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Wrapped Up in Stripes by @SM_fiction

*Available Now!*

Wrapped Up in Stripes

by Sarah Marsh

Book One, Blue Valley Shifters Series

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Cover Art: Jay Aheer

Blurb:

As the daughter of the Alpha of the Blue Valley lion pride, Heidi should have the pick of the litter when it comes to dating, but her brothers think differently. Surprised with a trip on a very exclusive cruise, she’s excited to explore her fantasies. Bondage? Submission? Ménage? …yes, please! If this is her chance to experience everything she’s ever fantasized about, then Heidi is going to go for broke.

Who has time for pleasure? There’s far too much work to do. Wild Desires cruise line is having issues, and Mason and Wade plan to get to the bottom of it. They didn’t anticipate finding a lioness that has his tiger utterly fascinated. Neither of them seems to be able to resist the temptation sweet little Heidi presents.

Why fight fate when it presents them with such a tasty treat? —good thing they’ve always preferred to share.

 

Buy Links:

Evernight: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/wrapped-up-in-stripes-by-sarah-marsh/
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/wrapped-up-in-stripes
Bookstrand: https://www.bookstrand.com/wrapped-up-in-stripes-mfm
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wrapped-up-in-stripes-sarah-marsh/1128918245
Amazon: https://www.amzn.com/B07DQXMWSK

 

 

Excerpt:

“Wade!” she laughed as he bumped into the couch because he was too busy nibbling at her neck, “you’d better not drop me.”
“Ah, baby,” he gently placed her down on her feet once again, this time in front of a very large bed, “you know I’d gladly kiss any bumps or bruises better.”
“In fact,” Mason’s low, sexy baritone sent shivers down her spine. He had turned on a few small lamps, giving the room a low glow before he approached her. “Maybe we’d better check you over anyway, just to make certain you’re all right?”
Heidi’s heart was pounding now, her entire body aching for their touch. She stepped out of her shoes, kicking them to the side. The thin panties she’d worn tonight were already soaked through with desire, and glancing down at the dress pants both men wore didn’t help that situation at all. She could see the impressive outline of their hard flesh along their legs, and she longed to feel that firmness inside her.
“Hmm, yes, maybe you should check for yourself, then?” She smiled and turned around slowly, presenting them with her back and the strings that would untie her dress. Heidi had been fantasizing all through dinner whenever their fingers had played with that bow.
Wade groaned as he stepped closer and traced the criss-cross pattern of the strings along her back until he finally rested his hand at the top of her ass, the heat of it making her bite her lip to stifle her own reaction to his touch.
“Baby, since I first saw the back of this dress all I could think about was pulling on this little red bow,” he whispered, placing soft kisses on her bare shoulders.
“Every time one of you touched my back tonight, I imagined what it would be like if you had pulled on those strings right there at the table.” She closed her eyes and shared the forbidden place her fantasy had taken her.
“Oh? And then what would have happened?” Mason urged her on as his fingers ran a light path along her collarbone and then followed the edge of the neckline down, taking her breath away.
Just then, she felt the small tug at her dress that could only mean that Wade’s fingers were pulling on that bow, and when the pressure finally gave way, she could feel the strings along her neck move just a fraction.
“The dress would have slowly lowered,” she kept her eyes closed, imagining they were still in a restaurant full of people, “until it had pooled at my waist, revealing my bare breasts for you.”
