Tag Archives: new release

New Release: Not That Kind of Witch #contemporaryromance #romance #steamyromance

Hi everyone,

I am absolutely delighted to announce the release of Not That Kind of Witch! I had an enormous amount of fun researching and writing this steamy contemporary romance, and I hope you lovelies enjoy it. It’s a real mix of real-life issues, family trauma, mental health crises, fallout from the pandemic and fun and laughter – as well as just a little bit of steam.

Blurb:

Can Willow let go of her fears and begin living her life again, or will her issues get the better of her?

Willow Green is having a hard time of it. Losing her job at the beginning of the pandemic and her elderly grandmother’s ‘clinically vulnerable’ status have resulted in her becoming housebound. While her entrepreneurial, hard-working spirit and the knowledge passed down through generations of green witches in her family mean she has solved her employment problem, her fear of going out, of allowing the dreaded virus into the house she shares with her grandmother, is far from resolved. In fact, it seems worse than ever.

That is, until Joe Lane comes along. The handsome care worker turned delivery driver does Willow a favour, gaining her attention and reluctant admiration. He’s got plenty of baggage of his own, but he also has the skills and temperament to help her with her problem—and he really seems to care.

The question is, will she let him get close enough to try?

Available in eBook and paperback formats: https://books2read.com/ntkow

Add to BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/not-that-kind-of-witch-a-contemporary-steamy-romance-novel-by-lucy-felthouse

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203844879-not-that-kind-of-witch

*****

Excerpt:

Willow Green had just stepped into the kitchen from the back garden when there came an almighty hammering on the front door. Panic and irritation flared in equal measure and she dumped her loaded wicker basket on the huge farmhouse-style table before hurrying through the house towards the source of the noise.

Another hammering. The irritation started to outweigh the panic. Whoever was there was in danger of waking the dead, never mind disturbing mostly-deaf Grandma Annie, whom Willow had left happily knitting in the conservatory with a cup of tea on the table at her side before she’d headed out to the garden.

Willow cast her gaze to the ceiling and grunted with frustration. The whole point of installing the smart doorbell and having it set to only sound an alert on her phone had been to prevent Grandma being tempted to get out of her chair and make her way to the door, putting her at risk of a trip or fall along the way, or placing her in a vulnerable position with a complete stranger. The added bonus being, Willow could be at the furthest reaches of the garden, and her phone would cleverly let her know someone was at the front door.

Had this person not seen the sign? Smack dab in the middle of the door: Please use doorbell. With an arrow pointing to it. Couldn’t they read?

Then she remembered. The last time this happened, which had been a while ago, prior to getting the doorbell camera in the first place, it had been kids at the door. Kids who, once she’d opened up, backed off down the path and began flinging jibes and questions at her from what they considered a safe distance.

Hey, witch.

Been out flying on your broomstick?

What’s bubbling in your cauldron?

You gonna turn us into toads?

Did your ancestors get burned at the stake?

Where’s your black cat?

Her heart sank. She sighed and prepared herself for more of the same. It was unlikely, after all, they’d have come up with something new or more original—despite the astonishing wealth of information the human race had at its fingertips these days. Perhaps they hadn’t bothered to look, to educate themselves, or simply thought it was fun to torment a forty-year-old woman who’d never harm anything or anyone—not even if it was possible to turn people into toads. Though, admittedly, if she were a lesser woman, she’d be sorely tempted to throw out a few fake incantations to scare them, make them think she’d cursed them.

Maybe she should. Yes, it was stooping to their level, but if it stopped them coming back…

No. I’m not going there. She briefly considered not answering the door at all. She could access the doorbell speaker and tell them to clear off from the safety and comfort of her hallway, but she didn’t want them to think she was weak, or frightened. That’d just enhance the thrill for them, encourage them to harass her more often. Not happening. Not on my watch. I don’t have time for that kind of idiocy.

