I’ve been feeling nostalgic for my vampires. Especially lovely, flawed, sexy Nic…

“…The electrifying follow-up to INTO THE DARKNESS is a breathless read. Devlin’s intricate vampire society is filled with compelling personalities. The chemistry between the characters is explosive, and the horrific villain will give you goosebumps…the ending will leave you begging for more.” ~4 ½ Stars and TOP PICK!, RT BOOKreviews

“…This is a deliciously edgy series with mind-blowing sex scenes that sizzle…Ms. Devlin’s DARK REALM series is devastatingly erotic and pushes the boundaries in both premise and sexual explicitness. Ms. Devlin pens in uncharted territory that will leave the readers breathless and hungering for more…” ~Paranormal Romance

For eight hundred years Nicolas Montfaucon has dedicated his life to preventing the rebirth of an immortal evil. But now a terrible storm has assaulted unsuspecting New Orleans—and the beast walks the earth once more. “The Devourer” has been awakened, and there is only one in the besieged city who can help Nicolas defeat the foul creature—a mysterious and beautiful enigma who haunts the handsome Revenant’s erotic waking dreams and enflames his passionate obsessions.

Chessa Tomas is not an ordinary policewoman. A vampire, she works only at night, patrolling a seamy and unseen underworld of roiling chaos. Though Nicolas is sensuality incarnate, Chessa wants no part of him or his kind—but she cannot close her eyes to the unholy malevolence that would consume their world. And Nicolas has uncovered the secret lust that rules her—a steaming, uncontrollable desire he intends to unleash, bending Chessa to his will by making her most forbidden fantasies real.

His brother had thought Hell a fiery abyss, but Nicolas Montfaucon knew better. It was wet, smelled like a sewer, and sounded like the rush of collective hopes draining toward the sea.

With a heartbeat as leaden as his footfalls, he followed the sound of flowing water. His rubber boots sank in the rain-soaked grass as he stepped off the cemetery’s entrance road to head toward the water’s edge. Bayou St. John’s previous sluggish ambience had given way to a torrent in the aftermath of the storm. Just as the security team had reported, the waters that breached the levee in the early morning hours spilled into the bayou, raising it well above any thousand-year flood plain.

They couldn’t have planned for a worse scenario. The mausoleum lay in the center of a newly etched basin.

A cold, tight knot of horror settled in his gut, numbing him to the elements, while a soft rain fell like God’s kiss of benediction before the coming battle. The prickling unease lifting the hair on the back of his neck was familiar, but one he hadn’t experienced to this degree since the searing heat and biting sand of Palestine over seven hundred years ago.

Quiet, muffled voices drew him deeper into the cemetery. He followed the blurred edges of a once pristine graveled path, now strewn with long tangled strands of Spanish moss and broken tree branches, around sturdy stone crypts—ones untouched by the raging storm that had drenched New Orleans and changed its landscape irrevocably.

He glanced toward the dark gray clouds giving his team cover for what they must do. At least God hadn’t added one more insurmountable burden to overcome this day.

“Erika, Pasqual?” he called softly as he approached.

They turned with dread tightening their pale faces.

He noted their quick sideways glances and knew their loyalties might be tested. Just the night before one quarry had escaped their net. Did they know his role in the deception that had allowed the newest Born female to flee?

“The crypt is submerged,” Pasqual said, nodding ahead toward the swollen bayou.

Nicolas followed his gaze and found the winged angel that graced the top of the Morel mausoleum, the bottom edge of her robe licked by foaming, lapping waves of dark water.

“We brought a pirogue,” Erika said, shivering despite the humid heat, “but the water’s so swift…”

Nicolas nodded. “I’ll go. We’ll have to tie off the boat on both sides of the bayou to keep it from being swept away.”

“The crypt was solid. The doors were chained,” Pasqual said, his voice strained. “Do you really think he could have escaped?”

Nicolas’s lips curved and tightened. “His sarcophagus was in the center of the cemetery. The bayou jumped its banks and carved a new path—straight through his prison. Do you think that’s coincidental?”

Erika’s brown eyes looked overlarge in her slender face. “How will we contain him?”

“If the doors are still locked, we’ll wait for the waters to subside to discover whether his coffin remains intact.”

“If they aren’t locked?” she continued.

He shrugged. “Then we prepare ourselves.”

“How do we do that?” she asked, a note of hysteria in her brittle voice. “No one’s got a standard operating procedure for the end of the fucking world.”

“Someone has to go into the water,” Pasqual said quietly, his expression dark and troubled.

“I said I’ll go,” Nicolas said, straightening his shoulders. “I placed him there. It’s my duty to make sure he stays.”

“Not alone, you won’t.”

Nicolas turned at the sound of another voice, one familiar and welcome.

A tall dark-clad figure stepped from behind a large oak.

