Tag Archives: guest blogger

Run for Your Love by Annabeth Leong

Run For Your LoveBlurb:

Shotguns seem to be everyone’s favorite accessory for the zombie apocalypse, but Zach Paul believes he can survive without hurting anyone—not even the zombies. An elite-level runner, he plans to speed away from every danger. Then Zach meets a woman he can’t bring himself to leave behind, and staying beside her tests all his principles.

Viola Ortiz fought free of her controlling boyfriend just before the zombies came, but now she believes her macho ex is the only one who can protect her. She sets out to reunite with him, only to encounter Zach instead. The tall, lean runner is everything her ex is not, and Viola is shocked to find he turns her on as no man has before. Viola’s ex, however, isn’t willing to let go of her, and soon it’s clear that other survivors are as dangerous as the zombies.

Zach and Viola can run, but they must find safety before they lose their humanity in the struggle to protect their lives and growing love.

Excerpt:

It may not have been too crazy for me to think I could keep clear of the zombies in the Quarantined Area. On the news everyone kept saying these are “slow zombies.” They’re dangerous, diseased, and mostly impervious to pain, but not the sort of terrifyingly speedy hunters that have been popular in movies lately. My plan to run in there was risky, but I like to think not completely doomed. I planned around my talents instead of just deciding I’d somehow figure out how to execute a standing long jump of multiple feet once I found myself staring down at concrete two stories below a rooftop. I trusted the only thing I’ve been able to rely on my whole life—my legs.

What I didn’t take into account were bullets—as in projectiles whizzing past my ears as I booked it down the sidewalk. Why the hell does everyone think the zombie apocalypse gives them a license to act like Rambo? I’m not just talking about what happened once zombies actually appeared in the middle of our city, eating brains, shambling, and whatever else they do. I’m talking about all the years of excitement about zombies—Facebook quizzes predicting whether your relationship would survive an outbreak, the sudden popularity of YouTube videos about parkour, and a pervasive cultural obsession with shotguns. I think people watched zombie movies and decided it would be great for the rule of law to break down to the point that they’d be allowed to solve problems by shooting first and asking questions later.

It’s not the most macho position to take, especially not in the neighborhood where I grew up, but I guess it’s clear by now that I’m a pacifist. Some other guy might respond to the looters by taking cover behind an abandoned building and pulling out his own gun to trade shots. That’s not my style.

Instead, I shouted, “What the hell?” and tried to run faster.

Two days into societal breakdown, street cleanliness had already suffered. Trash bags, newspapers, and other detritus littered the road, and I swear the pavement had more cracks than usual. It took all my concentration not to slip or break my ankle.

I don’t have experience dodging bullets, so I wasn’t sure if I’d be harder to hit if I tried to zig-zag or not. Since I didn’t know, I ducked my head, picked up the pace, and hoped for the best.

The guy with the gun shouted, “Drop the backpack!” Apparently, he thought bullets made good punctuation.

“There’s nothing in it!” I screamed back. Which wasn’t strictly true. I didn’t have any money or valuables, which I assumed was what they were looking for. On the other hand, the backpack had everything I thought I needed to survive in the Quarantined Area, so I didn’t want to give it up.

“Like hell it’s empty!” The guy chasing me squeezed off a few more shots.

The fact that he hadn’t managed to hit me yet confirmed one of the points I’d like to make about guns, which is related to a couple of the things I’ve already ranted about. A lot of people think you can just pick up a gun and go to town. That tells me that most people have never actually held a gun, much less fired one.

I’ve been to the shooting range a number of times with my older brother Dominic, and once, before a birthday party he celebrated one year in Vegas, that included firing machine guns. Before I’m accused of hypocrisy, I’ll add that Dominic spent a long time trying to get into the police academy, and I provided moral support while he studied and trained. Anyway, after several good tries, I learned that if you can hold a gun without your hand trembling uncontrollably, you’re doing well. And it takes training before most people can manage to hit, say, the broad side of a barn.

The looter chasing me might think he was tough, but he’d obviously never gotten the chance to practice with a gun. I promised myself I’d say a prayer of thanks as soon as I got out of range of him and his burly friends. I almost looked forward to the zombies at that point—at least I’d understand their motives.

