Iron Dominance - release day!

Yay! Today is the day my second BDSM romance is out from Loose Id. To celebrate I'm putting my excerpt on here. A slightly longer one is on my website.

I'll be having giveaways of the book on 5 other blog sites and the dates will be below the excerpt. This is a steampunk story as you may guess from the gorgeous cover done by Valerie Tibbs.

“Here. Raise your feet.” An article of clothing, both silken cloth and something harder, slid with muffled clicks up each leg. Theo arranged it about her torso, cool beads shifting across her breasts until the garment fitted snugly on her body. Something narrow settled between her legs. Claire gasped at a throb of pleasure as his fingers played in her moisture. A few more adjustments and he led her off to one side. A light flared on. “There. Open your eyes.”

In a tall mirror, she saw herself, dressed in a black corset paneled with satin. Coming down from a halter, pearl ropes fanned out over each breast with her nipples peeking out between. A tiny skirt of chiffon, divided at the crotch, barely made it as far as her upper thighs. Lines of seed pearls undulated down the satin and a string of larger pearls dove deeply between her legs, emphasizing the split lips of her sex. She could feel it run up between the cheeks of her bottom at the back. Even as she looked, she felt a renewed throb, for every movement she made, from breath to heartbeat to shift of feet, moved the line of pearls and rubbed against her clit.

In the reflection, she saw Theo beyond her shoulder, bare-chested, the ringlets of his black hair stark against his forehead. He raised a satin and pearl choker and positioned it about her neck, clicking it into place. “And these,” he said, holding first one wrist and then the other to snick matching black satin bracelets on her wrists. “They suit you.” From the hardness, metal lurked beneath the black cloth.

Where the choker and bracelets rested on skin, her pulse rose, thumping, to the surface and reminded her of where she was, who she was with, and especially, how dangerous this could be. But…she trusted him.

To her surprise, her throat still worked, though the words seemed to stick to her tongue. “How did you know my size? Where did this come from?”

“Bought while I was away. I have a good memory, especially for someone as striking as you.”

Which meant, he’d planned her…seduction, while she’d been planning escape. She leaned back against him, fascinated by the allure of the woman in the mirror. The heat from his body soaked into her like a glass of wine. She lifted each wrist and examined the bracelets -- identical, and each with tiny loops of steel projecting from them.

“That’s for a chain to pass through,” he whispered, mouthing the nape of her neck. “Does it bother you? Think, before you answer.”

“Yes…” she said slowly, fearful of being again restrained in cuffs.

“And yet?” He pressed a hand against her stomach, holding her against him, making her feel the rigid line of his cock. The pearls slid in her juices, pressing, rolling over her clit and anus. She let out a whimper. “Ahh. You feel them working on you.” He chuckled. “And yet?”

And yet the idea of it, of being restrained by Theo, held a strange and deadly fascination. She shied away from that thought, and shook her head. “And nothing.”

“Ah-h. I can see my first project will be to get you talking more.”

She stood there in silence. The fear she felt came intertwined with lust in almost everything that Theo did to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he moved her to face him, gray eyes inches away, then his mouth descended, covering hers, devouring her. She breathed in his breath, letting him do as he willed. One broad hand held the base of her neck, the other splayed over the curve of her buttocks. His fingers wrapped around the pearl rope running between her legs, tightening it. Desire ran rampant through her, surging higher with every tiny movement of his lips on hers, and the rub of the pearls on her pussy and nipples.

When she put her hands to the belt of his pants, he reached between their bodies, snared both her wrists and pulled them round to the small of her back where he held them with one hand. Again, the pearls shifted. She bit her lip, a moan escaping her as she arched.

Eyes shut, she heard a soft animal-like growl.

“Claire, if you’re not damn careful, I’ll eat you up.”

What? She opened her eyes a slit, still panting, to see that he’d stepped away a little, angling his stance so as to observe her.

His gaze brushed her, lingering on her breasts before he locked on her eyes. “Last chance. Do you want to stop? Are you too sore? It might cause me irreparable harm, but I can stop.” Then he eyed her darkly, as if he’d liked to do exactly what he’d threatened to -- eat her up.

The pain of the bruise at her neck had faded to nothing in spite of the choker. With her whole being, she yearned for more of him. He inflamed her past bearing and knowing that he watched her, swept her excitement to another level.

