light ones, and reserve the right to move those to hard limits.” She nodded, agreeable. “I don’t know what you do with the riding crops, but I have ideas. I reserve the right to put those in soft limits.” He pulled open the drawers and pulled out the demented pastry wheel. “Wartenburg wheel.” He smiled. “This could be interesting.” He put it back and opened another drawer. “Ok, vibrators and the like I’m OK with. I reserve the right to put the cock rings on the hard limit.”
She looked at him. “Keeps you stronger longer,” she offered.
He cocked his head at her. “I don’t recall that being a problem.”
She laughed. “We’ll put them on the soft limits,” she said. “There may be a time when you want to try them. One of our longer sessions.”
“Longer, right,” he said. Nathaniel closed the drawer and pulled one open further down. “CBT. Off the menu, no way. Not happening. I like the boys the way they are. You can take chastity off there as well. You aren’t caging my schlong.”
Emmy laughed at him, she couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’m not caging your schlong, as you say,” she said. “Remember this is about what you want, not what I want. After this it’s lady’s choice.”
He raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “No chastity. No CBT. And those sounder things? It will be a cold day in hell.”
“That’s fine,” she said, grabbing the kit. “I’m not fond of those anyway. They can cause permanent change in physiology.” She opened the drawers with the other items he mentioned and pulled them all out. She walked over to the closet and locked them all in.
He picked up the collar out of the drawer. “I would really prefer you didn’t use this.”
She sat on the bed. At some point she had taken the suspension level off of it and put it away in the closet. She looked at him. “For now,” she said, “I’m not going to enforce anything outside this room. Putting that on you in here or even in the apartment would be pointless. No one is going to see. The point of the collar is to be seen wearing it.”
He looked at it. “Have you ever used it?”
“I had a sub once who very much enjoyed it,” she said. “Collared and leashed any time we went out of the apartment on weekends. He would have worn it to work if I had let him.”
“Safe, sane and consensual,” she said. “I did not find it appropriate that he wear something to work that would make others around him uncomfortable. He was very proud of being a sub, and he wanted to recruit people into the lifestyle.” She paused and blinked a few times. “We didn’t last very long. His reasons for doing what we do didn’t align with mine. At all.”
Nathaniel put it back. “No collar.”
He pulled out a string with consecutively smaller beads on it. “Anal beads.” He looked at them and then looked at her. “I don’t know how I feel about this. I never really was into…”
“Anal play?” she offered, after he couldn’t find the word.
“Yeah, that,” he said.
“So you’ve never done anything anal?”
She pursed her lips. “You know enjoying anal play doesn’t make you gay.”
He rankled. “I am perfectly secure with myself, Emmy. I always have been. I’ve just never had an interest in anal play.”
She held up a hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“I know you didn’t. The truth is I’ve never had the chance, opportunity or the inclination.”
“Can we put that on the soft limit?” she asked, walking around the bed.
She lifted them out of his hand and whispered, “They are stunningly erotic if you pull them out in the middle of an orgasm.” She put them back in the drawer. “I’d like the chance to prove that.”
Oh. He cleared his throat. “Alright then. Soft limits. Go easy on me?” He grinned, the sexiest grin.
“Of course,” she said, and sat down on the bed. Nathaniel walked over to the saw horse. “Paddle horse?”
“Or strapping horse, or saddle horse,” she said. “Whatever you like. They all mean the same thing.”
He eyed it, remembering the flogger the previous morning. He felt himself twitch, and suddenly realized he really wanted to try that. “Yeah, I’m good with it.” He looked at the bed, with the chains and cuffs in a much less menacing position, hanging almost limp in the corners. “I’m good with the bed, too, but… No suspension.”
“I thought so,” she said. “That’s why I put that away.”
He nodded and looked at the last piece of equipment in the corner, and walked over to it. “Saint Andrew’s cross,” he said, quietly. He ran a hand over the supple, soft black leather of the padding and up to the clips at the top.
“The padding comes off,” she said. “It’s snapped in place on the back.”
“Why would you take it off?”
“Some people prefer hard wood,” she said. “Some people like it very, very rough.”
“As I’m learning,” he said. “Padding on, but I’m not sure that…” He looked at her. “I know you tied me up, but that was my tie in your bedroom. This is different.”
She blinked. “How about I show you?”
He cocked his head. “Show me?”
“I’ll fasten you up on it,” she said. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take you down and it’s a soft limit. If you don’t, we’ll play a little. Light stuff.” Her eyes glinted.
Nathaniel looked at the cross and back at Emmy. Find out; you trust her. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Why not.”
She walked over to the drawers and pulled out two sets of leather cuffs with clips on them. She held out her hand for Nathaniel’s and he offered them to her. She wrapped the cuff around his wrist, just tight enough for her to slide a finger all the way around, and the same on the other side. She looked at him a second, and stopped. “T-shirt off, bottoms too,” she said.
“I thought this was a trial,” he said.
“It is,” she said. “But I don’t want you to get up there and feel ok, and then when I really fasten you on, naked, you balk on me. So. Naked. Now.”
Her tone was not to be trifled with. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, smiling. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, the cuffs feeling very strange. He pulled his pants and boxers off as well, and stepped out of them. Emmy nodded appreciatively and knelt down to cuff his ankles. The leather for both wrist and ankle was soft and supple like every other piece in the room. She wrapped and secured them.
“Why Velcro?” he asked. “There’s a release clip on them.”
“Velcro is a much faster release,” she said. “Until you see someone absolutely lose it from being restrained it doesn’t make sense, but once you do, you swear you will never use anything else again.” She looked up at him from where she was smoothing the last restraint around his ankle. “Nathaniel, you have to tell me if you’re going to freak out. I can get you out in an instant. No macho shit, ok?”
He swallowed hard. “No macho shit.”
Author Archives: DebbieWorkman
Emmy leaned in the doorway of the room in a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue fleece. She had her arms crossed casually across her chest, and her face was completely neutral. Nathaniel had walked in and looked around, far wiser than he had been the day before; not nearly as intimidated by it in the bright day light filtering in.
Emma Blackwood was the epitome of ordinary. She lived in a small town, where she excelled in school and loved to hang out with her friends. Wanting to escape from her ordinary life, she headed to college in the city. But as soon as college life was over, she found herself back to the same old routine. Normal.
After a night on the town with her best friend, Kyle, Emma meets a mysterious man. One small touch of his hand made her feel things that she’s never experienced before. That moment changed everything for Emma. ‘Normal’ was never going to be a word to describe her ever again.
Micah Oliver didn’t grow up in a normal world. His mother, a witch, had passed on her powers to him. He had a gift, one that could sense when others, like him, were near. Finding Emma was supposed to be a blessing for him, someone that would understand his way of life. Or was it?
Emma doesn’t know her past, or her future and Micah has the answers, but there is one problem.
He has a Dark Secret….
Spread your legs a little further,” he whispered into her ear. “Yes, like that.”
Micah’s hand slowly moved up and down her thigh, before tying her ankles down to the footboard with her wrists already bound to the headboard. “Please, I want this,” she begged. “I know you do, once you tell me all of your secrets, we can have a lot of fun together.” His voice sounded cold. So cold. He began to kiss her calf, moving up her leg. Her back began to arch as he teased her clit with his tongue. She cried out, feeling so close to losing herself. “I don’t know what secrets you want to know,” she moaned. “I saw what you did at the coffee shop, the thunder, it’s not just a coincidence. I know your secrets, Emma. But you need to tell me what you know.” “I don’t know!” “Emma, I want to be with you. We can be amazing together, but you have to admit what you are.” “What am I?” she moaned. “A witch.”
