Genre: Erotic Romance / Literary Erotica
Book 2 July 17, 2014
Book 3 January 6, 2015
and Saltwater Skin.
who comes to interview him in his seaside home. While Iris has long been curious about
Dominance and submission, she has never had a taste. So when Paul offers to give her
one, she jumps at the chance for an adventure.
try and make to work across the distance and an age gap, try to fit their disparate puzzle pieces together somehow.
that’s not its goal. It’s erotic fiction with a literary bent, with a whiff of rebellion against
the expected and the profitable. It’s a story that searches for those qualities in its readers,
too, a story that wants to latch onto someone who is also searching, longing for something
just a little bit different. And just maybe it’s been searching for you.
Thank you so much for having me. This was fun!
Paul Archer, he offers her insights into never acted upon fantasies of dominance and submission. Too curious to deny herself a taste of them, Iris gives herself up to Paul’s gentle guidance, but when she realizes that a taste can never be enough, she must find the courage to ask for what she needs or risk losing it all.
the genre” by RT Book Reviews, Driftwood Deeds is a novella of sexual awakening as well
as consent and communication in bdsm.
the third installment in the Breaking in Waves trilogy.
love stories, co-hosts the podcast and blogs about writing, feminism and society.Her
work has been featured in numerous anthologies. Keeping a balance between her different interests, Laila Blake’s body of work encompasses literary erotica, romance, and various fields in speculative fiction (dystopian/post-apocalypse, fantasy, paranormal romance and urban fantasy) and she adores finding ways to mix and match.A self-proclaimed nerd, she lives in Cologne/Germany with her cat Nookie, harbors a deep fondness for obscure folk singers and plays the guitar. She loves photography, science documentaries and classic literature, as well as Doctor Who, Game of Thrones and The Big Bang Theory.You can find her across the web. To stay up to date with her most recent publications, please consider signing up for her spam-free .
Check out Passing the Torch by L.L. Sanders and remember to enter the contest at the end of the post for a chance to win a $10 Amazon/BN GC and a PDF ecopy of the book. The Book Blast is sponsored by Goddess Fish Promotions and you can find all the tour stops HERE
Now onto the book….
Deep in the Arizona desert live a girl and her dad, burying secrets–and bodies.
Mesa Kingston’s first memory of burying a corpse was at eight years old. Back then it had been the carcass of a large lizard her dad found that they buried in the backyard of their isolated cottage. At age fourteen, the body of a young lady accompanied the reptile’s remains, and ever since, an accumulation of female bodies began to grow. Now, the only way Mesa can stop the haunting screams of the dead is by drowning them out with flames. Or is there more to the blaze than even she can perceive?
Good girls do anything for their fathers, including rob, cheat, and kill, and I always considered myself a good girl. The time I first came to that conclusion will stay with me forever. Years later, here I am, still fulfilling my daughterly duty.
After wiping the sweat from my palm onto my jeans, I press the bulbous tip of the match against the strike strip on the side of the small carton. My hands shake worse than Grandma’s had when trying to slice her ninety-first birthday cake just a few hours ago, but I manage to run the match across it anyway. The flame comes alive at my fingertips, dancing merrily at the prospect of latching on to something and disintegrating it into smoldering embers. Although the light breeze causes the flame to flicker at the end of the matchstick, I’m aware of the control I have over it. I watch the glow change shape through a veil of tears and with that the decision was absolute.
The flame will get to perform its destructive duty.
I flick the match toward the pile of wooden planks that used to be the porch. Instantly the fire catches the fumes of the pooled liquid and expands so quickly a wall of gasoline-scented hot air rushes me before the blaze travels deeper into the house. I back away to a safe distance as the straw-like grass crunches beneath my feet. Nearing the homemade fence, which is nothing more than a double row of chicken wire, I hear the screams from the distance, cries of agony that meld with my memory like two spreading pools of melted wax. I can’t stop the waterworks. I don’t even make an attempt.
AMAZON BUY LINK: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TNTLTZY
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
But horror and thriller fiction is what I grew up on, what inspires me, and what began my pursuit to authorship. I’ve written many short scary stories since the 6th grade. Now they’re much more mature in general, thanks to the wide range of emotion and experience I’ve encountered over the years.
I’m a huge fan of horror and psychological thrillers in every fashion, including movies, books, art, campfire tales, etc. Some of my favorite stories are those that twist at the end or are ambiguous with deep societal or morality themes. This includes dystopias like Hugh Howey’s Wool, psychological thrillers like Shutter Island, and popular and classic horror/romances like V.C. Andrews’s Flowers in the Attic, my favorite.