She licked her lips, aware of her wrists still caught behind her and the display of her body. God, if he didn’t do more than this, she’d surely burst.

“No,” she said huskily. “Don’t stop.”

“Please?”

Ah, how he tormented her. “Please.”

“Over here then.” Still gripping her wrists he urged her toward the bed, to kneel by the side of it, and lie face down across the quilt with her bottom up. He spread her hands, palm down over each cheek of her buttocks.

“Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear. “And I won’t have to tie you.”

Tie me? She almost let go at that. Was this what she wanted? But he held his hands over hers a moment. She stayed there.

“Good.”

His fingers trailed over the backs of her hands, over the ends of her fingernails, and down her thighs. She quivered, sucking in air through the quilt bunched beneath her mouth.

“Spread your legs, Claire.”

She shifted them, feeling even more exposed, a breeze caressing her engorged labia. He traced down the line of pearls, reached her wet cleft and followed deeper where the pearls seemed to have sunk into her flesh. Slick and wet. The scent of her lust reached her. Slowly he went farther until he reached her clit. He circled it, teasing, making her shift her bottom to place the finger just right.

My website: http://www.carisilverwood.net/

My guest blogging for September:

(Clickable links)

Forbidden Bookshelf - September 1st

Imnoangelauthorsblog - September 3

Lisabet Sarai's blog- September 7th

Kallypso Masters Blog - September 14

H C Brown's blog - September 17th

And I may be blogging with Eliza Gayle also but the dates not set as yet.

Iron Dominance can be purchased at Loose Id: Buy Link here

First Kisses by S.D. Grady

Once upon a time, I read a great many books.  Oft times they featured high-waisted gowns, a visit to Almack’s and a rake with an impossibly tied cravat.  Even more often, there were no gowns or cravats at all, the clothes having ended up in a heap on the floor.  I began to find it rather, well, irritating.  It seemed to me that nobody was bothering to tell the tale of the romance, it was all about sex--which is no bad thing.  Simply a pattern.  And hence, I embarked upon my first foray into writing a novel…with no sex.

“An Accomplished Lady” came to be, and it earned a place on the shelf of ebooks for sale.  I kept writing, now exploring other facets of life in my work.  But I always viewed my Lady as something special…if full of the pitfalls that a new writer often stumbles in.  I can now stick to a POV, create sexual tension and then let it explode, and recognize most technical foibles before I send an MS off to the editor.  However, now I do write for a market.  Lady was never written for a market, just for me. 

Recently, I began reading “An Accomplished Lady” to my writing group.  Even as I spied lots (oh so many!) of errors--I actually pity that first editor—the reactions of my listeners made me stop and consider what it is that makes my Lady come to life.  I decided to read ahead, and rediscovered the charm of the tale all over again.

Miss Fiona Fairweather faces many challenges in life, but most vexing of all is the betrothal her parents entered her into with Mr. Roger Ranly when they were but children.  Friends as tots, and even as they stood on the cusp of adulthood, they each wonder if this will be a fortuitous future they have planned for them.   

It is a tale of firsts.  First kiss, first hug, flirtation, ball, long gown, a first glimpse of a large city and also the first understanding of Society and its many misconceptions about people.  There are truths and lies and dreams.  

Ultimately, our heroine does find her Happy Ever After, but it was not without personal travails along the way.  She learns that life is not always perfect, but maybe you have to take a chance in order to reach for a seemingly impossibly goal. 

In many ways, Miss Fiona was my first kiss, a little uncertain and unskilled.  But she is a fond memory for me.  Some authors cringe at the recollection of their first book, and it was an uncomfortable examination of my ability as a writer to read that novel, but like that first embrace, the journey of reaching for something legendary is never to be forgot.

Never forget that first kiss, because kissing—or writing--will never quite be the same again.

Series, Sequels and Such by Gillian Archer

I never thought I would be contemplating a series this early in my writing career. But when my new Carina editor strongly hinted at wanting to see a sequel with the hero’s best friend, how could I refuse?

The very first thing I did was panic. Zomg! I was knee deep in drafting one story and editing a second. I didn’t have time for this. Plus I didn’t know the first thing about writing a sequel. After a few calming words from my writerly friends, I set up a plan and put it into action.

Part one of the plan was to comb through book1 for any scene or mention of my new hero. I want him to read seamlessly from book1 to book2. I copied and pasted all the relevant bits from book1 into a new doc so I can refer to it from time to time as needed.