Nicolas wondered if he’d just arrived or had chosen the most dramatic moment to appear. Simon Jameson’s long brown hair was plastered against his skull and touched the tops of broad shoulders clothed in a rain slicker.

“Simon, bad news travels fast,” Nicolas said, his tone dry.

Despite the dire circumstance that brought him here, Simon smiled. “A little bird told me we had trouble.”

Nicolas raised a single brow at the thought of the mage’s familiar braving the remnants of the storm. “Her wings must be sodden.”

Simon’s lips crimped in the semblance of a smile. “She’s tired and drying off.” Then his gaze turned to the sunken crypt. “I’ll go with you. You may have need of me.”

“I’ll be glad for the company.” Whatever the reason for the falling out between the powerful mage and the leader of the vampire sabat, Nicolas held no grudge against Simon. Their acquaintance was older, forged in blood and battle. “I’d appreciate any help you can provide.”

Sloshing footsteps sounded behind them as more of the security team arrived, carrying a long, slender flat-bottomed boat and poles.

Using ropes suspended between the trees, Simon and Nicolas fought the swift current to drag the boat toward the stone angel. Once the boat scraped the spikes atop the iron fence surrounding the crypt, Nicolas stripped, dropping his clothing to the bottom of the boat. Then he tied a rope around his waist and said a quick prayer.

“Hold this in your mouth,” Simon said, slipping a carved, polished red stone from his pocket. “You’ll need your hands free.”

Nicolas didn’t question why he should keep a rock in his mouth. If his friend thought it necessary, that was enough for him to know. Likely a protective amulet, anyway. He could use all the help he could get.

Urgency and dread filled him. He had to see the damage below the surface of the black water for himself. He set the cold stone on top of his tongue and clamped his mouth closed. Then he lowered himself over the side of the boat, gripping it hard, shocked by the force of the water dragging at his body. Nicolas clutched the edge of the pirogue and shot Simon a glance.

The mage stood in the bottom of the boat, coiling the rope around his brawny fists and arms, and nodded. “Catch hold of the iron bars, and I’ll let out the rope.”

Out of instinct, rather than need, Nicolas drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and submerged. The dark water roiled around him, battering him with stones and debris. He forced open his eyes against the current and grimy sediments, but could see only a few inches in front of his face.

For long seconds he held his breath then made himself relax against the urge to gasp. He didn’t really need the air to live.

The current slammed him against the iron bars surrounding the crypt. He held tight then circled the fence, handhold by handhold, until he felt the gate’s hinges. With his feet against the gate, he bent his legs and made a powerful thrust, which propelled him forward in the eddying waters, toward the door of the crypt.

He reached out, grabbing for the carved edge of the stone door frame and followed it downward to the latch. Where a heavy chain should have wrapped around the mechanism, he found only a drooping handle, bobbing with the current.

Still, the door was closed.

He braced his feet against it and pulled with all his strength to bend the handle upward and lock it closed until he could return with another chain.

At that moment, a dull pounding came from inside, then a powerful thrust slammed open the door, tossing him backward into the current, which swept him toward the gate.

Despite the murky water, he saw a pale, ghostly apparition appear in the entrance of the crypt.

Sweet Mother of God! Nicolas bit down around the stone that threatened to lodge at the back of his throat.

The monster swam in the doorway, his mouth opening in a hideous grin.

Nicolas ground his heels against the iron bars and pushed forward again, launching himself toward the demon to drive him back inside. If he had to hold him there for an eternity, he’d never let him out. He’d uphold his oath—one given over the grisly remains of his wife.

When he barreled into the demon, the creature’s body felt…less than solid…gelatinous. The pale flesh gave way beneath Nicolas’s grasping hands. His torso disintegrated in rotten bits of flesh, tugged apart by the rapid current.

Nicolas screamed around the stone while his hand reached through the disintegrating body to grasp the demon’s spinal cord.

The beast’s face remained solid for only a moment longer while his grin turned triumphant, mocking Nicolas, before the skin stripped away to reveal a skeletal grimace.

Nicolas squeezed his eyes shut as he let go his fierce grip on what remained of the demon’s prison, his body, trying to forget the familiar face the monster had stolen and worn for centuries—his brother’s.

* * * * *

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:

Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
TJ Michaels
Taige Crenshaw
Felicity Heaton
HelenKay Dimon
TJ Michaels
Shiloh Walker
Lissa Matthews
Myla Jackson
Shelli Stevens
Mari Carr
Lauren Dane

A Slice of Southern Gothic Pie

Thanks so much for hosting me on your blog, today, Delilah! (I’m looking forward to the release of our next joint venture in Femme Noir Series – Possessed in the Big Easy!)

Having been born and raised in the Deep South, it’s hard to escape the influence of some of the greatest female authors of our time. Eudora Welty, Flannery O’Connor, Margaret Mitchell, Carson McCullers, and of course Harper Lee.

