I like to write and read about strong women. Probably all of us do, from time to time, but even if I start out trying to write a more submissive character, by the end she’ll be as strong-willed as any hero. In my very first long ago erotic short story (eventually published in Dream Lover, an anthology edited by Kristina Wright for Cleis Press,) the central character is a prostitute dominated and brutalized by her pimp, a woman who has given up on herself and drifts through life. By the end, though, she has saved a demon imprisoned in a huge gargoyle outside her penthouse window, and become a powerful demonic angel herself. Yes, I also love fantasy stories.
I love to write historical fiction, too, but I don’t even bother any more to try giving my heroines a softer edge. In “Flight of the Falcon” (in Delilah’s anthology Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors) the Armenian Lady of Aragatsotn is every bit a match for the Mongol General from Ghengis Khan’s Golden Horde. In the other relatively few straight erotica stories I’ve written, I have heroines like a hot-air balloon pilot in 1800s San Francisco, a WWII Russian bomber pilot in the factual all-women Night Witches squad, and a semi-witch who saves the supposed “ogre” in the Puss in Boots tale. All strong women letting you share in their fun, and their sex.
With my preference for strong women, it’s not surprising that most of my work in recent years has been centered on lesbian characters, where I can have two (or more) strong women to play with. When I was invited several months ago to write a lesbian superhero novella, I wavered for a while—I’ve never actually been into superheroes, and I’ve never written anything longer than a short story. But I had a hint of an idea, and it seemed like a good time to take the plunge into a somewhat longer form than a short story, so I signed a contract, did great amounts of research, and actually got my piece done by the deadline. Whew. But—let me rephrase that. BUT! I was then told that I’d squeezed so much plot into the novella that I had to expand it into novel length. Which I’m trying to do, but there’s more difference between short stories and novels than just the word count. The pacing is different, and so is the way the characters are developed, and my editorial inclination to say the most in as few words as possible (I edit short stories for anthologies) makes it hard to adjust to the novel form. In short, this project is really kicking my butt. I love my characters, and I’ll finish the book, but it may well not be any good. It certainly won’t be what superhero fans expect, but it WILL be about very strong women. The title, probably, will be TheShadow Hand, from Ylva Books in 2018
I am now officially in awe of people who can write novels.
Back on the short story anthology front, I’ve been trying for years to get my main publisher to let me take on a fairy tale theme that would center on strong women and tweak the traditional expectations. Finally, success! My newest anthology, Witches, Princesses and Women at Arms: Erotic Lesbian Fairy Tales, is written for those who have had to settle for envisioning “he” as “she” when they’re reading fairy tales. I know similar books like this have been done every now and then, but I got such great stories from excellent writers that the stories themselves are worth reading as stories, regardless of the orientation of the characters—or of the readers.
Most of you probably don’t do this private re-gendering of characters in stories you read, and you may not like to read fairytales at all. Or if you do reimagine the characters, more likely you try now and then to envision “she” as a second “he”, which is fine. I’ve dabbled in m/m fantasy myself. Any variety is good exercise for the imagination (and the senses.) All else being equal, though, I take a story where it needs to go, with the characters who can best get it there. More often than not, these characters turn out to be lesbians, and this new anthology is a prime example. I know there are many readers who have longed for flights of imagination that could sweep them up into worlds of magic and sensual delights—if only all those heroes winning the day (and, of course, the girl) didn’t get in the way. Why can’t we have heroines who win each other?
As it turns out, we can. I asked writers for erotic romance, magic, and wild adventure, with women who use their wits, special powers, and/or weapons, and come together in a blaze of passion. The writers didn’t fail me. Some adapted traditional tales, and some updated old stories to contemporary times, in every case not merely changing the gender of a character but making the female aspect essential. Some created original plots with a fairy tale sensibility, while some wrote with merely a subtle aura of fantasy.