Heidi felt the silky material of the dress move along her skin until it stopped at her waist, the cool air in the room causing her nipples to pebble. She still didn’t open her eyes as she heard the low purrs coming from her mates as she was bared to them.
“And then?” Wade’s voice was barely recognizable, thick with desire.
Heidi was almost panting at this point. She had never been this excited or turned on before, it was almost painful how much she wanted them, how her body longed to be joined to theirs. She supposed Mother Nature really didn’t pull any punches when it came to mating—it was glorious in its ferocity.
“Then you would put your mouth on me,” she whispered back, only seconds before she felt the tip of a warm tongue run a circle around her turgid nipple.
She slowly opened her eyes to see the inky darkness of Mason’s black hair in front of her as he finally closed his lips fully over her breast, his tongue playing with the sensitive flesh, making her moan out his name.
“We like that little fantasy of yours a great deal, baby, but I think we’re at our limit for restraint tonight,” Wade growled out the words and then released the strings holding up the rest of her dress, letting the silky red material float to the floor, leaving her in only her panties.
Mason drew hard on her breast before he let it go and moved his hands up to trace over the wet skin his mouth had left behind. “And we will be revisiting that fantasy, make no mistake, love. But look at you—I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Both men took a small step back, simply admiring her in a way no one ever had before. The heat in their eyes made her feel more beautiful than she had ever felt under a man’s gaze. It felt so natural to be with them like this, and her own beast preened inside of her. Heidi slowly brought her hands to the waist of her panties and ran a teasing finger along the inside of the lace.
“I think you both have way too many clothes on,” her eyes moved to where Wade was absently stroking his fingers along his covered cock as he watched her, “so I’m just going to take a time-out while you remedy that.”
Heidi first peeled down her panties, letting them drop to the floor beside her dress, and the tortured groans from both men as she slowly crawled onto the bed and up toward the headboard was exactly the reward she’d been hoping for.
Then she settled herself with her back resting against the headboard, looking forward to seeing her mates for the first time in all their naked glory. They certainly didn’t disappoint—both had intense expressions on their faces as they rid themselves of their ties and button-down shirts. Both strong bodies were darkly tanned and thickly muscled, although Wade’s physique was slightly bulkier than Mason’s refined lines. Their shoes and socks went second as their hands moved to their belts and Heidi suddenly had the urge to giggle as she felt like a kid on Christmas morning about to receive the best presents ever. When their zippers went down and revealed that both men were bare under those expensive slacks, it was her turn to groan, the lioness inside her wanting to taste her mates. She could see the thick roots of their cocks, and when they finally dropped those pants to the floor, her instincts found her crawling back towards them.
“That look on your face, love,” Mason’s voice was low and intense. “If you keep looking at us like you want to eat us up, I may end up embarrassing myself here.”
She watched his hand move down to stroke his thick cock, which was standing at attention. A small bead of moisture collected at the swollen head, and he groaned when she licked her lips, wondering what his flavor would be like. The drive to attack them both until they’d spent themselves inside her was overwhelming in its intensity. She needed them now, and there was simply no time for slow loving—her beast would not be swayed.
“I need to taste you both.”