It took me a while but I finally admitted it: I was once a transition girl. You know, the one he poured his heart out to while she listened, empathized, criticized, fantasized, all of that. The only problem was that I didn’t know it…or at least I didn’t want to admit it. He was the first guy I had feelings for, serious feelings and they reared themselves in one casual moment when he put his hand around my waist. It was a bolt and I liked it; I knew what would happen eventually and I let it go there. But in the throes of that curious passion, little cracks started to creep in. He would constantly talk about her, his ex-wife, and while she had moved on, he was pretty upset about it, venting it to me. If course,I was the listener and that’s what I did. He took up smoking again which made it tough to kiss him (and I wanted to kiss him) He also had an addictive personality so smoking was his way of indulging because I made it clear that I was not into drugs of any kind. He called me ‘brusque’ once when I told him that she had moved on and maybe he should have done the same. That should have been a clue but at the time, what did I know? And when we were in bed together for one of our marathon sessions, he confided that he seemed to have a little, itty bitty issue with my stomach. That was the part that got me. I had my issues with my body but for him to have them too, I didn’t like that. So you know what I did? I let it slide. Then he had to move to another state. When he got settle, I visited him there, met his mother, learned about her family, stayed at a hotel because, well, we needed our privacy. I did all the “girlfriend” stuff without the official title or even “the talk.” I was happy.
Then came the call when I got back home. The call where I told him “I miss you” and all I heard was silence. He found someone else, and it was serious. That was when I understood but my ego was not about to admit it and I lashed out as anyone would in that situation. I was his placeholder for something else, someone better which basically meant that I wasn’t good enough. He had exorcised his demons with me in bed, in the woods, at the movies. From me came out all clean and happy and happened upon the “her” that I thought should have been me. Thank God Florida is a tall state because the distance helped me and some really great friends took me on vacation fast.
No one likes to be seen as “the one you’re with until something better comes along.” Everyone wants to be wanted for who they are and not “who they aren’t.” Everyone needs to feel special and when you’ve felt it only to have it slapped away with the truth that you’re not, it hurts like hell. This is one of the reasons why the character of Carla Genny just hit a nerve with me. She spent years with a man, Zach Bramwell, who told her constantly in one way or another that she was not Jessy, the woman he really loved. Carla gave and absorbed all of that until her self-esteem was shredded. When you take the time and energy to give yourself to a relationship like that, it leaves indelible scars. For a while, I know, I was just scared to even be with anyone else, much less be my naturally bold, naked self who opened the door in nothing but her birthday suit to greet her boyfriend. I convinced myself that I was just going to play for a while and not let emotions in or out. And I did (the playmates I found…for another post). And just like Carla, I guarded my heart for a while and focused on my career.
But that’s where our similarities end.
Eventually, she met Grayson but in him she initially saw shades of what she felt with Zach and she stood up to them. Carla’s a lot braver than I was and she was willing to just walk away. She was a woman who knew how to survive and she sure as hell wasn’t going to take a step backwards no matter how good a kisser he was. So, in essence, Carla Genny was the person I wished I became at that time when I was a transition girl, trying to heal and get on with it.
I am a firm believer that people come into your life for a reason. For me, it was to show me what I didn’t want and how glad I am to have been let go of something that was so wrong to find my happiness in life elsewhere. With Carla and Grayson, I wanted to share the hope I feel; that eventually, you’ll find that person who loves you enough to heal you if you’re strong enough to let them.
Check out the trailer for Book 2 – Portrait of Gray: http://bit.ly/1nyq5jJ
For a steamy, chocolaty, excerpt of Portrait of Gray, check out: http://bit.ly/1k3nYps
To see how the Baxter Family Saga got started, learn more about Book 1, Unchained Hearts http://bit.ly/MX1CrJ
Hello and thank you to everyone taking the time to read this. My name is Tina Bass. I live in small town Virginia, and I’ve lived here in the same small town for the majority of my adult life. I’m a normal, every-day, all-the-time mom. I have three beautiful children that are mostly grown and are trying to find their own place in life, ready to follow their own dreams. I also have extended family, including some honorary grandkids that I adore. Finally, I have a best friend of twenty plus years that lives close enough that I could walk to her house, but why in the world would I do that when I can drive there in less time.
Small town life isn’t for everyone, but it works for me. We’re situated pretty well, with some larger cities less than an hour away. Love that, because I love to go vintage shopping! Not to mention, clearance racks and sales and yard sales, oh my—one of my favorite things to do! Similar to in my books, I also enjoy climbing into the cab of a big ole’ pickup truck and going muddin.’
I came into writing in my forties, and I have been lucky that my very first book has been published and is now available to the public in e-book and paperback form. I have my publishing company, Beau Coup Publishing, to thank for that. I write romance, with a little twist, and ending in a happily-ever-after. That’s my go-to genre, so it’s what I write, and it makes me happy. My first book, His Safe Keeping, is only the first in the Safe Series. Amazon carries e-book and paperback, while Barnes and Noble only has the paperback version for right now. Here’s how to get it:
From Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/His-Safe-Keeping-Tina-Bass-ebook/dp/B00JTLF2Z4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1401400250&sr=1-1&keywords=his+safe+keeping
From Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-safe-keeping-tina-bass/1119403454?ean=9781499227338
His Safe Keeping
And, the Blurb:
Krista Avery moved to Mt. Eve, Virginia, enticed there by a research doctor. Trying to build a life for herself after an event in her past, she is a woman battling a blood disorder and memories she never dealt with. Returning home from the hospital after an experimental treatment, a dizzy spell forces her to pull over.
Lawson “Kade” McKaden is a State Trooper, returning home after a transport to a Federal Prison. After a stint in the Air Force and a satisfying career, he is leaving uniforms behind for the life of a rancher. A car on the side of the road calls to his sense of responsibility and the woman inside calls to his heart.
An escaped rapist/serial killer is hunting her. She was his first. Can they beat back the demons? Will Krista have to face her past alone, or is she Kade’s for… His Safe Keeping?
Kade & Krista: “Fine. But, just so you know, if I fall off and break something, there will be no nakedness, until said something in no longer br—…” She began, and then squealed as big hands grabbed her by the waist and yanked her back off the horse, and when her feet touched the ground, she mumbled, “Broken.”
“Not goin’ to be no nakedness around here. Nakedness yeah, no nakedness, fuck no!” Kade stated. Excerpt #Two:
“It hurts,” she cried out as he stood there and did… nothing. No, not exactly nothing. He cursed every curse word he had ever heard as well as some he made up there on the spot. Krista. His Krista! His beautiful, strong, amazing Krista cried out in pain and he stood by and couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing to comfort her or to take that pain away from her. He couldn’t do one damn thing. He paced some more and cursed some more but in the end, there was not a single thing he could do. For the past hour, she had gone from dizziness, to nausea, and to pain. The last twenty minutes she had tried to be brave, she tried to be strong and she tried not to let him see. He knew what she was trying to do, for him.
Now, a little more about me.
I love books! I have read all kinds of books, but as I stated earlier, my go-to genre is romance. I love to read romance, and it doesn’t matter if it’s human, shifter, or vampire, but I prefer human. I read them all. But, to share something that may surprise a few…. I wasn’t a reader AT ALL. I read the bios of other authors, especially the ones that I’m an avid reader of, and the theme is usually that they have always been a reader from childhood. Not me! I didn’t like to read when I was in school, and later when I was in college, I still didn’t like to read. Reading to me has always been a chore…. Until a few years ago.
I mentioned earlier that my best friend lives in the same town. Well, she’s a reader. Every time I would go to her house, she had a book in her hands and book shelves that were spilling over, and I knew that she had read all of the books on those overflowing shelves. Didn’t interest me in the least. My children were small and I didn’t have the time or the inclination. But, my friend decided one Christmas, about 15 years ago, to give me copies of some of her favorite books. I thanked her (you know, the obligatory thank you), but they sat on my shelves that contained some old-school books and a lot of pictures of the kids. They sat there for years, gathering dust. Yep, years!
About four or five years after that Christmas, my kids had gotten up in age to the point where they would go outside for hours, playing with the neighborhood children. It was a Saturday, and I was trying to decide what to do with myself. I glanced through DVD’s that I had seen before, and music that I wasn’t in the mood for. Then my gaze fell on the books, so I chose one at random and sat down to try and read. Well, that was it!!! The story in the book caught me from the very beginning. It was futuristic and had a kick ass female and it was a love story and suspenseful and wow! It wasn’t the first in the series, but now I had to read them all. And, I didn’t want to read them out of order, but from the first written to the last! I haunted the book stores and Amazon and my local library until I was able to start at the beginning. I was hooked! I asked my friend why she hadn’t told me about this reading thing and she laughed and simply said, “I did.”