Their heroines are witches, princesses, brave, resourceful women of all walks of life, and even a troll and a dryad. There is laughter, sly wit, and an occasional tear; curses and spells, battles and intrigue, elements of magic and explorations of universal themes; and, yes, sex, sensuality and true love, all bound together into complex and many-layered stories. Whether a character is royalty or a miller’s daughter, a woman warrior passing as a man, a sorceress in flowing robes, or even a window inspector dangling in harness on a modern high-rise building—who better to rescue a long-haired captive in a tower?—all the relationships are passionate, intense, sometimes quick to ignite, sometimes all the hotter for restraint that flares at last into a fierce blaze.
If this just isn’t your thing, though, that’s okay. Maybe you could imagine that one of the “shes” is a “he”, although the fact of the characters being female is essential to most of the plots. But you might well discover that these stories of strong women in fantasy settings are well worth reading just as they are.
The Library Journal Review says of the book, “There is one creative hit after another…An excellent series of Sapphic fantasies. Highly recommended.”
Here’s a very non-representative excerpt from my own story in the book, but really, the stories are so varied that it would be hard to cite one as being representative. I went for humor in this one, but with more than humor at its core.
Trollwise bySacchi Green
Trip, trop, trip, trop. Hjørdis stood back in disgust as Princess Tutti pranced across the bridge, hips swaying, the false tail strapped to the seat of her gown twitching. A coy toss of Tutti’s head knocked the goat horns on her headdress slightly askew. “Oh, Mr. Troll,” she piped in a falsetto voice, “are you there today? Don’t you want to eat us up? Look, this time there is a meatier prey than just we little goats!” She cast a mocking glance back toward Hjørdis. “A buxom brood mare!”
Hjørdis would have swatted the silly girl’s rump if there had been enough of it to be worth the trouble. Or, more truthfully, if she herself had not been bound by oath to abide peaceably among these puny southerners. For now. As it was, she took a threatening stride onto the wooden planks. Tutti ran off giggling toward the meadow, from which sounds of pipes and laughter and occasional playful shrieks rose above the lazy burbling of the stream.
Princess Vesla, also adorned with horns and tail, came up timidly beside Hjørdis. “There truly was a troll under the bridge a week ago,” she said in a tremulous voice. “When Tutti called out, I heard its voice, like the rumbling of stones. She thinks it was Werther, the dancing master, trying to frighten us, but I’m sure it wasn’t!”
“Oh? What did he say?” Hjørdis made some small effort to tolerate Vesla, who was not so spiteful as her sister Tutti. She felt also a slight sympathy for the girl, who had formed a hopeless passion for Hordis’s captive brother Harald. At least accompanying them on their outing, however nasty it promised to be, was an excuse to leave the castle.
“It said, ‘Scrawny bones not fit to pick my teeth! Get you gone!’” Vesla shivered. “But we haven’t heard anything since.”
Hjørdis knew a great deal more about trolls than these little twits ever could. More than anyone could who had not known Styggri. That sounded all too much like what Styggri would say, in a humorous mood. But Styggri had crossed into another world from which there was no return.
Hjørdis looked more closely at the bridge. Its sides and the pillars beneath were stone, with wooden planking wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side over its double arch. And wide enough for a troll to lurk beneath, although why one should wish to, or venture this far south at all, was beyond her. Still… She gazed far upstream to where water surged out from a cleft in a rocky hillside. Nothing to compare with the jagged mountains and plummeting rivers of her home, but still part of a long arm of hills and ridges reaching out from those same mountains.
“You go on to your frolicking.” She gave Vesla as gentle a shove as she could manage. Gods, these pampered southern girls were brittle, twiggy things! And their brother the prince—her husband under duress—was no better. “I’ll sit a while here in the shade of the birches. This heat annoys me.”
“Oh! Are you, then…already…”
“No! And if I were, it would be too soon to know. Go along now!”
Vesla went, trying to keep the gilded wooden heels of her shoes from making as much noise on the bridge as Tutti’s had done. Once safely across she looked back over her shoulder. “Give Werther a few stomps from me,” Hjordis called. The foolish dancing master deserved whatever he got, with his tales of ancient times in foreign lands where satyrs danced on goat hooves and bands of women ran wild under the spell of a wine god.
Comment about strong women, fairy tales, or short stories versus novels, and be entered for a drawing to win a paperback copy (in North America) or an ebook (elsewhere) of Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms.