She shook her head, unlocked the door and yanked it open, her annoyance already spilling forth. Generally speaking, she was an incredibly placid person, and slow to anger. But she didn’t want these kids to think this house was an easy target. She’d kept the previous incident from Grandma, not wanting to worry her, and had hoped the addition of the doorbell camera might deter them from returning. “Have you horrible toerags seriously got nothing better to do? You should be ashamed of yourselves, pestering people like this! I’ve a mind to contact your parents—”

She stopped dead as the door swung wide enough to provide a view of who was on the other side of it. Not kids—horrible or otherwise—but a man. With a large cardboard box at his feet, bearing a familiar logo. Uh-oh.

A glance past him to the gravel lane leading to her house confirmed her fears. A white Transit van sat there.

She cringed and forced her gaze back to the man. A navy-blue T-shirt bearing the delivery company’s logo was stretched over his muscular biceps and chunky abdomen—a dad bod, she supposed it’d be classed as, though she didn’t really agree with the terminology—as well as a pair of tan shorts and some beat-up looking trainers. He was tall, well over six feet, and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry. The last time someone hammered on my door like that, it was a bunch of kids shouting abuse. I thought you were them. If you’d just rung the doorbell, like the sign…”

The frown that appeared on the man’s face as she spoke made her shift her attention to her right, a sinking feeling taking over. Where there should have been a sign attached to the centre of the door, were now only six evenly-spaced blobs of Blu-Tak.

Heat flared into her cheeks, and she let out a groan and closed her eyes momentarily. “Well, there was a sign. It’s obviously fallen off. I had no idea. Or I wouldn’t have… never mind. I’m really sorry. And now I’m waffling.” She gave a pained smile, her face threatening to burst into flames. “Anyway. You have a parcel for me?” Her voice went so high at the end she was surprised she hadn’t summoned the neighbourhood dogs.

To his credit, the man simply shrugged. “No worries. I’ve been called worse. You’re…” he consulted the screen of the smartphone in his hand, “Willow Green?”

Given the circumstances, she let the slight waver of amusement in his voice at her name slide. “Yes,” she replied resignedly. “That’s me.”

“Great. It’s a tracked parcel, so I need to take a photo to prove I’ve delivered it…”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

He tapped his phone screen a few times, then lifted the device and stepped back, presumably ensuring he got the right angle so his image would contain both the parcel and her feet inside the open doorway. Pressed the button. “Got it. Thanks. Do you want me to bring it in for you? It’s pretty heavy.” He pocketed the phone.

“No,” she said quickly, recoiling as he approached and made to pick up the box. “I mean, no thank you. I’m fine. I need to find the sign before I go indoors, anyway. Don’t want to shout at any more undeserving delivery drivers, do I?” The chuckle she let out sounded forced, even to her own ears.

“Guess not.” He backed off and clasped his chin, then stroked his thick beard, more grey than black—the colour of his thick, plentiful hair, which had only a dusting of grey at the temples. He glanced at the doorbell and wrinkled his nose. “Should’ve spotted that, really. Especially when no one answered after I knocked a few times. The Blu-Tak should have provided a clue that maybe there was a sign there, and I could have put two and two together. I’m sorry. Such an idiot. Won’t make that mistake again though, will I?” Despite the weakness of his smile, it transformed his face enough that Willow’s stomach flipped. Goodness, he’s handsome.

Available in eBook and paperback formats: https://books2read.com/ntkow

Add to BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/not-that-kind-of-witch-a-contemporary-steamy-romance-novel-by-lucy-felthouse

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203844879-not-that-kind-of-witch

Happy Reading!
Lucy x

New Release! Wild About That Thing By Lisabet Sarai (@lisabetsarai) #ChicagoBlues #DeltaBlues #NewYorkCity #SingleMom #Multiracial #Threesome #Menage #Polyamory #Instalove

Blurb

She’s always been proud of her sensual nature. Now it seems to have landed her in an impossible situation. Two lovers…and she wants them both.

Ruby Jones has clear priorities. Her teenage son comes first, then her struggling blues club. Her love life ranks as a distant third, despite the efforts of Zeke Chambers to convince her otherwise. Zeke’s the lead singer in her house band, a devoted friend, and an occasional lover. He can drive her wild with desire, but can’t get her to make a commitment. Deserted by her cheating ex-husband, Ruby’s determined she’s going to make it on her own. She’s hot-blooded like her bluesman daddy, happy to satisfy her physical cravings, but she’s not about to let any man into her heart.