Yep, I blame my friend, hahahaha. And, I thank her (not obligatorily this time!)! After reading all of the series of those first books, I began to inhale everything I could get my hands on. I didn’t know yet what my genre was, and wouldn’t put any book down after beginning it, but would finish it, no matter what. After many books read and getting my first kindle, I realized that romance was my favorite. Especially romance that ended with that happily-ever-after like the Disney movies I watched with my kids. So, that’s it. That is how I got started reading that evolved into writing. It was also the same friend that encouraged me to write after I decided to jot down a couple of paragraphs of ideas and characters that had begun to scream in my head, realizing that they had always been there and I just hadn’t been listening. The rest brings me to now. I write as often as I can and the characters and stories in my head are always there. I live with them all day, every day, and I’m loving every minute of it!
Since my children are now “almost” grown, I have the time and the energy to pursue my passion. Writing. Yes, I did come into writing a little later than most authors, but it’s been a fabulous ride. If there are any of you reading this that have stories in your head or paintings that you see…. Do it. Write them down, paint, draw, but get them out. To quote the famous brand Nike, “Just Do It.” Take a chance, because you never know. I truly hope that I can give someone something interesting to do on a Saturday when you can’t find a good movie to watch and all your music has been listened to. Happy Reading!!
Want to find me?
Amazon Author’s page: http://www.amazon.com/Tina-Bass/e/B00KD12K7M/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1400373178&sr=1-1
By Author Dina Redmon
Good Girl Syndrome
On our backs, thighs spread and pretending to enjoy our partner thrusting in and out of us while images of book boyfriends race through our heads. Oooh…ahhh…yeah, right there… That’s good baby. Sounds pretty typical, yes? Yep, just another boring Saturday night at home.
Maybe this depiction doesn’t represent you? If not, you’re one of the lucky ones…like me. *wink and dirty smile* Unfortunately, it applies to more of us than it should and that’s just sad. Let’s fix it, shall we?
When did this happen to us? Why do we subjugate ourselves to being the good girl all the time? We are sexual creatures and yet we feel the need to keep the cage door locked. WHY?!?!
Sex is not a duty to be performed like washing dishes or vacuuming the floors. Though, if you’re lucky, there is some sucking involved. It’s born of craving, developed through lust and birthed from passion…at least, it’s supposed to be.
Remember those hot make-out sessions of yesteryear? What the fuck happened to those? There was a time when you and your partner couldn’t keep your hands, and other things, off of or out of one another, right? *eye roll*
Then came the car payments, mortgages, and kids. Followed closely by missionary position sex every Saturday night. Unless, of course, we fake a headache because we’re too damned tired, and instead, make a date with the handheld shower head. Sad, just sad. *shakes my head* When did we start having to schedule sex?
Let’s not forget us single women either. When do we get ours? Oh wait, I forgot. We have to meet everyone else’s ideals of what our lives should be. We’re not allowed to have sex unless we’re in a meaningful relationship. Get out the batteries, again. One word…PFFT!
Repeat after me: “We are sexual beings and that’s okay.” Yes! Let that be your new mantra!
Say what you will about me, call me what you want, I don’t give a fuck. Really, have you seen me? Do I honestly look like I care? I’m covered in fucking tattoos for crying out loud! *LOL* I am here to be the voice of those of you who cannot find their own. Don’t be ashamed, I’m not.
There is nothing wrong…I mean NOTHING wrong with us pursuing back scratching, toe curling, hips bucking, fuck me sex! Men do it, why can’t we? Just be smart about it. Use precautions and good judgment! It really is that simple.
Now, I’m not talking about cheating on your partner. I believe in the sanctity of committed relationships. I’m also not talking about going out and being a whore. We do have to be concerned with safety, after all. I’m talking about getting what you desire the most. Every woman wants to feel like a Goddess and for someone to make their pussy pulsate. Make that shit happen!
Take the time to feel sexy. Soak in the tub, shave, put on makeup, perfume, lingerie, T-shirt and boy shorts, whatever works for you. This is only about you, no one else. Trust me when I say, your partner (or prey) will love it no matter. It might shock the hell out of them, but it’ll be worth it.
Now, there are a few ways to go about this. My favorite is to just take control of the situation. Example: Your partner is watching television and doesn’t see you beyond the screen. Make them notice you! Pick up the remote, shut off the noise, straddle them and kiss them like never before. Talk dirty, grind against them and shove their hand between your thighs to feel the wetness. Suck your essence off their fingers before you push them down, sit on their face and force them to drink you in. Voice your fantasies, tell them what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, just share it all. Don’t just play the role…be the dirty girl.
Example two: Let’s set it up on the more submissive side, shall we? Your partner is due home any minute and you’ve already done the self prepping part of it. Now, grab some of those pretty scarves of yours and tie yourself up, either around the wrists or to your headboard. Place one around your eyes, tie it, but slide it down. This will give your partner the opportunity to either use it as a blindfold or a gag. Either way, their choice. When your partner enters the room, look at them with lust in your eyes and beg them to fuck you, to use you as they will. Surrender yourself to their demands and let them take control. Yep, pussy pulsating sex. You got this. *wink*
Be nervous, be scared…BUT BE BRAVE! Being brave is when you do what you need to even though you’re scared. Push past those nerves and release the beast within! She’s there, clawing at your brain, begging to be let out. Just unlock the door, she’ll do the rest.
Now, if you’ll excuse me? I have some um…field research to do. *wink and dirty smile (again)* Here, enjoy this excerpt from Chasing Circumstance while I’m out and if you ever find yourself in need of advice or inspiration? Look me up. Ciao Bellas. ❤
What happens when you reach your breaking point?
Amia Durant was trying to figure that out.
At forty years old, Amia had it all. She worked for Millian’s, the third highest ranking ad agency in the world, and though her career was her life, she felt incomplete.
Turning to the internet for companionship, she meets Stuart Cairns. They laugh together over shared stories and help heal one another from mutual pains.
After months of communication, Stuart asked Amia to be his. Doubt filled her mind, but she knew she had to try. There was only one problem. He lived in Scotland and she in New York.
An unexpected opportunity delivers Amia to Scotland and she finds herself falling in love with him after spending a blissful weekend together before she returned stateside.
Will this fairy tale continue or will it fizzle out in the waters of the ocean between them?
“I said shut up and fuck me.” I stepped closer to him and kissed him. He reached behind me and grasping my ass, lifted me until I wrapped my thighs around his waist. As I slid slowly down his body, he slammed himself inside me full force. With my arms around his neck, and his hands holding my thighs, he fucked me until I screamed out in blissful indulgence.
Sitting me down, he stepped behind me and pressed me against the wall of the truck. His hands roamed up my back and with one hand in my hair and the other on my hip, he whispered into my ear, “Tell me to fuck you again.”
“Fuck me, Blake, fuck me now!” I cried out as he repeatedly thrust himself in and out of me. “That’s right, just like that.” I pushed against him, forcing him deeper inside.
He moved his hands from my hair and hip to the front of my body and holding my tits in his hands, he slammed against me, burying his cock deep in my pussy. The sound of his hips beating against my ass joined our animalistic grunts and echoed through the emptiness of the truck. Just when I thought I would collapse from the quaking in my legs, he let out a deep, guttural moan and I knew he had cum.
Thinking outside the box!
That’s how I like to write, in case most of you haven’t figured that out by now. I don’t like to write anything traditional at all and refuse to do so. Just like I really don’t enjoy toeing that fine line which has you asking, is that what I think it is? No! She didn’t write that, or did she? That’s me.
Take for instance my Guardian series. Sure, another vampire is what some are saying, but if you’ve read anything of mine in the past you should know that this series isn’t going to be like the normal vampire books that are out there. I took time to think how I could make this different than what you normally read. Sure, one rule that you sorta have to keep is the sunlight, but does the other stuff have to be the same? I say NO! Mine can eat food, have children, and sadly can die. Like I say many times, bend the rules, the readers will like it.