About the Author
Sacchi Green is an award-winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. Her stories have appeared in scores of publications, including eight volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, and three of Best Lesbian Romance. In recent years she’s taken to wielding the editorial whip, editing thirteen lesbian erotica anthologies, including Lesbian Cowboys (winner of a Lambda Literary Award,) Girl Crazy, Lesbian Lust, Women with Handcuffs, Girl Fever, Wild Girls, Wild Nights (also a Lambda Award Winner,) Me and My Boi, and Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year 20th Anniversary Edition, all from Cleis Press, as well as Through the Hourglass: Lesbian Historical Romance and Thunder of War, Lightning of Desire (Lethe Press.) Sacchi lives in the Five College area of western Massachusetts, gets away to her NH mountain retreat as often as possible, and makes the occasional foray into the real world to do readings in New York and other exotic locales. She can be found online at www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com and on Facebook..
I like to read books that make me smile and those about family. I’ve written mysteries and romance and, in this new series, chose to combine them. I realized it would be fun to have two main characters and make them identical twins. One would dread sex because of her sole previous marriage. The other would love sex and have three exes who still want her and shower her with finery. But she’s still trying to find that elusive soul mate. Who just happens to be the man who will take her sister’s breath away and make her feel things she’d thought impossible.
My oldest daughter is a wonderful special ed teacher who loves her challenged students; so do I. That’s why I made the sister who didn’t want romance again have a handicap: she’s dyslexic, which causes her problems. She also has a neurosis that she’s struggling to overcome.
Because I adore older people, I gave the sisters a sweet, spry mother who lives in a retirement home in bayou country, where they and I happily reside. Mom’s cadre of buddies love to give her twin daughters advice about romance. Things they hear from other (or make up to pass the time) might help or hinder trouble the twins when murder comes around and aims at one of them.
Who can they believe? Who can they trust? Is love real—or is the man who seems perfect a killer?
I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.
“Oh no!” people cried.
“Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed from my mouth.
“Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”
I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.
“Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”
“Here Comes Santa Claus,” I sang.
She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.”
The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me like whiplash.
CONTEST
What’s your favorite Cajun food or food from the South?(Mine is boiled crayfish. You’d better get out of my way if there’s only one of them left.) One winner will be chosen at random and receive your choice of Delilah’s e-books. Get your stomachs thinking!
Did you love the first three installments of my short story series, With His SEAL Team, Parts 1-3? Yeah, they were short, but sizzling hot, right? Well, I’ve wrapped up Part 4. This time, we get to see the story from Hunter’s point of view! If you haven’t read the first three, click on the covers to check them out!
I don’t think Part 4 will be the last, but it depends on you. As always, if you love the story, and want more of my sexy SEALs, all you have to do is let me know! Part 4should be live later tonight or tomorrow. I’ll be sure to update this post with the link when it does! Be looking for it!
Contest
Let me know in the comments whether you’ve read any of Sara’s and Hunter’s stories. I’ll choose three winners to gift a copy of their choices of one of the first three installments.
* * *
Read an excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 4…
I’m Hunter. It’s the name I was born with, and the name my SEAL buddies let me keep, due to my uncanny instinct for finding enemy combatants. I’m not an easy guy to know. Most women might give me a look, but there’s something in my eyes I’ve been told, that makes them wary about coming closer. A hint of violence that only freaks find sexy. Freaks—and Sara, my little sister. Stepsister, that is. Sara never seems to notice I’m a badass.
From day one, when our parents introduced us, she treated me as though I didn’t have a single hard edge and like my silences were invitations for her to speak. She was so chatty and flirty that first day, my dad had laughed his ass off, because he knew I had a certain reputation already, and she was oblivious to the danger. Blissfully so, because she couldn’t help hugging my arm and leaning into me, so happy to have a brother, she’d said, and “I can’t wait to do things with you, Hunt.”
“Hunter,” I’d ground out, not knowing how to shake off the pretty, blonde princess who wore pink from head to toe and had sparkles on her eyelids.
My dad had cleared his throat and given me a warning glare to play nice, but Sara hadn’t noticed how uncomfortable I was. Or, so I’d thought. I just hadn’t figured out how smart she really was, and how much my frowning resistance challenged her.