Someone cried out behind me, and I risked a glance over my shoulder. One guy lay on the pavement clutching his ankle, probably a victim of one of the cracks I’d noticed earlier. Two of the others seized the excuse to quit running, squatting beside him clutching their sides, gasping, panting, and coughing. I allowed myself a satisfied smile. The guy with the gun hadn’t tired yet, but he would, as long as he didn’t manage a lucky shot before I finished putting him through his paces.

I lengthened my strides. It felt good to take my body to its limit, to dig as deeply as I could into the inner reserves I’d built up over the years… Right up until I realized I’d forgotten to keep an eye on the littered road.

My foot tangled in a plastic bag, and I went down hard. It was like something out of kindergarten—bloody knees, bloody palms, and pain that brought stinging tears to my eyes. A bullet hit the asphalt a mere foot away from me.

“Let up, man!” I made my voice as threatening as possible, despite my vulnerable position. “I got nothing!”

“Give me the backpack!”

Adrenaline forced me to my feet. I took a deep breath, preparing to push myself back into a run despite the stiffness already settling into my knees.

That wasn’t to be, because my fall had allowed the big guy catch up with me. He may not have known how to use his gun, but he sure as hell knew how to use his hands. He demonstrated on my trachea as soon as he got hold of me.

I hate to say it, but I froze. I thought about trying to stomp on his foot or something, but I didn’t really expect that to work, and I didn’t want to die a traitor to my own pacifist ideals. I helplessly pondered what to do as he squeezed my neck tighter, and I started to feel chilled and light-headed.

That was the first time I saw her, and considering how little oxygen was reaching my brain at that moment, you can probably understand why I thought she was some sort of apparition. She was beautiful. Sexy? Yes. She had the sort of curves that make a man want to spend long afternoons in bed just tracing the shape of them. Lips to match and ringlets of black hair that I immediately wanted to feel across my bare chest. But she was also beautiful in a holy way—some kind of light in the eyes or glow to the skin that reminded me of pictures of La Virgen. She was dressed all in blue too, which contributed to my impression that she wasn’t entirely of this world—my mother taught me that blue is Mary’s color.

Her small, compact body hurtled into me and my captor with force far beyond what I would have expected from her weight. She screamed that he ought to let me go, and his grip loosened, I think because he was so stunned. Neither of us knew where she had come from or what she had to do with me.

Unfortunately, the deranged looter’s first instinct after letting go of me was to go after her, specifically by hooking a finger through one of the big gold hoop earrings she wore. I stretched my own rules a little and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, hoping to distract him enough that my rescuer and I could both escape.

She didn’t have the kind of qualms I did. Out of one pocket, she produced a can of pepper spray and proceeded to administer a healthy dose straight into his eyes. I covered my face in time, but he gave a high-pitched scream and clapped his palms to his cheekbones. The gun hit my foot then the pavement. The woman screamed too, and I wondered if he still had her by the earring.

I dropped to the ground and crawled a few feet away, moving through the pain in my knees and palms. A glance at the woman showed she’d gotten herself free of her opponent’s grip and had grabbed the upper hand by far. She administered a series of precise and painful-looking strikes to his abdomen.

Any second, more of the looters would join this fight. I didn’t feel good about running away when she’d gotten involved in the first place because of me.

Pushing myself to my feet, I went over and grabbed her elbow, wincing when my scrapes contacted her skin. “We have to get out of here,” I told her. “Try to keep up.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer me. I took off running, feeling so much adrenaline by then that the pain in my knees didn’t really bother me.

She wasn’t next to me.

I whirled without stopping, in time to see her scoop the looter’s gun off the sidewalk and toss it into a glittery backpack she carried, slung too low to be entirely practical.

I took my own turn rolling my eyes. Just what I needed. Another Rambo wannabe. “Come on!” I shouted.

I have to admit that despite annoying me by going for the gun, she’d impressed me so far. The next thing she did really caught my attention. She grinned at me, as wicked and gleeful as if we’d gone out racing to settle a bet. Then she covered the distance I’d put between us so fast it took me a moment to realize I was being outpaced.