These authors captured the land of cavaliers and cotton fields at a time when the Old Guard struggled against modernization which not only brought electricity and other conveniences we take for granted to Southern cities and rural areas alike, but ushered in racial and gender equality. These books are set against a backdrop of red clay and stifling humidity, of respites in the shade of Spanish moss laden live oaks, and dark nights where Bourbon is one’s only companion.

Southern literature is also rife with secrets held onto to for generations, taboos risked, and tragedies suppressed. While most readers of Gone With the Wind think of Scarlett O’Hara as a bitch, she is the consummate Southern heroine who drags her loved ones out of a way of life that no longer works and into the dramatically changing world of Reconstruction Era Georgia. She sacrifices to protect her own. Harper Lee’s honorable Atticus Finch parents by quiet but larger-than-life example when he champions Tom Robinson, an innocent man accused of rape because of his race.

And while these Southern authors make us laugh and cry (and often want to strangle their characters), many of these classic tomes have tragic endings.

Though I penned my Southern Gothic romance, Every Waking Hour, nearly twenty years ago, I only recently submitted it for publication. On some levels, the book was too personal, the heroine, Grayson Garland, too edgy, too tragic. Romance readers wanted to sigh when the characters came together and Every Waking Hour isn’t that kind of story.

Inspired by the bastions of Southern literature, by stories told to me by my grandmother about how times had changed, and by my own skeletons in the cupboard, Every Waking Hour is the story of two women whose lives have been mapped out by their pasts, who struggle to find happiness in their present when secrets are imperative, and who don’t know if they’ll be able to share a future.

English professor Della Boyd has worked hard to carve out a career for herself in the male-dominated 1950s South. Having escaped an unpleasant childhood, she resolves to keep her nose to the grindstone and work her way up the university ladder. All that changes, however, when she meets her favorite author, Grayson Garland, whose androgynous beauty and taboo kisses cause Della to question everything she’s always believed.

When Grayson Garland returns to bury her father, the world renowned, eccentric Southern author sets the small town of Rome, Alabama on its ear. But the old antebellum mansion she once called home is haunted with dark secrets Gray is reluctant to face. Sultry nights in the arms of a pretty, oh-so-feminine professor provide ample distraction, but unless Gray can summon the courage to confront her demons, even Della’s love won’t be able to save her from herself.

It didn’t make sense that this would upset her.

Lesbian…

She swallowed thickly.

No. She wasn’t a lesbian. That was ludicrous. Lesbians were women like…like Gray. Women who dressed and acted like men.

“Della?” Gray’s voice startled her.

She looked over her shoulder as Gray quietly slipped out the screen door and then dropped heavily and somewhat unsteadily onto the step, balancing her glass to keep the bourbon from spilling. “Have you been crying? Is something wrong?”

Della dried her eyes and shook her head.

Gray gestured back toward the house. “I saw them, too.” She pursed her lips sympathetically. “Sorry.”

Della heaved a sigh. “I was never seriously involved with him.”

“You were involved enough to let him make you cry.”

It’s not that, Della wanted to confess. She couldn’t. It was so much more than that. Her whole world seemed out of tune, her whole way of thinking about herself. She didn’t know who she was or what she wanted any longer.

Gray waved her hand in dismissal. “To hell with ‘em.”

Della dabbed at her tears. “I’m just being silly.”

“Hey,” Gray said as she placed her glass on the step, drawing her hands back cautiously as if it might topple at any second. “Which car is his?”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Della asked.

Gray grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Which one?”

Della pointed. “That blue Ford. Why?”

Gray eased off the steps and stole across the lawn like a secret agent, looking back and forth to make sure no one was watching.

Della shot to her feet. “Grayson,” she whispered loudly. “Grayson, don’t.”

Gray reached inside the open window and switched on Will’s headlights.

Eyes widening, Della checked the door to make sure no one was looking out. She couldn’t help but laugh at this woman who’d won a Pulitzer Prize, playing a childish prank. If Will hadn’t deserved it, Della would have been appalled.

Triumphant, Gray returned to the steps, pride illuminating her face. “That’ll take the piss out of him.”

She’s beautiful, Della thought as if she’d just realized it for the first time. She’s really very pretty.

“It’ll most certainly put a kink in his plans to go home with little Miss Allie,” Della said and smiled, resting her hands behind her back against the screen door.

Gray’s own smile faded into something somber and thoughtful. She climbed the steps slowly, deliberately, her hand skimming the rusted iron handrail. Her eyes shimmered from laughing and from the booze she’d consumed. Della’s heart drummed. She felt like a rabbit under the spell of a fox, and when Gray’s languid gaze moved from her eyes to her toes and then slowly back up again, Della’s stomach clenched.

Gray didn’t stop her ascent until she’d closed the distance between them, until her face was only inches away. Her gaze dropped to Della’s parted lips. A delicious chill washed over her and her mouth went dry.