 

 

Author Bio:

Sarah Marsh was born in British Columbia, she has only recently began her writing career finding it the perfect outlet for taking the edge off a nine to five office job. She’s been a science fiction and romance junkie for years and when her imagination started to take the characters she’d read about even further in their adventures she decided to try writing something of her own.

Sarah’s also a former pastry chef and spends a lot of time cooking and baking for friends and family as well as painting and knitting. Her biggest weaknesses are animals of any kind…she even loves the ones that wake you up at four in the morning because they can almost see the bottom of their food dish.

When it comes to life in general she’s a big believer that laughter is the best medicine and that there’s no such thing as too much love, which is why she’s such a sucker for a happy ending.

 

Social Media and Author page links:

Blog: http://sarahmarshfiction.com/

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/sarahmarshfiction/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SM_fiction

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sarah_marsh_fiction/

Facebook Street Team link: https://www.facebook.com/groups/955387561187276/

Evernight Publishing: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/sarah-marsh/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/sarahmarshfiction

Newsletter sign up form: http://eepurl.com/b50yvX

 

 

 

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Enchanted by Him by @JaceyHolbrand

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Hey folks! Jacey Holbrand here. I’m happy to announce I have another story in my Helldorado Mongrels MC series out now: Enchanted by Him!

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~ * ~ ABOUT THE BOOK ~ * ~

The timeline of Enchanted by Him overlaps the one set in the second book Seduced by Him. (The stories in the series can be read as standalones, but as with most series, it’s best if they’re read in order). In Enchanted by Him, we’re reintroduced to the character Sloth—the man Tex, from Seduced by Him, is forced to ride up to Las Vegas with.

We follow Sloth and learn why he splits off from Tex, we learn Sloth’s secret, and of course, we go on a journey with Sloth as he discovers his mate and falls in love. We also see what finally happens to Inferno, the leader of the Helldorado Mongrels MC.

Come be enchanted!

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~ * ~ BLURB ~ * ~

Helldorado Mongrels MC member, Sloth, is a man with secrets. He’d joined the club with a specific goal in mind, and when three visitors arrive, he fears one of them will turn his world upside down. Especially since that newcomer is a witch and his mate.

Shaman, the medic from the Skinwalkers MC, was hired to find the woman after the Mongrels’s gold and has secrets himself. When he meets Sloth, the man he knows is destined for him, Shaman begins to reconsider his evil, witchy ways, and his internal conflict irritates him.

Despite the constant clashing of their differences, passion ignites between the two men. But will their secrets cause betrayal and hurt? Destroying their relationship before it even has a chance to fully develop? Or will love ultimately triumph?

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~ * ~ EXCERPT ~ * ~

As he sputtered and his eyes watered, he spun away from the invisible partition and ran into the tall medic. The cowboy hat was gone, showing that the man sported long, jet black hair, drawn back into a ponytail. Memories of what his imagination had conjured up earlier flooded his mind and sent his cock twitching again. He had to fight an irresistible urge to drop to his knees before the man, unzip his black jeans, and take his shaft into his mouth.

Shaman chuckled, and once Sloth’s gaze connected with the medic’s gray-eyed gaze, Shaman lifted the corner of his mouth in a mischievous grin.

Sloth sucked in a stream of air as the man’s compelling and magnetic gaze held tight to his. Under the intense stare, Sloth’s body crackled and his joints hissed. The tingly sensations and odd sounds made him realize Shaman was stripping away all his cloaking spells. He tried to combat the psychic assault. His own powers weakened as Shaman continued to stare at him. All he had left was the mind block he’d put in place, and even that felt tenuous.

He attempted to step back and found he couldn’t move. Shaman had “frozen” him into place. Sloth thanked the Great Spirit he hadn’t actually been turned into an ice pop. He hated wintery cold temperatures. On top of it all, without the magic that’d been surrounding him for so long, he felt completely bare and exposed.

Again, Shaman offered a short laugh, this time snapping his fingers as well.

Sloth’s clothes disappeared. Not a stitch of fabric remained on him. To his dismay, he truly was naked. And traitor that it was, his hard cock stood at attention.

Who needs mind reading when my erection gives my thoughts away?

The medic strolled around him, seeming to appraise him like a stud at market. The man swept his fingers and hand over Sloth’s arm, buttocks, and the dip created by his spine at the top of his ass crack, making approving murmurs as he did so. Shaman came to stand in front of him and stroked his hand down Sloth’s chest to his cock.

He didn’t know how it was possible he could be rendered into a state of statue-like material, but still be able to perceive each brush of Shaman’s fingers and palm, the nuances of the man’s gentle touches and lingering caresses. Sloth would have sighed and swooned had he been able to.

“You know, perhaps I won’t kill you and consume your powers.” The medic looked up from Sloth’s cock and stared at his face. He raised a brow. “I see the shock in your eyes. Your gaze gives away everything you’re thinking.” His tone dripped of disapproval. “I’m a true skinwalker. Do you think being a mate matters to one of my kind? We crave power. Always need more. Doesn’t matter who, what, where, when, or how we get it as long as we amass as much as possible.”

Dread filled Sloth. His mate had considered killing him? Murdering him for skills he could barely use anymore himself? He wished he could close his eyes, block out the sight of Shaman, and be able to focus on clearing his head.

So much for the fairy tale euphoria of meeting one’s true love, feeling that instant connection, knowing there’s no one else who would love him unconditionally, and having the insatiable need to be with that someone.