The Guardians! A vampire series that will grab your heart and refuse to let go, at least that’s what I think and have had a few tell me. The first book starts out with Julian’s story. He’s had a rough time of it. One of his closest friends just sort of took off on him, never said a word that she was leaving. Yes, I said she, but nothing romantic came out of their friendship. Anyway, he’s been searching for her, because of one simple little fact…he misses her. But he just can’t find her and the one person who knows refuses to tell him where she is. However, even though he wants his friend back there is something else missing from his life. His bloodmate!
Now a bloodmate in the series is a special woman born with a special mark and a very unique body system. When she comes of age her body changes in ways you just wouldn’t think of. See, to understand that you must also understand that she is born specifically to be with a vampire. Why you might ask? Because her body produces extra blood to feed one. Now the unique thing is, she’s on a sort of time frame, and once she becomes of age she must do what is called bleedings to rid herself of the extra blood until her vampire appears. If she doesn’t, she can drown and die, not to mention live with extreme pain. So it’s very important to find her right vampire. Now it’s not all one sided either. A vampire without his bloodmate is just as lost and can’t find peace without her.
Back to Julian!
He’s been searching and stops to go ‘home’, if you will, to his other close friend for a short stay, only to learn the friend and his bloodmate have a child and all hell is breaking loose. Elders are dying, things are being made up of a mixture of human and vampire blood (note, a human doesn’t turn into a vampire in this book…it isn’t possible). Anyhow, Julian learns that he’s needed to help fight and track down someone who is being very naughty. So he goes to his friend, and that’s when things really start to get interesting.
Just to tempt you, he’s hunting for a psycho, wants a bloodmate, still thinks about his lost friend, and has a Guardian tracking his every move. Then surprise!!! He stumbles upon his bloodmate.
The rest you have to just read for yourself!! But I will give you a nice clip from the book, to whet your appetite
Julian brushed his lips over her throat, tilting her head at an angle, making sure he was gentle yet firm. Using the tip of his tongue, he licked at the artery pulsing with what he assumed was both excitement and fear. His gums throbbed with an ache matching the quick growth of his cock pressing against his jeans. Fangs extended to their full length; all Julian had to do was open his mouth and bite down.
He sank into her flesh and moaned when the first hot drop of her honey sweet blood touched his tongue. Sucking harder, he pulled in as much as his mouth could take. With each strong pull, Serina’s tension eased more. She leaned against his chest and squirmed on his lap, digging the fingers of one hand into his shoulder. Her breathing rate increased, the fingers of her other hand dug into his side, and she pressed herself against him.
“Julian,” she whimpered.
Julian moved his hand down from her neck and cupped one of her breasts. Serina moaned and dropped her head back as much as his hold on her throat would let her. He squeezed the flesh and brushed his thumb across her hard nipple, but it wasn’t enough for him. Julian needed to feel her bare skin. But her damn shirt was in the way, and he couldn’t seem to get his hand under it.
“Do something. Touch me,” she whispered.
He ripped her shirt off her shoulder and closed his hand over her bare breast. Julian moaned against her neck and squeezed harder, loving the sounds coming from her lips while he touched and fed, but her squirming drove him insane.
Julian growled low, his hand moving from her breast to inside her sweatpants before she could voice a rejection. Cupping her pussy, he growled again at the heat and dampness he discovered. Two fingers slid deep inside her, and he almost came in his jeans from the tightness he felt. He fed deeply from her neck and fucked her with his hand.
Serina didn’t seem to mind, either, boldly moving on his lap to face him. How she did without breaking his hold, Julian had no idea, but he loved the position.
The arm around her waist slipped up to hold the back of her head, and he pulled even harder at the artery while Serina rode his hand. He could taste her pleasure sweetening her blood, encouraging Julian to take things even further, but a promise was a promise.
Julian reluctantly pulled back and closed the wound. He moved his head back, resting it on the sofa. “If we don’t stop now, I’m not going to be able to stop later,” he growled.
Serina wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She tugged at his shirt until her lips touched his bare shoulder, and the whole time she moved her hips on his hand, riding him with tiny gasps.
“I’m not sure if I want to stop,” she whispered against his neck.
Julian stopped all movement and pulled back to see her eyes. “You sure?”
Serina also pulled back and even though she looked scared and uncertain, she grasped her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it on the floor. Julian removed his hand from her pants, clasped her face and kissed her. He moved his lips over hers, sipping and nipping on the bottom one before plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth.
People often ask me why I am drawn to writing paranormal romance. I’ve asked other writers this question as well, and many of the answers are the same. They like a world where the rules can easily be bent and reshaped into whatever they want. Vampires exist. All manner of creatures who go bump in the night put on a trench coat and walk the streets after dark. For me, it’s a little different. My attraction to the paranormal began when I was a child, and I can’t really say what drove the interest only that it was always there. I grew up in a world filled with magic.
My grandmother used home remedies that basically amounted to sympathetic magic where pain or any ailment would be drawn from a person and put into an object. She was a devout Baptist but she carried a real rabbit’s foot in her purse until the day she died. I now have the rabbit’s foot. Her husband, a Baptist Deacon, had more than one encounter with things that were there one minute and not there the next. On the other side of my family, my great grandfather was part Native American and could walk so soundlessly, he would easily sneak up on people. There was always an air of magic and mystery in every family gathering, with discussions about strange feelings people got about upcoming events, dreams that ended up coming true and people who could predict the future before it happened with things as simply as “someone is coming to visit” ten minutes before someone drove up.
I grew up in a tiny community of about 2,000 people, and the communities were joined by one main highway, which was about ten miles long. Along that highway, there are several roadside memorial crosses, and each one of those crosses has a story of a life lost, but the story is usually something more than just “hey there was a really bad accident here.” There is one curve in particular that has been home to many wrecks, one involving my younger brother. The night his car went airborne, he and his passengers survived. One of the passengers was thrown from the car and had been wearing a white t-shirt. That shirt has tire marks on it. He was run over by the car in mid air and survived. The Baptist church right down the road from the wreck site had a sign up that night that said “Is the road you are on leading to Heaven?” My brother and his friends survived and slowed down a little since that night.
Several other people have not been so lucky. One of the young men who died was killed in a motorcycle accident. It was probably five years after his death that I was driving home along the highway. It was just turning dark, that weird twilight time of day when things look strange anyway. As I approached the church, I saw someone riding a bicycle in the middle of the road. I thought to myself “Why is he in the middle of the road?” Most bicyclists drive on the shoulder. As I kept driving, I watched the person on the bicycle disappear in front of me. He had been there for maybe 60 seconds, maybe not that long, but he had clearly been there. When I told my dad about it, he said “You probably saw Justin,” without thinking anything strange about the encounter.
In the center of this curve is a yellow house that was reputed to be built “during slavery times” which was a long time ago to anyone whom you ask. I grew up with a guy who lived in that house. The whole community will tell you the house is haunted by the ghosts of slaves who were killed and tortured in the house. In fact, if you hear the legends, they resemble those of the LaLaurie House in New Orleans. The person who grew up in the house never saw or encountered anything weird, and I had been in the house several times in my teen years. The house has been abandoned for maybe ten years, and the last time a hurricane blew through, the front door opened, inviting anyone in who might venture that way. I don’t consider it breaking and entering, even though it was definitely trespassing.
I went into the house with a group of teenagers and a ghost detector. We entered through the side door and immediately saw that the house had seen better days. The floor was caving in throughout the lower level and the walls were peeling and moldy. We made our way up the creaking stairs, which are very rickety but still sturdy enough to hold us. At the top of the stairs is a bedroom and the attic area, which is open and easy to see because so many boards have fallen down. When you enter the master bedroom, you can walk through a door that takes you to the “Secret Room.” This room is one that has spawned many legends but is actually just a remodeled room that still houses a jukebox.
Going back downstairs, we stepped over the hole at the end of the staircase and moved to the right of the staircase to a room whose entire center is sunk in. The room has blue carpet and lets in a lot of light. At this point in my investigation, the teenagers started screaming and my ghost detector started picking up a very strong EMF (electro-magnetic frequency) which means something was going on in the room that was a little different from normal. I recorded the room and quietly made my calculations on my detector while trying to keep the kids from freaking out any further. When we left, I played back my recordings and looked at the readings I had gotten. Every recording was messed up. The sound was draggy and the video was blurred. All the video I had recorded immediately before and immediately after that room was fine.
