Tag Archive | erotic

Daisy Harris and “After the Rain”

VBT_AfterTheRain_Banner

Daisy will be awarding a $20 gift card to Amazon or Barnes and Noble to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click on the banner to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning!

About After the Rain

They’re going to need a bigger tent.

Henri’s list of bad exes is as long as his arm, but nothing prepared him for his latest, heart-stomping breakup. He thought he couldn’t feel more abandoned, until his ride for a group camping trip bails, leaving him stuck driving for hours with a guy who is absolutely not his type.

After breaking up with his girlfriend of five years, firefighter Logan is working up the nerve to explore his interest in men. He knows he’s gay. He just hasn’t had the guts to do anything about it…until now.

Henri’s big-city attitude and tight jeans push every last one of Logan’s buttons, and when he and Henri have to share a tent, Logan is thrilled. He should have realized Pacific Northwest weather would get wet—forcing them to strip naked. Though the steam between them is thicker than coastal fog, Henri’s not sure he can let himself fall for another man. Not even the guy who finally treats him right.

Warning: Contains bad ex-boyfriends, even worse weather, and more than your average amount of sex in a tent. May not be suitable for those with germ phobias, outdoor aversions or fear of damp shoes.

Available

Amazon

Excerpt

Cover_AftertheRainLogan pulled off his helmet, and Henri did the same. There was a moment when their eyes met, Logan grinning and Henri grinning right back. Henri realized Logan was going to kiss him a split second before it happened.

Henri jerked to get out of the way before their lips touched, and though Logan’s kiss landed at Henri’s hairline, a thrill of panic still ran through him. No way. Herpes! Logan couldn’t kiss him, and Henri definitely couldn’t kiss Logan back. Plenty of other guys would have taken the risk—especially if it was just a kiss—but Henri couldn’t.

“Oh.” Logan froze, his breath still in Henri’s hair. Slowly, he stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” Henri held his hands palms up, wishing he could explain in a few words, but the guys on the ridge above were already calling to them, hollering that it was time for lunch.

“I didn’t mean…” Logan turned away, hiding his expression. “I just mean it’s no big deal.” Shoulders curled forward, Logan headed up the stairs.

“Logan,” Henri called after him. He hated this. If things were different, he would have been on Logan from the second he saw what he was hiding under his shirt. He would have kissed him and even given his dick a squeeze for good measure. Now he’d be stuck with half explanations all weekend. “Wait up.”

About the Author

AuthorPicBirkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn’t sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris’s dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she’s never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

Want to learn more about new releases, general news and my latest inappropriate boy band crush? Sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/b96xX

Contacts

WebsiteFacebook PageTwitter

A.M. Griffin and “Dangerously Hers”

VBT_DangerouslyHers_Banner

The author will be awarding a Grand Prize of a handmade bookmark, signed cover flat, pens, flash drive, keylight key chain, a Loving Dangerously t-shirt, a signed copy of Fondled and Gobbled and a $20 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour. (US ONLY). Plus, a runner’s up prize of a $20 Amazon GC will be awarded to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. Click here for the Rafflecoper. Click on the banner to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

Author Interview

What advice would you give to writers just starting out?

I would tell young writers not to ever give up on their dreams. Find a good critique partner and learn to take advice from others. I would also suggest to find writer friends, writing can be very solitary and friends help with the questions that can’t be answered by anyone else.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

Oh yes! I find I usually suffer from writers block when I’m trying to force my characters to do something that they don’t want to do. It can last for a day to months, depending on how stubborn I’m being. What works for me is to skip the piece that I’m trying to write and work around it. Then, later on the missing link to the piece I’m trying to write will reveal itself, sometimes in the oddest of places.

What comes first: the plot or the characters?

I think they both came at the same time. When I have an idea for a new story I see the plot and the character. But I don’t think it would be wrong to have said either one. A writer could think of a plot and then the characters that would fit the situation or the writer could have a specific character that they wanted to write about and then think of a plot that would fit the character. When I got the idea for the first book in this series I had the idea of a hostile alien invasion and the idea of how a strong willed woman, Eva, would react to it.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I’m mostly a pantser, but I have some plotter in me. If I have a choice I like being pantser, there’s something magical about finding out what’s happening in the story as I go along. I find out all kinds of interesting things about my character and the story line.