All my ideas start with a twist, which is exactly how most of my stories end.
As I write this post I am in flux as I try to figure out where and what to do with the three stories I sent them and had contracted. Right now I am trying to take in that there is one small press who is professional enough to shut their doors without forcing the authors to fight for their royalties and book rights back.
Right now I am 3/4 of the way through with final edits for Love’s Sweet Magic so I am finishing those up with my editor then I am going to decide if I am going to self-publish it or submit it to another publisher. I don’t expect to get rich off my books, this is just a nice outlet for my voices in my head but I am so sad that Musa Publishing closed as I was quite excited to work with them.
So needless to say I am in limbo as are many other authors who were with Musa Publishing but I am positive we will land on our feet and find a new outlet for our books.
Out Now – Sexy Just Got Rich: Brit Babes Do Billionaires @8britbabes #erotica #romance #bdsm #billionaire
**Available at an introductory price of just $0.99/99p for a limited time!**
Billionaires have it all but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to work hard to get what their hearts desire. In this brand new anthology of erotic BDSM stories the Brit Babes offer heroes and heroines who aren’t shy about taking what they want. From farmyards to luxury penthouses, wealth is all about sating needs, connecting souls and taking pleasure to new highs. Whether you’re looking for a coffee break read or something longer to curl up in bed with, you’ll find something to suit your needs in Sexy Just Got Rich.
Containing stories from Lexie Bay, Victoria Blisse, Natalie Dae, Harlem Dae, Lucy Felthouse, K D Grace, Lily Harlem, Kay Jaybee and Tabitha Rayne.
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1DecAQw
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1CvqdM0
Heart pounding and palms clammy, Catriona forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and walked into the bookshop. It was bedlam. She’d never seen a bookshop so busy in her life.
She paused just inside the door. What the fuck was she doing? If someone saw her, recognised her—
She shook her head sharply and clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her flesh, the nipping pain bringing her back to her senses.
No one would recognise her, she reminded herself, because no one knew who she was. Well, people knew who she was—but not in relation to the reason she was here.
Taking a deep breath and attempting to behave like a normal person, she continued through the shop, trying to figure out where she needed to be. Not that she even needed to be here at all. It was insanity that had drawn her out of her Thames-side apartment and into the bowels of the Tube, and finally into the huge Piccadilly bookstore.
What else but insanity would make a person head into central London to buy a copy of a book on the same day it came out? Especially when one already had a large box of copies of said book stuffed into the bottom of one’s wardrobe. Complimentary author copies, according to the note from the publisher.
Maybe it was curiosity, she thought, as she joined the back of the queue snaking across the ground floor of the shop. Nobody nearby was holding a copy of the book yet, so she assumed that somewhere between here and the till there was a stack of the paperbacks, ready to be picked up and paid for. And presumably read. Christ.
Surreptitiously, Catriona pinched the back of her hand. Wincing, she figured she had to get her head around this situation, and fast. It was only going to get bigger and crazier—or so the publisher’s marketing team, a bunch of young, attractive and scarily glamorous people, had told her.
She’d already seen plenty of evidence of their expenditure on the way over—billboards, bus shelters, ads on the Underground; all displaying huge versions of her book cover, proclaiming it a bestseller, quoting stellar reviews and even lauding it “the next big thing” and “the next Fifty Shades of Grey.” One strap line even said “Who needs Christian Grey when you’ve got Eliza Dickinson?”
It was the fact that her book had even been compared to the first big thing that she couldn’t quite grasp.
The Fifty Shades phenomenon had spawned merchandise, sex toys and even a film. But it was just a one-off, wasn’t it? Something that couldn’t be replicated, shouldn’t be replicated.
Catriona certainly hadn’t set out to write a book to appeal to the same readership. All she’d done was take out her real life frustrations—both sexual and otherwise—on the keyboard of her laptop. The rest had simply been a freak of nature.
How could it appeal to the same readership, anyway? Her characters were the complete opposite of E.L. James’—her lead female, Eliza, was a dominatrix, and Leon her willing sub. Or he was by the end of the book, anyway.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Her book was out, today, and what happened next was completely out of her hands. She should just relax and go with the flow. Though she still couldn’t get over the fact that people were not only buying her book—they were queuing to buy it. Patiently, too, despite the glacial speed at which they were moving forward. Did they only have one till open, or something?