She shot past me and tossed another smile over her shoulder. “You better hurry,” she said, with a Puerto Rican accent and not a trace of effort. “Ahora, chacho. Those guys look mad.”

Buy Links:

All Romance eBooks
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Breathless Press

 

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors — dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her titles for Breathless Press include the contemporary werewolf erotic romances Not His Territory and Not the Leader of the Pack, and Run for Your Love, a romance set in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

 

Buy One, Get One Free Offer:

Did you miss Annabeth’s previous titles with Breathless Press? Not to worry. E-mail proof of purchase of Run for Your Love, such as an Amazon receipt, to annabeth dot leong at gmail dot com and let her know your e-book format of choice. Annabeth will buy a copy of her werewolf novella, Not His Territory, for anyone who sends this information before November 12, 2013.

Guest Blogger: Justine Elyot

Sentimental About Education

Lecture NotesIt’s not surprising that so many romances are set in seats of learning. Colleges and universities, filled to the brim with bright young things and similarly bright older ones, are the places many of us met our life partners, or embarked on our first sexual experiments. Few other settings can match them for intensity, excitement and breadth of subject matter. Not quite all human life is here, but near enough. The stage is packed with players – you can take your pick.

Professor hero/student heroine is a cliché, when it comes down to it, but in erotica, things are cliches because people can’t get enough of them. So I make no apology about succumbing to this age-old dynamic in Lecture Notes. Sinclair is the teacher, Beth is the student, Sinclair is the dom, Beth is the sub. But it doesn’t mean Sinclair knows it all. Oh no.

Do you have a favourite college-set romance or erotica story? I’d love to hear what it is!

Meanwhile, here’s the blurb for Lecture Notes:

Beth’s intense crush on Professor Sinclair is threatening to derail her first year at university. Her concentration is shot to pieces and her coursework is suffering accordingly. Luckily, Professor Sinclair has an antidote to that. An extremely interesting antidote…

Mentor and acolyte soon become lovers in an affair that takes them both to places they never thought they’d be. But is it too far, too fast?

And an excerpt:

At eight twenty four, showered, freshened and bright-eyed, I stroll into the kitchen, wondering hopefully if Sinclair might have breakfast on the go. He is sitting at the table sipping moodily at a cup of coffee. Proper coffee made from beans, not dust in a jar. He looks up from The Guardian and his face elicits a gulp. He is not happy.

“I told you to get up at eight o’clock. It is now eight twenty four.”

“I don’t have a lecture until eleven,” I defend myself.

“That is beside the point. While you are in my house, Beth, you will do as I tell you. Are you able to do this or not?”

“I…yes. I will. I can. I’m sorry. Sir.” I shake my fringe winningly into my eyes, praying that he will now lighten up and fry me a rasher. He called me Beth! That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it?

“We shall see,” he says contemplatively. “I’m going to make my point completely clear, Beth.” He stands and I quiver. Something bad is going to happen. “Bend over the kitchen chair, Beth, with your palms flat on the seat.”

Wild mute appeal pours from my eyes but he isn’t buying. He takes a wooden spatula from a hook over the granite work surface. Oooooh no. He makes an impatient gesture to me, noting that I am still upright, and I plunge forward into the rather compromising position he has outlined.

I don’t like being bent like this with my arse in the air; I feel the humiliation of my plight keenly, and never more so than when Sinclair swishes up behind me and pulls my leggings down around my knees. Thank Christ I didn’t wear a thong today.

“I think we’ll have a stroke for every minute I was made to wait, Beth,” says Sinclair calmly. “That makes twenty four. A good round dozen for each cheek.”

I hold my breath, waiting for the onslaught to commence. The first stroke brings it shuddering out in a long squeal as the flat wooden end makes a loud whapping noise on my backside.

“That really hurts!” I object.

“Yes,” he says equably, slamming on the second. Incipient heat radiates symmetrically through both hemispheres of my behind and I’m not quite sure I can handle another twenty two strokes. Sinclair accompanies the hard paddling with an encomium against the perils of late rising and sloth, telling me that I will be getting up no later than seven thirty from now on unless I want to greet every day in this painful manner.