Tell us something about your newest release that is NOT in the blurb.

There’s nothing mentioned about Jess and JB’s relationship in the blurb. We know from Dangerously Yours that Jess and JB are friends, but in Dangerously Yours we delve deeper into that friendship. In Dangerously Hers we also see how Eva’s life has changed and we see how she has grown in the last few years. This book is about friendship, starting over and finding love. You don’t have to be a sci-fi fan to understand that concept. It’s the makings of a really good love story.

Are you working on something at present that you would like to tell us about?

I have two more books on the way for the Loving Dangerously series: Dangerously His and Dangerously Forever. I have more stories in my head for that series so hopefully the books won’t stop there. I’m also working on a superhuman book that will be included in a multi-author series. I have played with two other books that I would like to finish in 2014. I’m hoping 2014 will be the year of a new series as well as the growth of Loving Dangerously.

What is your work schedule like when writing?

It’s pretty hectic. I work a full-time day job and then come home to write. I can write for hours, sometimes into the wee hours of the night, only to get up and start the process all over again. I like to think that I’m productive when I write, sitting down and finishing chapters after chapters, but many times I don’t. I’m easily distracted by the wonders of television and the perils of Facebook.

About Dangerously Hers

Cover_Dangerously HersLoving Dangerously, Book Three. Jess hates aliens. After the invasion that destroyed Earth, the extraterrestrial bastards sold her to a brothel as a sex slave. She may have escaped but the old memories and fears still linger in the dark corners of her mind. Supposedly Sonis is just the place for her—somewhere safe, where she can heal and start fresh. She’s almost hopeful…until she meets Rasha, her new boss.

Rasha, Captain of the Sonis Royal Guard, is a warrior through and through. He’s huge, sinfully sexy and could have any woman on Sonis—but the woman he wants is Jess. He’s very much an alien and Jess knows she should hate him or at least be wary, but whenever he’s around, she loses control. She tells herself it’s only sex—amazing, mind-blowing sex like nothing else she’s ever experienced—but there’s something about Rasha that shakes her soul. The feel of his skin against hers, the look in his eyes as he touches her—they make her want to believe it’s possible to find love and begin again.

A Romantica® science fiction erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Available

AmazonEllora’s Cave

Excerpt

Rasha raised it out of her grasp. “You should never try to take a warrior’s weapon.”

She pulled her hand back in record speed. “I wasn’t trying to take it. I wanted to feel it.”

He lowered his weapon in front of her.

She flicked her hand out nonchalantly. “Never mind. You’re acting like it’s been kissed by Jesus or something.”

“Who?”

“Forget about it. It’s precious, I get it.”

“There’s no reason to get upset. If you no longer want to touch this weapon, I have another…weapon…you can touch.”

She shifted on her feet, feeling the bumbling idiot trying to rise to the surface. “No, thank you.” Yes, please.

He ran his hands down his muscular thighs. “Another time then?”

Jess had the fleeting thought of him running his hands on her. Oh jeez, how good would those hands feel on me.

“Hmm?”

“I shall leave you alone. I’m sure you have plenty of work to do.”

“Alone? again?” As she spoke, she immediately wanted to take the words back.

He cocked his head. “I could stay if you wish. Eva said you would need ‘space’ in the beginning.”

She snorted. The sound wasn’t pretty at all. She might as well have oinked like a pig while she was at it. “I don’t wish you to stay.”

“Really? Are you sure? We could do something about that.”

Was his voice always this deep?

She picked at her hair nervously. “About what?”

He inhaled sharply. “I can smell you.” Then he let his gaze drop to crotch.

About the Author

AuthorPicA. M. Griffin is a wife who rarely cooks, mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.

Contacts

WebsiteAmazon Author Page FacebookTwitterBlogGoodreadsTriberr

Shaunna Wolf and “Life Flight”

FSVBT_LifeFlight_Banner

One randomly chosen commenter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click here for the Rafflecopter. Click on the banner above to follow the tour and increase your chances of winning.

About Life Flight

Malachi Blackfeather has spent twenty years in the Army. Two of those years as a Vietnam POW. Now that he’s out, all he wants is some peace and quiet to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Between the flashbacks, and an over interest in sex that is now being called sex addiction, finding his path isn’t easy.