Part two of the plan was to read through all my rope bondage research. Book2 will have lots of ropey fun :) I also downloaded some videos from The Knotty Boys and a few from places that I will not be linking LOL!

After a little fear induced writers’ block—that I’m totally over with now, thank God!—I’m about half way through draft one. And I’m really loving the story. I hope my editor and more importantly my future readers will connect with the story too.

Of course there are some lingering fears…but I’m not going to think about them until after I hit send. I don’t have time to be neurotic right now!

Have you ever considered writing a sequel or series? Do you have any tips for a newbie?

You can read more about my upcoming Carina release on my website!

Release Day for Too Hot by Lauren Fraser

 Today is release day for my new book Too Hot available from Ellora's Cave.

Blurb

When it comes to her career, Josie Sharp sees things with perfect clarity, but her love life? Well, that’s completely out of focus. Coming off a rough breakup, she’s insecure and hesitant about men, especially ones as sexy as firefighter Marco Patelli. Although she may be wary of his intentions, she’d have to be a fool to pass up the chance to be with a man like him. And foolishness is not in her genes.

Josie is nothing like the women Marco normally goes for, but something about the shy photographer’s vulnerability calls to his dominant side. As he helps Josie explore her sexuality, Marco realizes there is so much more to Josie than meets the eye.

But when lies and insecurities collide, Marco is going to have to fight to prove to Josie that what they have goes so much deeper than sex.

Excerpt

Josie made her way toward the gym. The sound of old-school, AC/DC’s Thunderstruck, carried down the hallway. At the doorway she stopped and looked inside. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she saw Marco running on the treadmill. Alone in the gym, he ran at a grueling pace. Sweat ran down his bare chest. She followed the path of one droplet as it snaked between the ridges of his abs, through the dark hair under his bellybutton and into the waistband of his shorts. She tried to swallow but her throat seemed to have closed tightly, forcing her to gulp for air. Holy mother of god, she wanted to lick every inch of his body.

His eyes met hers, heat flared between them. He must have seen the raw lust on her face because a slow, carnal smile spread across his face.

“Hey, Josie, give me one sec.” He flicked off the treadmill, grabbed his t-shirt from the handle and wiped it across his face.

“Did you get my message?” he asked.

Unable to drag her eyes from his chest, she nodded.

“So, what’s your answer?”

“My what?” Raising her head, she sighed. Oh the man was beautiful. Around him somehow her mind shut off and she became a bumbling idiot. His eyes twinkled with amusement and he winked.

“Are you up for coming out with us tonight?” he asked again.

She blinked, trying to clear the fog. God, he must think she was such a loser. She couldn’t even have a normal conversation. “Umm…sure,” she stammered.

Marco stepped toward her. Josie’s nipples beaded tightly, pressing against the lace of her bra.

A sexy smile curved the corner of his lips. “Do I make you nervous, Red?”

She squared her shoulders. “Of course not,” she said, forcing herself to stand her ground and not move away.

He grinned and moved closer. She could feel the heat from his body and the scent of his sweat turned her on better than any cologne ever could.

He tucked her bangs behind her ear and trailed his hand along the back of her neck, cupping her head with his palm to hold her in place.

“Then how come you’re shivering now?” he whispered against her ear. His hot breath sent another shiver through her body. “Josie, clearly you’re as attracted to me as I am to you so why are you fighting it?” he asked.

“I’m not fighting anything.” Damn, the breathless sigh in her voice didn’t exactly add much validity to her statement.

“Liar,” he said and nipped her earlobe between his teeth. The touch sent an arrow of heat straight from her ear to her pussy and she clamped her knees together.

Marco ran a teasing path along the shell of her ear. It felt amazing. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to allow him better access.

“Don’t make me prove you wrong, Josie.”

Her eyes flashed open, meeting his. The heat burning in his eyes was almost enough to melt her on the spot.

Trying to hold onto some semblance of control, she said, “Guys like you aren’t attracted to women like me.”

He wrapped his muscular arm around her waist and pulled her hips against his. The hard length of his cock pressed against her stomach. “Clearly my body is telling you otherwise.”

Holy cow, he really wanted her. She grinned to herself. Without thought, she shifted her body and rubbed against him, loving the way she could feel his cock thicken through his gym shorts.

He hissed in a breath. “Damn, Red.”

