I know Iowa was in June, but I wanted to wrap up the trip highlights. I have three more trips planned for August. THREE! What was I thinking?

Anyway, one of the highlights of my trip to Iowa was a chance to get some new ink with my daughter. We made appointments months ago. The artist at the Iron Heart cleared his schedule for us. My brother entertained the 6-year-old while we spent the afternoon getting stuck with needles. Fun, fun! Here’s the tattoo parlor in Des Moines that we went to.

My daughter has a thing for garden gnomes and decided to have both of her daughters made into gnomes. The lighting is bad, so is the swelling. The colors today are beautiful. I’ll have to have new pics done so you can see them better.

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**Remember! The Skull Stealing Fairy contest continues!
Click on the contest name for details! ~DD

If I could make a living writing short stories, I would. I love getting quickly into a story, finding the surprise (Yes, I know that makes me sound a little nuts. I’m the one writing the story, how can I be surprised? But so often, I am!), then zooming to the close. Writing short helps me polish my prose, helps me focus on word choice. Have Sex Will Travel was especially fun to write since I placed the story in Europe aboard the Orient Express—a train I enjoyed several times while I lived there. I hope you enjoy the little snippet!

“Sexy Little Numbers” is a choice cut of all new and original erotic stories and the latest addition to Black Lace’s immensely popular series of erotica collections. This longer collection will contain even more variety and a greater range of female sexual desire than ever before. It will be the first of an annual collection of the best general erotica stories written by women. Fun, irreverent and deliciously decadent, “Sexy Little Numbers” will combine humour and attitude with wildly imaginative writing from all over the world. This will be the most entertaining erotic fiction for women to be found anywhere in the world.

From Have Sex Will Travel…

The Russian’s fingers did it for her.

As annoyed as she’d been with his arrogant set down on the train platform before they’d boarded, one look at his hands as he clutched his newspaper in front of his face and she was mesmerized, unable to drag away her gaze.

He had large hands, shaped like shovels, dark, sparse hairs sprouting below the second set of knuckles. His fingers were long—the tips blunt and thick. His nails were clean, trimmed, but not filed or buffed. He had a man’s large and capable, but unfussy hands.
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I’m late getting this up, but I’ve been busy rearranging my bedroom. I did some shopping the past few days with the Red-Headed Hellion. Her new hubby is busy in the next room putting together my new TV cupboard. She’ll be consolidating all my jewelry (did I mention I love sparklies?!) into a new standing jewelry hutch. I also have a new TV he has to install and a bookcase/curio cabinet that’s arriving this afternoon.

Whew! That’s enough, right? When it’s all done, I’ll have to have her over with a drill to rehang all my painting and prints. My bedroom is a cross between a harem, a Morrocan tea room and an art gallery. Yeah, extremely crowded, tons of collectibles, but I need all my stuff! I love colors—reds, organges, yellows, deep blues, greens and browns. I promise it works better than it sounds.

So, no writing today. RHH is also working on my stack of mailings. I’ll get to the Post Office on Monday. If you’ve been waiting on something from me—it’s on the way. Next week. Promise!

While your week is winding down, spare a thought for the chaos that is my life. 🙂

Isn’t it beautimous?! I don’t have a blurb written yet, but if you like my Lone Star Lovers stories, you’re gonna love this one! Forgive any typos, this snippet is unedited.

“It’s time you boys found yerselves a wife.” Sam Logan made his pronouncement then waited, watching the four younger men seated at the table from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t have to wait long for his words to sink in. They exploded in the room with the force of a silent grenade.

Johnny’s jaw closed with a snap, and he laid his spoon down on the scarred, oak table. His black, winged brows drew together, nearly meeting over his dark eyes as he raised his head.

Sam suppressed a smile. That look could make the toughest hombre gulp, but Sam wasn’t the least bit concerned. Johnny tended to look mean when things changed. His oldest boy hated any kind of change.

If any other man had said what he had, Johnny would have cussed under his breath and aimed a piercing, silencing glare. However, he respected Sam, trusted him as much as he could anyone. That trust and respect were the only things that kept his butt on the bench beside his brother Killian.

For his part, Killian’s eyes narrowed. The corners of his lips twitched. Likely, he was amused by Johnny’s reaction and didn’t want to let him off the hook too quickly, but was already lining up all the reasons why Sam’s idea was ludicrous. He was quick that way.