Kat is trying to escape an abusive marriage. Her soon to be ex is a master at manipulating the system, and her family thinks she should stay with him, “because no other man will want her”. She’s looking for escape in any form she can get it.

When they meet, sparks fly. Trapped by a blizzard, can two damaged people, who think there is no chance of love in the world for them, find each other, and survive an unforeseen circumstance that puts both of them in danger?

Mystery, romance, and danger fill this novel, with a story that will draw you in and not let go.

Excerpt

Cover_Life FlightI picked up the half brick holding the door open, and the TV set exploded in a shower of glass.  For a moment Frank stood staring at the TV as if he thought it shattered on its own.  He spun to face me.

I continued to stand with my arms folded over my chest and my shoulder against the door frame.  He looked around as if the spiders in the place would come to his rescue.  I tugged on the cuffs of the leather gloves I wore.  Flexed my fingers.  When his hand tightened on the pool stick he held, I wanted to tell him that a wooden stick wasn’t much use in a gun fight.  But unless he went for a gun, I wasn’t going to shoot him, not yet anyway.

“Get the fuck off my property,” he said.

A block of wood nailed into the door served as a supplement lock.  I reached up and spun it closed, and while keeping him in my field of vision, I hooked the eye bolt as well.  I hadn’t seen a phone in the shed, not last time I was here, nor this time.  But that didn’t mean some pal of his wouldn’t show up–and anyone pals with this guy would have to be a cast member of the same loony-toon’s show.

“Where is Kat?” I asked him.

“You stooo-pied?” he said back, drawing out the word stupid in a juvenile manner.  “I already told you, she’s my wife, and that if you kept trying to bother her, I’ll have you arrested.”

“You see any cops?  I don’t.”  I moved over the concrete floor and stood near the bar.

He found some brain cells and kept the pool table between us.  Held the pool stick in both hands.  Glanced at the door.

“I have security cameras.  The company already called the cops.”

“Well then, you don’t have anything to worry about,” I said back.  I’d come across a few pathological liars in my lifetime, but never someone who thought the rest of the world had an IQ of less than 80 and would believe whatever came out of their mouth.  “How should we entertain the people watching us until they get here?”

Confusion ran over his face.  His lies didn’t make me edgy, his particular flavor of insanity mimicked a bully.  Lots of words of bravado that he expected others to be frightened of–no matter how absurd.  He was strong, of that I had no doubt, he worked at a labor intensive job, but he was filled with so much fear it surrounded him in a shimmering cloak.  Just like the sweat on his forehead.

I walked along the edge of the pool table.  Picked up the ten ball with it’s marred blue stripe.  Rolled it across the table and bounced it off the rail on the other side of the table–caught it when it came spinning back.

“Where’s Kat?”  I tossed the ball from hand to hand.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said.

I let the ball fly.  It hit him in the right shin.  He bent over with a yelp.  He edged towards the door, dragging his right foot.  I spun the eight ball across the table, caught it, tossed it from hand to hand.

AuthorPic“Go for that door and the next one hits your head.”

He stopped and pulled himself up straight.  Dug in his pocket and got out a pathetically small knife.  He opened the blade and held it out in front of him.  Laughable.  Unless he stuck it in my neck, he couldn’t even hit an artery with it.

Contacts

Author Website • Facebook Author’s Page • Critters at the Keyboard (Blog) • Pinterest • Twitter • Goodreads • Book Blogs  • Authors Den • Google+ • Linked In

Julie Shelton and “Owning Sarah”

About Owning Sarah

It’s been a month since Sarah Marshall was kidnapped and held at knife-point by her ex-fiance.  But Jesse Colter and Adam Sinclair, her two loving Doms, know that there is an even deadlier threat still out there—Ryder Malone.

He blames both Sarah and Jesse for sending him to prison eight years ago for attempted rape, and he’s determined to make them pay.  So, he begins a systematic campaign of terror and intimidation against them.  But the danger he poses doesn’t end there.

Set against the deepening love and commitment between Sarah, Jesse, and Adam, Owning Sarah is more than just a sexy, sensual, BDSM love story.  It is a harrowing race against time for Jesse, Adam, and a team of former SEALs to stop one of the biggest arms-for-drugs deals in U.S. history.  And to rescue Sarah before Malone sells her to a human trafficker and she’s lost to her men forever.