No, even during that first meet I’d felt a sense of doom weighing on my shoulders as she’d blinked her pink-sparkled lids and given me her wide-eyed stare. Her blue eyes had captured me, and I’d felt like I was falling. Right then, I’d felt my first stirring of arousal for the one girl who should have been completely off-limits.
However, Sara didn’t “do” boundaries. More than once, she’d flounced into my room in her undies to ask to borrow something—a pencil or a hairbrush—then root around my room, turning and bending, making sure I noticed her cute ass or how nicely her tits filled her bra.
Once, she’d even picked the bathroom lock to walk in on me while I’d jacked off. She’d paused in the doorway, then hurried inside, closing the door behind her, while I’d reached for a towel to hide my erection. She’d plopped onto the closed toilet seat and proceeded to tell me I had to let her watch or she’d tell my dad I’d “borrowed” his porn.
Sure she’d lose her nerve, I’d given her a steady glare and continued, all the way until I’d pumped come into the towel. I’d been angry, but also entranced, because while her cheeks had reddened, her nipples had poked against her T-shirt and her breaths had come faster. After that day, I stopped being shocked when she barged in to catch me nude in the shower or in my bed.
Fucking her had been inevitable. And sweeter than anything I’d ever experienced. And although I’d paraded other women in front of her, trying to do the right thing by ending her attraction—even after I’d joined the Navy and become a SEAL, with my own apartment, my separate life—I’d continued to allow her to invade my space. She’d show up at my place, smile at my girlfriends, then wait around for them to leave before doing her best to show me that she was the only girl for me.
When she couldn’t afford her apartment, I’d told her she could stay with me—until she got back on her feet. But she’s never left, and I’ve never asked her to.
Fact is, I need her. She’s my sunshine. When I come back from a mission feeling ready to shred something with my fists, she banishes the darkness. Only she can provide me sweet release from the ghosts that haunt me. She taunts me with lust and bad behavior. Teases me by flirting and fucking my friends.
She knows I like to watch her fuck. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t see them at all. Her face, her ever-changing expressions, fascinate me. Her body, to me, is perfection—supple, light gold skin stretched over tits that make me salivate and an ass that makes me hard when it twitches. Every undulating motion, every quiver and bounce, draws me deeper and deeper into lust for her. That my friends love her, too, is something I’m getting used to.
The way I see it—Sara will never be alone. If, someday, I catch a bullet or stomp on a mine, I know she’ll be devastated, but there will be three men ready to console her, look after her, and love her.
In the meantime, she’s ours to share. An arrangement that naturally progressed from me giving Sara a thrill by allowing my friends to catch glimpses of her naked, to letting them watch her being fucked by me. When I’d invited them to her bed, I’d had reservations, worried that my bond with Sara would be strained, until I’d noted the way she looked at me when she was with them, like this was our foreplay. I love my brothers, but I made it clear from the start that whatever happened was strictly for her pleasure. They were free to play, to enjoy her company, but she’d never be theirs.
Marco, Payton, and now Harley, are all respectful of my claim. They engineer “alone time” for the two of us. Like this morning. At dawn, the three tapped on my door to tell me they were headed to the gym, and then told me which bed Sara occupied.
Marco gave a waggle of eyebrows. “She’s sleeping.”
Which meant she wasn’t, and the game was on.
As I entered Harley’s bedroom, Sara was playing ’possum, pretending she still slept, although she knew that I knew she was faking it.
Now, I wore the smile I knew made her shiver—if she were able to turn and see it. But “little sis” wasn’t in any position to turn, or move in any direction for that matter. I’d found her nude on Harley’s mattress. Not even a sheet covering her body. She lay on her belly, her legs spread, her arms at her sides, and her face turned from the door.
Harley had left the door open, likely at her request. A tease for me. She liked setting up little seductive scenarios. Loved being caught doing something nasty. When Marco, Payton, and I were around, she went to great lengths to give us peeks of her body sure to incite us into acting.
This morning, she and I were alone in the house. So this little scene was meant for me. And I’d taken full advantage, hustling back to my bedroom to dig through my closet for the small duffel filled with items I’d collected for her pleasure.