When eventually the twenty fourth stinger is landed, I am gripping the chair so tightly my knuckles are white, chewing my lip to avoid the mortification of crying out too much and amazed at how hot it is possible for a bottom to get without actually catching fire.

Sinclair replaces the horrid thing on its hook – can’t push fried eggs around a pan with it now without having an inevitable mental association – and drawls, “Lesson learned?”

“Yes, Sir,” I quiver. No more lie-ins for me. Boo hoo.

Fancy reading on?

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US

Guest Blogger: Tabitha Rayne

Wow, the Brit Babes are clocking up some serious new releases just lately. Here’s another one – the fabulous Tabitha Rayne just had her novel, Taking Flight, release with Xcite Books. And she’s here to talk about doing it outdoors, with me…

Taking Flight ACB promo small

Doing it outdoors with Lucy

Thank you so much for having me here Ms Felthouse 😀

I know Lucy has a love of the great outdoors (and a love of love in the great outdoors – just take a read of some of her saucy books…) – and so do I.

Which is rather handy as many scenes in my new book, Taking Flight, are set in the wilderness – with the main characters fleeing from the authorities.

There’s nothing quite like the thrill of being up high in the hills on a windy day with ominous dark clouds rolling in. It always gives me the squeaky excitement that I’m not quite in control – that at any moment, the elements could overpower me. I guess I wanted to emulate that feeling of vulnerability throughout my novel. It’s something that fascinates me. When are you able to give up your power and completely trust in the person, people or situation you are in?

This thread winds its way throughout most of the story, picking up on different ways to take control and power out of the hands of my leading lady, Deborah, and how she finds ways to take it back, however small.

Here’s a little snippet for you

britbabes_kink_hotnraunchy_4‘We made it!’ he panted, clutching at his chest. Deborah knelt up and tried to catch her breath as her shoulders heaved and her lungs burned. Euphoria began to overtake her as the adrenalin subsided and she let her head fall back, staring up into the canopy of trees just visible in silhouette against the dark sky above. Kneeling there in the damp undergrowth, a new vigour and excitement for life bubbled in the pit of her abdomen. Lifting her hand, she stroked her cheek where Marcus had struck her. It was still warm and she smiled as he eased himself up and knelt beside her. He lurched towards her and kissed her with a ferocious hunger she hadn’t witnessed before. It was a feral passion and she responded instantly, devouring him back with searing kisses. He roughly pulled her layers of clothing apart, hands raking her body, greedy with lust. She tore at his, grabbing the button of his jeans, and was amazed at the strength of his hard-on beneath the thick denim. He was so rigid there was barely space in his crotch to pull down his zip. Her clothes were open and her breasts exposed to the night and he staggered to his feet, pulling her up as he went, while she still battled to release him.

At last she managed to free his thick shaft from his jeans, out into her hands. He pushed her fingers away and grabbed at her behind, lifting her up easily with new strength. She’d only managed to pull on a woollen skirt and he yanked it up over her hips as he carried her towards the trunk of the closest tree. He slammed her against it, kissing her mouth, chin, jaw, neck, then breasts, suckling her, nibbling her, taking great mouthfuls of flesh and biting into her. Every hair on her body stood to attention with the arousal and fear that he was going to eat her alive. Her mouth watered for him too, and she tried to prise his face back up to hers for a taste of his delicious mouth. He gave it up to her, taking her tongue and wrestling it with his. The wetter their mouths became, the damper she felt between her legs. Her pussy was hot and plump with want and he curled a finger from under her buttocks and dipped it into her dripping folds. A throaty groan moved from his mouth to hers and he withdrew his tongue, leaving her lips feeling empty and bruised. The rough bark grazed at her back where her clothes had ridden up, and memories of the slap played over in her mind. Her pussy flooded with more juices as he pressed her harder into the tree with legs wrapped around him, open to him, beckoning him. He wriggled his hips, letting the jeans slip down a little while he kept a good grip, supporting her. Without another sound, he thrust his cock into her swollen cunt. She let out a yelp of joy and he smothered it with his forearm, keeping her weight jammed into the tree with the force of his fucking…

 

And there you have it! I hope that whets your appetite for more of the story 😀

Taking Flight is the second book in The Meeting Point trilogy – the first installment, A Clockwork Butterfly is also out – but it doesn’t matter which order you read them in.