Excerpt

js-owningsarahAs soon as Sarah finished greeting the last man, Jesse moved in behind her, pulling her against his body, her back to his front. He ran his hands up her arms before settling them on her shoulders. At that blatant gesture of possession, all conversation died and six pairs of eyes bored into her. Wow. She was surrounded by eight strong, powerful, confident men. Men who had survived harsh, primitive conditions. Men who had experienced the brutality of combat and undertaken untold numbers of dangerous missions, all to keep America free. Men whose exploits would never be recognized or acknowledged, who were heroes in the truest sense of the word.

Men who gave new meaning to the term sexy, even if they weren’t particularly handsome. There was nothing handsome about Bulldog, for instance. Yet….wow. The sinuous, animalistic grace of his movements, the air of command he exuded were both undeniably sexy. To a man, these Spec Ops soldiers were tanned, fit, confident, powerful…masculine. These men were potent. The testosterone they exuded was so strong it was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing.

Wow.

Nearly overcome by a sudden bout of near-crippling shyness, Sarah stiffened her spine and gave them what she hoped was a confident smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, and I hope you all can stay for dinner, although I’m not sure what we’ll have. We’ve been eating so much take-out lately, there’s nothing in the refrigerator but a bunch of science experiments on the properties of mold.”

“And beer,” Adam piped up. “There’s always plenty of that.”

“Right,” Sarah agreed tongue-in-cheek. “Science experiments on the properties of yeast.” Her smile faded. “Like I said, you’re all invited to stay for dinner. But why do I get the feeling that this is not a social call? You’re not here for dinner, are you? You’re here because of Ryder Malone.”

“I see we’ve come to the question and answer portion of the evening,” Jesse murmured, squeezing her shoulders gently before dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“Speaking of beer,” Adam interjected brightly, turning on his heel and moving toward the kitchen, “who wants one?” Everyone except Sarah and Jesse followed him out there. Turning her to face him, he let go of her arms and lifted his right hand to tuck an errant, mink-brown curl behind her ear.

She tilted her chin to look up at him. “This is about a hell of a lot more than just vandalizing my bedroom, isn’t it? What’s going on, Jesse?”

His fingers stilled, warm against her skin, sending a shiver through her. Aware of the undisguised interest on the parts of the men filtering back into the room, beer bottles in hand, they struggled to fight the sudden heat blazing between them. “Don’t worry about dinner, baby,” Jesse said in an effort to divert her attention, “It’s all taken care of. I’ve ordered a Pig-Out Feast for Twelve from Porky’s Bar-B-Q.”

“But,” she spread her hand in confusion, “there’s only nine of us.”

He just chuckled. “Obviously you haven’t seen these guys eat. Anyway, they’ll be deliverin’ it in around”—he glanced at his watch—“half an hour or so, so be on the look-out while we finish up—”

“Finish up what?” she interrupted quietly, refusing to be diverted. “Answer my questions, Jesse, and stop trying to protect me from the big, bad world out there. I know what’s out there, remember? I see it every day in court. So, why are they here? What could Ryder Malone possibly have done to merit a response like this? An entire SEAL team? Really? Don’t you think that’s just a little bit over the top? Like sending a Cruise missile to take down a gnat?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, they’re no longer SEALs,” he offered lamely, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug.

“Oh, well, that’s certainly a relief.”

“Sarah—“”

“Who are they, Jesse? Aside from the biggest, scariest, meanest-looking, bad-ass, uber-macho bunch of guys I’ve ever laid eyes on? Some sort of clandestine, super-covert, black-ops commando group that’s so Top-Secret not even the President knows about them?”

Everyone froze. Seven pairs of eyes were suddenly riveted on her. Her mouth dropped open as realization sank in.

“Oh. My. God!”

Her entire body solidified.

“Holy shit,” Bill Payton muttered, his beer bottle halted in mid-air, halfway to his mouth.

“Told you she was smart,” Jesse muttered back.

Sarah just stared up at him, dumbfounded.

Oh.

My.

God!

Omigod!

“Jesse—”

“It’s okay, baby.”

“It’s okay? It’s okay?” Seized with a sudden need to shiver, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “How can this possibly be okay? What, exactly, makes this okay?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m pretty sure the President knows about us,” Jay offered helpfully, patting her shoulder as he passed her on his way to the couch.