When I got home, I decided to do some real research on the house. It didn’t take long to uncover the history of the place, including the dates when it was built. As it turned out, the original owner of the house was killed in his sleep by one of his slaves. Does anyone have a guess as to which room was the owner’s bedroom? It was the room with the blue carpet. The original owner is buried on the property, though I have not located his grave.
So why do I write paranormal romance? My answer is because my entire world is paranormal. I grew up around magic and am constantly surrounded by it. Things that are impossible in most people’s worlds are Tuesday in mine. No, I don’t know any shape shifters, and no, I’ve never met a vampire. However, so many things that only happen in paranormal romance happen on a daily basis in the land I call home. So paranormal for me is normal. It is what makes sense in a world where many things don’t make sense at all. That is why I was originally drawn to the paranormal and why I continue to work with it today.
When Genesis Martinez went into Lake Ponchartrain and died, her nightmare was just beginning. Resurrected and soulless, she falls victim to wandering souls seeking a body. Cassius Ramirez went into the Lake sixty years ago and knows he died, but when he woke up in the morgue, everything has changed. Something is killing people in New Orleans, and Cass knows he’s responsible. But when he meets Gen, he knows he will do anything to protect her. Cass isn’t the only man who feels a connection to Gen, and when his brother Craven catches her scent, all bets are off.
Detective Brick Parker has seen a lot of things in his years with New Orleans Police, but he’s never seen anything quite like what’s happening now. Bodies torn to shreds, brains missing, creatures roaming the night, victims with human teeth marks in their flesh. Worse of all, his partner, Jules, has been throwing around a Z word usually reserved for late night horror movies.
As creatures roam the streets of New Orleans, Gen’s very existence is on the line. She’s unleashed a creature unlike any other and now she may have to pay the ultimate price. There’s a cure, but it may cost her even more than her soul.
**Content Warning: May contain explicit content and scenes. Intended for 18+ Audience.
Gen tried not to flinch when he touched her but everything about this situation was setting off alarms in her head. Not to mention what it was doing to her stomach, creating little flip-flops that were making her nauseated. As much as she wanted to pull away from him, his touch was soothing, which in itself should have been enough to send her running. And her tough girl attitude, the one that had saved her so many times and was currently fueled by her Metallica t-shirt, could only take her so far.
She found herself mesmerized by the steady movements of his hands and the gentle way he cleaned then wrapped her arm. His fingers were rough but instead of chafing her skin, the calloused surfaces made her want to purr with delight. Something was definitely wrong with her. Genesis Martinez did not react like this to men, even ones who were built like action heroes with silver eyes that looked entirely other-worldly. His pupils seemed to appear and disappear as he touched her, as if the contact was having an effect on him too. He wore his hair and beard close cropped, neat, no frills, 100% man with definite Hispanic blood in his veins.
He was definitely built like a boxer, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and thighs that fit very nicely into his jeans. His dark t-shirt hugged against his chest, outlining the proof of hours spent in the gym. He had haunted the few dreams she’d managed to have between ten pm and three am last night, his smile an intoxicating blend of sin and salvation. The man in the flesh was both calming and powerful, a paradox of danger and safety, the kind of man who could really get a girl into all the right kinds of trouble. But Gen already had a working relationship with trouble, and she didn’t need the kind that would come with smoldering eyes and sensual lips.
But the thing inside her wouldn’t let her trust him, didn’t want him to be close. It was almost as if it knew him and was warning her against him. Of course that made sense. The body was in his gym, and the chances that he was the reason for that were pretty solid. Still, he had so much to lose if he were a killer, which would probably explain why the body was so well hidden.
His boxing career was on fire right now, and the odds of him winning his match tonight were very high. The bets had been coming in for a couple of weeks, but the past twenty four hours had seen an influx, enough to pay her rent for a couple of months and have plenty left over. Her business as an online bookie depended on guys like him, but she never imagined she’d be sitting here letting him wrap up an old wound that had popped open in last night’s scuffle.
There was something about him that was extremely familiar, and it went beyond the fact that she could spout off all his stats for the past two years. It was as if she knew him, and not the Cash Money side of him but the man whose hands were making her stomach churn. He looked down at her arm, concentrating on every movement, touching her so gently it made her want to scream at him. When he finally looked up at her, his pupils had disappeared and were just now coming back into view.
It was there, right on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to ask him a question that defied logic, but instead she swallowed it. Do you believe in life after death?
“There,” he announced. “I think that should hold.”
“Yeah.” She pulled her arm away as quickly as possible and slid her sleeve back over it. “Thanks.”
“You look a million miles away. You okay?”
“Just focusing on the pain,” she lied.
“Hmmm.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused on her, making her feel very self-conscious. It felt as if he were looking straight into her, seeing things she never showed anyone. “Sometimes it takes pain to get you through, huh?” It wasn’t a question but a statement, as if he understood exactly what she meant.
“Yeah. Whatever. Thanks.” She stood and tucked the first aid kit under her arm.
“Wait.” She had almost made her escape when his deep timbre stopped her.
Turning slowly, she realized her hands had been gripping the first aid kit to the point of causing numbness in her fingertips. “Yeah?” Her voice was softer than she would’ve liked, and she cleared her throat and set her jaw, steeling herself for whatever he said next.
“You never said what you were doing here.” His long legs made him seem predatory as he walked across the room, his eyes never leaving her face. He made her nervous but at the same time, the sensation was a welcome one. It had been a long time since she’d been touched so gently by someone who she knew could tear her apart if he wanted to.
“Guess I was wrong,” she shrugged. “No. I think you were looking for something.”
For the third time in recent history, she found herself trapped between a man and a wall. Only this time, she wasn’t afraid. She was practically tingling with wanting, wishing he would reach out and touch her again. The way his eyes flashed, she wondered if he could feel it, too. The predatory look on his face should’ve frightened her, but there was something there so familiar she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid.
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I’m a romantic at heart. So when I see people separated by circumstance, through no fault of their own, I can’t help but wish them back together.
I came across this pin on Pinterest:
Sex, when preformed correctly, is a series of blissful fleeting moments of joyful ecstasy. But love, real love, is spiritual, eternal, limitless, and of course radically dangerous; because love, in its purest form, is much deeper than any primal act and more meaningful than any sexual crescendo….
Writing erotica is beautiful. Eroticism is inside all of us, even inside those who deny it. Heck we’re all sexual creatures. We’d be in a perpetual vegetative state if we didn’t feel even a smattering of lust or hear Sex’s siren call. And when we have fallen in love with someone taken away from us, we pine for that person not knowing what to do with our lives.
This was what happened to Roarke and Deanna in Forever at Midnight, but Roarke is a man who never gives up. Especially when it comes to Deanna.
With an intensity which thrilled her, Roarke kissed her again, backing her to the bed. When Deanna felt the edge of the bed behind her, she eased herself on it, pulling Roarke down with her. When he parted her legs with his thigh, she sighed in pleasure and mewled when he cupped her mound and rubbed her clit. The friction of the slacks and the lace against her pleasure button made her arch in delight. She was in a vortex of carnal bliss with Roarke’s mouth sliding down the column of her throat, his tongue flicking at the erratic pulse at the base of her neck, down to her sternum, then to her breasts. She unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, and oh so slowly unzipped him. Roarke stood up to shuck his shoes and socks before he removed his jeans. She looked at his erection with hunger. It stood hard and thick and bounced a bit as he moved.
Slowly Roarke bent down to remove her slacks. She saw his eyes widen before his gaze scorched her with his lust. She lifted her buttocks and felt the material slide first against her lace underwear, then down to her lace edged stockings. She sat up to take off her hose.
“Leave them on,” he growled.
Suddenly, it was as if they went back in time. His words gave her the oddest sense of déjà vu. He had said this to her before—before everything. Deanna panted, her entire body sensitized by the desire in Roarke’s eyes. God, she was about to come and Roarke hadn’t even touched her!
Roarke knelt down at the edge of the bed. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. Slowly, he removed the tiny scrap of lace which covered her mound. Then he looked down, reverently. “Everywhere.”