While she “slept”, I fastened Velcro bonds around her ankles and attached them to rugged canvas bands I hooked to the bedrails, and then slowly tightened them to ease her legs farther apart. I did the same with her wrists, trying not to laugh as she’d muttered and snored, keeping up the act, although I could tell by her shortening breaths and the glaze on her pussy that she was getting very excited.
I’d had a week to hunt for just the right hardware to play out this fantasy while she’d been on a trip I’d paid for her—accompanying Harley on a special cruise for disabled vets. Although I’d urged her to go, every day she’d been gone had been an agony.
I doubted Sara knew how much I’d missed her. How I’d ached for her. No matter how many times I “cleaned my rifle”, I was left wanting. When they’d both returned, looking tanned and wearing lazy smiles, I’d ground my teeth, knowing Marco and Payton wanted a turn with her, too. I’d let them have her—even though it about killed me—because I’d seen the catlike curve of her mouth as she’d mounted Payton while he sat on the couch. I’d tensed the moment Marco came behind her, pushing away her hair to nibble on her shoulder while he’d slowly fed his cock into her ass.
When both men had begun to stroke her, Sara’s gaze had locked with mine, challenge gleaming in her baby-blue gaze. She’d driven me out of my mind—breasts bouncing, her bottom lip swelling as she bit it over and over, her back bowing as she’d come.
Yeah, I liked to watch her having sex with my best friends, but there always came a time where I had to have her to myself, to remind her who she belonged to—heart and sweet, hot pussy.
As always, I want to start by thanking Delilah for letting me come hang out here with you all. It’s always a lot of fun to play here.
It’s a shiny new season, which makes people sometimes want a fresh start in different areas, maybe something big like a job, or a new home, or smaller like a hobby, or just cleaning out a closet—my mom and grandma always did huge, empty-all-the-cupboards spring and fall cleaning every single year, and I never understood it; after all, who cleans things that are already clean. But sometimes that fresh start isn’t by choice. Maybe an employer has to down-size, or, worse, close. Maybe a family member far away needs a caregiver and there isn’t anyone else willing. Lots of us have experienced some of these fresh starts, by choice or by necessity. It’s part of life.
Spring seems like a good time to get some of the by-choice fresh starts underway. Mini-house cleaning (the windows always need a good scrub after winter, right?), or getting rid of old clothes we no longer wear to make room for a few new pieces. Culling a collection that doesn’t mean as much now as it did when we started it. Those are reasonable, I think. Some of us set bigger goals—redoing a room, or planning a vacation.
I’ve seen a lot of (and written some) books that start with one of the main characters undertaking a fresh start in their life, some voluntarily and others not, that sets them on a collision course with something they never planned for, sometimes something that turns their fresh start upside-down so they wind up with yet another fresh start. It’s one of the things that keep us reading, I think, watching how they adjust to the unplanned roadblocks that pop up and make the characters rethink what they thought they knew or wanted.
One of the things I’m starting over this year is my publishing plan–my publisher closed their doors a couple of months ago, so a whole lot of authors had to add some major tasks to their to-do lists for the year. I’m still trying to rework my writing goals for the year while I figure out what to do with Hunting Medusa and the other two unpublished books in the trilogy. I have a lot of (scary!) options on my plate so have been doing research to whittle down that list and make the best choice I can for my books.
In the manuscript I’m rewriting now, the heroine has chosen to make a fresh start—she’s accepted a new job in a state where she doesn’t know a single person. But she has a few months to wrap things up before she goes—sell the house where she grew up, find a place to stay in the new state, get in as much time with her BFF as she can. Romance is definitely not on the list for now, but when her BFF’s older brother sets his sights on her, what can she do? She’s had a crush on him since they were kids, but he never really saw her…until now. It’s sure going to make that fresh start a lot more difficult, though, when she has to leave.
What are some of your favorite ‘fresh start’ stories? I have a signed copy of Hunting Medusa to give away–everyone (US residents over 18) who comments will be entered into a drawing via RandomResult.com.