She stopped smiling. Her entire being filled with anticipation and expectation. She knew Gray was going to kiss her. It was something that only fifteen minutes ago, Della couldn’t allow herself to imagine, but now it was about to happen and she wanted it more than she’d wanted anything in her life.

Gray wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and then gingerly brushed her mouth across Della’s. She opened her lips to the softness, meeting the whiskey flavored tongue that tested and then retreated. So soft. The kiss was so soft and yet so devastating.

A husky moan tore from Gray’s throat and she deepened the kiss, cupping Della’s face in her hand, pressing her warm body close. The faint fragrance of Gray’s androgynous cologne wafted in the sultry night air.

Gray’s arm snaked around Della’s waist, drawing her impossibly close, crushing her dress against the hard thigh that pressed between her knees. Helpless, Della yielded to the incompatible softness of feminine lips that vied with powerful passion. She responded, meeting the invading tongue, tilting her head to give and receive more. She entwined her arms around Gray’s neck and held her head captive.

This was madness. It was fire and ice and Della dissolved in the embrace, the kiss. And, merciful heavens, the way Gray held her. So tightly. So closely. As if they could become one.

Desire unfurled and snapped like a standard in the wind, leaving Della powerless to do anything but submit. Dampness trickled inside her panties and she moved restlessly against the thigh pushing tight between her legs.

Gray groaned and her arms tightened, her kiss ever deepening. Her tantalizingly chilled fingers slipped from Della’s cheek, downward to where they worked inside the bodice of her dress, inching possessively under the laced edge of her bra. Sweltering passion contrasted the cool touch, pooling between her legs and when Gray cupped her breast and pinched her already hardened nipple, Della all but melted.

A little moan escaped her mouth as Gray’s lips moved to her neck, then to her ear where she raked her teeth against the earring there, then finally back to Della’s lips again. Della wanted this moment to last forever. This fervid passion. This recklessness.

Heat rolled up her spine and all the taboos and warning bells sounding in her head evaporated, leaving desperate physical need in its wake.

Without warning, Gray’s fingers fell away. The kiss ended. Della searched her eyes, shocked by the bleak darkness in the deep blue pools.

Gray turned away and sank back down onto the steps. She took her drink in her hands and stared into it.

Buy it now!

Loose Id | Amazon | B&N | ARE

About Paisley Smith

Paisley Smith is a full time freelance writer and can usually be found in front of the computer either writing, chatting, promoting or plotting. It’s a glamorous life…working in one’s pajamas.

She attended college in the Deep South where she obtained a slew of totally useless degrees and developed an unrelenting sense of humor.

Her books can be found at Ellora’s Cave , Loose Id, and Cleis Press!

www.Paisley-Smith.com

Psst! Rhonda, you won the Venetian mask! Please contact Lexi at lexi.post@yahoo.com to arrange delivery of your prize!

* * * * *

Wherefore art thou, Inspiration?

Writers find their inspiration in many places.  For some of my friends, they have a dream and ta-da, the beginnings of a story. All they need to do is get to the computer and write it down.  For my critique partner, EVERYTHING is inspiring.  She sees two people interacting in the park and she gets idea. She takes a tour and she gets another idea.  An item in a gift shop, a page on an historical website, a song on the radio, an old John Wayne movie and she’s got four more stories! For me, it is a lot more controlled, but no less exciting.  For my erotic stories, I find inspiration in the classics.

Yup, I do. Now before you shake your head, let me explain. For example, my debut release with Ellora’s Cave is called MASQUE. This story was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death,” first published in 1842. In Poe’s story, Prince Prospero seeks to escape the Red Death by gathering his aristocratic friends and sealing them off from the rest of the town in a great abbey, leaving his other subjects to live or die as fate decrees. On the night of the prince’s Masque, which is held in his seven colored entertainment rooms, when the great clock in the Black Room strikes midnight, a figure enters the party in a mask resembling a victim of the Red Death. When the prince attempts to kill the intruder for such audacity as to remind them all of the sad state of affairs outside, the prince falls dead, as does everyone else in the abbey, and the clock ceases.

So my thought was, what if the intruder had been a friend who hoped to sway the prince to do what was right by his people, only to have everything go wrong? How would that friend feel when everyone dropped dead around him? I’m thinking he might feel just a tad bit of guilt. But what if it was made worse by the fact that 73 inhabitants, all except the Prince, weren’t able to cross over and continued to exist in a ghostlike state becoming more solid with the full moon and disappearing all together with the waning moon.

And don’t forget that the Prince, in Poe’s story, had seven entertainment rooms, each of which was a different color. I couldn’t ignore that, because to me, it appeared that those rooms were made specifically for a different sexual experience that a live woman, let’s call her Rena, would need to experience to complete the Masque which would allow the trapped souls to cross over.  See where I’m going here? But that might make it too easy. I mean, who wouldn’t want to complete the Masque with the hero, Synn, a Mr. Darcy with more muscles and longer hair? So I thought, what if Rena must turn the abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove to herself she can and to solidify her income.  Ah, now here we have a problem.