Instead, he had confusion, despair, and panic about being tied to someone who might kill him in his sleep. Yet, he still couldn’t help being super attracted to the witch and wanting to fuck him—hard and fast or slow and easy. Didn’t matter to him how. As long as they got inside each other. And the fact that he craved to be physical with the skinwalker scared him even more.

“But then,” Shaman continued, “the pull I feel toward you is inexplicable. The thought of you no longer walking the earth pains me in a way I’ve never felt before and worsens with the idea of my hand taking you from your mortal coil. No. I won’t kill you. I won’t consume your power. But I will demand having all of you—body, heart, and soul. The two of us will be greater together as a bonded couple rather than just me having all the fun causing havoc everywhere.” Shaman clucked Sloth under the chin.

“I smell your attraction to me,” the medic stated, sneaking a glance at Sloth’s penis. “I see it, too. Yet, I also smell your fear. We can’t have that. Amorcito, you need to trust me … love me. I’m more than happy to give you some time to wrap your head around all of this. Not a lot of time, mind you, but whatever decision you come to, know this, you will be mine.”

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~ * ~ BUY BOOKS BY JACEY HOLBRAND ~ * ~

Evernight Publishing ## Amazon ## Barnes & Noble ## BookStrand ## iTunes ## Kobo ## Smashwords

Jacey Holbrand logo

~ * ~ BIO ~ * ~

Jacey Holbrand believes life and love comes in all forms and should be celebrated. She’s committed to her muse and writing so she can share her stories with readers. Hot days. Sexy nights. Come play in her world.

Jacey loves to hear from readers! Click the link to eMail her: JaceyHolbrand@gmail.com

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~ * ~ STALK ~ * ~

Blog/Website ## Amazon Author Page ## Twitter ## Facebook ## Facebook Page

 

Misogynists #GaryGate #TiffanyGate

After weeks of following the #CockyGate and #ByeFaleena incidents, I didn’t think things in the writing community could get any more tense.

Oh boy, was I wrong.

Now, between the #pagestuffing and #tiffanygate, there’s a new one called #GaryGate.

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All of these have pissed me off, but I’m so, so happy to see the writing community band together, helping one another. Having each others backs, it makes all the difference. We may write alone, but there are other authors behind us all the way.

So, what is #GaryGate and why am I writing a blog post about it?

Well, it’s because I’m fed up with misogynists who not only think it’s okay to use degrading words when sending messages to female authors, but that they somehow think it’s also okay to write underlying threatening messages as well. I’m sick and tired of people thinking it’s okay to treat female authors like trash because they think that because we write romance or erotica, it means they can openly make sexual comments at us. Like by writing romance or erotica, we’re “asking to be disrespected” and “spoken to like sluts”.  I’ve never even thought of keeping screenshot messages, but holy shit, have I had lots of those popping on to my messenger.

But this one, by the name of Gary Starta, has really pissed me off. Maybe because I saw a screenshot of it by a fellow writer, and it wasn’t directed at me, but someone else. I just… that was it for me.

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These messages usually all start off the same, too. A simple “Hi.” and then gets to lewd comments about sexual activity. If I dare answer any of them, letting them know they’re being inappropriate, then I’m a “fucking bitch” who should “learn her place”, and other nice comments like that. And this happens on Twitter direct message, and Instagram messages. Lots of people ask: “Why don’t you turn them off, then?”

Because we shouldn’t have to. Let me repeat that. WE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO. I love when a fan reaches out to me, and messages me. I can communicate with readers, have nice conversations; it’s fun. Of course, there will always be spammers, and the ones who market their book from the very first minute you befriend them. Often, when I get those, I ask them not to do that again because I like to built a relationship with them first, and it’s all good, we move on. But too many write back and attack, and lots of them have a borderline Incel (Google it if you don’t know, but prepared to puke in your mouth) mentality, and that’s pretty fucking disturbing. So no. I will not turn off my messaging, because I love talking with readers. And these pathetic babies need to just stop.