People had joined the line behind her as she’d been ruminating, and she shuffled around slightly so she could see how many more were waiting. Shit—there were loads! She couldn’t even see the end of the queue.
Her surprise must have shown on her face, because the man behind her let out a chuckle. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “All these people waiting to buy a book when we could have purchased online—probably cheaper—and had it delivered directly to our doors. Or in a single click, have it appear on our eReaders.”
Catriona hadn’t even thought of that. So, not only were people here, in the bookstore—and presumably stores all over the country, too—they were buying online, loading up eReaders… all for her little book!
About The Brit Babes:
The Brit Babes are eight British erotica writers coming together to bring you the hottest romance to satisfy your cravings. So go on, indulge yourself and explore your kinky side!
Find out more:
About The Author
Books By SS Hampton, Sr.
Buy The Book
Buy The Book
Buy The Book
Buy The Book
Are you ready to return to Devon Falls? I know I am. *grins* I have rewritten, expanded and more this first book formally titled Sticky Magic now titled Love’s Sweet Magic. I think my new editor at Musa Publishing really is helping me see how to write better, tighter and to let the reader really experience Jenna and Marc’s story. I hope you enjoy this re-release much as I did writing it.
I do have a lovely wonderful cover that I can’t wait to show off plus I got a release date! April 3rd is the target date for release of Love’s Sweet Magic and I hope you get a chance to check it out.
I am very excited to be part of Musa Publishing’s family and look forward to having more releases from them soon.
Look for the cover reveal tour to start soon.
The Final Straight by Charlotte Howard (@shy_tiger)
April Miller works for her best friend, Max Knight on his livery and competition yard. Their friendship has withstood many turbulent times, and while April is deeply in love with Max, she is also aware of his womanising ways and has refused to succumb to his flirtatious charms. When her ex, AJ, suddenly comes back with a business proposal, April finds herself torn between the two men.
Kindle US: http://amzn.to/1Es09Cc
Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/1Dk0h2I
Coming soon to all other eBook retailers.
“You up there?” she called. The thud of footsteps grew louder as she made her way up the stairs. It wasn’t long before she was in the doorway, hands on hips, surrounded by a halo of curls the same colour as her temper.
The dog had followed and was panting by her leg. April batted her away, and Max rolled his eyes at the anger and frustration that exuded from her every pore, turning his back on her and dropping the towel.
“What the hell, Max?” she exclaimed, but it wasn’t because of his nudity. She’d seen him naked more times than any other woman.
He stepped into a pair of tight boxer shorts and turned around, preparing himself for the grief he had been hoping to avoid. “What have I done now?” he asked, walking towards the wardrobe and pulling out a pair of dark, shredded jeans.
“What’s the point? Do you even remember her name?”
He didn’t answer. She wasn’t expecting him to; she never did. Fastening the button on his waistband, he went to the chest of drawers and took out a clean T-shirt.
“Well, I’ll tell you what her name was,” April said, walking into the room. “Mellie Banks. Ring a bell?”
“It should,” she snapped. “Her father has three horses on this yard, or did until he turned up this morning and took them off.”
He moved behind her and started to massage at the knot of tension that had built at the base of her neck.
“Don’t try to appease me, Max,” she said, but he could tell that her anger was waning. He continued to press into her muscles, letting his thumbs make small circles either side of her spine. Bending his head to the curve of her shoulder, he placed his forehead on the sleeve of her polo T-shirt and took a deep breath, inhaling the dusty scent of straw and shavings.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her back.
She shrugged out of his touch and turned to face him. “You’re hopeless,” she sighed. The corners of her lips flickered into the smallest of smiles.
“We could just hide in bed all day,” he said, taking her hands and tugging her forwards. “Forget about Mellie Banks. Forget about the yard…”
“And who’s going to pay my bills when this place falls on its arse?”
The edge of the mattress connected with his knees and he fell backwards, pulling her with him. “You know I’ll always take care of you.”
She landed on top of him, inches away from his face. He lifted a hand and tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. With a frustrated groan, she rolled off of him and lay on her side.
“As much as I would like to be the next notch on your bedpost, we have a business to run.” She shoved herself up.
He watched as she straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Anyway,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m not your type. I have a brain.” She flashed him a smile before bending down to pick up the towel and tossing it in his direction.
“Ouch.” He feigned a hurt expression before getting up to follow her. Bracken panted around his ankles.
“I’ll make you a coffee, and then if you need me I’ll be saving your business.”
Author Bio / Links:
Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she’s not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.
Charlotte is an active (and vocal) member of the Yeovil Creative Writers.