“Looks like she’ll be coming to the meeting.” Adam joined them, grinning, holding out a frosty bottle of beer. She just stared at it pointedly until, shrugging, he withdrew it.

“What meeting?” she wanted to know.

“The meetin’ that’s startin’ right now,” Jesse said grimly, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her unresistingly toward the sofas and chairs gathered around the stone fireplace.

“C’mon, sweet pea.” Adam latched onto her other elbow and they led her to one end of a brown leather sofa where they sat with her tucked snugly between them. The other six men spread out on the other sofa across from them, the oversized ottoman, and in the two club chairs.

Jesse turned his attention to Bill Payton. “Okay, Wildfire, it’s your show,” Jesse said before relaxing back against the cushions himself. Conversation died as they all turned their attention to Bill “Wildfire” Payton, who cleared his throat, and looked directly at Sarah. “Sorry to bring this to your doorstep, Sarah. But it appears that your boy Malone is one seriously bad dude.”

About the Author

IMG_2358Julie has always loved stories, both reading and writing them, ever since she was old enough to hold a book in her hands. One of her favorite childhood activities was smuggling books under the covers to read by flashlight after she was supposed to be asleep.

A career as a children’s librarian eventually led to her dream career as a freelance storyteller and puppeteer, a business she operated successfully for twenty-five years. During that time she created and wrote all the original material for a monthly language arts newsletter full of poems, songs, puppet and flannel-board stories, fingerplays, and other resource material for early childhood educators. For that endeavor she won the prestigious EDPRESS Award for the best educational newsletter of 1982.  She has also written other resource materials for preschool and early elementary teachers.

After moving more than two dozen times in her life, Julie lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia.  Now widowed and retired, she once again has time to devote to her two favorite things—reading and writing—especially her new love, erotic romances.

Contacts

Facebook • WebsiteGoodreadsLinked InAmazon Author Page

Previous post on Susana’s Morning Room: Loving Sarah

Layla Chase and “Whirlwind” + Giveaway!

perf5.000x8.000.inddMy latest erotic short, Whirlwind, was recently released from The Wild Rose Press. The story came about when I read in the local paper about a national convention of tattoo artists that was being held in San Antonio. My thought about these practitioners was that they were mostly solo, creating individual designs for their select group of clients. That naïve illusion was smashed as I researched. Of course, an artistic endeavor like this had publications and websites displaying the wonderful, colorful creations. Then I needed characters who were a bit out of the ordinary and my story was born.

About Whirlwind

Hosting her first booth at a national tattoo convention is nerve-racking enough for artist Senna Whitefeather. But then she runs into another Native American—one with a smoking hot and firm body—a man she soon realizes is following her. Appreciation for art takes on a new meaning when a challenge to unveil their tattoos escalates into a passionate encounter in the back of her booth. But will Senna’s brazen attitude of going after what she wants backfire?

Unveiling tattoos with a stranger has never been so dangerous or sexy.

Excerpt

Senna lifted the plastic badge, angled it toward the security guard then turned toward her designated booth. And bumped smack into a male—solid muscle from chest to knees—and she stumbled.

Firm hands grasped her upper arms and steadied her. “What’s your hurry?”

The deep voice rumbling near her ear resonated through her bones, kicking up her heart rate, and set her further off-balance. Both hands tangled with the supple cotton of his T-shirt and held tight. All she saw before her was a broad expanse of black cloth. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking—” She glanced up—straight into midnight black eyes that seemed to look deep into her soul. Her gaze clung for a long moment then she forced herself to blink.

The stranger smiled and the bronze-toned skin around his eyes crinkled. “Good thing I was, or we’d both have gone down.”

With a quick look, Senna registered the slash of his dark brows, high cheekbones, and long, black hair pulled back along his neck. Another Native American. Strong features balanced by an open smile. Why did she have the sudden urge to sway forward against his broad chest? A chest that appeared capable enough to harbor a woman tied in nervous knots over today’s exhibit.

Spirit of Life, she was late.

“Again, I’m sorry.” She stepped back, away from his broad hands and fought against acknowledging the immediate loss of warmth. No time for distractions, even tall, dark and sexy ones. “I’ve got to get to my booth.”