Sam calmly ladled the hearty stew he’d made into his mouth and let his gaze roam to the twins. Jason was coughing into his napkin while Mace gave him “helpful” taps between his shoulder blades.

Mace caught his stare and grinned. “A wife, did you say?”

Sam grunted, ignoring the one word that had caught his son’s attention. “This is the third time this week we’ve had stew,” he murmured. Not to change the subject, but to point a out a glaring fact.

“I like stew just fine,” Johnny muttered.

“This house misses a woman’s touch.” There, he’d said it. Sat the big gorilla in the room right at the dinner table. Impossible to ignore.

“Gracie can’t be replaced,” Killian said softly.

The permanent ache next to his heart echoed that truth. Sam nodded. “She’s gone. Three years. I miss her every day. Know you do too. But life goes on. You’re men now. You have an obligation. Ranchin’s a family business. Y’all need families.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “No disrespect intended, Sam, but you didn’t get sons the old-fashioned way.”

“Not because Gracie and I didn’t try. And in the end, we had no regrets. We both loved you all like you was our own.”

“So, you’d rather saddle us with—”

Sam aimed a quelling stare. “Think I felt like Gracie was a noose around my neck?”

“No sir, but…” Johnny’s hands fisted on the tabletop. “Hell, how’re we to find someone like her?”

Sam understood what he meant. Gracie’s passing had left a hole in all their hearts. The boys had loved her. Took to her the very first day he’d brought each of them home. Gracie had been born to be a mother, and she’d showered them all with the things they needed most—acceptance and unconditional love.

“Boys, Gracie wasn’t born a rancher’s wife. Truth is, she didn’t know a bull from a cow and damn near poisoned me with the first meals she cooked. But she learned. Find a woman willin’ to learn, one you kin love and who’ll love you back.”

“You said, ‘a wife’.” Mace wasn’t gonna let that slip of the tongue go.

Sam shook his head and gave the twins a faint glimmer of a smile. Those two could always see the humor in any predicament. “Thought I’d give you two options. I know one can’t piss without the other goin’ too. And there are damn few single women to go around these parts. ‘Nough said?” When all of them nodded, he cleared his throat. “I’ll be out of town for the next four days. Auction in Abilene. The house is yours.”

Obsessions

Thanks so much for having me back, Delilah!

One thing I’m really good at is obsessing. Some of my obsessions are fun, and some are less-so, and a lot of them keep me awake at night.

The most recent is what kind of new couches I want. I’ve spent hours looking online but all the ones I like are the wrong colors.

And before that it was a steam mop. Of course as soon as I bought one at Walmart, I found one on Amazon $20 cheaper.

And there are the strawberry lemonades at McD’s. Some days nothing else will do.

But let’s talk about the fun ones.

Last summer, it was The Tudors. I watched every episode, bought the first three seasons (Charles Brandon lost his appeal in season 4) and started reading Phillipa Gregory books.

Then it was Hawaii Five-O, or should I say Alex O’Loughlin. I even bought The Back-Up Plan with him and J-Lo because he was just so adorable in it. I watched some terrible movies just to catch a glimpse of him.

After that it was Jason Aldean. I must have listened to Wide Open (the CD) a hundred times, especially the song “This I Gotta See.” SUCH a romantic song.

Then it was Justified, or…Timothy Olyphant. I watched the first disc from Netflix, then bought the first season and watched it in something like three days, and I have season 2 on its way from Amazon. I watched all HIS movies (some were pretty good—I bought The Broken Heart Club, Catch and Release and The Perfect Getaway).

I wish I could get obsessed about something like exercise or healthy cooking or keeping the house clean…heck, what’s the fun in that?

What are some of your obsessions?

Check out my new release, Riding Out the Storm, my first ménage from The Wild Rose Press!

Jill Gavin is trying to overcome her bad girl reputation. After a year of celibacy, she’s ready to start a grown-up relationship with Ethan Dewitt, one of her co-workers at the Strait Advertising Agency. A weekend conference seems the perfect chance for a romantic weekend. Jill didn’t count on her boss sending her former lover Zach Purser with them, and she certainly didn’t count on the spring blizzard that strands them in a motel room along the way. She’s stuck in a room with her past and future lover. What’s a former bad girl to do? And if Jill acts on her desires, what will the men think of her?