She leaned back, putting a little space between them and trailed her finger down the length of his chest, stopping at the waistband of his shorts. His breathing increased as he watched her finger.

“So you seriously want to have dinner with me?”

His cock twitched beneath the fabric of his shorts. He gripped her hips firmly with his hands and rubbed against her. “What I’d like is to have you for dinner but we can start with grabbing a bite to eat. You seemed a bit umm…unsure the other day so I thought you’d be more comfortable with a group thing.”

Unsure. That was one word for it. Terrified of making an ass of herself was more like it.

“So what do you say, Josie? You free tonight?”

Buy Link


~Lauren
http://www.laurenfraser.com

Catherine's Toys by KevaD - The Madness Begins

Catherine's Toys, the first quick-read installment of a four-part series, was released today by Noble Romance Publishing, and I want to give away two copies. Yes… two.

This series of stories tells of the love-hate relationship between Casey and Catherine. Sounds simple enough. Except for a couple of minor hitches: Casey and Catherine are the same person - they just don't know it. And then there's Catherine's obsession with seducing male patients in hospitals.

If you enjoy psychotic characters and loads of man on man sex, this series of short reads is right up your dark alley.

To qualify for a PDF copy, just leave a comment and your email so I can notify the winners.

Here's the blurb and an excerpt, and I thank you so much for taking the time to stop by.

Casey loves Catherine.
Catherine loves toys . . . lots of toys.
Only her toys all live and breathe.
Catherine promised to find Casey a toy of his own.
From there it gets complicated. Very complicated.

 Excerpt:

Catherine sucked in all the air her lungs could hold, and then a little more. Without exhaling, she interlaced her fingers and roughly rubbed her knuckles. Her right knee shuddered, then twitched incessantly.

"Damn it," she hissed, her frustration mixing with her breath.

She reached down to the hem of her dress and massaged the white nylons over the errant pulses beneath her skin. If she couldn't control her body on this side of the door, how could she ever hope to on the other side—where he waited? At the thought of him naked on the bed, her nipples hardened and pressed against the polyester knit of her uniform. She scrunched her nose, flared her nostrils. The old material was coarse, and if she didn't do something quick, the hard nubs on the tips of her breasts would be rubbed raw in no time.

"In or out?" she whispered, then giggled like a school girl who'd been caught staring at her first crush. In or out? That was the question to be answered, but she'd never know the answer if she didn't open the damn door and walk into the damn room.

Gritting her teeth, she vacuumed air into her chest. Saliva vibrated under the onrush.

Ding.

She snapped a look to the right. The yellow call light above the door to the next room had come on. Shit. The time on the debate clock had expired. Someone would respond to the patient's needs. Another giggle bubbled up in her throat.

Her patient had needs, too. And it was Catherine's intention to satisfy each and every one. She pushed down the door handle, sighed a stream of heated anticipation, and walked through the point of no return. The door clicked closed behind her.

"Good evening, Mr. Andrews." Her voice sounded foreign, so not her own, too Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday, Mr. President. The tips of her ears burned. Focus, Catherine. Focus. Don't lose it now.

Her left foot moved forward, followed by the right. She glanced down. They were still her feet clad in white shoes with white laces, but she hadn't told her feet to walk across the room. Another step, and another. A rustle of sheets pulled her gaze to the bed.

James Andrews turned his gorgeous his head toward her. Catherine's feet stumbled and stalled, her body swayed against the unexpected stop. His thick brow lowered; perfect lips parted.

"You new? I haven't seen you before." One black eyebrow arched.

A shiver clattered down Catherine's spine and tightened the muscles in her ass. He'd spoken to her, and his voice was rich, deep, and filled with curiosity about . . . her. His words emboldened her. She walked briskly to his bedside.

"Fresh out of school. First night." She smiled, not too broadly, not too demurely. "I'm Catherine." Words coagulated in her throat. She pushed a ball of air against the catch of nerves. The sound of a bullfrog on a lily pad barked out of her. Embarrassment pummeled her face.

A muted chuckle passed through his smile. Polished teeth gleamed against the midnight hue of his skin. "Nervous, huh."

Catherine nodded slightly. The muscles in her ass wrenched and pulled her butt smack into her sweating groin. "More than you know." There's an understatement if ever there was one.