With a dip of his chin, he swept a hand in the direction she headed. “The right-of-way is yours.”

Senna hustled down the side aisle but couldn’t resist a quick backward glance over her shoulder. The tall stranger dressed all in black had disappeared into the crowd.

Available

Amazon • The Wild Rose Press

About the Author

On a dare from a close friend, Layla Chase challenged herself to explore the steamier side of romance and discovered all sorts of characters whose stories needed sharing. She writes contemporary and historical stories from her mountain home in California that she shares with long-time husband and two dogs.

Contact

You can read about Layla’s other stories at www.laychase.com or like her Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/layla.chase.52

From those individuals who leave a comment (including an email address) I will pick one name to receive a story of their choice from my backlist.

Previous post by Layla Chase on Susana’s Morning Room

Setting Boundaries

Michaela Rhua: Release Day for “Guardian Possession”

Thank you, Susana, for having me on your blog. I really appreciate the support!

My newest release out TODAY!!!! So excited!

Guardian Possessionx200It is called Guardian Possession and is book two of a series that started with Guardian Awakening. I have tried to write it in such a way that you don’t have to read book one—although I would be delighted if you did.

The third book in the series is still in the ether somewhere. I know what the story will be but have not drafted it as yet. It will focus on the brother of Royanne called Oryan—I better get a move on I suppose!

About Guardian Possession

Royanne longs to be free of everyone’s expectations. Meeting a mysterious stranger who she is drawn to confuses her. He feeds her longing to be free and ignites a fire inside of her. She is aroused by this tortured soul. When he kidnaps her and reveals his plan, she is torn between loathing him and wanting him.

Zachriel is under orders from the Dark Master—kidnap Guardian demon Royanne. Only hiding away until the coast is clear draws him closer to her, especially as she seems to see the real man in him.

Rescued at last, Royanne feels uncertain what to do. For Zachriel his past is revealed and he must face the truth. This truth cuts to his very soul and questions who he really is. Now he must come to terms with the lie that has been his life. Royanne fights her feelings for Zachriel. She begins to see him as a kindred spirit. There is only one thing to do reveal her love for him. Can she convince him her feelings are real and he is worth loving?

Excerpt

He could read strands of desire in her mind. He planted more, he planted himself. This little Guardian was proving easier to manipulate than he had first thought. But what did they know of strength? All their kind was good for was the torture of the young and weak. He was no longer young or weak. The Dark Master had ensured they took care of him, nurtured, and trained to be a warrior of worth. Zach reached out and touched her bare arm lightly. With feather-like fingers, he stroked her skin. Royanne’s gaze drifted to his fingers playing on her skin. She had not recoiled, which was good. He became bolder as he moved his hands to her shoulder. Her skin was warm and smooth. Zach maintained eye contact, knowing it would strengthen his bond with her. He caressed her cheek, and he slid his other hand lower to hold her curved hip and then her rounded ass. He massaged her ass cheek, and when no resistance was apparent, he lowered his lips to her pinky full lips, that called to him to kiss and claim. She seemed frozen to the spot. Yes, just as he liked them, under his control, helpless. He had her mind. Fire met ice. She kissed him back with equal force, which surprised him. Does this Guardian actually want me?

Available

www.breathlesspress.com and other eBook stores

About the Author

MR Floral Lady ImageMichaela Rhua always dreamed of writing but this never happened until she met the lovely group of ladies known as UCW. Their passion for writing and encouragement inspired her to see if she could do it too. Now she is multi published and loves writing!

She has teenage children and a husband, who also keep her busy. However, it is whilst travelling into work that she has time to create her characters and imagine other places in which they exist as her world skims by the window. Conversations overheard often lead to the birth of new ideas that she scribbles down in her trusty notebook.

Michaela usually hangs about here:

Website: http://michaelarhuaauthor.weebly.com/

Blog: http://www.michaelarhuaauthor.blogspot.co.uk/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MichaelaRhua

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/michaelarhua/

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

Guest Author Diana Hunter and “Tied To Home” + GIVEAWAY!

Note: Susana is offering a deck of playing cards with yummy Ellora’s Cave covers for one lucky commenter on this post and the previous one, with Julie Shelton. Be sure to include your email address in your comment!