 

Taking FlightBlurb

“Find me at the meeting point. We are more than the physical.”

Four generations from now, toxins are ravaging the land and the future of mankind is in peril. The surviving men are being rounded up and taken to holding facilities. Research scientist, Dr Deborah Regan is hoping to stabilise the decreasing male population before her lover, Marcus becomes one of those taken away.

When the authorities come looking for Marcus, Deborah abandons her research to go on the run with her lover. They flee to the forests where they stumble across a couple who are intent on finding an ultimate sexual union where at the point of climax their spirits break free from their bodies and unite. Plunged into a life of lust and survival, Deborah soon realises she can easily slip into this trancelike state and she and Marcus set out to create a transcendent bond of their own. Can they achieve the ultimate unity before fate separates them for good?

An erotic dystopian fantasy following a young couple trying to elude capture and separation.

The prequel to A Clockwork Butterfly.

In a dying world – is love the only means of true survival?

 

Buy Links for Taking Flight

Available in ebook and paperback

AmazonUK

Amazon.Com

Buy links for A Clockwork Butterfly

Available in ebook and paperback

Amazon UK

AmazonUS

All Romance

 

Tabitha RayneBio:

Tabitha Rayne has been told she is quirky, lovely and kinky – not necessarily in that order or by the same person. She writes erotic romance and as long as there’s a love scene – she’ll explore any genre.

Her short stories are included in anthologies from Xcite, Oysters & Chocolate, Cleis, Ravenous Romance, Mischief, and House of Erotica. She has novels with Beachwalk Press and Xcite Books.

TabithaRayne.co.uk
Facebook
Twitter
Brit Babes Blog
Amazon Author Page UK
Amazon Author Page US – provides an up to date book list
Goodreads

 

Thanks for letting me share, Lucy x x x

Guest Blogger: C. Margery Kempe/K. A. Laity

Chastity FlameLush SituationA Cut-Throat Business

Continuing our theme of cops and robbers (surely secret agents count?)

C. Margery Kempe wanted it noted for the record that Chastity Flame started out as her sexy book and then it became K. A. Laity‘s book and now this third one has almost no sex at all! Okay, there’s some but a lot of it takes place off screen, so to speak. It’s mostly a break-neck thriller. There’s a terrible killer at large, but there’s also a dangerous ex-colleague who wants to knock off Chas—and perhaps most terrifying of all for the wildly free and sexy secret agent, there’s moving in with her former colleague-now-history professor Damien.

He’s hot.

She’s not exactly a cop, but Chastity is one of the people who protect us that we never see. This guy she’s after is really bad news. So what’s this killer like? Here’s a snippet from the opening chapter–

Daddy’s girl. That’s what she’d always been. As she sprinted down the dark street, the phrase kept repeating in her head. Her heart beat a tattoo in her chest and her lungs burned as she raced along. Adrenaline filled her veins as she sought a way out, away from this, but she could still hear his footsteps behind her.

Daddy’s girl. He had grinned as he said the words, onto her wavelength, her weakness, in just a few minutes of conversation. She had actually been pleased. He was smarter than they usually were, the men who fluttered around her like moths to a flame. She always found it easy to charm them, to make them desire her.

You’d hardly believe she had once been a plain tomboy. Her well-toned legs might be a legacy of that time, though exercise these days meant helping her maintain the look that turned heads. Right then she wished she’d worked more on pure endurance instead of shapeliness because his seemingly tireless steps got closer as she grew tired.

She skidded around a corner and her terror exploded. It was a dead end. Panicking, her gaze darted back and forth, looking for some break in the brick walls that lined the narrow lane. With a glance over her shoulder she stumbled forward into a ragged trot, eyes wild as she hoped there must be a way out of this. Someplace to hide would appear, like it always did in bad dreams, in movies, just when there was no more hope. Then a bin or a box would be there where you hadn’t noticed and behind it a narrow passage that led to freedom.

Her heart raced faster as the sound of his footfalls came closer.

Bricks, bricks, more bricks: up too high, a few windows with broken glass. If she had wings, a rocket, a fiery dragon—her thoughts were getting wild, hysterical. Isn’t that the word they always used, the word only for women? She had such contempt for her gender. She had felt hunger and contempt in equal measures for men, those she desired and those who desired her.