By the way—my husband knows I write erotic romance, but he DOESN’T know I wrote a ménage, so let’s just keep that between us!

Emma Jay

I swiped this pic from SlavFolklore’s weblog! Love it!

Because so many of you have said you need just a little more time to wrap up your stories, I’m extending the deadline for submissions for Beastly Babes. Here’s a refresher for the guidelines:

Beastly Babes
Editor: Delilah Devlin
Publisher: Cleis Press
Deadline: July 29, 2011 August 15, 2011

Beastly Babes is open to all authors.

Editor Delilah Devlin is looking for lesbian shapeshifter stories for a romantic erotica anthology entitled Beastly Babes.

The concept of shapeshifters—beings both human and animal—ignites our imaginations with visions of primal passions and insatiable hungers. Most commonly seen as dark, masculine demons, shapeshifters are in need of a metaphysical overhaul—a new feminine/Sapphic blending of physical power and inescapable desires.

Beastly Babes will re-envision common and not-so-common myths and deliver a fresh perspective from the storytellers. Traditional lycanthropes and feline familiars are welcome, if told with a fresh twist, but writers are encouraged to imagine greater, and perhaps explore more obscure, lesser-known mythologies from around the world to create inventive tales celebrating feminine power, lust, and erotic love. Concentration primarily focuses on the lesbian relationship, although ménage and secondary m/f depictions will be permitted. Published authors with an established shapeshifter world may use that setting for their original short story.

The stories may be as kinky or vanilla as the writer wants—but a deep sensuality should linger in every word. Exotic locations and scenarios are welcome. Keep in mind there must be a romantic element with a happy-for-now or happy-ever-after ending. Strong plots, engaging characters and unique twists are the ultimate goal. Please no reprints. We are seeking original stories.

How to submit: Prepare your 1,500 to 4,500 words story in a double-spaced, Arial, 12 point, black font Word document with pages numbered (.doc, NOT.docx) OR rich text format. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) is required.

In your document at the top left of th epage, include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to cleisbeastlybabe@gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. Authors may submit up to 2 stories. Delilah will respond to you in October 2011. The publisher has final approval over the manuscript.

Payment will be $50.00 USD and two copies of the published book upon publication.

Direct any questions you have regarding your story or the submission process to Delilah at cleisbeastlybabe@gmail.com.

October 4th will come sooner than you think! That’s the date Enslaved by a Viking releases. It’s available for pre-order right now. And if you order early, you will lock in the reduced price of $10.20 (regular price will be $15.00!).

What should you expect from my story? A lushly erotic journey with twenty naked vikings…a brothel where anything goes (and does!)…a battle to end all battles…and a romance that will leave you very, very satisfied. I love this series and want to write more of the stories, but it’s up to you. If you read it and love it and talk it up to your friends so that they buy it, then maybe Berkley will be convinced there’s a demand for more Vikings in Space. In the meantime, enjoy the opening…

His suffering….

Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios’s elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…

Her satisfaction….

Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister’s papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.

Eirik tried not to breathe too deeply. The rotten, sour smells of his dark, dank prison already made his skin stink. He didn’t want the awful stench inside his lungs or belly.

He hadn’t seen the other prisoners, not after they’d been herded like cattle through a chute once the hatch had been opened at the side of the ship and his keepers applied prods to their backsides to move them out in single file.

With only brief impressions of his new home, of searing heat and blinding, harsh sunlight, he’d shielded his arm over his eyes and stumbled down the gangway, through the iron-barred alley that disallowed any thoughts of escape.

He’d been led to this cell, deep inside an enormous stone building. A brief glimpse of an open arena, and then he’d been shoved down two flights of narrow stone steps.

Once they’d slammed the solid door and slid the eye-level window closed, he’d been left alone, no sounds penetrating his prison other than the hum of the light above him, and the sounds his own body made.

His thoughts drowned it all out, screaming inside him. He’d wanted to beat his fists against the door, rail at his captors, but he didn’t know if anyone watched him, and wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how close to abject despair he was coming.

Hel, he’d even suffer Fatin’s derision, her cold, calculating touch, just to feel or hear another human being.
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