First of all, thanks to Susana and The Morning Room for letting me visit. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. 🙂

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Diana Hunter and I write erotic romance.

There. I said it.

Sounds like I’m coming out of a closet, doesn’t it? In a way, I am—and have been for the past ten years.

When I first started writing erotic romance, there were varied reactions to my chosen genre. Since the kink that I explore involves the various flavors of BDSM, raised eyebrows has been the smallest response I get when I tell people what I write. Remember, I started publishing in 2003, long before 50 Shades of Gray made headlines.

The first inkling I got that what I wrote was a little outside of normal came in a conversation at my very first Romantic Times Conference in March 2004. Another author and I had been talking about the conference and writing in general and then she asked me what I wrote. I replied, “Contemporary bondage.”

Well. She just looked at me and I watched her swallow hard before she managed a very strangled, “I didn’t even know that was a genre,” before making a rather quick getaway. In my naïveté, I had assumed, since I’d heard of the genre, that everyone had. Silly me.

Then there was an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in a while. She asked what I was doing with myself now and I told her I was writing and had several books published. She laughed and then said, “Just don’t tell me you write romances. I can’t stand that stupid stuff.” Our conversation grew decidedly cooler when I told her that was exactly what I wrote.

People have pre-conceived notions about the concept of what an author is or does. The requisite attic garret, the lonely lifestyle, the heavy drinking—all these seem part and parcel of the lifestyle—if you write the Great American Novel. If you write romance, then obviously you’re an unfulfilled, mousy little spinster who lives in a dream world where all the men are hunks. And if you write erotic romance, then you, yourself, are young—and sexy, too.

Interesting stereotypes. Of course, like all attempts to generalize a population, totally untrue as well. I’ve lost track of the number of people who have greeted my chosen genre with rolled eyes and total dismissal. They see no value in the books, therefore there is no value in what I do.

It used to bother me. It doesn’t any more and I’ll tell you why.

Because I’m better than they know. Their choice to remain ignorant means they don’t get to meet my great characters—or the characters of tons of other authors also writing erotic romance (or heck! Straight romances, for that matter). They don’t get to lose themselves in cool plots and interesting settings. Sucks to be them. As Shakespeare would say, “This we should rather pity than despise.” (Helena, A Midsummer’s Night Dream)

So I don’t get angry when people diss my chosen genre. I don’t get mad when they leave a bad review. I figure life’s too short to concern myself with those who have other tastes. I’m not a fan of the modern American novel, nor am I a fan of horror novels. While I have better manners than to dismiss those genre, I’m not going to think ill of those who prefer it over mine.

I’ve never hidden my writing from my kids (I have both a daughter and a son). My daughter loves to brag about my books to all her friends and co-workers, although she’s never read one. We had always agreed that she wouldn’t open one of my books until she was eighteen. When that birthday passed and the books remained untouched on my shelf, I was curious and asked her if she wanted to read one.

She gave me that long-suffering look every child gets on her face when she has to explain the obvious to a parent. “Mom,” she said, “I’ve been reading the sexy stuff for a while now. I really like it.” She paused and scrunched up her face as if she’d just eaten something distasteful. “But I can’t read yours. I do not want to know that my mother even knows about those things, let alone writes about them.”

Sigh.

My son, on the other hand, first denied my existence, figuring, if he ignored my writing, it would all go away. As he got older, however, and discovered that Chandler’s mom on Friends also wrote “sexy books”—he would confide the information to a chosen few in his circle as if imparting a great secret. Now that he has also reached his majority, however, he just shakes his head and goes back to his video game.

Yes, being an author of erotic romance—and admitting to that—is a bit like coming out of a closet. People look at you askance, make rude comments (oftentimes out of ignorance, but occasionally out of meanness), and sometimes don’t value what you create.

But then someone leaves a good review, or sends an email thanking your for understanding the BDSM lifestyle and life is good. You open up a new file on your computer and a new story starts to take shape under your fingertips.

Thanks again to Susana for inviting me to her blog. I hope I’ve given you a little insight into what it’s like being an erotic romance author who has a decidedly out-of-the-normal kink in her books.

As always,

Play safe!

Diana

Blurb

Wiste hasn’t ever had a problem with self-bondage – until today. When the key to the handcuffs breaks off and jams the lock, she has to accept help from a source she thought long-buried in the past—Matt Carter.