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And on top of everything, it seems like more and more of these pathetic little boys are coming out of the woodwork. Threatening authors, then refusing to apologize and doing what misogynists do best: blame the victim. The screenshot below can be clicked on so you can read the full horrible message:

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Keith Taylor is the lovely victim-blamer here, and it seems like he’s a condescending person (and I use the term lightly) as well… not surprised.

So, they obviously want us to spread the word around, you know, boycott their books, let others know they don’t belong in this community unless they apologize, and REAL fucking fast. So here’s where to find them:

Gary Starta: Twitter Twitter2 – Amazon Goodreads

Keith Taylor: Facebook Amazon Goodreads

If more messages are sent to anyone like these, please spread the word. We have your backs. That’s the reason I never had; because I thought I’d be alone or just be considered a ‘drama queen’ or trying to get attention. But I realize now, that’s not the case. The writing community has each others’ backs, and we’ll support and fight to get toxic people out of this community. So reach out, and we’ll be there to help.

To my Muse by @YesItsNicolaC

Ever do something really, really dumb?

When too much tequila and an enabling BFF put Lily Nayar’s romance novel Feast of Lovers into the hands of its inspiration, sexy British actor Tom Morrison, Lily is horrified. Now she’s determined to get her book back, even if that means breaking into Tom’s hotel room to do it.

With the help of a strategic lie and a charismatic knight, Lily’s screwball plan catapults her into the middle of her very own Cinderella story, Hollywood style. But will a vengeful actress ruin Lily’s shot at a real life HEA with Tom?

Excerpt available here.

  • Contemporary romance, romantic comedy, MF
  • Word Count: 67,000
  • Heat Level 2
  • Published By: Belaurient Press

Excerpt

Giving Theresa a thumbs up, I closed the door and turned my attention to the hotel room. It had already been cleaned and the bed was neatly made. A suitcase sat on the valet stand next to the TV, and the dresser and desk held various pieces of paper, notes, and a couple of plastic shopping bags, all the usual stuff when you’re stuck in a hotel room for a couple of weeks.

Of course, the fangirl part of my brain was screeching like a gibbon at me that I was in Tom Morrison’s hotel room. He’d slept in that very bed last night. Sat at that desk to check his email and Facebook. Took a dump behind the closed door of what I assumed was the bathroom. The prosaic nature of that last bit helped me regain some self-control, and I tiptoed (why, I don’t know, I’m an idiot) over to the desk. There was what looked like a script for GearShifter on it, as well as a MacBook Pro, but no Feast of Lovers. Bad Tom, no leaving your expensive computer equipment out where people can steal it.

I wanted to leaf through the script so badly, but I ignored it and kept looking for Feast. Not on the desk top, not on the dresser, not on the TV. I was starting to worry that he’d taken it with him to the location when I noticed the suitcase. I truly, honestly hated the idea of going through his personal stuff, but he might have stuck it in there. I could just lift the lid, take a peek, maybe it was in plain sight—

I had the lid in hand when the bathroom door swung open and a tall, beautiful blonde in a towel strutted out. “I thought I heard you—” she purred, before she saw me. Both face and tone iced over. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a noise that could have been used as a sound effect for a creaking vault door. The blonde stalked closer, looming over me. Up close, I could see some fine lines around her eyes, but she was still ridiculously gorgeous. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

Oh. Oh, shit. My brain informed me that I was currently sharing a room with Claudine Ellery, the actress playing Tom’s antagonist/love interest on the show. What the hell was she doing in his bathroom? Were they dating in real life? Why was I asking stupid questions when I should be turning and running for my freaking life?

And then Fate decided that she needed an even bigger chuckle because the room door opened and Tom Morrison walked in. I caught a glimpse of an apologetic Theresa hovering in the hallway before she was eclipsed by Tom, who was staring at Claudine and me.