The stranger who takes the stage on open mike night upsets the delicate balance in Ruby’s world. From the moment Ruby sets eyes on him, Remy Saint-Michel inspires irresistible lust and inexplicable sympathy. Confused, guilty and worried about her prized independence, Ruby decides that the only way to deal with the two men is to push them both away. Zeke and Remy, however, have other ideas.

Note: Wild About That Thing was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been revised and re-edited.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1342-wild-about-that-thing-/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CPDD3JR9

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CPDD3JR9

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1485627

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wild-about-that-thing-lisabet-sarai/1110738210?ean=2940167659858

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wild-about-that-thing-4

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6474285642

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203152943-wild-about-that-thing

Add on BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/wild-about-that-thing-by-lisabet-sarai-2023-12-10

*****

Excerpt:

Ruby flipped onto her back and stretched, working the kinks out of her muscles. How delicious she felt—warm, relaxed, fuzzy with sleep and definitely well-fucked. Her pussy was a bit tender. It fluttered around her fingers as she explored the still-slick folds. Echoes of her three climaxes shimmered through her. There was a twinge at her shoulder, where Zeke had bitten her. She didn’t mind. She’d marked him, too—her fingernails leaving bloody crescents along his back. They’d remind him of her for the next day or two.

He slept beside her, his breathing deep and even. A complex perfume hung in the air of her small bedroom—sweat and semen, pussy and sandalwood incense.

She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think. She just wanted to lie there with her lover within reach and the rest of the world far away. Being with Zeke seemed to be the only thing that brought her this kind of comfort. She loved Isaiah dearly and enjoyed his company, but in her son’s presence she could never quite banish her worries.

The thought of her son roused her. She leaned over to peer at the alarm clock. When she saw the time, she sighed and gave Zeke a gentle shake.

“Wake up, baby. You’ve gotta go.”

In one smooth motion, Zeke rolled towards her and gathered her into his arms. Her breasts flattened against his furry chest. “Let me stay, hon,” he murmured, nuzzling the sweet spot under her ear. His thickening cock prodded at the sticky juncture of her thighs. “It’s still early…”

“Nearly six,” Ruby replied, relaxing into his embrace despite herself. “Isaiah will be up soon. You know how I feel.”

“You feel wonderful,” Zeke replied, kneading her breast with one hand while wriggling the other between their bodies, down to her pussy. Ruby sucked in her breath as his fingers slipped inside her folds to stroke her clit. “And I can make you feel even better…”

“Zeke…” she began. He stopped her objections with a deep kiss. His moustache tickled her upper lip. She tasted the bourbon he drank between sets. She loved his soft, lush mouth—she couldn’t pretend otherwise. The leisurely way his tongue played with hers suggested that he’d be happy doing nothing but kissing her forever.

“You don’t really want me to go,” he continued when they broke for air. “You’re soaking wet, and your clit—” Ruby moaned as he flicked the swollen nub with one calloused digit. “—your clit is like a little marble.”

“Yes… Oh, God, yes…”

Zeke reared up and settled back onto his heels, his fingers still dancing between her legs. “You couldn’t wait to get my clothes off earlier,” he commented. It was true. As soon as the club closed, Ruby had practically dragged him up the stairs to her apartment. “But I can tell you haven’t had enough yet.”

“No—yes—wait—oh!”

Zeke grasped one of her thighs in each meaty hand and pulled her open. Then he bent and swept his tongue along her cleft. Pleasure shuddered through her. She arched up, wanting more. Her lover teased her, flicking back and forth between her swollen lips, but avoiding contact with her clit. She thrashed underneath him, desperate for direct stimulation.

“Please…please, baby…”

Finally he took pity on her. He burrowed his face into her pussy and sucked hard. Lightning shot up her spine. Tension coiled inside her. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she forced his head deeper into her drenched cunt and ground her clit against his nose.

His teeth nipped the aching bud of flesh. The tiny pain cut her free. Pleasure welled up from her depths and spilled over. His strong hands held her fast, splayed and vulnerable, as she jerked against his still-lapping tongue.