As for Matt, he’d never seen this side of Wisteria Penny Lane in the past…and he likes what he sees.

Excerpt

Matt Carter sauntered in, taking a moment to look around. Wisteria Penny Lane. She’d taken a lot of heat for her name when they were kids. Hippie parents who didn’t have a clue the teasing they’d saddled onto their only child. He wondered if they still had that commune outside of town.

He’d seen the ropes, of course. And the marks around her breasts. She’d been tied up pretty well. Who knew when they lost their virginity together in the barn on her parents’ farm that the girl would grow up to have kinky tastes? Or that he’d grow up to have them as well?

Now she stood, defiant and proud, her wrists held out before her in challenge. She’d  thrown a book at his head the last time he’d seen her, as he recalled. If Brian had told him whose lock he was going to fix, he doubted he’d have come.

TIED TO HOME cover“Let me see what I can do. Have a seat.”

There was a small chest on the floor in front of the window and he gestured to it.

“I’d rather stand.”

“I’m sure you would. But I need steady hands and that’s easier to do when I’m kneeling.” He smirked. “And you always did want me down on one knee, as I recall.”

“You bastard. Get the fuck out of my house.”

He drew back in mock astonishment. “Wisteria Lane, such language!”

“I don’t want you here. Tell Brian he sent the wrong man.”

Matt studied her face. A war went on there. One moment she seemed fully in control, the next she was a breath away from breaking down into full-blown panic mode. Fascinated, he watched the control side take over again. When she spoke this time, her voice was more leveled.

“Go away, Carter. I meant what I said the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, I remember. That you never wanted to see me again. Well, here I am. And you’re stuck and I can get you free.” He held up the small case of tools. “Picking locks is something I do.”

Wisteria sat down hard on the chest, her wrists still held out before her. “Turned to a life of crime?” She sounded bitter and Matt recognized she felt defeated.

“Worked with a security firm for a while,” he explained as he knelt down before her and opened the case. He pulled out a dark blue roll of felt and unfolded it as he spoke. “They had a master locksmith as part of their crew and he taught me a few things.”

“Security firms are supposed to keep people out, not get them in.”

He snorted. “You’d be surprised at how often people lock themselves out of their own systems. First thing they taught me was how to break into a car with a slimjim.” Carefully, he reached for her hands. “Now, let me see.”

She said nothing to him as he examined the problem. The first piece caught in the lock of the handcuffs came out easily enough with a small tweezers. The second proved more difficult and he had to twist around to work the lock from her side of it. That put him uncomfortably close and her perfume distracted him.

Pretending his shoulder didn’t touch hers was another distraction. And that string bikini wasn’t helping. He remembered those breasts, how soft they felt in his hands, how he could make her purr by licking her nipple…

The piece sprang free and with a twist, he opened the handcuffs, totally shocked by the feeling of disappointment that washed over him. What was he thinking? Wiste wanted no part of him. And, if he was honest with himself, admittedly not one of his strong points, he didn’t really want a complication in his life right now. He’d just left one in the desert of Las Vegas, he didn’t need to pick up another one here in Connecticut.

“Yes!”

Her exaltation was immediate. He didn’t say a word, only putting his tools away, re-rolling the felt and putting it back in its case. Wisteria jumped up and brushed past him as if he didn’t exist.

“Em, he did it. Emily? Em!”

But Matt knew Emily had left. He’d heard her sneak down the stairs before he’d even gotten his tools out. For reasons of her own, Emily Baker had left them alone.

Available

http://dianahunter.blogspot.com/p/purchasing-info.html

About the Author

Diana HunterIn third grade, Diana wrote a short, one-page story about a bear family. When her teacher handed it back, the paper had a great big, red “A” on the top. The teacher said to her, “This is very good. You ought to be a writer.” And in the concrete-thinking way of third graders, Diana knew she’d just found the career she was to follow.

Of course, she doubts her third grade teacher envisioned the genre Diana would choose. After she complained about not finding BDSM-themed stories that focused on the relationship rather than just the sex, she was challenged by a friend to write one of her own. The rest is just fun reading.

Diana resides in the Finger Lakes area of New York State and is grateful for the support of her husband and two adult children.

Contact

diana@dianahunter.net