Oh, God. He was even better looking in person. Not all actors are, but Tom—he was edible. Curly black hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and lips that I’d wanted to kiss since the first time I saw him on screen. With faded jeans that fit him perfectly, a dusty white button-down with rolled up sleeves, just the right amount of chest hair peeping out of his collar, and the cutest smudge of dust across one laser-sharp cheekbone, he was every one of my fantasies come to warm, tall life right in front of me.

And I had broken into his hotel room.

That was it. I was going to jail, assuming that the cops didn’t just see “brown person” and shoot me when they got here. At the very least I’d get fired from Golden State. Mom and Dad would disown me, Dada and Dadi would die of shame, and Derek would probably take out an ad in the LA Times saying that I was adopted. My only hope was that Theresa had gotten the hell out of here. There was no reason for both of us to go down for my stupidity—

“Lilian, darling, what are you doing here?”

My brain skidded to a halt. Words had come out of Tom Morrison’s mouth. Friendly words. While he was staring directly at me. Looking, if I may say so, as if he was talking to someone he knew. Which he didn’t, because I may not have remembered sending him my book but I would definitely remember meeting him.

“Um. Hi?” I waved weakly.

“I thought you decided not to come out this weekend.” He crossed to me, slipping an arm around my shoulders as he stared at Claudine. He squeezed my shoulder once, kind of hard, then did it again.

Even with my brain in fangirl vapor lock I can take a hint. I had no idea how he knew who I was, but he wanted me to play along. Plastering a grin on my face, I slipped my arm around his waist and squeezed back. His torso felt like warm rock, and he smelled so good.

“Well, I figured I needed a road trip,” I extemporized, giving him a bright smile. “And I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Not at all, angel,” he purred. Up close, I could see a hint of relief in his eyes. It disappeared as he turned to Claudine. “Claud, why are you in my room wearing a towel?” he asked politely.

She planted hands on slim hips, cocking her head to the side. “Seriously? You have to ask why?”

“Yes, because if I remember correctly, I told you that I had no interest in going to bed with you. In fact, I’m quite sure I informed you of this on numerous occasions. And when I walk into my hotel room and see you wearing nothing but terrycloth while my girlfriend,” this time his squeeze was gentle, “is standing there looking gobsmacked, I have to wonder what the actual fuck you’re up to.”

My face went rigid as it tried to hold onto my smile. Girlfriend? Eeeeeeeee…


Where to Buy

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | iTunes | Print


About the Author

Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of “y’all,” much to her Chicago family’s dismay.

Despite a healthy interest in romance and sex since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to speculative romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture…).

 

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

 

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Nothing in my Heart by Peri Elizabeth Scott

 

 
Blurb:
 
Feeling trapped into marriage, Beckett Kilmer doesn’t hide
his disdain for his young wife, although he certainly wants her physically.
Grace didn’t deliberately trap the man she loves, but
ignorance is no defense, neither in a court of law nor the law according to
Beckett.
When she loses their baby, he is kind and supportive but
remains distant. Grace despairs, also trapped—but by the skeins of love that
bind her.
Mysteriously finding herself capable of resisting him, she
plans to assert her independence when Beckett comes to his senses, recognizing
his reprehensible behavior. He strives to make amends and convince Grace to
reconsider.
Still determined to leave, she then finds out she is
pregnant again and Beckett redoubles his efforts to repair their relationship.
Can Grace find it within herself to forgive and trust him again?
Excerpt:
Beckett’s big form blanketed her far smaller one as he
increased his thrusts, driving her toward that cliff of mindless insensibility
her orgasms always conferred. He braced his weight on his forearms, head tucked
into her throat, lips tight against the sensitive juncture of neck and
shoulder.
He’d slipped into bed, naked and urgently erect,
stripping off her nightgown with a muttered imprecation before bestowing a hard
kiss that caused her to open to him, his mastery of her senses chasing away the
last vestiges of sleep.
Her body instantly responded, the flush of arousal
dampening her core, nipples tightening with desire as his big hands cupped and
molded her breasts. There was no need for additional foreplay although he
tested her readiness with a finger before settling between her thighs and
entering her.
It was a vastly familiar, nightly routine, one she
desperately anticipated—to her shame—and their coupling tonight should have culminated the same way. With a climax, the
sensation giving her the connection she craved, however fleeting, because that was all Beckett would give her.