Before the last sparkles of sensation faded, his cock was at her entrance. He drove into her still-quivering pussy, hot and hard. Her muscles clenched around his bulk and a new climax seized her, sharper and deeper than the one before.

*****

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Pre-Order Announcement: Not That Kind of Witch Coming 29th February 2024 #preorder #comingsoon #newrelease

Hi everyone,

I am SO excited to announce my next book, M/F steamy contemporary romance, Not That Kind of Witch, will be available from 29th February 2024!

Pre-order yours here: https://books2read.com/ntkow

Add it to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203844879-not-that-kind-of-witch

Add it on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/not-that-kind-of-witch-a-contemporary-steamy-romance-novel-by-lucy-felthouse

Blurb:

Can Willow let go of her fears and begin living her life again, or will her issues get the better of her?

Willow Green is having a hard time of it. Losing her job at the beginning of the pandemic and her elderly grandmother’s ‘clinically vulnerable’ status have resulted in her becoming housebound. While her entrepreneurial, hard-working spirit and the knowledge passed down through generations of green witches in her family mean she has solved her employment problem, her fear of going out, of allowing the dreaded virus into the house she shares with her grandmother, is far from resolved. In fact, it seems worse than ever.

That is, until Joe Lane comes along. The handsome care worker turned delivery driver does Willow a favour, gaining her attention and reluctant admiration. He’s got plenty of baggage of his own, but he also has the skills and temperament to help her with her problem—and he really seems to care.

The question is, will she let him get close enough to try?

 

I hope you’ll check it out!
Lucy x

BRAZEN by @carol_burnside #westernromance #historicalromance #sensualromance #newrelease

Blurb

Because of a secret not hers to tell, spinster Rachel must marry quickly, and Angus is the first man who comes to mind. He’s a hard worker and strong. She’s seen him eyeing her and senses hunger in his gaze. Rachel goes to Angus, the local blacksmith, alone at night and asks him to marry her.

Although eager to accept her brazen offer, Angus is suspicious, thinking it’s some kind of prank and she’s been put up to this to embarrass him. After all, what would a lady like Rachel want with the likes of him? His work is hot and dirty, and his lineage doesn’t exactly have the pedigree ladies look for.

When he realizes she’s sincere, his heart won’t let him refuse her, but even the road to a quick, convenient marriage isn’t smooth. Angus keeps his feelings for Rachel hidden. After the ceremony, Rachel finds a distance she can’t bridge…until tragedy strikes.

Will they ever find the courage to declare their love, or will their stubborn need to protect their hearts prevail?

Shorter blurb:

Harboring a family secret, spinster Rachel seeks out Angus, the blacksmith, alone at night and requests he marry her. Despite suspicions regarding her motives, he’s lonely and admires Rachel. He agrees to a quick wedding, but the road to happiness is marred by more secrets. Then tragedy strikes. Will they find the courage to bridge the distance between them in time to save their marriage?

UBL: https://books2read.com/Brazen-MBN1

*****

Excerpt

Angus had finished washing the last of his supper dishes when he heard a soft knock at his back door. Who the devil could that be?

He opened it cautiously, seeing the hem of a fancy lace-and-lemon dress in the slice of light from his doorway, quite similar to the one he’d seen Miss Dunn wearing tonight. Of course, it wouldn’t be her.

“Who’s there, Miss? Show yourself.”

“It’s Rachel Dunn, Mr. Brody.” Her voice held a slight tremor, but she made no move to obey him. “May I speak with you?”

His heart thumped faster upon hearing her soft reply. Rachel here? “And John? Is he with you?”

“I come unchaperoned with a matter of some importance.”

She risked her reputation to speak with him? “I see.”

But he didn’t see, couldn’t fathom why she would seek him out. The fact that he was this close to her, alone and having a conversation, stunned him.

“Might I gain entrance before someone happens along and sees me, Mr. Bro—”

“Angus. My name is Angus.” His breath hitched at the thought of hearing his given name pass her lips. Calling himself all kinds of a fool, he stood aside. Rachel rushed past him like a flash of sunshine, and he shut out the night.