So you see, there really can be inspiration in classic literature. My current, almost ready-to-go, WIP is based on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Rappaccini’s Daughter.” What is fun for my readers is that they can read my erotic romance knowing nothing (except what is in the author’s note) about the classic piece and still enjoy it.  And for those readers interested in reading the original, they will find another whole level of meaning in the happily ever after.  So you see, finding inspiration in the classics really isn’t that strange, is it?

For a chance to win this beautiful Venetian mask made in Italy, leave a comment.

I’ve included a short excerpt from MASQUE. Enjoy. Lexi

Rena Mills plans to turn an abandoned abbey into a haunted bed-and-breakfast to prove she can be successful without her ex-fiancé. What she finds inside is Synn MacAllistair, the distinguished, self-proclaimed Ghost Keeper. Her dreams soon fill with sexual cravings for him. But are they dreams?

Synn, born in 1828, is determined to free the souls of the resident spirits, blaming himself for bringing the Red Death that killed them. When Rena steps into the old Pleasure Palace, he’s sure he can take her through the after-midnight Pleasure Rooms and stoke her passion to complete the Masque so the souls can cross over. Her innocent fire makes him crave more, but it’s far too late for him.

As Rena begins her erotic journey, her heart becomes more involved with every sensual caress until she discovers by completing the Masque she would lose her ghosts. Synn’s betrayal wars with her compassion for her ghostly friends. Torn, she must make a choice between her financial security and freeing seventy-three trapped souls. Either way, she could lose her Synn.

Buy Links: Amazon | Ellora’s Cave | Goodreads

An image of the lone man standing on the battlements crowded her head. “Do you mind if I run upstairs? I really want to see the sunset.”

Valerie took three loaves of bread from the first bag. “Yeah, yeah, go. But don’t expect me to make dinner.”

“That’s a deal.” Spinning around, Rena ran up the stairs to her wing of the Abbey. Striding through the hallway toward the back, she found another set of stairs leading to the floor above, which had a similar hall. By the time she reached the end of that hall, she was at the front of the Abbey again, only here there was a stone spiral staircase. Carefully, she ascended.

At the top, a wooden door stood open and she stepped outside into the fading light of day, but it wasn’t the sunset that arrested her attention. Synn stood, one foot braced on an embrasure, one hand resting on the crenellated stone of the battlement. The breeze lifted his long brown hair away from his face and off his shoulders…his very bare shoulders.

Oh shit. She hadn’t expected his back to be so broad and muscular. His biceps stood in stark relief as if he worked construction. Below his narrow waist, his firm ass and muscular thighs were outlined by his tight gray pantaloons, if she had the term right. She’d bet the boots he wore were Hessians because those were the only nineteenth-century boots she’d heard of that rose to the knee. To call the man handsome would be to belittle his sculpted perfection, and her heart increased its beat as raw, sexual attraction rifled through her limbs.

He brought his arm down, causing the muscles in his back to ripple before he turned to catch her staring.

Her gaze shifted to his eyes and for a moment they revealed such heartbreaking anguish that all sexual heat fled and her stomach tightened into a sorrowful knot. He shuttered his gaze and smirked. “Were you looking for something?”

Confused, and more than a little distracted by the man’s emotions and his highly defined pectoral muscles, one of which had a fist-sized dark spot, she grasped for logic. “Yes, the sunset.”

“Ah, then you are just in time.” He stepped to the side, bowed and swept his hand toward the battlement. “It’s ready for you, my lady.”

She searched his eyes for any sign that he made fun of her, but found only sincerity. “Thank you.”

She stepped up to the place next to him as indicated and gazed across the town. As she suspected, the ocean was a few blocks past the shops and it glittered red as the setting sun shimmered off its dark surface, its waves lifting and lowering the dazzling color as it moved.

“This is breathtaking.”

“Yes, it is.”

His tone made her glance up, and she found him staring at her. She swallowed.

He released her hair from its clip and the breeze swept it from her face. She couldn’t have looked away from his eyes even if the sun had turned green.

He cupped her jaw with his hand. “You are exquisite.”

Her breath hitched at his words, but her mouth parted as his face drew closer to hers. When their lips were but a breath away, he spoke again. “You are made for passion, Rena.”

She let her eyes close, his words shooting pure desire through her, and then his full lips were upon hers. It was not a gentle kiss, but neither was it harsh or demanding, simply controlled. The hand holding her face encouraged her to open her lips and she did.

She grasped his biceps as his tongue swept into her mouth to explore. He tasted like cinnamon spice but not sweet. When his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer, she entwined her arms around his neck, her body tight against his hard one. Unable to stem the growing need building inside her, she pressed her hips into his. A long, hard cock greeted her. She wanted him.

Synn groaned and released her, stepping away.