Buy Link: Noble Romance Publishing
KevaD's Web Site: KevaD

Character Descriptions – by KevaD

Writers are generally solitary creatures prone to shopping for necessities once the cupboard is bare, laundering when the basket will hold not so much as a stocking more, and dusting when the table can contain no more finger scrawls. 

An accurate depiction of writers? In some cases maybe. What the above did provide was a faint imprint in your mind… without even identifying the sex of the person I was describing. The setting the character lives in, one of his or her own creation, appeared as a picture. The reader "sees" the empty cupboard, the laundry basket (probably blue), the table (probably the dining table, though I never identified which table, and more than likely oak or walnut). What I left out of the picture, the reader subconsciously filled in. Some readers will have added absentee children to the scene due to the finger scrawls, making the writer a parent, though, again, no child was mentioned. 

Let's take this a step further in building the character without actually describing the writer's physical appearance: 

The writer's creative tool of choice rests on a makeshift desk of a bare pine board laid over cinder blocks; two feather pillows provide service as a chair. Tolkien, Harris, King, and Rice sit within reach.

No real need to explain this additional setting. Laptop, no doubt. Spartan work space. The writer apparently uses the mentioned authors as references and/or inspiration. Pretty easy to figure out what types of stories this writer authors. 

Continuing on, let's dive deeper into the character's personality. First, the pleasant version: 

Brightly edged wisps of sandalwood rise from a lathe-turned, turquoise bowl, the thumbprint of its maker forever etched next to the red-inked A-. Pegboard camouflaged under photographs and celebrations held in place by a rainbow of plastic tacks hangs center wall, a Picasso of life. 

Now let's take the character in a decidedly different direction: 

A glass ashtray advertising Niagra Falls, one corner as broken and sharp as the memory, sits overflowing with brown filters, the edges singed to the last draw. Biting, acrid ammonia claws at the walls from an untended corner litter box. 

By this time the reader should have a mental picture of our troubled character, as well as the setting, and we still haven't offered any hint of hair, height, etc. The reader has filled all that in from the descriptors we provided. We can guide the reader further if we choose: A Lucite brush, the coarse bristles littered with chestnut snarls dipped in gray, lies abandoned atop a rumpled, poinsettia print housecoat on a couch cushion. 

Obviously, we aged our female character and invoked a sense of desolation, leaving us to question our character's status. 

The point is authors can provide the reader with insight to the character's physical appearance and mental wellbeing without boring the reader with trite uses of mirrors, inept conversations with friends, or inner reflection. In my novel "Sunday Awakening" I introduced the female lead's eye color in a scene where she wants to buy a bath towel. The salesman offers up an emerald towel because it matches her eyes. 

If we creatively use our brain, we don’t even have to ever directly use the word "writer" to describe our character: 

Four framed book covers, the first of the cancelled series, stand guard, two on either side of the photograph taken at the inaugural release party. Jewel Smyth, as large as the titles themselves, emboldens the colored paper under dust smeared glass. 

Because I hate to leave things hanging in suspense, let's put the mental image we've created into play: 

In the photograph, Jewel sat with three other women, smiles as grand as the tropical cocktails raised in salute. An enormous ashtray sat center stage on the round table – an empty ashtray. He glanced at the evidence, a mountain of butts a chain-smoker had left behind, and then to the book covers. "Ghost Play". "A Realm Unveiled". "The Conjuror's Nightmare". "Trapped by the Unholy". 

"Son-of-a-bitch," he muttered, the full weight of awareness bearing down on him like a plane crash. 

"What was that, Detective?" the crime scene tech asked. 

"You ever heard of a case where the victim left a full account of her disappearance before she disappeared?" 

"No, Darren," the tech said, and twirled a nylon brush in his search for fingerprints on the laptop. 

"This one did," Darren mumbled, and plucked a copy of "Ghost Play" from the pine board desk. 

Is this a story I wrote? No. Think I should? Let me know. 

What I did write was a gay horror story called "Catherine's Toys." It's a series of four installments, all under 5k in length, the first of which will be released this Monday, August 15^th.

Stop back then and I'll tell you all about it.

Something A Little Different

 That picture is somewhat an accurate portrayal of what I go through on a daily basis as I try to write out the scenes in my head. Okay, maybe not so accurate. Add a little more hue to the skin and some wild dreadlocks and you get the idea. 