Her gaze darted around the room much like a rabbit seeking the nearest escape route. Angus stifled a sigh and moved from between her and the door. His size frightened most women.

The oil lamp he’d placed on the bedside table threw a dim glow around the room. He turned up the wick, enough that he could see color had risen high in her cheeks.

“Oh, dear! This is your…”

“Uh, yes.” He grabbed the lamp and gestured to the doorway on the opposite wall. “The kitchen is through there. I’m sorry. This is a shotgun house. I built my room at the back, as far away from the heat of the smithy as I could get.”

And he was running off at the mouth. Not his finest hour.

She turned to him with a tight smile. “Not your fault I turned up unannounced at the back door.”

Damn, but she was a pretty thing with her large, upturned eyes and high cheekbones. Not a short bit of fluff that hit him mid-chest like most, but willowy. Sturdy and soft at the same time.

“Nice place you have here, Mr. Bro—” She pressed her lips together. He held his breath. “Angus.”

“Thank you.” He praised whatever had sent her to his door.

*****

Author bio & web/social media links:

Carol Burnside is an award-winning author of “Sizzling romance with heart and humor.” Her personal second-chance-at-love story resulted in an enduring marriage to her high school sweetheart. They reside in the Texas hill country, where Carol enjoys visiting wildlife from her covered back porch. Like any true southerner, she drinks tea in some form year-round. Carol’s novel length manuscripts have placed in numerous contests and won several, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. She also writes as Annie Rayburn.

Amazon reviews say Carol’s books are:

“Highly captivating!” “intriguing and a wonderful read” “Emotional and heartwarming” “Engaging!” and “Great reading!”

Carol blogs on her website at www.CarolBurnside.com.

New Release! Serpent’s Kiss By Lisabet Sarai (@lisabetsarai) #Paranormal #Shifters #Mayan #Mythology #Guatemala #FatedMates #Tikal #Ritual #Quetzlcoatl #Reincarnation #Apocalypse

Blurb

When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire.

From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gate of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos and cost her life. Despite his dire predictions, they fall in love. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind—and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.

Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised and expanded.

Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1317-serpents-kiss/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL2HPVV4

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CL2HPVV4

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1465062

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/serpents-kiss-lisabet-sarai/1017488008?ean=2940166119209

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/serpent-s-kiss-26

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6469359665

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199721219-serpent-s-kiss

Add on BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/serpent-s-kiss-by-lisabet-sarai-2023-10-15

*****

Excerpt:

Doctora!” The voice rose out of the darkness—the voice of the man who had vanished that morning from a sealed room, leaving no trace but a brilliant, multi-colored feather. As if conjured by her thoughts, Jorge Pélikal emerged from the shadows. He waited at the foot of the steps, mutely requesting her permission to ascend.

He looked far healthier than when she had seen him last. His step was firm and strong, with no indication that he was in pain. His hair cascaded over his shoulders, gleaming in the light of the rising moon. She could not see his face—he was still too distant—but she could smell him. Vanilla and wood-smoke—the same scents that were evoked by the mysterious token she had found under the bed.

He was dressed in rough-woven trousers and a peasant’s cotton tunic, all in white. His skin, in contrast, was a deep cocoa-brown.

Elena’s heart rose into her throat. He was beautiful. He was dangerous—she sensed this—not because of what he might do, but because of who he was. But who exactly was he?

“Jorge! Why did you run away?” She gestured for him to join her on the porch. In an instant, he stood in front of her, a half-smile on his full lips.

He grasped her hands. His skin was cool now, and moist like the jungle night. His fever is gone, she thought gratefully. Joy bubbled up in her chest. She almost laughed. She had thought that she would never see him again.

“I had no choice. I was in grave danger. And by remaining in your clinic, I was placing you in danger.”

“Moving when your chest has been ripped open and is held together by nothing more than a few feeble stitches wasn’t exactly the safest thing to do,” she scolded. “But I’m happy to see that you’re so much better.”