City Nights: One Night in Madrid by JD Martins
Danny left Dublin for Madrid two years ago, but still scans the crowd in the Irish pubs for the face of someone from home. Though doubtful he’ll ever recognise anybody, one evening he sees Aisling, a girl he’d known – or wished he’d known – at university. Beautiful but haughty, she’d always ignored Danny, and though he’d fantasised about making love to her, she’d never so much as smiled at him.
To his amazement, Aisling is extremely friendly when she meets him all these years later and away from home. She is still snobby and condescending, but Danny decides to make her night as enjoyable as he can, hoping for one last chance to impress her and make his teenage fantasies come true. As the sultry Madrid night progresses, mere lust grows into affection, and Danny begins to see her snobbery as something else entirely. Will Aisling see Danny as more than just a way to pass her night in Madrid?
Purchase links for all formats:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/15OOFtu
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/161xgxx
Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00RY328RY
Draining the glass, Danny placed it on the bar, debating whether to have another pint, or stroll home and have a glass of wine while he prepared dinner. The plan was just one pint, but he needed to tell himself that twice; once when he went into the bar and again when he’d finished the drink.
And then he saw her.
She stood quite near, surrounded by a tight knot of people at the edge of the dance floor that had parted momentarily. She wore a cotton summer dress that showed the sweep of her shoulder blades and spine. The dress was floral, red with splashes of black and dark blue. She wore soft brown leather sandals that were almost invisible against her tanned feet. Her toenails were painted red but her fingernails were French polished. A silver or white-gold bracelet hung from her right wrist, and on her left she wore a silver wristwatch, which a discreet look later told him was a Patek Philippe. In her ears she had diamond stud earrings, and on the ring finger of her right hand was a silver ring with a blue stone he couldn’t identify.
He didn’t see her face straight away, yet something deep inside him said it had to be her.
In college, he’d often stared at this girl’s long blonde hair from a few seats behind in the lecture theatre, while far below them a maths professor droned on about matrices. He knew the shape of her head and neck, had observed her tie up that hair, amazed at the beauty of the fine, straight filaments, the way the strands slid like silk over one another, yet held as one tight rope. When she was an infant her mother had clearly decided ever cutting such hair would be a sin, and she’d concurred. She plaited it, put it in a ponytail, tied it up around a clip made of what seemed to Danny like a piece of wood and two chopsticks, or simply a spare pencil. Sometimes it splayed out across her shoulders like a cascade of spun gold. Now it was pulled up in a silver clasp, to reveal the nape of a long, fine neck, and soft-skinned shoulders.
Those shoulders had been bared before, in a hot September of their freshman year, and later, during the intense study month when the cherry blossoms bloomed and fell across the lawns of campus. Danny had fantasised about slipping off that shoulder strap, letting the silky string fall down along her arm, trailing his fingers along her collarbone and ribs and pushing aside the top to expose her breasts.
When she turned around in the bar and he saw her face, Danny instantly searched through his memory to match her visage, and see all six numbers of recognition. It came out a winner. She stared back at him, her brain no doubt doing the same. Although still early, and most—apart from the pre-marriage revellers—were only on their second or third drink, Danny thought she must have been fairly merry already, because as she recognised him she smiled.
She’d never smiled at him before—not in four years of college. Then again, they’d not interacted much. They’d never really talked, never attended the same classes after second year. He’d always told himself she’d never smiled at him because she didn’t know him. Once or twice, of course, she’d turned around, casually, and seen him. But she’d seen lots of others sitting behind her, too. The back rows of the lecture theatre were filled with Danny’s friends, who’d varying levels of interest in her hair and the maths lecture; from zero to all-absorbed.
The chance to get to know her had never come around. She’d majored in chemistry, Danny in computer science. He had taken a chemistry class in second year, but she’d always seemed to sit on the opposite side of the theatre then. His gaze had often paused upon her face as he searched through those assembled in a lecture the way he did through the throng of a bar.
She was stunning. Her frame was that of someone who was fit without effort. A swimmer or a gymnast at some point, she had a fine body, breasts the way Hemingway described, wide womanly hips and a behind that eyes or hands could never tire of. She had crystal blue eyes like deep Antarctic ice, and a button nose. Her mouth was perfect. Her teeth had had money spent on them, but her lips were natural; she had a dazzling smile. But before that moment in a Madrid bar, Danny had only received the coldness of those glacial eyes.
JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.
He’s lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn’t feel like he’s travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn’t get out much – tending to move his pen more than his body.