My frustration reaches epic proportions when a scene doesn't go right or I lose my train of thought. It increases even more so when I try to write romance and that's really crazy considering that I belong to an erotic writer's group. I admit to struggling with it.

Now my group members, on the other hand, are pros at this and I admire their accomplishments. They whip up their work, post them, critique them and go on about their business. What I really like is the fact that they can write certain scenes and post them without any qualms. 

And yes, I'm referring to sex scenes. 

Whether its one on one, two on one, eight or more, or whatever, these guys rock and they rock hard and I'm not going to lie. 

I'm nervous. Seriously, seriously nervous.

But this is it. 

I'm finally taking the plunge, thanks to the urging (it sounded more like threats, actually) of a good friend whom I won't name (Judith Leger:)) and I'm doing it.

I'm finally putting on my big girl panties and throwing it all out there.

My first piece of Erotica...

Here it goes....eep!

Something A Little Different

The pub was noisy and crowded with people shouting, laughing and fighting for space at the bar but my eyes were on her, and her alone. She sat on the high chair next to me, one arm along the back of the seat, the other resting on the edge of the counter. She was gorgeous, from the top of her glossy dark hair to the tips of her perfectly pedicured toes. Her strapless dress was light and flimsy, gently falling back on her smooth, crossed legs, the top foot swinging lazily.

I love a woman in stilettos.
There’s something about the arch of the female foot, the silvery straps and in this case, the way they wound up around her ankle to mid-calf to tie in a neat little bow. The redness of a fresh tattoo adorned her left ankle. A glittery toe-ring caught my eye and I shifted, bringing my bottle of beer to my lips.

Her flirtatious smile, soft and teasing, stole my breath. Those dark eyes of hers traveled up my arms, raising the hair in their wake, almost as if she'd caressed me with her fingertips. Motionless, I was caught in her heat, fighting to breathe as she drank me in, causing my blood to pound in my veins...

Our eyes had met almost as soon as she’d entered the pub.

I was instantly riveted. I'd zeroed in on the generous curve of her hips, breasts, a pair of killer legs and had all kinds of nasty thoughts. 

I licked my lips, and waited for her to make the first move.

With a knowing look, she’d walked up to me, her movements fluid and alluring. When she got to me, she leaned in close, her hand brushing my shoulder, the heat of her whisper sending chills of anticipation down the back of my neck. Her enticing scent, sweet and forbidden, curled around me. Her voice was smooth and cultured with just a hint of an exotic accent as she asked.

“Is someone sitting here?”
My palms grew moist but I had to play it cool.

I returned her smile.

“Only you...”

Now we sat quietly amongst the noise surrounding us. The heavy beat of the music, the pushing throng of people and the loud conversations paled in comparison to the intensity that we were sharing. We were in our own bubble, this gorgeous creature and I.
I ordered her the most expensive champagne, knowing that she would appreciate the subtle compliment. One French-manicured fingertip gently traced the edge of the flute in lazy circles, her eyes meeting mine. I saw them flick every now and then to my band but I refused to hide the fact that I was married. I wasn’t ashamed of it, not at all.

I’ve been a good, faithful man in the eight years I’ve been married. Our sex life had been pretty good, but lately there’s been a shift. It’s like we’re drifting in two different directions. Our familiarity with each other was heading towards that dangerous comfort zone where everything was becoming routine and boring. We’d seen the signs and tried to avoid them but with our work schedules and the kids, it’s been one endless argument after another.
I never thought about straying.

Not once.

But sometimes, though, a man wants to indulge in something a little different.
And she was that in spades.

Her tongue slowly swept her full bottom lip. I wanted to taste that bit of nectar, just to confirm if it’s as delicious as I know it must be. I shifted again, silently damning my dick for straining against my pants.
I’ve never been good at playing games but I needed this.
And I wanted her.
I leaned in, letting my eyes skip down to take in a brief glimpse of her curvy flesh then I met her eyes again. I wanted her to know exactly what I was looking for.
“What do you say about us getting out of here?”
She didn’t even hesitate.
“I thought you'd never ask...”

I didn’t even bother hiding the fact that I was turned on. My cock pushed against the fabric, heavy and full. Her eyes swept down to my lap, before meeting mine again. The promise I saw in them sent a sharp, pulsing heat through my veins. Her tightened nipples, clearly visible through the thin material of her dress, begged for a taste. I planned on rolling my tongue around them, pulling and sucking until she screamed. Then dipping lower…

I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

I paid the tab and waited as she slid from the barstool. She tossed back her hair, unleashing more of her exotic scent. I breathed it in, closing my eyes in appreciation. I could easily distinguish her ambrosia from the rest of the women present.