He paused at the entrance to the narrow lane, staring at her. Earlier she had preened as his interest became plain, but now she wished she had never seen him.

“Come to daddy,” he growled in an obscene parody of the fatherly approval she craved.

There had to be some way out! She ran to the far wall, overly conscious of her own panting breaths. Her fingertips scraped against the bricks on vain, her overheated brain suggesting that there could be some kind of secret exit if she applied the right pressure. What was that movie where the bricks moved and opened, revealing a secret alley? When she realised it was one of the Harry Potter movies a giggle began in the back of her throat.

This is what it’s like to be hysterical.

Her giggles grew. No wonder they said a joke was hysterical when it was good. She stiffened when she heard his step so close behind her. The giggles becoming little gasps. She sank to the ground, hands up in a defensive posture.

“Now, now. This won’t do.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet…

WIN A COPY: The ebook came out in all formats October 7th from Tirgearr Publishing and you can win a copy by commenting below and telling me what scares you. Do you fear a stranger in a dark alley? Or something closer to home? Let us know.

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US | Smashwords

Connect:

KALaity.com ° Twitter.com/katelaity ° Facebook.com/k.a.laity

CMKempe.com ° Twitter.com/cmkempe ° Facebook.com/cmkempe

Guest Blogger: Alison Tyler

Inked

Dark Secret LoveYou remember Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man? Well, I was going to be the illustrated woman. Oh, yes. I was. From the moment I first walked into a tattoo parlor, I was addicted. There’s an intensity once you make the decision to let someone write on you. Permanently. I got my first tattoo early, and then I slowly started to add the designs.

At some point in my journey I came up with the brainiac decision to get inked for every book I sold. (No, not individual copies. But every time I signed a contract I planned to celebrate with fresh ink.) I had no idea (obviously) that I was going to be even remotely capable of selling books. I thought I might sign for one here, one there. Based on how many rejections I received for my shorts, I believed book deals would be a long time coming…

When I got to Blue Sky Sideways, I stopped. I could not decide how to commemorate that particular title. A window? A cloud? A swath of blue. A sill. The word “sideways” in cobalt written, you know, sideways…

Being tattooed is important to me. I wrote about one inking session in Dark Secret Love, my new meta-novel.

On Sunday night, his last night in town, Connor took me up to the Sunset Strip Tattoo parlor and explained to the man behind the counter exactly what he wanted. As if he were the proprietor, Connor led me to the back room and lowered my jeans, and I dropped my chin to my chest, mortified, not only because Connor was baring my ass to strangers but because I sported bruises from when his silver buckle had caught my skin, magenta stripes from his belt, those fine thin welts from his crop. On a fair space of skin on my right hip (had Connor intentionally left that patch alone?), the tattoo artist transferred the cherries that Connor had chosen for me. Connor held my hands in his, and I looked into his eyes and stayed totally still. This was not my first tattoo, but it was the first one given to me.

“I can tell she’s a naughty girl,” the man said casually, as we got ready to leave. “But keep that bandage on for at least two hours, and then rub lotion in.”

We fucked one last time on Lois’s bed that night. We fucked until dawn, when Connor took off the bandage and touched me so softly, so tenderly, that it made me shake more powerfully than anything else we’d done. I’d taken pain for him. I’d been marked for him. I’d done everything I set out to do.

Even now, when I drive by tattoo parlors, I have the urge to pull in. To roll up a sleeve. To lower my jeans. I crave that sensation. The connection of the ink traveling past the surface layers. The point of the pen and the tip of my soul.

 

Dark Secret Love is available from Amazon UK, Amazon US and all other good book stores.

Alison Tyler is the author of more than twenty-five erotic novels, most recently Dark Secret Love and the upcoming sequel: The Delicious Torment. She has edited 50 anthologies from Cleis Press and written several novellas, including Those Girls for Go Deeper Press. Visit her at alisontyler.blogspot.com 24/7 and she’s a total insomniac.

Guest Blogger: Tamsin Flowers

International Zombie Day

Hi,

Zombie ErotoclypseI’d like to thank Lucy for having me here on – guess what? – International Zombie Day! Who knew? But for me, it’s a great excuse to talk all things zombie – not least my new collection of erotic zombie shorts, Zombie Erotoclypse.  I’ll be giving you a super steamy excerpt in a moment but, to celebrate all things zombie on their special day, I’m starting with some amazing zombie facts!

Did you know…

  • It’s against the law in Haiti to turn someone into a zombie
  • Zombie stories have been told all over the world including Europe, Asia, Africa and the Middle East
  • In Scandinavia zombies are called draugr and are fierce warriors who refuse to die
  • Hospitals, police stations, churches and shopping malls will be infection hot spots in a zombie apocalypse
  • The worst zombie movies are reputed to be Zombie Strippers and Zombies, Zombies, Zombies
  • In a zombie apocalypse (or erotoclypse) never give a weapon to someone hysterical
  • Fans of all things zombie are called Zombophiles!

Now, for all you zombophiles reading this, here’s what you’ve been waiting for – hot zombie erotica! This excerpt comes from my story I Was A Teenage Zombie Virgin.

Excerpt:

Teenage virgin zombie John has just been rescued from a baying mob of healthy humans by a girl he used to know before he became a zombie. She saved him for the sake of her brother who, when bitten by a zombie, was taken from the family and killed.

Like I said, every zombie has the vestige of the human he once was flickering inside him, and at that moment, I forgot our differences.  I forgot that I was zombie and she was a healthy girl.  I forgot that all I wanted to do was fuck her and then eat her and I caught her up in my arms and held her tight against my chest.

Great sobs pulsed through her for a couple of minutes, then she sniffed loudly.

“So you see, I couldn’t let them take another boy away from his family.”

She looked up at me, her dark hair curling in sweaty tendrils round her forehead, her liquid brown eyes full of trust.  I bent my head and I kissed her.  I kissed her in a way that I’d never kissed a girl before I was a zombie.  Our lips met, hers so soft compared with mine, rough and chaffed and scabby.  Her mouth opened and her tongue glided against my mouth, applying a gentle pressure until I let it slip inside.  I can’t say how it must have compared with her other experiences of kissing, though it was obvious she’d had some, but for me it was sublime.  Fireworks and flares went off in my gut and a burning sensation made my cock surge forward against my cut-offs.  I heard a low, guttural moaning, like an animal in pain, and took a moment to realize that it was me.  I held her close against my chest and through the thin fabric of our T-shirts, her nipples felt like rough pebbles.

Her arms slipped round behind me and started pulling up my shirt and I followed her lead, drawing her tank up to reveal the soft curve of her belly.  It made me catch my breath and I felt suddenly dizzy.

“Eve,” I managed to grunt, not knowing where to put my hands—onto the soft flesh now revealed or to carry on pulling the garment off her.

“Shhhh,” she whispered in my ear.  “Come.”

She stood up and tossed her top to one side.  Then, as I gawped, open-mouthed, at her small, perfect breasts, she grabbed my hand and led me up the stairs to her bedroom.  This room was junk food free but there were clothes all over the floor and the bed sheets were tangled and grimy.  Did I give a shit?  It was literally months, probably more than a year, since I’d been in a bed and here I was, diving into the softness with the most divine, half-naked angel.

 

I hope you enjoyed it! And if you want more it’s only 99c or 77p for all five until October 13!

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See you at our next stop!

Tamsin xxx

 

To find out whom else the zombies will be visiting over the next few days check out the schedule on Tamsin’s Superotica.

 

Tamsin FlowersAuthor bio: Tamsin Flowers

Tamsin Flowers loves to write light-hearted erotica, often with a twist in the tail/tale and a sense of fun.  In the words of one reviewer, ‘Ms Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body.’ Her stories have appeared in a wide variety of anthologies and she is now graduating to novellas with the intention to pen her magnum opus in the very near future.  In the meantime, like most erotica writers, she finds herself working on at least ten stories at once: while she figures out whose leg belongs in which story, you can find out more about her at Tamsin’s Superotica or Tamsin Flowers. Follow her on Twitter @TamsinFlowers or on Facebook Tamsin Flowers.

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