He still aspires to see much more of the world – probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.
He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he’s not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves – in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life – and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did – trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, – and a few that he did not get to do – surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Enter to win a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Surrender to desire with 12 books by the hottest names in dark romance, including bestselling authors Pepper Winters, Anna Zaires, and Lynda Chance.
CD Reiss – Spin
Jenika Snow – A Beautiful Prison
Pepper Winters – Destroyed
Skye Warren – Trust in Me
Kendall Ryan – Unravel Me
Anna Zaires & Dima Zales – Twist Me
Shay Savage – Otherwise Alone & Otherwise Occupied
Amber Lin & Shari Slade – Three Nights with a Rock Star
Pam Godwin – Deliver
Lynda Chance – Marco’s Redemption
Gemma James – Torrent
These e-books would cost over $40 if purchased separately. This set will only be available for a limited time.
Enjoy an excerpt:
Excerpt from Destroyed by Pepper Winters
It was the best kiss I’d ever received, but also the worst. It sparked lust and need in every inch of me. My lips wanted more, my tongue wanted savagery. My skin wanted to bruise because he needed to touch me so badly.
All my thoughts disappeared as I nipped at his bottom lip. He flinched, but a second later he copied, his sharp canines piercing my oversensitive flesh.
I couldn’t take it.
My hands flew up and gripped his shirt. Yanking him toward me, fireworks whizzed in my fingertips; my heart galloped toward exploding with lust. I’d never been so drunk on someone before.
Then I landed flat on my back.
The crack of my skull jangled my teeth. The thick carpet did little to cushion me. My eyes flared wide and I grunted in pain. Fear, hot and terrible, swamped my lust in a dampening wave.
“Top rule. Unbreakable rule. Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me.” Fox kneeled on one knee beside my head, breathing hard. His hand noosed my throat, pressing my spine into the carpet. His eyes were cold and lifeless, looking like a hunter intent on blood. –HAZEL
About the Authors: Please consider following the authors to
find out more about their books…
Their love is forbidden by rules, religion and risk. Yet still they can’t resist.
Captain Hugh Wilkes is on his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. The British Army is withdrawing, and Wilkes expects his posting to be event-free. That is, until he meets his Afghan interpreter, Rustam Balkhi, who awakens desires in Wilkes that he’d almost forgotten about, and that won’t be ignored.
Please note: this book was previously published as part of the Unconditional Surrender bundle.
Captain Hugh Wilkes sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for the heat he was about to be subjected to, though he already knew all the deep breaths in the world wouldn’t help. Darkness had fallen on Camp Bastion, in the notorious Helmand Province of Afghanistan, but there would still be residual warmth left to seep away throughout the small hours. Then the sun would rise, and it would start all over again. It was a damn desert, after all. But, all being well, it would be his last ever tour of the godforsaken place. The British Army was already preparing to pull out. The manpower had been reduced drastically over the previous months. It was time to leave the Afghans to get on with it. They weren’t being abandoned—far from it—they would still receive aid, training and money for years to come. But the British Army was no longer needed, apparently. It was still a volatile place, which would no doubt be monitored very closely, in case strategies needed to be reconsidered.
None of that was down to Wilkes, though. He was here with his platoon for six months, doing whatever they were ordered to do by their Company Commander, Major Hunter. It was unlikely they’d be doing any fighting—they weren’t here for offensive operations. More probably they’d be accompanying their vehicles, weapons and ammunition across the country as it was transported to the air base to be sent back home, or patrolling towns and villages as a show of presence, to reassure and protect the inhabitants.
There was only one way to find out. Grabbing his kit, he headed toward the ramp of the huge C17 aircraft with his colleagues, and followed them out onto the airstrip. Immediately, he was hit by the overwhelming smell of aviation fuel. As he moved away from the airplane this was replaced by the dry atmosphere.
Wilkes imagined he could feel the grains of sand coating his throat and tongue. He’d soon get used to it—he always did. Plus, on the bright side, he’d end up with a nice tan at the end of his deployment. Mentally, he crossed his fingers for a nice, event-free tour of duty. Letting his guard down wasn’t going to happen, naturally, he just hoped it wasn’t necessary. Hoped the insurgents would play nicely. The country was completely different to how it had been when Allied forces had gone in after 9/11. Some fantastic progress had been made, but it still wasn’t completely safe. But then, where was? People died in picturesque villages in the English countryside—though generally not courtesy of IEDs, AK-47s or suicide bombers.
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9