She grabbed at the embrasure to keep herself from falling on her ass. What the hell was that?

He turned toward the sunset again, his body in perfect profile, his hands clenched at his sides.

Not sure if she was upset because he stopped the kiss or because he started it in the first place, she gritted her teeth. Her body ached for release and she wanted him to provide it, no matter what her mind said. Her sexual frustration gave her a bravery she rarely had. “Why did you stop kissing me?” She had hoped to sound matter-of-fact, but hurt crept into her voice. Did he find her beneath him?

He remained motionless, speaking to the horizon. “If I didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t be able to. You are not ready for me yet.”

* * * * *

Bio of Lexi Post

Lexi Post spent years in higher education taking and teaching courses about classical literature. From the Medieval work “The Pearl” to the 20th century American epic The Grapes of Wrath, from War and Peace to the Bhagavad Gita, she’s read, studied, and taught great classic literature.

But Lexi’s first love is romance novels. In an effort to marry her two first loves, she started writing erotic romance inspired by the classics and found she loved it.  Lexi feels there is no end to the romantic inspiration she can find in great classic literature.

Lexi lives with her husband and cat in the Caribbean where gorgeous sunsets, warm weather, and driving on the left are the norm.

Website |  Blog | twitter | Facebook

NOTE: Don’t let the title confuse you. This is a new call for submissions. The previous “Sex Objects” has been renamed “High Octane Heroes.”

Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories
Editor: Delilah Devlin
Publisher: Cleis Press in Spring 2014
Deadline: July 1, 2013 July 15, 2013 (although sooner is better!)

Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories is open to all authors.

Editor Delilah Devlin is looking for hetero stories for a romantic erotica anthology tentatively entitled Sex Objects: An Anthology of Erotic Romance Stories.

High powered, high ranking…and in high heels.

The term “Sex Object” brings to mind a curvaceous starlet on a casting couch or an iconic, bee-stung-lipped beauty being pursued by a powerful, capable man. Turn that concept upside down by allowing the woman to objectify a handsome, sensual man, using the concepts of role reversal and power play but from a female perspective, and you have the makings of something evocative and fun for the feminine, romance reading audience.

Imagine powerful women unafraid of going after the men they want…
* A beautiful divorcee stepping out for the first time as a single woman with a paid male escort.
* The movie producer using the casting couch to lure the latest movie heart throb into a torrid affair.
* A university professor calling a male grad student into conference to discuss his “thesis.”
* A worldly corporate boss asking for “dictation” from her personal assistant.

These women will be masters of their own domain, in charge and proud…capable of using sex for pleasure’s sake…but ultimately succumbing to the pull of desire created by the “objects” of their desire.

Sex Objects will seek contemporary stories, although the editor is open to a futuristic or historical. Exotic, international settings will be considered. Traditional themes/tropes can be used, but writers are encouraged to create tales that surprise. Delilah seeks unique stories from authors with strong voices, and above all, she’s looking to be seduced by tales filled with vivid imagery and passion.

Published authors with an established world may use that setting for their original short story.

Keeping in mind that this volume is targeted at women, the editor seeks mainly hetero stories, but will consider bisexual or lesbian encounters and polyamorous relationships. This is erotic romance, so don’t hold back on the heat. Stories can be vanilla or filled with kink, but a deep sensuality should linger in every word—and don’t miss describing the connection between strong-willed individuals learning to trust and love one another. 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. These must be original stories.

How to submit: Prepare your 1,500 to 4,500 words story in a double-spaced, Arial, 12 point, black font 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 the page, include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 words or less bio in the third person to realsexobjects@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 in December 2013. The publisher has final approval over the stories included in the manuscript.

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

About the editor: Ms. Devlin has published over a hundred and twenty stories in multiple sub-genres and lengths with Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington, Kindle, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing. In Fall 2011, she debuted her first anthology with Cleis Press, GIRLS WHO BITE. Since then, she has published SHE SHIFTERS and COWBOY LUST. SMOKIN’ HOT FIREFIGHTERS and HIGH OCTANE HEROES  release in summer 2013.

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

I was supposed to have a guest here today, and she still might send me something to post, but since I had the blog free this morning, I thought I’d tell you about things I have coming soon!

04/?/12 – STROKES, VOL. 2 (Kindle/Smashwords) — This is a second self-published volume of short stories to follow the first Strokes. Seven naughty nibblets you should enjoy! I have to get busy putting it together. I already have a gorgeous cover for it, which you can see on my Coming Soon page.

05/??/13 – TWICE THE BANG (Samhain) — This is the fourth Delta Heat book! It’s the silent, enigmatic Beau McIntyre’s story, and it’s hawt—just as you’d expect, with plenty of play with his closest friends. This one’s written and turned in. I’ll be sure to update the exact date of release when I have it!