As a slow smile lit his face, so did the slow burn begin in her sex, making her hips writhe beneath his gaze. He held her thighs, spreading them wider before his fingers trailed a hot path toward the apex. She watched mesmerized as his mouth followed his fingers. Nipping, kissing, licking her inner thighs. Her womb tensed. Desire coiled toward her centre, and her whole vagina throbbed. This was the only man who’d ever mattered to her. All the pent up passion she’d had stored up in her heart for decades came pouring forth. Deanna bit down on her lower lip.
She was about to come.
Then Roarke’s mouth was on her. His tongue parted her folds. He laved her from bottom to top, flattening his tongue against her throbbing clit before swirling it round and around. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady when she just couldn’t be still. He speared her sweet channel, dipping his tongue as far as it would go before going back to suck on her swollen clit and labia lips. She looked at him. His eyes locked with hers as he continued to pleasure her.
She threw her head back as wave upon wave of incredible bliss brought her closer to the edge. She panted and moaned, nearly delirious with ecstasy. She didn’t know whether to hold on to his head or to grab the silk sheets into her fists. A powerful current in the centre of her sex threatened to drown her. Roarke’s tongue and mouth were voracious and she loved every minute of it. His tongue made languorous flicks around her clit without let up. Then he inserted two fingers into her, rubbing hard and fast inside, and she combusted. Her cries of release merged with his growl of passion. His fingers and mouth continued to pleasure her until her orgasm subsided.
She floated in a cloud of bliss, boneless but not sated. She felt the bed dip. When she opened her eyes, Roarke was hovering over her. The gold flecks in his eye more prominent, and she knew his lust had grown. She purred as her hands caressed the hard planes of his chest.
“There is no one like you, no one,” he said.
Deanna’s mouth curved into a pleased smile when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Her hands continued to trace down the length of his body, lower to his rock hard stomach, his hips, circling around to clasp his taut buttocks before ever so slowly moving to the front to wrap around his turgid erection. She pumped one hand up and down while the other gently cupped his balls, rolling them between her fingers.
Roarke thought he’d stopped breathing and gone to heaven. As soon as Deanna touched his cock, he pulsated, becoming so rock hard he didn’t know if he was feeling pleasure or pain. His stomach bunched at the intensity of the sensation. And her taste! Ancients! How he’d missed her taste. Her touch. Her scent. The only scent that could drive him out of his mind with lust.
“Kiss me,” she begged, her eyes deep blue pools of desire. Her lips parted to cover him with her sweet breath, inviting him to partake of her mouth once more. He nibbled on her upper lip, her lower lip, then her entire mouth. Sensual. Languid. He felt her open up to him. Lust surged fast through him as she greedily sucked on his tongue, tasting herself on him. Roarke wanted her mouth on him, but that could wait. Deanna raised her legs, parting them wide and enticed his cock toward her opening. With one thrust he sheathd himself into her. Their mixed groans of pleasure filled the room, his cock enveloped in Deanna’s wet warmth. He closed his eyes, giving a guttural growl when Deanna arched her back in ecstasy.
“Roarke,” she gasped, her pupils dilated with desire. “Take me hard. I want you deep inside me. I missed you.”
Roarke didn’t need further prodding. He held her hip while his other arm held his weight. He groaned when Deanna encircled his waist with her legs allowing him to go deeper. He hissed as lust swirled around inside his bloodstream. Each thrust was a step up the passion ladder. He felt his wereblood pulsing through his cock, making him thicker. Harder. Longer.
“Oh, God, yes!” she cried out.
He watched Deanna as pleasure suffused her face. Her head thrown back on the bed, her breasts with their hard peaks arched as delectable offerings to him. Her channel, wet and wild, squeezed him.
“More Roarke! Please!” Deanna whimpered.
He rode her hard like she asked. His balls slapped rhythmically against her bottom as he thrust in and out of her slick heat. He groaned as his cock revelled in Deanna’s velvet sheath, covering him with her delicious cream. Her whimpers spurred him on. In and out. Deeper and deeper. He rotated his hips, branding her.
He kissed her hard. His tongue in her mouth imitated his thrusts between her legs. Suddenly Deanna pushed against his chest and rolled him onto his back. He looked at her in surprise, but pleased she was taking the initiative. In the glow of the lights from below, she looked like fire and desire personified.
Buy links on Amazon:
When I first burst onto the erotic romance scene (sorry, I have a flare for the dramatic, it was more of a slow saunter than a burst) I was courted by a fellow authours. By all accounts that I have heard, a male who writes the kind of stuff that I write, is somewhat of a rarity. Truth is, most men would rather write about guns, or bombs or crooked shadowy organisations that secretly run the world. That’s all well and good, but for me, the prospect of writing something that is going to turn on a female reader, make her heart pound and make her long for the man liek the one I have written in my story, is something I get more joy out of. I get my reward from the readers pleasure so I prefer to write romance with a certain steam factor.
Where was I? Oh yeah, “bursting”.
Anyways, liek I said, I was courted by a few female writers in the romance genre, something about my XY chromosomal structure made me appealing to them and offers to write with female writers frequently found their way into my Facebook chat windows or my emails.
Although sales of my books don’t reflect it exactly (not yet at least), apparently there is a demand for romance books written from the male POV, so I guess I can see the appeal of writing with me in a way.
I said no to everybody (this isn’t entirely true, I did a small collaboration with Ginger Ring on her holiday story, Getting Busy For Christmas), if for no other reason than that I was new at this whole writing romance thing and truthfully, I had no idea how it was going to all workout. I’d never written anything with a partner, so I had no idea what to expect and then Sable “Fucking” Hunter wandered into my life and we became friends. When I met Sable, she was selling enough copies of her books to make me and most independent authours jealous, but humble ol’ Sable just refused to see it. She gave me a book of hers to read and I knew that while she was selling well already, she had the potential to really make a name for herself in the genre. She suggested we write something together, but admittedly, I was intimidated by her work and her ability to do it so often. She’s this remarkable little juggernaut who never stops creating and that scared the crap out of me. Never the type to push, Sable accepted my no to her first proposal, but left the door open to discuss it in the future.
When she approached me to help her with a book she was writing I begged off, but she assured me that she wasn’t asking me to ‘co-authour’ with her, just to lend a helping hand with some parts (mostly the sexy parts J). I took her up on her offer, surely I could make a few suggestions relating to plot and add some ‘fuck’ to her sex scenes.
It was easy to be honest, I read what she’d written and added my 2 cents. The book was Forget Me Never, a book that also included some added writing by her brother Jess. I’ve been to the book page on Amazon and I’ve read the reviews, but mostly I’ve read the negative reviews. A few were upset that this Sable Hunter book wasn’t as good as her previous books, that something seemed ‘disjointed’ and a few even pontificated that it was the inclusion of the other writers that made it so.
This of course bothered me. Now, I’m well-aware that there will be negative reviews, that’s just a fact, but it bothered me and it only made sense that I was to blame for these reviews, after all, I had been one of the other writers who had joined Sable for the book. So I was hesitant when Sable and I again broached the subject of writing together, this time, co-authouring a book and making it into a series. After some lengthy discussion, we decided to try it and I started telling people about it.
Inevitably, people started asking how we would do it and I was dumbfounded. I myself had no idea how we would do it. Sable is able to keep these complex worlds and plots straight in her head, she writes based on emotions and feelings and I’m the kind of writer who needs a roadmap. This happens, then this happens, then they do this, then this happens. That’s how I see and write. So I think we both understood that it was going to be hard, we’d have to learn each other’s styles as we went along, adapt to each other and basically make it up on the fly.
It hasn’t been easy. We fight, we disagree and we don’t always communicate well because of the distance between us, but those are the obstacles of writing a book with someone who lives over 1200 miles away from you. You negotiate the hazards and believe me, there are many. Liek I said, we fight and we make-up and then do it all again. And then there are the sex scenes, discussing those alone can be a hazard, a good hazard, but a hazard none the less.
So how do we do it?
We just do.
Somehow we know each other well enough to know that we will get over each hurdle and keep going.