“Much better, thanks to you…Elena.” He squeezed her hands. Desire raced through her, sharp, irrational, irresistible. “I’m sorry that I had to return and place you at risk once again. But I left something behind. Something important.”

“I know. I have it, hidden safely away.”

He searched her face, apparently trying to determine how much she knew about the feather. “Give it to me, then, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No—I don’t want you to go. I’ll give you the feather, but only if you promise to spend the night with me.” Listening to herself, Elena was appalled. What was she saying?

She had not planned this. She was keeping the feather for him and had honestly intended to return it. But now she wanted him, with a single-mindedness that drove out all reason. She would do anything to satisfy this uncharacteristic craving. She could not let him escape again.

He cupped her cheek in one of his strong brown hands. Elena nearly swooned.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s not possible.”

“I know what I want. What I need. And I won’t return the feather until you give it to me.”

He removed his hand, leaving her mourning for his touch. “I could force you.” Though his voice was soft, his words rang with power.

“Go ahead and try.” Elena’s words were defiant, but there were tears in her eyes.

“You don’t understand what you ask. If we couple, you and I, we will open the gates of chaos.” He hovered close, leaning over her, gazing into her eyes. His scent made her dizzy.

“I don’t care. So be it.”

“No. I dare not, Señora.” Taking a step backward, he glanced around the porch, as if seeking a way to push past her and enter the clinic. She moved to block the door, legs apart and hands on her hips.

Perplexity marked his handsome features. She didn’t doubt he was strong enough to physically overpower her, but he seemed reluctant to do so.

“Please.” Now his voice held a note of supplication. “Be reasonable, Elena.”

“Don’t you want me?”

“What I want does not matter. I must do my duty and refuse you. The tasks before me will be difficult enough without the distraction of love.”

Love? That wasn’t what she was asking for, was it? The desire that raged through her seemed as far from love as a fierce hurricane from a gentle spring shower. At the same time, her intuition told her that a single night in Jorge’s arms would never be enough.

*****

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Don’t Throw Anything Away – A Guest Post by Lisabet Sarai (@lisabetsarai) #Lesbian #Sapphic #Highwayman #Outlaw #EighteenthCentury #Adventure #CrossDressing #GenderBending #Devonshire #KingGeorge #RedCoats

Inspiration is fickle. One day you’ll be seized by an idea that just won’t let you go. You throw yourself into the writing, intoxicated by the process of creation, certain this will be the best book you’ve ever produced. The sentences and paragraphs flow, the story taking shape on the page almost without effort.

Then, suddenly and inexplicably, the fire dies out. The magic evaporates, and you’re left to plod along, trying dutifully to complete the opus to which you’ve devoted your time, despite your doubts about its quality.

If you’re trying to make a living writing, you can’t afford to wait for the muse. You’ve got to produce. If, like me, you write primarily for the joy of the process, you may abandon the entire project when your inspiration disappears.

That’s what happened with By Moonlight. For years, I’d wanted to write an erotic tale based on the Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman”. One day the stars aligned. I sat down and wrote the first chapter in a couple of hours. It turned out exactly as I’d imagined it, both lyrical and arousing. I was chuffed, as my UK author friends would say, eager to push the tale forward.

The next weekend, though, when I sat down to continue, I discovered that inspiration had fled. The whole notion seemed silly. I really couldn’t force myself to write any more.

So I put the barely-started tale aside and worked on something else. I always have lots of potential projects in mind, far more than my writing time allows.

That was four years ago. I’d almost forgotten By Moonlight. Then a stormy night recently reminded me of the poem, and the poem reminded me of the story. When I pulled it up and re-read it, I was freshly impressed and determined to complete it.

After such a long lag, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to recreate the tone of that intense first installment. Fortunately I was able to get feedback from my online critique partners, who helped me to adjust the language and the atmosphere appropriately. All in all, I’m happy with the result. I think I’ve managed to fulfill my intentions, offering homage to the Noyes poem while twisting the story in an original (and happier) direction.

The lesson here, though, is clear. If you are an author, don’t throw anything away! Keep all your snippets, all your abandoned projects, all your monuments to the departed muse.

You really never know when inspiration will return.