06/04/13 – LOST SOULS (Montlake Romance) — If you haven’t read the prequel, Shattered Souls, be sure to do it before the next full-length installment of Caitlyn O’Connell’s spooky adventures. It’s already available for pre-order, and I’ve included an excerpt below for your reading enjoyment!

06/25/13 –THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF QUICK AND DIRTY EROTICA (Running Press) —I have two hot short stories, “Quick Draw” and “All About Me,” appearing in this volume.

07/16/13 – SMOKIN’ HOT FIREMEN (Cleis Press) — My next collection for Cleis, for which I got to select the stories and do the initial edit, includes my homage to Magic Mike, “Johnny Blaze.” You won’t want to miss this anthology!

07/??/13 – A LONG, HOT SUMMER (Samhain) — This isn’t written yet. I actually start it this week. But it’s the last of the Triple Horn Brand books (yesterday’s release, In Too Deep, was book #2) and features a May-December romance. Brother Tommy is the younger partner here. 🙂

08/13/13 – HIGH OCTANE HEROES (Cleis Press) — HOH has gone through many names, “Super Alpha Heroes,” “Sex Objects,” but now it’s finally got a name that fits this collection of hard-charging stories about men who know how to fight and how to handle a woman. When I have the final cover, I’ll be sure to share that too!

And that’s all that’s pretty much set in stone for now. In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from my June release, Lost Souls! It’s an unedited snippet, so forgive any typos. Don’t you love the cover?!

Fan favorite Delilah Devlin delivers her second paranormal romantic thriller featuring unforgettable heroine, Caitlyn O’Connell. This time, the psychic PI joins her police detective ex-husband to find a demon pulling women into the past to commit their murders in a seedy Memphis hotel.

Private Investigator Caitlyn O’Connell is tapped by Memphis PD to discover who has been using a Memphis hotel as his killing ground. Women are going missing, and their bodies are found inside the walls of the hotel. But the bodies themselves? They appear to have been murdered in the distant past. With ghosthunters and cops crawling all over the crime scene, Cait and her detective ex-husband Sam Pierce race to find the demon responsible before he kills again.

Darkness sank as murky as the sultry summer air, as heavy as a blanket pulled over a child’s head to hide the monsters lurking in a shadowy closet. Street lamps popped and sizzled, darkening then lightening, but failing to flare bright enough or long enough to chase away deep pockets of inky black. Cait was creeped out, since all she had were glimpses of silvery light from a full moon rimming buildings and casting deeper shadows to cloak alleyways and doorway stoops.

Another full moon. An event she was acutely aware encouraged monsters, both human and supernatural, to come out and play. Edgy and beyond bored, she almost wished for something out of the ordinary to happen, but then quickly changed her mind. The last time her job had given her a real challenge she’d battled a demon in an attic while a wraith latched its freezing fingertips around the man sitting beside her, slapping him around like a rag doll.

For just a second, she relished that last memory. At least Jason had been awake.

For the umpteen thousandth time that night, Caitlyn O’Connell sighed. This time exaggerating the sound. Loudly. Actually, more of a groan than a sigh. A sound that invited Jason Crawford, lying back in the seat beside hers, to wake up and keep her company. She was bored as freaking shit. Surveillance was the one part of her job she truly hated. In fact, she thought she might like having her ingrown toenails cut better than sitting in a dark alley waiting for something to happen. Read the rest of this entry »

You ready to get your cowboy on? In Too Deep releases today! It’s the second in the Triple Horn Brand “reunion” series. This time it’s the middle brother Gabe finding his one true love. Night Owl Reviews called it an “unabashedly carnal read.” I hope you enjoy it. It’s a sexy story, so be warned! And if you have time to leave a review at Samhain or Amazon, this author would be most appreciative!

Buy at Samhain
Buy at Amazon

Some things never change. And some things change everything.

The TripleHorn Brand, Book 2

Gabe Triplehorn can think of no better getaway from his heavy responsibilities at the ranch, than to go back to a time and place where he didn’t have a care in the world. When there was just a campground, a river and a girl.

When he gets to Red Hawk Landing, the campground and the river are still there. He just never expected the girl would still be there too. Only now she runs the place.

Lena Twohig can think of no better place to raise her young son than the family-owned campground that holds so many memories. Especially the romance with Gabe that lit up one long-ago summer like a wild electrical storm. Now he’s back, with a ranch-hardened body she knows she shouldn’t want so badly.

No amount of lies or the years that have passed can tame this tidal wave of passion.

At a bend in the road, he saw the sign nearly hidden by bushes because it tilted at an angle. Red Hawk Landing. Open Memorial Day to Labor Day.

The crackled, worn paint on the leaning sign didn’t bode well, but he took the turn anyway, his truck bumping along an uneven gravel trail that worked its way down a steep decline, heading toward the river’s edge.

When he made the clearing, he heaved a sigh of relief. The place was still in operation. Kids in cutoffs and swimming suits took running dives from the pier. Cars and pickups were parked in front of roughhewn wooden cabins.