About the Author
Elizabeth Andrews has been a book lover since she was old enough to read. She read her copies of Little Women and the Little House series so many times, the books fell apart. As an adult, her book habit continues. She has a room overflowing with her literary collection right now, and still more spreading into other rooms. Almost as long as she’s been reading great stories, she’s been attempting to write her own. Thanks to a fifth grade teacher who started the class on creative writing, Elizabeth went from writing creative sentences to short stories and eventually full-length novels. Her father saved her poor, callused fingers from permanent damage when he brought home a used typewriter for her.
Elizabeth found her mother’s stash of romance novels as a teenager, and—though she loves horror—romance became her very favorite genre, making writing romances a natural progression. There are more than just a few manuscripts, however, tucked away in a filing cabinet that will never see the light of day.
Along with her enormous book stash, Elizabeth lives with her husband of more than twenty years and two young adult sons, though no one else in the house reads nearly as much as she does. When she’s not at work or buried in books or writing, there is a garden outside full of herbs, flowers and vegetables that requires occasional attention.
Hunting Medusa
The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1
When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.
Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester on Andi’s trail…
UPDATE: The winner of this contest is…Alyssa Drake!
* * * * *
I collect photos like some folks collect baseball cards or Fenton glass. In my down time, it’s not unusual for me to peruse the stock photo sites, looking for a little inspiration for future stories. I found this photo, and while I didn’t have a particular project in mind (still don’t!), the woman, the misty setting—they intrigued me. So I downloaded it.
Writers often use “photo prompts” to kickstart the brainstorming process. Today, if you’d like to play, you can try your hand at coming up with your own story idea. Doesn’t have to be long or involved. Just have fun!
If you do decide to play, there’s a free story in it for one lucky winner! You can choose any story from among my most recently released series, Night Fall, Cowboys on the Edge or Uncharted SEALs.
I’ve been publishing romance and erotica for more than fifteen years, but I’ve never had anything like a “best seller”. I shouldn’t complain—I have loyal readers and receive lots of five star reviews—but commercial success has eluded me.
I’m not alone. The majority of my author peers are in the same boat. We slave away at our computers, pouring our passions onto the page. We devote scarce cash and scarcer time to the uncomfortable task of blowing our own horns. We blog, tweet, facebook (is that a verb?), run tours and giveaways, make guest appearances (like this one), all in the hope that readers will notice us and buy our books.
Sometimes it feels like a pretty thankless effort. I’m willing to bet that most of my colleagues have fantasized about being the next FSOG. TV appearances. Movie deals. Parties with the elite. And of course cash, lots of cash, enough to pay the bills with plenty left over for luxuries. I’m certainly guilty of this sort of day dreaming. It’s a heady vision.
Rationality returns after a few minutes. I’d never want to give up my day job. If I were famous, I’d probably be forced to. Plus, given the heat level in my work, I’m not sure I want the whole world to know who I really am. Best selling authors have to be seen, and there’s some comfort in being invisible.
Still, fame and fortune sparkle, seemingly just out of reach, whenever I release a new book. And I can’t help wonder what it would be like if those fantasies came true.
Those imaginings were the genesis of my new BDSM erotic romance, DamnedIfYouDo. My heroine writes fabulously kinky romance novels, but for the most part labors in obscurity. Then one afternoon, a mysterious stranger offers her the success of which she dreams.
He keeps his part of the bargain. As her sales soar and her star rises, though, she discovers the down side of getting what you thought was your heart’s desire.
Here’s the blurb and an exclusive excerpt for you to enjoy.
Sometimesromancecanbehell
Wendy Dennison is tired of being a starving author. The royalties from her critically acclaimed romance novels barely pay her bills. Her devoted agent Daniel Rochester may be smart and sexy, but he can’t get her the sales she needs. Then a charismatic stranger appears at her coffee shop table, promising her fame and commercial success, as well as the chance to live out her dreams of erotic submission. But at what cost?
Nothing you can’t afford to lose, my dear.