If anyone out there reading this has had that same idea to collaborate with a member of the opposite sex, I say go for it, try it, it just may work, but don’t forget, God’s greatest joke was making men and women so very different, so don’t be surprised if along the way you find yourself saying, “What the hell is she/he talking about?”
Here are some of my links and an excerpt from my newest book – HAPPY TO BE STUCK WITH YOU. Also, check out my other books. I have J’s Closet, Green With Envy with Sable Hunter, Forget Me Never with Sable and Thunderbird to be released in the spring.
Buy link –
Facebook page –
Excerpt from Happy to be Stuck With You:
“Your dad? I get that. Well, I have some money socked away for a rainy day.” I gestured toward the window. “And today seems like a rainy day. It’s not enough to get you a place, but you’re welcome to it if you need it.”
“When did it start raining?”
“You must have not noticed because I’m so handsome.”
J growled at me and nipped my chin. “That you are, Mr. Ross. Thank you for the offer, but I think it’s a little early on to be taking money from you.”
“We can say it’s for service’s rendered.”
“I told you, I’m not a hooker. And if I was,” she pulled away from me and headed for the door, looking back over her shoulder at me, “you couldn’t afford me.”
I darted after her and she screamed. “I’d rob banks, run drugs, perform contract hits if I had to, to get the money.”
“But you don’t.”
I pulled her snug to me and kissed her hard. Instantly my cock surged with blood.
J placed a tiny hand on the side of my face. “Easy, Boy. As much as I’d love to stay and partake in what I can feel pressing against my stomach…” I ground my erection into her, our lips millimeters apart. “I need to get to work.”
“I’ll call your boss and tell him you can’t make it,” I offered.
“I doubt he’d understand.”
“Then I’ll kill him and you won’t have a job to go to anymore.”
“Then you’d go to jail and we’d never see each other again. Except for conjugal visits, I guess.”
“Those would be some epic conjugal visits, wouldn’t they?”
I was horny as hell again. I picked J up and carried her over to the table full of sweaters I’d been folding earlier.
“Travis.” She kissed me on the neck. “I can’t. Really, I’m late as it is. I can’t afford to lose this job. Not now.”
“Arrrrrr!!!” My growl of disappointment echoed through the small shop. “This is so not fair.”
She was so small in my arms, I just couldn’t bring myself to let go of her.
“Put me down, Baby.”
She called me Baby.
I squeezed her tight. “If you live to be a million years old, you will never understand how good you just made me feel by saying that.”
She looked me in the eyes. “It felt right, didn’t it?”
“Nothing has ever felt more right in my life.”
I kissed her again and this time she kissed back just as hard before pulling away harshly.
“Arrrrr!!!” This time it was her turn to howl in frustration. “You’re right, this is so not fair. I wanna stay here in your arms all night, Baby. But I can’t. I really have to go.”
I placed my face on her chest and she stroked the back of my neck. “I’ll let you go, on one condition.”
“Say it again.”
“Say what, Baby?”
I put her feet back on the ground and released her from my grip—the hardest thing I’d done all day. “I will never get sick of that. Now get the hell out of here, Walsh. This is a classy joint.”
“Well, I never,” she huffed.
“Did you bring an umbrella?”
“Where would I have kept it?” She opened her coat.
A low whistle escaped my lips. “Don’t be cruel like that, Walsh. I don’t see one, you better let me check your inside pockets to make sure.”
She slapped away my probing hand. “Down, Boy.”
I lifted an umbrella out of a stand beside the door. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
The rain was pounding down. Luckily, J had parked just out of view of the store windows and the big black Burberry canopy above our heads deflected the rain nicely and forced J to huddle close to me.
I opened the door, kissed her and let her in. “Nice car.”
She slid into the posh interior of her Audi. “It’s his. I’m getting rid of it as soon as possible.”
“You got an umbrella in there somewhere with you?”
I could see there wasn’t one.
“Somewhere,” J assured me without even pretending to check.
I shut her door and closed the umbrella after flapping the water off a few times. “Take it.”
“No, Travis. I can’t.”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
“I’ll bring it back tomorrow so you don’t have to pay for it.”
“Don’t worry, Walsh. I get a good employee discount.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” I leaned into her open window and gave her a kiss. “Now go make some money. And don’t forget to put some clothes on. And, J.”
She looked up at me with a smile. “Yes?”
“Nothin’.” I stepped back and smacked the roof of her car.
She pulled away slowly, not even bothering to check to see if anyone was coming.
I stood in the rain, already soaked to the bone. “I love you.”
Hello, and welcome! I’m Katherine Rhodes- Author of erotica, light BDSM erotica and paranormal erotica. Lackadaisical Laundry Goddess. Expert in the profundities of bad movies and awful literature- of which I own too much. Especially, of late, I have become a smut whore. Is that possible? Well, if it is, I am. Go me! It’s not so bad though because I give back—in the form of more smut.
Which is why we’re here. Erotic Romance—good stories, great plots, awesome sex. Of course, if you’re as lucky as I am, you get super bizarre dreams to go along with that. For some reason, last night I had a doozie and it still hasn’t left me. I simply refer to it as my Erotic Ninja Suspense starring John Goodman.
No offence, John, but I’m *REALLY* glad the part with you was not erotic. You were an awesome protector for me before I, literally, came into my ninja powers. And fear not, I have it written down and I will turn that into a story in the future. It really was a fascinating idea.
But that’s what happens. I use a lot of things that come to me in my dreams. I’ve always had crazy ones, which is intensified by my one medicine. (Honest! The side effect is “vivid and disturbing dreams”). So when the two come crashing together—sh*t get weird and I end up a ninja.
Not that I mind being a ninja.
I like writing crazy stories, like that, but I also write straight fiction- as in not paranormal. It’s more of a challenge for me because reality has finite rules that have to be followed. And I like a challenge. I think that I did a pretty good job with my first two novels—“Consensual” and “Broken Bonds”. I enjoyed having to stay away from the paranormal as a rule, and I plan on staying away for a few more books. I also enjoy the humor I’ve found in some of my characters, and I’ll be expanding that a bit more. Very soon.
In the meanwhile, please—enjoy a brief glimpse of normality that offer up once in a while!
Consensual: A Club Imperial Novel
From the moment Nathaniel laid eyes on Emmy Westerly, he wanted her in his life. He would do anything to get her there and keep her there. To his surprise, Nathaniel found himself quickly pulled into Emmy’s dark world of whips and blindfolds, kink and submission. He was intrigued not only by the thrill of it, but by the enigma which led Emmy there as well.
Emmy could not resist Nathaniel Walsh. She couldn’t deny the electricity between them, the utter animal magnetism she felt for him. Emmy was mystified by someone as honest and uncomplicated as Nathaniel allowing her to lead him into the dark. She adored having him at the tip of her lash.
But Emmy had secrets – deep, cruel truths which led her to Club Imperial, and staying with Nathaniel would mean telling him everything. He wasn’t ready for that.
Neither was she.
“My Domme doesn’t just come out in the bedroom,” said, low.
“I know,” Nathaniel said. “That’s how you got me to answer the phone.”
She enjoyed the slightly peppery eggs in a comfortable silence. This felt so…normal, sitting next to him eating breakfast. And, he was a good cook to boot. If she had tried to cook this it would have been a burnt mess. “Who taught you how to work wonders in the kitchen?” she asked.
“Mom,” he said, swallowing the mouthful. “She made sure Victor and I could survive. Well. I make a wicked mac and cheese. Victor’s specialty is grilled cheese.”
“Grilled cheese?” she asked. “How is that a specialty?”
“Says the woman who just declared she can’t cook,” he said. “I’ll have him make you one, one day. It’s indescribable, and I make a tomato soup that goes great with it. We used to make it for soggy Saturday lunches.”
She stared at him, and he had the look of a happy childhood on his face. It was much better than the angry, lost look from earlier when he was talking about the girlfriend. She also felt a pang of jealously that he had such a great childhood instead of the confusions and bullshit of her own. Ugh, Boston.
She cleared her throat and stared hard at her last pancake. “I have to go to the club tonight.” Let’s see how he takes it.
Nathaniel’s fork froze for a moment, and then resumed. “I, uh…” He stuffed the forkful of food in his mouth to buy himself a moment. He chewed slowly and looked at her. “Do you have to?” he asked.