He hoped like hell there was still one vacancy left for him and pulled up in front of the small lodge house. The place was clean but showing its age. Looked like the owner needed another handy man to help with a broken spoke or two in the wraparound porch and a window frame that appeared to be rotting away.

He put his truck in park and pushed down on the handle to open the door, but halted the moment she stepped onto the porch.

Lena Twohig. Sweet Jesus. Read the rest of this entry »

Thank you very much for having me today, Delilah!

I would like to share with the world, my VERY FIRST book, Sword’s Call (King’s Rider’s Book 1).

This story is very close to my heart because I literally had a dream about it about thirteen years ago. I have been writing since I was a teenager, but over the years I would go back and forth, not really writing consistently. Until a few years ago when I decided to “get serious” about it and got back to this story, wrote, re-wrote, edited and finished it. Ultimately, I sold it to my AWESOME publisher, Gypsy Shadow Publishing.

Post a comment today and one lucky winner will win their choice of a swag pack (including a tee or totebag) or a copy of my book, in e-book format.

For generations, the Ryhans, ruling family of the Province of Greenwald have been keepers of a sword rumored to possess enough magic to defeat kings. Lord Varthan, a former archduke and betrayer of the king, covets the sword and invades Greenwald.

Lady Ceralda Ryhan, daughter of the murdered duke, gains the sword and flees, trusting only her white wolf, Trikser—magically bonded to her. Cera needs nothing more to aid in her fight.

Jorrin Aldern, half elfin and half human, left his home in the mountains of Aramour to find his human father who disappeared twenty turns before, but finds Cera with Varthan and his shades on her tail instead. His dual heritage and empathic magic will tempt Cera in ways she never thought she’d desire. But can he convince her trust and love can pave the path to redemption or will the epic battle end in tragedy and evil conquer them all?

“Tell me about it,” Jorrin encouraged.

“I pictured our magic as a rope and wrapped it around us. I stepped into him, making us one. I concentrated and I saw you. But then I saw me, too. My eyes were closed, and I felt like I was sitting beside myself. It was…unsettling, at first. But then Trik must have moved his head, because I saw into the woods…he turned, right?”

He grinned at her. “Yes, he did. You did do it.”

“His eyesight is so sharp. It was a wonder to see.” Their eyes locked and held. Air ruffled her hair, causing gooseflesh to rise on her neck as a substantial breeze kicked up.

Trikser made a noise in his throat but she ignored him.

Jorrin looked so wild and beautiful with the wind in his dark hair, his high cheekbones flushed with color to the tips of his slender tapered ears. Her heart skipped as his blue eyes darkened and she read intense heat there.

Last night he’d been in her dreams. Try as she might, Cera could no longer deny that she was attracted to him. That she’d liked that kiss he stole what seemed ages ago.

Would he kiss her again? Heat crept up her neck and burned her cheeks.

The way he was looking at her right then made her lose her train of thought and her worries.

“Tell Trikser to move.”

“What?” But Cera already sent the mental command. Her bond slipped off her lap with little encouragement. He’d caught sight of a rabbit, and took off after it.

Jorrin grabbed her hand and tugged forward. She fell onto his lap, moving to him instead of away, ignoring mental cautions that this wasn’t a good idea, despite her dreams, her admitted attraction.

Their lips met in heated rushed. Cera’s arms shot around his neck and she pressed closer. His body was hard against hers and a tremor shot down her spine.

Her breasts pressed into his chest as he pinned her against him. Jorrin shoved his tongue into her mouth and groaned. She clung to him, moving her mouth under his

When she touched her tongue to his, he moaned, his hands shooting down to cup her bottom.

Cera wiggled in his arms as an unfamiliar warmth enveloped her like an embrace. Jorrin’s erection pressed into her hip and she clutched his tunic with both hands.

When he kissed her harder, her head spun. Feeling his urgency, confusion rushed her. She moaned, fighting the sensation of his warmth, his strength as he squeezed her against him. Her desire for more. Her desire for him. She couldn’t lose control.

Yanking back, she panted against him.

Jorrin’s chest heaved into her breasts as they both struggled for breath. “What’s wrong?” he croaked.

WHERE YOU CAN FIND IT!

Gypsy Shadow | Barnes and Noble | Amazon |Amazon UK | ARe|Smashwords

About me:

Sword’s Call is C.A.’s first book, and is the first in the King’s Riders Series. C.A. also has a Romanic suspense, Collision Force, published by Total-E-Bound Publishing and will be released July 1, 2013.

C.A. is originally from Ohio, but got to Texas as soon as she could. She is married and has a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice.
She works with kids when she’s not writing.
She’s always wanted to be a writer and is overjoyed to share her stories with the world.

Where to find ME online:
Blog: www.caszarekwriter.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/caszarek
Twitter: @caszarek
I LOVE to hear from readers: caszarekauthor@gmail.com