About the Author:
Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in Manitoba, Canada. She closed her part-time
private practice as a social worker and child play therapist and now pretends
to work well with her husband in their seasonal business.
Writing for years, along with her alter ego and three coauthors, she has
published over 52 novels and reads most everything she can lay her hands on.

 

Spice & Vanilla by @KatherineWyvern

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Hello, and thank you so much for having me here today to talk about my new release, Spice & Vanilla. This is the darker, naughtier sister of my previous release, Woman as a Foreign Language, but it can be read as a complete stand alone.

The BDSM element in Spice and Vanilla came about in part because I had just finished reading Katerina Ross’ beautiful novel Tenderly Wicked, so I was in the mood for something a bit spicier than my previous release, and partly because I had this idea for Raphael, the main character, that he would be “in two minds about anything”. He’s gender-fluid, bisexual, and as it turns out, a switch (he is in fact the sort of character that can piss off absolutely every reader on earth, lol).

I always like sex scenes to carry some of the character building in my stories. I think sex is one of the most visceral things we do in life, and the way we have sex with different people and different sex with the same people at different times can say a lot about us, about our feelings for our partners and where we are in a relationship. You can put so much more than smut in a sex scene (although a good amount of smut is most welcome), and when you stray into BDSM that potential for character exploration rises tenfold, because there are so many more layers to it. Why do we feel the need, in a caring, loving relationship, for giving or receiving pain? Why do power and humiliation become a turn on, even a necessity, at certain times? And can these things add more to our relationships than just a passing kinky thrill? Can they possibly become a way to express feelings we don’t have words for? I do not pretend to have full answers to these questions, but I did enjoy searching for them in the company of such complex characters as Raphael and Hugh.

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Blurb

Time was, when Di could dance all night. Time was, when she could ride any horse in the stable. Time was when she had a fiancée, a future and a home she loved. Until a silver SUV came out of nowhere and broke her life in half.

Well concealed under a sarcastic, spiny hide, Hugh has a darkly romantic, passionate soul. Torn between love and terror, he’s held the talented, elegant, magnetic Raphael carefully at arm’s length since the day they met.

Male or female, men or women, kinky or sweet, top or bottom? Angel or devil? Raphael’s life is a string of unanswered questions. And Lucie, his long-hidden female self, may bring it all together or destroy everything he has.

Be warned: cross-dressing, gender-queer, explicit M/M and M/F sex, anal sex, spanking, flogging, bondage, forced orgasm, sex toys

 

Spice-vanilla-miniteaser

Excerpt

Hugh watched him stroking away with great contentment. He was totally worn out after a crazy day at work, and it was not always easy to find the energy to satisfy such an enthusiastic masochist. There were days when he wished Raphael were a bit less fond of being spanked and whipped, but he always did his best to oblige him. The thought of his Raphael going out there looking for release from God-only-knows-whom, and getting hurt for real by some less scrupulous or talented Dom was just unbearable. Still, tonight he would lie back and relax. Mostly. I will have to help him eventually, he thought with a slightly evil grin, but I can take a breather first.

Raphael stroked in perfect tempo. He was one of the most technically exact musicians Hugh had ever played with, after all. Too exact, in fact.

It would do him so much good to let go a bit, to just go with the flow, be wild and imprecise and purely passionate. Then he would not need so much of this.