Seduced by the enigmatic Mister B, she signs his infernal contract. He becomes both her Master and her coach, managing her suddenly flourishing career as well as encouraging her lusts. Under her mentor’s nefarious influence, she surrenders to temptation and has sex with Daniel. The casual encounter turns serious when she discovers her mild mannered agent has a dominant side. As the clock ticks down to her blockbuster release and Mister B prepares to claim her soul, Wendy must choose either celebrity and wealth, or obscurity and true love.
ExclusiveExcerpt(RatedR)
“Gwen, my dear! What are you doing out here?”
Mister B didn’t come from inside. She would have heard the party noise as he opened the door. He simply appeared beside her, as he had that first day in the coffee shop.
He wore a tuxedo with a purple brocade cummerbund, and shiny black shoes with pointed toes. His tourmaline eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness. When he strode closer to settle an arm around her shoulders, his movements had a taut, ferocious energy, like the tread of a panther. Despite her tiredness, arousal flickered through her, curling into a glowing knot in her pelvis.
“Too many people in there,” she replied, extricating herself from his companionable embrace. “And I’ve drunk too much as well. I wish I were at home, away from all this.”
“I’m afraid I can’t grant you that wish, not tonight. We have business to attend to—as I’m quite certain you recall.” His chuckle sent a chill down her spine. “You wanted fame, my dear. This sort of public performance is part of the price. However, I should think you’d find some consolation in your bank balance.”
He stepped behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her buttocks toward his lean hips. He was hard. He was always hard. Wendy cursed her traitorous body as excitement flooded her pussy. She was like Pavlov’s dog, salivating in response to a meaningless stimulus.
He rubbed his erection against her satin-sheathed buttocks. She struggled not to squirm. Honestly, she didn’t want to encourage him. But then, what she wanted hardly mattered.
“So tonight…you’re going to take my soul?” she murmured as he sucked and nipped at the tender skin of her neck, just above his diamond-studded gift.
“Don’t think about that part, my sweet. Focus on the pleasure.” One of his hands crept up to cradle her breast. The other raised her skirt. He hooked the elastic of her lacy panties and dragged them down to bare her rear cheeks.
“No, don’t…” She struggled in his clutches as he exposed her. “Please, not here!” A finger slid down her rear crevice and tickled her sphincter. “No—wait…!”
“I’m going to consummate our agreement in the most appropriate manner, my dear. With my cock splitting your tight ass.”
“No!” Somehow she found the strength to wrench herself from his grip. She backed away, into the corner where the rail made a right angle. “Get away from me!”
Mister B put his hands on his hips and shook his head, his expression one of wounded disbelief. “I’m surprised at you. After all we’ve been through together, you reject me? Do you really want to give it all up? The adoring fans? The five star reviews? The fat advances and the hefty royalties?”
“Um…no, no, that’s not what I’m saying…” Panic swept through her. To lose everything she’d worked for? Unthinkable.
~~~
Get your own copy of DamnedIfYouDo at your favorite bookseller:
LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance , she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.
So, I was listening to one of my favorite bands the other day on my iPod while I was doing some online research (er, I was surfing photo sites for bookcover hotties–tough job, I know). Anways… Train’s song “50 Ways to Say Goodbye” was playing, which always makes me smile because the video is so damn funny (David Hasselhoff makes an appearance, so yeah, guilty pleasure, I’m always there). I had to watch the video.
Then YouTube showed a list of Train songs, and I had to click on a nice feel-good tune called “Play That Song”. It struck me while I listened that my fingers knew that tune. Eons ago, I played piano, and that tune was one of the first I ever played. So, I Googled. Listen first to Train’s song. You’re here already so I know you don’t have anything better to do… 🙂
Sure enough, the song that sounds like Train’s “Play That Song” is Hoagy Carmichael’s “Heart and Soul” (I think it’s from the 40’s—and no, I’m not that old, but my piano teacher was!). Listen for a minute and you’ll see. And no, Train didn’t lift it. They scooped that tune and gave it new life. Now, another Train song is on my “Happy Songs” list…
I know I’ve asked this question before, but for a chance to win a small Amazon gift card, have you heard any tunes lately that made you happy?
Posted in Contests!, General|11 People Said|Link
Last 5 people who had something to say: ButtonsMom2003 - Jen B. - Donel Gerrard - Mary Preston - Eileen -
LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.