She led the way, winding through the crush of partiers, her steps steady and sure. I stayed close, enough to feel the heat of her skin. I ran a finger down the bare skin of her upper back. She didn’t look back but her steps slowed. I moved closer behind her, letting her feel the bulge of my erection against her butt. My other hand rested on her hip, gently pulling her closer.

I caught the eyes of several guys, saw them giving her lingering looks, and nodding at me in that yeah-you-know-it kind of way. I smiled back, acknowledging their silent praise.
We made it to the exit, squeezing around the jam of people in the doorway. I guided her through them, my hand at the small of her back. Once outside, I gripped her hand and we hurried down the sidewalk, the click of her heels echoing through the quiet of the darkness as we left the noisy club behind.

I glanced down at her, mildly surprised to find her looking up at me. I didn’t want to speak, fearing that she might be having second thoughts. Of course, I’d stop if that’s what she wanted but I was hoping not. 

We got to the middle of the parking lot and I couldn’t resist swooping in for a kiss. I swung her around into my arms, and she rose up on her toes with her arms going around my neck. Our lips met, hard, hot and hungry. Our tongues delved deep, swirling and tugging, mixing our flavors with a passion that made me weak. I slid my hands up, caressing the sides of her breasts before finding the distended nipples with my thumbs, gently rubbing them through the material. She groaned into my mouth, rubbing her pussy against my groin.

I pulled my face back enough to whisper against her mouth.
“My car’s not far.”
She swiped my lips with her tongue.
“Good.”
By now I was practically running to the car, blushing as her husky laugh hit me in all the right spots. When we got to my Beemer, I cursed silently at the fact that I’d left the top down. My wife wasn't too keen about my rag-top. Its been one of our regular fights but I'm not giving in.

She knows how I feel about my car. 

Summer nights were meant for convertibles and tonight hadn’t been any different. I hadn’t planned for any of this but here I was with this hot, sexy woman who probably didn’t want to put on a show for any passerby and I couldn’t blame her.

Before I could say anything, she turned to me and said,
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

And with that she slowly tugged down the top of her dress, freeing her breasts. Shock knocked me back a step and my knees trembled. I gaped, my heart thumping crazily. I took a quick look around before staring at her again. My mouth filled with saliva and I swallowed hard. 

Dark brown nipples, my favorite, dared me to take a taste and I’ve never been one to resist temptation. I bent and flicked it with the tip of my tongue. I cupped the other breast as I pulled the tight little bud deeper into my mouth, grazing it with the edge of my teeth, enjoying the sweet sounds coming from her. Vanilla musk filled my senses and the raging need for her went into overdrive.

Damn...

We were in the backseat so fast, I was positive I’d torn something. Pain shot up the back of my leg but I didn’t care. I was about to feast on her and nothing was going to stop me...

She was on her back, her legs spread, revealing the neatly trimmed hair of her pussy. Her scent, clean and heady, rose up and I breathed in deep. One of her legs rode the back of the seat; the other was draped over my arm. Her thong was in my teeth and I spat out the silky material before grinning down at her. Her lips curved in response. Her fingers were working her nipples, pulling and plucking them. She paused then gently rolled them again, smiling as I mouthed,
“Later.”

She sighed when I put my mouth to her, gently separating her glistening lips with my thumbs. I took my time, laving her with long, slow sweeps. I delved deeper, reaching as far as I could, brushing a thumb over the tiny, throbbing flesh of her clit. Her hips moved, slowly and I felt her fingers pushing through my hair. I groaned, loving the feel of her nails scraping against my scalp. I sucked on her clit, swirling my tongue against it before tugging it gently. She moaned, bucking her hips but I held her down, moving my mouth to one of her lips, taking the tender flesh in between my teeth, nibbling softly. Her hands gripped my head now, holding me in place.

I felt the tremors begin and sucked harder, running my tongue from top of her pussy to the bottom then curling it up around the nub. I pulled back just a little bit, enough to get some of that nectar on my fingers before sliding them down to caress the tightened flesh of her ass. I gently probed the area, working the sensitive skin and she bucked again, her cries breaking the night air. The sound was driving me crazy. My dick was on fire and I ground my teeth. This was all about her, not me.