“There’s a list of clients lined up,” she answered.
He scratched the back of his head, mussing his own hair. “I would like to think if we’re going to be…whatever this is…you would give up the club.”
“But what are we?” she asked.
“I’d like to think maybe you were my girlfriend.”
“I’d like to think maybe you were my sub,” she replied, gently. “We’re too new to figure this out, Nathaniel. And I can’t give up the club. Not immediately.” She glanced over at him, and the look of sadness nearly broke her heart. “I would consider it at some point. Remember, this is who I am, and I enjoy it.”
He took a sip of coffee. “If I were to agree to this, what are the limits of the Domme/sub stuff? I run a major corporation, and you’re my brother’s admin. I can’t have you snapping at me in the office.”
“First, I don’t snap unless I’m angry,” she said. “Second, the limits are this apartment, except in the dark room. It’s about control in a controlled environment. I would expect submission and compliance with all requests, but not to the point where we can’t have a good conversation. Like, when I just told you to come eat, you didn’t. There would have been punishment meted out.”
“Punishment?” he asked, clearly curious.
“For so minor an infraction, probably a few swats with a crop or a paddle. Probably more as a tease than a real punishment.”
“Oh.” He picked up another piece of bacon and chewed on that. “What’s the dark room?”
“You’re not ready for that yet,” she said.
“Yeah, but what is it?”
She smirked. “That impertinence would have earned you a few more swats.” She took a sip of the juice. “It’s where we really play. The whips and chains and cuffs.” She paused. “And more. It’s a very dangerous room, and if we go in there, I expect complete and total obedience with any direction I give. I can do amazing things for you, for us, in there but I need complete submission.” She was getting a little warm just thinking about what she wanted to do to him, if they ever really got into that room. For now, if he wanted to try it out, she would take anything she needed out of there.
“Can you really turn it off like that?” he asked.
“Did you have any idea before you found out last night?”
“No,” he answered.
“It’s all about control.” She smiled at him. “Learning and knowing your limits.” She pushed the plate away. “Like knowing I’m completely full from this amazing morning feast you’ve concocted. You’re going to make me fat if you keep feeding me like that.”
“That’s a pretty typical Saturday morning breakfast for me.” He smiled. “Especially when I had such an interesting and energetic Friday evening.”
Oh, it’s like that, is it? She looked at him, schooling her features. “That was hardly a work out.”
“Not for you,” he said. “Your back was against the wall.”
“Yes, I rather liked that,” she said.
“So did I. I also remember an idle threat about a tie…”
“Idle threat?” she asked. “You think I make idle threats?”
“All week, Emmy,” he said.
She could hear the playful tone in his voice. She was definitely feeling mischievous so she turned on the barstool and looked at him sitting there shirtless. “You would like to keep that tie, Mister Walsh?”
“If you can fulfill your threats, Miss Westerly.”
“Hmm…” She hopped off the stool. Looking him up and down, she considered a moment. “A little bondage goes a long way.” She crooked her finger at him and started walking down the hall.
“The food’s getting cold,” he called.
She stopped and looked at him. She crooked her finger again. “Come.”
“Yes, please,” he said, leaving the stool and padding after her.
She walked into the bedroom and found the tie on the headboard. Damn. Charvet silk. She was a little astonished he was willing to play with such an expensive tie. Emmy liked the way it felt in her hands. He walked in slowly, and looked around. She liked his trepidation, and ran the tie through her hands again. Wrapping it around the back of his neck, she pulled him close. “If you agree to this, in here you will call me Mistress.”
“Just in here?”
“When we are doing anything sexual,” she breathed. She paused and looked at the ends of the tie in her hand. “You’re not mine yet, Nathaniel,” she said. “No still works; stop still works. Are you sure you want this?” She watched his eyes sparkle at her as they darkened.
Oh. She let her breath out and felt her heat pooling. She quickly grabbed his arms by the wrist and using the smaller end of the tie, trussed his hands together firmly. He gasped at her deft move; she suspected he didn’t even realize she’d done it. “I told you I wanted to tie you up and fuck you, Mister Walsh. I wasn’t kidding.”
Broken Bonds: A Club Imperial Novel
After the vicious attack on Emmy, Nathaniel has enlisted the help of his brother and Club Imperial’s owner to make sure her secret life doesn’t make the headlines, or interfere with the justice her attackers deserve. And to make matters worse, Emmy wakes up with absolutely no memory of what she has been through.
Recovering from her injuries at Nathaniel’s sprawling estate, Emmy deals with all of the changes in her world: new friends, a different lifestyle, a new boyfriend and a brand new threat.
With a simple phone call, her past crashes head-long into her present. Her mother suddenly reappears in her life and brings with her all the terrible things she thought she’d left behind. Old scars are ripped open and Emmy’s not sure she can survive the pain again.
She has to let Nathaniel go to protect him from the hell of her past…
But he’s not walking away.
The car turned off the road to a paved driveway that disappeared through the trees. They wound through the greenish midday light and the trees disappeared from her side of the car to reveal Nathaniel’s North Hills estate. Her jaw dropped.
There were acres of manicured lawns between them and the house. There was a stand of trees half way there with a pond surrounded by carefully maintained cattails and native grasses that were starting to perk from their winter rest. She thought she saw a spigot in the middle for a fountain.
Beyond was an enormous white and brick Jacobean-style mansion. Three floors tall with huge windows over-looking the lawns, the front door was set back from the driveway, giving the house a u-shape to the front. There was tower—a tower—above the main entrance which rose to a fourth floor. The top of the house was lined with white cement railing and each of the two front wings had a parapet on the corners. She started counting chimneys and finally had to stop at twenty-five. As they drove further, she caught glimpses of the depth of the house, and there were more chimneys she hadn’t seen earlier. All of the windows were three panes wide and seemed to be floor to ceiling. Part of the back of the house looked newer, but had been added on in the style of the original. It had the traditional white puzzle cornering and there was some ivy on one wing, but it was carefully maintained.
Emmy looked at him. “Is there a ballroom?”
“Of course,” he said dismissively.
“You live in this?”
“Quite.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the whole tour when you’re feeling up to it. Your room is in the back overlooking one of the gardens and the pool house.”
“Pool house,” she mumbled. “You have a pool house.” She turned back and pressed her hand to the window. “It looks like Hatfield House.”
With that thought, the pang of loss hit her so hard she had tears streaming down her cheeks before she even realized what was going on. It had been years since she had thought about Hatfield House and the sudden realization that it was the last time she saw her father was like a bolt of lightning.
“Oh, my God.” Nathaniel pushed over to put his arm around her. “What’s wrong? Holy crap, please stop crying.”
She tried, she really did. But she couldn’t stop the gasps and hiccups that went along with the emotion. She looked at him. “You want to know more about me? The last time I saw my father was at Hatfield House outside of London. We were there for a benefit to try and save the Ukrainian Symphony Orchestra. He was there with Sarinya and had just proposed to her. I left the next day to go back to Boston, and he was killed in a car accident three months later, after playing out the season with the London Symphony. They were going to see Sarinya’s family for holiday, and he never made it.”
He just held her a moment while letting her cry. “I’m so sorry, Emmy.”
“I didn’t think a stupid house could do this to me,” she said, smearing the tears away indelicately. “I mean, I like your house, I just didn’t think it was going to make me think of my dad and get me all worked up like this.”
“You have had a very traumatic two weeks, Em.” He tried to console her. “I suspect most anything will set you off.”
“I hate being emotional,” she hiccupped.
“I can’t imagine why.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back, starting to feel a little more balanced. “You have a beautiful house.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He lowered his voice and continued, “But you can’t go in the West Wing.”
“Why not,” she asked, confused.
“Because that’s where I keep my secret magical rose.” He laughed. “And sometimes the teapots talk.”
Emmy giggled. “So you’re telling me this is a reverse fairytale castle? What does that make Quinn? Or you for that matter?”
“I’m a handsome equine.”
“Oh, so you’re full of horseshit.”
Links For Club Imperial:
Consensual, Book 1
Broken Bonds, Book 2
Visit Katherine Rhodes at:
or follow her on Twitter @Mistress_KayR