*****

Blurb

I’ll come for you by moonlight – though Hell should bar the way

In her eighteen years on earth, Bess has never traveled more than twenty miles from her Devonshire village. The raven-haired innkeeper’s daughter has little time to dream of adventure as she labors from dawn to dusk to keep her abusive father satisfied.

Then, at the weekly market in Tavistock town, she meets a handsome dandy who claims her with a single stolen kiss. When the gallant gentleman makes a midnight visit to the inn, Bess learns that her new lover is none other than Kit Latour, a notorious French highwayman who has been boldly relieving the local nobility of their valuables. Well-aware of the risk she’s taking, Bess still offers herself to the seductive outlaw. Even Kit’s darkest secrets cannot quench the flames of her love.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1183-by-moonlight-/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C99C59RY

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0C99C59RY

Smashwords –  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1413596

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/by-moonlight-lisabet-sarai/1143711659?ean=2940166073495

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/by-moonlight-8

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450718058

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/180643788-by-moonlight

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/by-moonlight-by-lisabet-sarai

*****

Excerpt:

“You were very brave tonight, Bess. You made me proud.”

“Brave? How can you say that? I didn’t fight them. I let them take me, bind me, and use me as bait.”

“You didn’t weep or beg. The soldiers in the common room remarked on your boldness. ‘Not a tear did she shed,’ said one. ‘So sure she was that her bloody Frenchman would rescue her.’”

“I dared not hope for rescue. My only thought was to warn you before they could spring their foul trap.”

“Oh, Bess! That would have been fatal.” Kit rose smoothly from her nest by the fire, graceful despite her encumbering skirts. She held out a hand.

Bess clasped the proffered fingers and clambered to her feet. “They planned to execute me in any case. But how I longed for one last kiss!”

“You’ve earned a hundred, love. Starting now.”

A quick tug drew Bess against Kit’s body. Strong arms encircled her, pulling her close, the delicious press of breast against breast making her dizzy with desire.

Kit tasted of the tart fruit she’d just consumed. Forceful as any man, she sealed Bess’s mouth with her own and teased the girl’s lips open to thrust her tongue inside.

Bess responded with equal ardor. Heat swept through her as though it were June instead of October. The fevered kiss struck sparks from her tender nipples. The space between her thighs was a puddle of molten need. Their breath mingled; their tongues twined. She clung to Kit’s lean, road-hardened torso, the shift of powerful muscle under the female costume somehow magnifying her excitement.

Without relinquishing her hold or disengaging from the kiss, Kit backed Bess toward the mattress. They tumbled unceremoniously onto the straw-filled pallet, clawing at one another’s clothing. Buttons flew in all directions when Kit tore open Bess’s bodice. Grasping her partner’s shoulders and pinning her to the mattress, Kit fastened her mouth on one achingly hard nipple that poked through the muslin garment beneath.

“Oh…” The wet suction sent bolts of delight straight to Bess’s clit, as though a fiery cord tethered it to her nipples. When Kit raked her teeth across the taut nip, Bess clenched and shuddered with need. Her empty cunny cried out for her lover’s fingers or tongue.

“Please…” she moaned, dragging her tangled skirts up and spreading her thighs. “Oh, Kit, have mercy!”

The sweet torture continued for several minutes before Kit relented. She rolled back on her heels and gazed into Bess’s eyes, a saucy grin playing on her ripe lips. “So you’re hungry after all, minx! Well, then…” One hand on each thigh, she dove for the gaping slit in Bess’s drawers.

Like an arrow flying to its target, she connected with the swollen bud at the apex of Bess’s sex. Kit sucked the bead into her mouth while prodding it with her tongue. Bess arched off the bed at the sudden, intense stimulation. Then the brazen outlaw plunged two fingers deep into Bess’s quim.

Bess screamed at the sudden incursion. A ragged climax erupted within her, pleasure so fierce it was almost pain. Pinwheels whirled in her cunny, throwing off flashes of delight. Kit continued to pump in and out, pushing her inexorably to a second spend. As she tumbled over the edge for the second time, her lover snatched her fingers from Bess’s channel and replaced them with her tongue.

*****

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh