Tag Archives: guest blogger

Guest Blogger: Tyler Robbins

Aftermath: Guts and GloryBlurb:

When the brother he idolized is killed in action in Afghanistan, Kyle Barrett is rocked to his core. With his only confidant gone, Kyle struggles to deal with the loss, while fighting to keep his hidden sexuality a secret from his parents.

If only he didn’t have to face them alone.

Army veteran, Ryder Bishop has returned from his final tour in Iraq, when severe PTSD forces him to seek help through a new counseling program back home in Texas.

Just when Ryder thinks he’s reached the end of his rope, he meets Kyle, and their lives take a remarkable turn.

Can the grieving brother and damaged soldier find the peace they so desperately need? Or will they become another statistic when the aftermath of war hits too close to home?

They might have shipped the soldier home, but his demons have come with him.

******

Adult Excerpt:

Kyle took a deep breath to steady his excitement then slowly unfastened Ryder’s jeans. He pulled them down just a bit, low enough to remove the semi-hard cock from Ryder’s boxers. The shaft stiffened in the palm of Kyle’s hand, and he liked the feel of the delicate flesh against his own skin. He slowly tightened his gripped and began to stroke.

“Shit.” Ryder moaned again, and rolled his hips.

Kyle watched Ryder’s expression as his movements hastened. Ryder, this strong, mountain of a man, who dominated the basketball court, and practically mopped the floor with Kyle every time they played, literally melted in Kyle’s hand.

Exhilarated by that extra confidence, Kyle found the courage to take the next step. The natural step he’d wanted to take since he first laid eyes on the other man’s cock. Kyle licked his lips, then flicked the head of Ryder’s dick with his tongue.

Ryder shuddered.

Kyle lapped the salty surface of Ryder’s crown then encircled it with his lips, until he lowered his head, and drew half of the fleshy shaft into his mouth.

“Fuck.”

Kyle’s ears rang, and his heartbeat boomed like a bass drum inside his head. The more he sucked in, the louder Ryder’s groans became, thrilling Kyle even more.

Ryder made a hissing sound. “Careful with the teeth.”

Kyle corrected his technique and covered the thick shaft with his lips instead, then dove back down for another plunge.

“Mmm.” Ryder bucked his hips, forcing himself deeper into Kyle’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Kyle’s eyes watered as Ryder’s cock bumped the back of his throat, flooding his mouth with Ryder’s salty-sweet essence.

Ryder grasped the back of Kyle’s head and shoved himself in harder. “Feels so fucking good.”

Kyle gripped the base, and used his hand to jack Ryder off as he continued to suck and lick, until Ryder abruptly pulled back, and stopped him.

“What?” Kyle’s mind whirled, and he fought to take Ryder’s cock back into his mouth.

Ryder’s stomach muscles rolled, and his breathing deepened. He inhaled deeply before speaking. “You’ve seriously never done this before?” Disbelief resonated in his tone.

Was he serious? He’s asking this now? “Never.”

“Shit.” Ryder licked his lips, his eyes glazed over. “So that means,” Ryder skimmed his thumb over Kyle’s tingling bottom lip, “nobody’s ever done it to you either.”

Kyle drew in a deep breath, doing his best not to bust a nut just at the thought of it. “No.”

A gleam sparked in Ryder’s eyes “Lie back.”

Chills wreaked havoc across Kyle’s flesh. Oh shit.

Ryder’s eyes danced back and forth as though searching Kyle’s for an answer to a question he hadn’t bothered to ask. His brow bunched, and he eased closer. “Just don’t forget to breathe.”

Links:

Evernight Publishing
Amazon UK
Amazon US

Tyler Robbins Author Bio:

Tyler Robbins is the pen name of author Robin Badillo, who lives in a small Texas town and is the mother of four nearly grown kids, two boys and two girls.

Tyler enjoys stepping out of her comfort zone and pushes the envelope on the stories she writes every chance she gets. She hopes her readers are just as thrilled as she is with the chances she’s taking.

Always the optimist, Tyler is a firm believer that gray hair is merely God’s graffiti!!

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/author.tyler.robbins

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Robin_Badillo

Guest Blogger: L. C. Wilkinson

Does it Add Up? The Enduring Appeal of the Younger Lover

Love affairs between older women and younger men has been richly mined in fiction, both in mainstream and erotic romance (and elsewhere – look at the success of TV show Cougar Town). With good reason: a significant gap in years can add tension and a dynamic that isn’t present when lovers are peers. And like it or not, there is still a stigma attached to these relationships; you only have to look at the media fascination with high profile women like Madonna and Demi Moore who have a penchant for men young enough to be their sons. Yet, the same cannot be said of the fellas. It is only when the men stray into bordering-on-the-if-not-out-and-out illegal that the press have a field day.

All of MeIt’s often said that writers bring a little of themselves to characters, and I would agree. In my early thirties, I had a brief affair with a man eleven years my junior, and funnily enough at the same time my would-be husband was dating a woman twelve years his senior. My fella and I were born within a year of each other, but we have spoken about the synchronicity of these affairs and what we found appealing about our respective beaus of that time. Also, my mother married a man ten years her junior in the 70s; a period when it was much more risqué than it is today. So, perhaps it was inevitable that at some point in my writing life I would create a character who falls in love with a much younger man.

Flick, my leading lady in All of Me is fifteen years older than my love interest, Orlando, and because she is an actress, and a reasonably successful one at that – she has played a major role in a long-standing soap opera just before the main action of the novel begins – the pressure on her is, arguably, stronger than those whose profession doesn’t thrust them into the media spotlight. And fifteen years is officially a generation, so whilst it would be unusual for her to have had a child of a similar age to Orlando it is not inconceivable (sorry – couldn’t resist that one). In fact, Orlando’s step-mother is only a couple of years older than Flick, which adds to Flick’s insecurities about her age, the appropriateness of their relationship and so on.

On top of this, Flick is nudging forty. An uncertain age for most women; an age when the mind and sexual desire is enriched by knowledge and experience, but the body (for most of us, those of us who do not have access to personal trainers, stylists, top class surgeons and so forth) is beginning to show the first signs of wear and tear. There’s an expression in the theatre that suggests there are few roles for actresses between Ophelia and Gertrude (from Shakespeare’s Hamlet). While there are signs of positive change in the industry, with actresses like Julia Roberts, Cameron Diaz and Meryl Streep, as powerful and box-office attractive as their younger colleagues, if not more so, decent, sexy roles for women in their forties and beyond remain thin on the ground. Flick is fully aware that her days as the foxy lead are numbered, but she is too young and too attractive just yet to play the crone.

To stand naked before Orlando is hard for her – there are other reasons too, but to talk about them here would be to talk spoilers. Like many of us, she’s a little insecure about her body; she sees the flaws before the beauty. Orlando, meanwhile, worships her; her curves, her less-than-perfect hips and breasts, the small bump at the top of her nose, the result of a break as a child. As a part-time model he is surrounded by women defined by society as the most desirable (and very young women at that), and yet he is not interested in them. Flick is intriguing; she spellbinds him as much as he does her. If not more so. He is the predator, not Flick.

This was deliberate on my part. I didn’t want my lead to be a cougar in the usual sense of the word. It’s not that I think these women are unappealing; quite the contrary. I think they are admirable in so many respects: if young, firm flesh is your thing, then why not? Consenting adults and all that. No, I wanted the age difference to be a problem for Flick, but not for Orlando. In the past, I’ve written about the ridiculous and insulting way that older, beautiful women are spoken about. Remember all the brouhaha over a seventy-year-old Sophia Loren appearing in the Pirelli calendar?  One of my pet hates is that phrase ‘looks good for her age’. Why can’t someone just look good? Of course, forty looks different to twenty; but one isn’t necessarily better than the other. Because in the final analysis, where matters of the heart are concerned especially, age doesn’t matter. Passion is passion, love is love, no matter what a person’s age. Desire isn’t about maths. Age is just a number. Orlando knows this from the outset; it takes Flick a little longer.

one eyeAll of Me is published by Xcite in paperback and e-book formats. You can buy the book here and here.

To find out more about L. C. visit her site – www.lcwilkinson.com – for news and freebies. Or follow her on Twitter: @ScorpioScribble

Or become a friend on Goodreads.

Guest Blogger: Clare Dargin

It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

A very cool quote that meant absolutely nothing to me when Indiana Jones first said it back in 1981 but now that its 2013 I totally understand it.  And now that I think about it, I guess it was the same thing that the makers of the Expendables were trying to say when they made those two movies.  Some guys just get hotter with time.

From Edward Norton, Patrick Wilson, Shemar Moore to Dwayne the Rock Johnson, I love a man with a little mileage on him.  Be it with experience, age or a combination of both there’s nothing hotter than a man who’s a bit older and still got it.  Yes there are some hotties out there rockin’ their twenties but thirty-somethings and older should not be left out the game!

 

Han and Leia Kiss

 

I guess it all started with Star Wars.  You see, when I was a kid, my dad took me and my brother and my mother to see Star Wars when it first came out.  And of course like everyone else I was blown away by the whole thing.  But my six year old mind, though enthralled by all the characters on the screen, only saw Luke as the cool friend but was enthralled by Darth Vader and had a major crush (or my child like equivalent of one)  on Han Solo.  The loveable rogue who’d seen it all, Han Solo with his cool ship and loyal best friend made me swoon.

Luke-rotjpromo

 

Of course that dissipated as he fell madly in love with Leia and while Luke morphed into his acrobatic sword wielding Dark Jeddi.  I soon kick Han to the curb and fell for Luke and his hardened gaze.  The black double breasted shirt (yes ladies and gentlemen it was the 80’s what can I say? He was sharp!) pants with the tall boots and the black glove on the injured hand, he was hot!  Yes the dye was cast.

The difference between the Luke in Star Wars and the one in Jeddi was age and experience.  He’d seen it all and lived to tell the tale.  Not only did he have that compassion in his heart for the people he loved but he was willing to do what he had to in  order to defend them from the threat that sought to destroy them.  And then that hot bod too.   Mmmmmm.

Some of the coolest heroes of late have not been in their twenties.  Like Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Hawkeye in the Avengers.  Or if you go to tv don’t forget Aaron Hotchner and Derek Morgan in Criminal Minds two men who are forty plus!  So who says an alpha male hero has to be in his twenties to be hot?  Not me!

Colonel Medoro Keegan is just such a man.  Forty-two years old he’s seen it all and  somehow managed to keep that boyish gleam in his eye despite having lived through his fair share of hell.  A passionate man who knows what he wants and not afraid to go after it, he still understands that none of it means anything without someone to share it with.

The second book in my futuristic romance series The Cold Warriors Universe is now available.

 

Ice and PeaceBlurb-

A New Threat? After a long and vicious war, peace is on the horizon for Earth and its allies. However, a series of mysterious attacks on several secret military installations causes hostilities to rise once again.

Redemption. Having left under a cloud of disgrace, retired Marine Colonel Medoro Keegan is called back to duty.

Bound. His wife Caitlin, the only surviving member of her team, chooses to embrace life, albeit grudgingly, as a cryo soldier. Seen as sub-human, she is forced to serve a planet that denies her rights as a person.

Driven. Guided by their sense of duty and belief that some things are bigger than them, they are determined to risk it all.

Hope. The cost of war is high. Can their love and marriage survive? Or will it be killed off by the very same mission that brought them together?

 

~Excerpt~

Caitlin was a sight for sore eyes. She was beautiful. Her petite frame was perfectly accented by the curves of her figure. And her brown eyes and coffee-brown skin was smooth, creamy.

Standing at attention, she did not meet his gaze. Though it was customary not to do as a sign of military courtesy, he could tell she was not doing it for that reason. Her gaze was different. Circling her, he tried to see if he could catch her watching him out of the corner of her eye. In fact, she appeared to be staring blankly ahead.

Peering directly at her, he spoke in a soft tone. “At ease.”

She relaxed.

“Cate. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” she responded mechanically.

Pain pierced his insides. She was definitely not there. Keegan placed his hands on his hips and hung his head in defeat. The one thing that was supposed to go right did not. For whatever reason, they had placed her in a deeper state of mental control than she’d ever been in. He controlled the hostile emotions brewing with him. Touching her face gently, he felt her icy skin.

This is unacceptable! Not here. I will not let this happen here. Not under my command.

“Chief, listen up,” he said in an authoritative tone. He knew in this state, it was the only way he could speak to her and still have her respond.

“Yes, sir.” Her gaze became even more distant.

Her response fueled his anger. “You are going to hightail it down to the doc and receive a full examination. Tell him it is based on my orders. He will know what to do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Knowing that she was under the influence of cryo neurotransmitters, Keegan figured the only way to combat it was to get someone to reverse it. They usually wore off once she was away from the stimulus triggers for a long period of time. But considering her stimulus triggers were high-ranking officers in uniform and combat situations, being around here meant she was going to be in a drone zone for a very long time. The last thing he needed was a zombie on board, especially one in charge of the lives others.

Only the jerks in psyche warfare thought doing this to someone would be a good idea. As long as he was running the ship, none of that would be allowed. There weren’t going to be any super zombies soldiers on board his ship. And he’d rollover in his grave before he let them do it to his wife.

“After you come back from the doc, you will report to me, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are there any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

She did an about face before leaving the room. Keegan clasped his hands behind his back. In the blink of an eye, his joy had turned to sorrow. Now faced with the responsibility of looking after his wife, he wondered how could he handle the burden of command and still protect the woman he loved.

You can buy it at Decadent Publishing, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes and Noble and

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Peace-Cold-Warriors-Universe-ebook/dp/B00DZV25QS/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1374531936&sr=8-2&keywords=clare+dargin

As well at other Ebook Retailers.

 

Also visit me on the web at:

Clare’s Blog 2: The Haven–  http://www.claresblog2thehaven.blogspot.com

Facebook-  http://www.facebook.com/clare.dargin

Twitter- http://www.twitter.com/clare_dargin

The Journal by Liv Honeywell and Domitri Xavier

The JournalBlurb:

“Come to my study at eight o’clock sharp. Dress for dinner. Wear high heels and put on that dress – you know what I expect of you.”

When the order comes Livia is torn between anticipation and dread.

Does he know? How could he possibly know what she has done? And how can she find the words and the courage to tell him?

As eight o’clock edges ever nearer, Livia waits outside the study door, trembling; uncertain of what she will find when she comes face to face with her Master.

If he knows… If he does, there will be consequences. There is no doubt about that.

What will be the price for her moment of disobedience?

 

Excerpt:

He heard the knock on the door of his study. This was her signal that she had complied with all his instructions, not a request to enter. She would come in when he said so and she would never dare to knock again.

He had asked her to dress immaculately, smartly; as if they were going to dinner. Her hair must be perfect, away from her face. Her make up flawless, perhaps to look a little tarty, but she would know how far to go and the penalties for going over the top. She would be wearing elegant, high heeled shoes.

He told her to come in, gently, softly; as if she were merely coming in for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately she stepped into the room; looking down with her hands behind her. She would never look at his face directly without his express permission.

“Come to me.”

She had no idea what to expect. Would he be soft and tender? Or would he sweep her off her feet by mauling her like an animal. She knew that her body was his and he could treat it in any way that pleased him.

He ran his fingers through her hair, gently folding it back and forth and her head moved with his every gesture. Then he thrust his fingers deep toward her skull and tugged at her hair, moving her head in all directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.

“This is no time for making such noises.”

The quiet scream stopped immediately. She was under his power, his presence; his dominance. There was never any doubt about it.

He put his hands over her eyes and closed them, turning her face downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her hands behind her by her wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed her breasts forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased him; a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.

He put one hand over her mouth. The other roamed over every contour of her body; her pouting breasts, her waist, behind her neck. He moved to her pussy and felt that it was already wet. Then both hands wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let out a yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong fingers. She was his to do with as he wished.

He turned away from her, then turned back to look. She was beautiful. She was his. Her pain would be his pleasure…

________________

I knocked on the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well the knots in the wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many times had I stood here, gazing at this door; trying to guess what would happen when I opened it?

I wondered how long he would have me wait. I didn’t know what to think. Did he somehow know what I’d done? Had he been waiting for me to tell him, giving me the chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he had to make me? I couldn’t imagine how he could know, but… he had sounded distracted earlier. Not like himself.

I’d so wanted to confess. I really had. I’d tried all day yesterday. I’d tried today as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, the awful expression on his face that would come from knowing I’d done something absolutely forbidden.

And… and I was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now I’d made it worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much more I’d let him down by not telling him the truth.

I hoped I could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way to explain, though I wasn’t sure I could explain it to myself. What on earth had I done?

I hoped he would allow me to speak, or I wouldn’t be able to say a word, not even to confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was done with me and then tell him? Wait until he had used my body, whichever way he chose; wait until he had given me pleasure which I surely didn’t deserve?

Then what? If I couldn’t find the nerve now, if I hadn’t found it earlier, what on earth made me think I would find it then?

I reached out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger tip. My hand was trembling and I slowed my breathing, doing my best to relax.

Then I heard his voice; such a beautiful deep voice, so calm and gentle. It gave me no clue to what he was thinking, to what he would do this time.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind me; keeping my eyes lowered the whole time. I clasped my hands behind my back and waited.

“Come to me,” he said.

‘Always,’ I thought. ‘Whenever you wish it.’ I didn’t say it, of course. I knew better than to speak without permission.

I kept my hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels clicking on the hard wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so wanted to. Perhaps for reassurance that he wouldn’t hurt me, although I knew he would; perhaps to see if the gentleness in his voice was there in his eyes; perhaps to search for something, anything in his expression to tell me what he was thinking.

He lifted a hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely stroked my hair, twining his fingers through the length of it. I began to relax, leaning my head into his hand, until he grabbed a handful of hair close to my scalp and pulled hard, and I couldn’t help letting out a small squeak of surprise.

“This is no time for making such noises,” he said, still so calmly, so controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.

His fingers gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly while he tied my hands behind my back. Now I couldn’t even see what was coming, and even if I could, I was helpless to prevent it.

He clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to protest, as his other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing – over my breasts, across my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I realised he must know how aroused I was.

He released my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my breasts and my bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs once more. I moaned softly and he covered my mouth again, muffling any noise I might make.

Was I not to be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent no matter what he might do to me? The thought of his control made me shiver and I swallowed hard, trying to hold back a sudden rush of desire. I tried to still myself, wondering if he had noticed.

Of course. Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it would make a difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I couldn’t hide my reactions or if I would be punished for moving, however slightly?

He stepped away from me and I waited for what would come…

 

Buying Links:

The Journal is available from Amazon US – http://amzn.to/1bcR1CG and Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/1dxf9wI.

 

Author Bios:

Liv Honeywell:

When not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading, baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming, Ready or Not is my first solo book. The Journal was co-written with Domitri Xavier.

You can follow me on my blog – http://www.liv-honeywell.com, Twitter – http://www.twitter.com/LivHoneywell, Facebook –https://www.facebook.com/LivHoneywellErotica, Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/LivHoneywell and my Amazon page is here: https://www.amazon.com/author/livhoneywell

 

Domitri Xavier:

Domitri Xavier comes from a rich heritage, including Russia, France and Yorkshire. He is the quintessential English gentleman and lives alone in his cavernous mansion, Upton Abbey.

Domitri is not only a writer, composer, pianist, raconteur, wit and poet, he also enjoys a number of hobbies; he breeds Basset Hounds, plays chess (although he has yet to record a victory) and he is a renowned collector of used tea bags – Earl Grey, naturally.

He fills his remaining time writing erotic fiction, much of it based on his own lifestyle at the Abbey.

The Journal is his first book and his poems have been published on Bitten Press’s website – http://www.akissofpoetry.com/211723089

You can find Domitri on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/DomitriXavierErotica, his Facebook friend page is https://www.facebook.com/domitri.xavier, his blog is http://domitrixavier.wordpress.com, his Goodreads page is http://www.goodreads.com/DomitriXavier and his Amazon page is http://amazon.com/author/domitrixavier.

  • July 22, 2013
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Guest Blogger: Victoria Blisse

100buttonPucker up, something special is coming!

I love a good party and when I noticed that the 100th Sunday Snog was coming up I knew I had to do something special for it.  What is the Sunday Snog? Well it started out as me writing a kissing excerpt up on my blog ever Sunday and has become a blog hop consisting of different authors all sharing different kisses on a Sunday. I love the variety of excerpts it brings in from soft and romantic to cheek reddeningly hot!  All the Sunday Snog goodness can be found here: http://blissekiss.co.uk

I am a big believer in sharing the love, so for the very special part for the 100th snog I wanted to do something that would benefit charity. I ummed and Ahhed for a while over which charity and in the end decided on Médecins Sans Frontières. They do a fantastic job of taking love in a practical way to some of the most needy people in the world. To find out more about their important work check their site: http://www.msf.org.uk/ It’s a fabulous international charity and I really hope we make lots of money for them.  If you’d like to donate to the cause please check out the just giving page for the event: http://www.justgiving.com/sundaysnog

So, what is the big 100th Sunday Snog event going to be? Well I am hoping to get 100 authors to join in on the 22nd September.  Each author will post up a kissing excerpt on their blog and each author will offer a prize for readers to win. So there will be at least 100 different prizes you could win! How cool is that? We’ll keep the contest open until Friday 27th September, then the winners will be drawn and announced. It’s going to be lots of fun and the biggest Sunday Snog to date.

If you want to join in as an author or a reader all the details are here: http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th

And here’s an example of the kind of kissing excerpts I post up each week. This one comes from Rob and Lou’s Wild Weekends: http://victoriablisse.co.uk/books/rob-lous-wild-weekends

rob-and-lou-wild-weekends 400“Do you know something?”

“I know a lot of things,” he replied with a dig of his elbow into my ribs, “but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me something new.”

“Hmm, not sure it’s new but there’s something I’ve always wanted to do. It’s a bit mad.”

“Jump out of an aeroplane? Bathe in a bath of rice pudding?”

“No,” I rolled to my side to face him, “and it’s traditionally beans, anyway.”

“Oh excuse me for being innovative.” He grinned. I swear he gets far too much pleasure from winding me up.

“Do you want to hear my mad desire or what?” I was starting to feel a bit nervous about telling him. I mean he already knew I was kinky but this was something rather new.

“Go on, then.” He ran his hand down my naked arm, turning me on further and not at all placating my nerves.

“I’d really rather love to fuck in the rain, I think.”

“Oh,” Rob’s brows lifted with surprise. “Tell me more.”

“Erm, well, I haven’t really got any more detail. Just kinda like the idea of getting it on in the rain. On the grass. Clothes on. All wet and sticky and—”

“Let’s do it.” Rob sat up.

“What?”

“Get your pants on and a top and let’s do it. “ He pulled on his damp jeans and his t-shirt.

“Oh, okay.” I pull a short floaty skirt from my luggage. I’d packed it when I was feeling optimistic. I matched it with a cotton t-shirt and scrabbled out of the tent behind my eager husband.

The rain hammered my skin from the moment I stepped out onto the wet grass and mud. The rain wasn’t particularly cold, though and I felt uncomfortably hot inside as I squirmed in anticipation.

“Let’s go towards the woods.” Rob grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. We skirted the edge of the other tents then darted off towards the trees.

“There’s no one out.” I commented.

“Yeah, other people aren’t totally mad, Lou.” He replied then pulled up to a stop. “This looks promising.”

We stood on the crest of a dip in the landscape. Beyond us were trees. Dense, drenched greenery and nothing else. No path, no people, no signs of life at all.

“It’s a bit, erm, exposed.” My sensibilities decided to kick in as we got closer to doing something very naughty and probably illegal. I was incredibly turned on, I was shaking with the force of the lust zooming through my veins but I was also aware that the majority of people I knew, and many of those I didn’t, would frown upon such public displays of affection.

“There’s no one here, Lou.”  Rob wrapped his fingers around tighter and pulled me forward.

“But there could be people just in the wood, sheltering from the rain. What if—”

The end of my wondering was silenced by his lips on mine. He often won arguments, or at least postponed them, by using the kiss tactic. I was powerless to resist the pressure of his mouth against mine. He wrapped me in his embrace and his tongue darted between my lips. I responded without thinking. I pulled him closer to me, squashed him against my body. Rivulets of water ran down from my hair, down my cheek and nose to drip on our heated kisses. I could taste the rain with each kiss. The deluge had soaked the cotton to my body. The wet material sculpted my curves. My skirt stuck to my thighs and my arse and that wet embrace heightened the arousal that sparked between us.

See you on the 22nd September for the 100th Sunday Snog, it’s going to be great. http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th

Desire in Tartan by Suz deMello

Desire in TartanDugald Kilburn was sure that he’d never find love. And why should he?

‘Tis rare for vampires and their mates to reproduce successfully and Dugald kens that. He’s certain his lust caused his first wife’s death in childbed.

Innocent Alice Derwent presents Dugald with a dilemma. She’s different than any woman he’s known, different and altogether alluring. And while the lady is innocent, her feelings are anything but.

Will he bed and wed the lady, risking her life? Or remain celibate, sparing her?

But when threatened with death, Alice decides she doesn’t want to die without knowing Dugald’s love. Can he resist her charms?

Like what you read? Buy it here:

http://www.ellorascave.com/desire-in-tartan.html

*****

Excerpt:

Book Two of the Highland Vampires series from Ellora’s Cave

***

Glasgow, Autumn 1759

Dugald left most of his company of men back at the inn with strict instructions to stay out of trouble, but he had no illusions. The men would drink as much as they could hold before finding the loosest bits of muslin available. If they were still able to perform, perform they would, as long and as hard as possible. He hoped that he’d be able to rescue the less experienced of the lot out of whatever scrapes they fell into. The youngest, Malcolm, came with Dugald as his companion. He wouldna leave Malcolm in the care of the rest.

The mop fair was a mad scene. ’Twas combined with a street fair and a farmer’s market, so the entire population of Glasgow had seemingly crowded itself into the square with a market cross in the center. Food stalls, redolent with the spicy aromas of roasting fowls and sausages were fronted by cooks and ’prentices bawling out the prices of their wares. Nearby, penned livestock emitted a less appealing miasma of straw and shite, with the autumn wind swirling the scents along with dry leaves.

Turning to Malcolm, Dugald raised his brows. Without speaking, the two Kilburns started to walk along the disordered rows of booths. Once they’d passed the food stalls, the fair became even more riotous, with knots of maids and men looking for hire, screeching their qualifications. Each brandished a tool of his or her trade, cooks with rolling pins or wooden spoons, coachmen with their whips. Country girls in their Sunday dresses crowded in a knot, peering anxiously at well-dressed passers-by whom Dugald guessed were the stewards of the grand houses. Every once in a while one would stop and question a rosy-cheeked lass, occasionally leaving the fair with a new maid or tweeny in tow.

He stopped, arrested by a sweet fragrance that rose from the reek of unwashed bodies like clean mist drifting on the surface of a loch. He hadn’t detected it before. Mayhap it had been cloaked by the pungent roasting sausages and the other scents at the food stalls—herbs and the like.

He lifted his face into the air and sniffed. Yes, ‘twas there, elusive but definite.

Malcolm did the same. “I smell it too.”

“That’s our lassie,” Dugald said.

The stripling looked mystified. “A sweet smell means a governess?”

“Milady gave me questions to ask.” Dugald patted his sporran. “If she passes, she’s the one. But this is how we’ll be finding her.”

At the end of the row of coachmen, stable hands, maids and cooks fluttered a gaggle of…what? Somberly robed figures resembling a flock of giant crows or, mayhap, vultures. Exuding the stinks of mothballs and body odor, they all appeared to be flapping about one small, drab figure, a female who couldna contrast more with her oafish companions.

Dugald’s first impression of the woman was of narrowness, so at odds with her tempting scent that all he could do was stand and gape at her like a looby. Dressed in unrelieved black, she had slender shoulders and a tiny waist. Slight hips. When she turned, he could see she possessed but a small bosom. He raised his gaze and didn’t bother to stifle a gasp at the sight of her pure and perfect profile. Intelligence sparkled in her hazel eyes, completely belying the rest of her dull demeanor.

Her face… He could stare at that face forever without a single moment of boredom.  Pale, though not as white as a Kilburn’s, for a smattering of freckles spattered the bridge of her straight little nose and sprinkled her high cheekbones. She had well-cut lips with a definite Cupid’s bow, the one distinct curve on her serious face. A semi-circular half-moon dip.

He wanted to slide his tongue into that dip before kissing her with every mite of passion he possessed.

*****

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written over sixteen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press, where she is currently Managing Editor. She also takes private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.

Find her books at http://www.suzdemello.com

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