I gently tugged on her clit again and she panted, begging me not to stop. I wouldn’t, not until she came. I vaguely heard a car door slam, some voices then a shocked sound but I couldn’t look up. Not now.

I blew softly on her throbbing clit, flicking it with my tongue again and again, loving the hiccuping sounds she was making. I glanced up at her and she met my eyes, her mouth open, forehead furrowed. I reached up to run a thumb across her nipple but she grabbed my hand, taking a couple of my fingers into her mouth, sucking and licking them. I gripped an ass cheek, digging my fingers into the firm flesh.

I couldn’t think clearly. Shivers raced up my spine and I wanted to slam into her in the worst way. I wanted to flip her over and pound my dick so hard into her tight ass that my balls would snap off. My hips thrust frantically against the seat, offering no relief whatsoever. As if in agreement, I suddenly tensed, flooding my pants with short, hot spurts.

I yelled out “Fuck!!” and that was all she needed to hear. She cried out again, raking my upper back with her nails. Her body went rigid, her legs suddenly locking around me. I pushed one of them back as her juicy sweetness hit my lips. I lapped it up, groaning my approval. Her cream filled my mouth and I swallowed again and again, going back for more…

We lay sated, our erratic breathing slowing down. I rested my head on her smooth stomach, slowly caressing her nipples. The night air gently brushed our heated flesh while I nuzzled her skin. Moist with sex and sweat, the scent was intoxicating. A lock of her dark hair curled around my fingertips. I rubbed the silky strands between my thumb and forefinger, remembering how it looked earlier. I licked her flavor from my upper lip before pressing a kiss to her abdomen, whispering.
“I like the new color.”
She giggled. I smiled against her belly, tracing my fingers down her leg to the raised flesh on her ankle, careful not to agitate the tender skin.
“And the new tat.”

Her husky laughter rang out, igniting my senses all over again. I was more than ready to go for another round. I raised my head a little to look up at her, my unspoken question clear.
My wife ran her fingers over my lips, slowly nodding.
I smiled and kissed her fingers, only too happy to oblige.

© copyright 2011 by Ren Thompson August 10, 2011

Come visit me over on my blog:

http://renthewriter.blogspot.com/

Steam and Fantasy

What price the admission to fantasyland? Do we need to pay full fare and journey so far from reality that no one can recognize more than a small amount of ‘realness’. Or do we step barely an inch across the border and simply add in some fae or a few vampires and leave the rest of the world as is -- urban fantasy in other words.

In a way this has been bothering me for some time. I like to write fantasy, yet everyone has their hard limits -- go too far and you lose those who like the milder stuff. A little farther and you may gather readers who like the more exuberantly unusual worlds, go even farther than this and you’re in danger of alienating all bar the hard-core fantasy gourmets.

Everyone has different tastes. Because I’ve been constructing a particularly fantastic setting, I had to sit down and decide on what is really essential to these stories. I write erotic romance, so it’s obvious isn’t it -- to get romance you need at least two ‘real’ characters. They are the core, the basic foundation without which all romance readers will go bah humbug and toss the book.

So to make a believable erotic romance the people within it must relate to each other and to you -- the reader. They must have human emotions, thoughts, ideas, and even if they have two dicks or maybe a few tentacles, the sex must come pretty darn close to human sex. And seriously, tentacles in most cases aren’t going to do it for the average reader unless they’re into a weird type of Japanese kink called tentacle sex.

Yes, that’s right -- tentacle sex.

How far do you like your fantasy erotic romance to go? No farther than an exotic location in the real world or perhaps a hundred years back in time into a historical? To me historicals count as a type of fantasy. Or do you like to step into urban fantasy where werewolves lurk and howl and vampires sink their fangs into the necks of virgins to extract a dash of type O negative?

Or are you a brave soul who likes to venture even farther afield to where aliens with a few extra appendages enslave innocent space-faring women or men and drag them off to Planet Z to have master/ slave sex? Then, of course, once the earthlings have gotten over the shock of the odd anatomy and the mind-blowing orgasms, they get to fall in love.

Throw in your two cents and tell us --where does your fantasy begin or end?

my website: http://www.carisilverwood.net/

http://www.elfwood.com/~edea/Ice-Spirit-Eye-.2703974.html Image by piucca under creative commons license