Tick—tock—tick—tock—tick—tock, went the metronome, and Raphael stroked and stroked. It was a good while before Hugh could tell, from a small furrow between those blond eyebrows, that the unchanging, slow rhythm was beginning to frustrate him. He smiled a bit wider and said nothing, devouring his beautiful quarry with his eyes. He watched, entranced the fluid play of flesh and skin as Raphael’s long pale cock, a nice ruddy purple by now, sank and reemerged into and from his fist, the velvet-like foreskin lapping beautifully over the shinier, silky glans, the testicles bouncing softly to the rhythm as the scrotum was pulled up and released. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw the whole scene to the devil and just take that cock in his mouth and suck it empty.

This is without exception the best use a metronome was ever put to.

Raphael’s body was developing a number of small, charming tics and twitches. He briefly lifted his left knee from the mattress then relaxed again. His right wrist was pulling on the strap from time to time, and his breath was coming in slightly ragged bursts.

Still it took a long time. Too much control, thought Hugh, smiling. Tsk-tsk.

Tick—tock—tick—tock.

He slowly unfolded his hands and moved to sit between Raphael’s legs. He spit on his middle finger and watched Raphael’s face, half hopeful, half anxious, as he slowly approached his anus. He didn’t hurry. He let Raphael wait for it. He would beg, in time, Hugh knew, but there was no need for that, not yet. He finally pressed his fingertip to the twitching, tight, live rose of flesh and felt it jolt and spasm. He massaged it in circles, with relish, and didn’t even try to penetrate it. Raphael was shaking all over, trying to press down on his finger, but there was just so far he could stretch, tied as he was. His belly muscles went taut. They were contracting in random, jerky convulsions. Hugh had never seen anything so beautiful.

Then Raphael missed a beat. His hand had picked up pace, ignoring all orders. Raphael whimpered, trying to compensate to get back in the right tempo. The double change of pace made him squirm all over. He swallowed twice and missed the beat again. This time Hugh slapped the inside of his thigh, very hard. Raphael could take a long regular series of well-spaced blows with relative ease, but a single hard slap coming down out of the blue like that drew a ragged cry from him.

“You do know what tempo means, I asked?” Hugh said, in a plain chatty voice. He had never had any taste whatsoever for histrionics. He was not, he had never been, a theatrical Dom. He wasn’t in it for setting up a show. He just got the job done.

“Yes. Yes!” said Raphael, a bit frantic. He managed to stick to the rhythm for a minute longer, until Hugh gently stuck his finger just within the ring of his anus. All of Raphael’s body twisted, and he lost all track of the cold, mechanical rhythm of the metronome.

And that is exactly what you need, my love . Too much playing by the rules, too much fucking control. You need to find your own tempo, and just let go.

Five or six fast hard strokes followed. Hugh slapped him twice, on his thigh, and, when he turned suddenly, on his butt. And then Raphael came, on the third slap, as he flopped flat on his back again, crying out in pleasure or pain, or both. It was hard to tell. Semen spurted out in beautiful, long, arched white streamers, splattering over Raphael’s belly, chest, and even his face.

It is difficult to aim while being spanked hard.

Hugh watched him coming, avidly.

He was so naked. So vulnerable, so unguarded. Hugh, who felt, every day, that he might shatter like glass, on Raphael’s unearthly, impossibly graceful, self-possessed beauty, lived for these moments, to watch him released of all self-consciousness and all bonds. Strange, how it took a bunch of leather straps to get him to do that.

“Ah, oh, shit. That hurt,” Raphael whispered after a minute. “Not complaining, mind,” he added, with a small edgy laugh, wiping some drops of sperm from his lips and eyebrow.

“Good,” said Hugh, quite composed, despite the erection straining in his pants. Watching Raphael twitching and jolting while covered in glistening semen was not a sight to leave him unmoved. He reached out for the metronome, stopped it and lowered the weight a tad, then started it again.

This was a faster, business-like tempo.

“There you go, hot lips,” he said to Raphael, who was still breathing hard from his orgasm.

“What? Wh—but…”

Hugh gave him a small devilish smile. Raphael was perfectly capable of coming two or three times in one night, but, like most men, he needed a while to recuperate in between. Well, tonight, he wasn’t getting it.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

 

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http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern/spice-and-vanilla-excerpt

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