Have you ever wished on a chip?

After a recent trip with my boys to the orthodontist, we stopped at Subway for lunch (an ortho appointment ritual) and each got a meal deal that included potato chips (one of my greatest weaknesses). The first chip I pulled out was a wish chip and I asked my boys if they knew what a wish chip was. Neither of them did. Since we don’t keep potato chips in the house (I mentioned that whole weakness thing, right?), this was not a parental fail … and nothing that I couldn’t correct.

Do you all know what a wish chip is?

It’s a chip that’s folded over. You put it on your tongue, careful it doesn’t touch the side of your mouth or teeth, make a wish, then crush it between your tongue and the roof of your mouth (that’s my favorite part).

Silly, right? But it’s so fun. A boyfriend taught me about wish chips over 25 years ago and even though he wasn’t worth keeping, the wish chip knowledge sustained. After all, if you’re going to eat something that has the potential to kill you (sodium, fat, pure bliss), you may as well enjoy it thoroughly!!

The heroine in my January release, Marrying For Love, loves potato chips as much as I do (except she gives in to the weakness constantly). Jill has a 14-year-old son and she taught him early on about the magic of a wish chip.

In my December release, The Sound of Circumstance, Stacie’s weakness is Chai Frappuccinos from Starbucks – and yes, that’s another little piece of my reality that has made it into the stories I write. I believe there’s no bad mood a Chai can’t fix. By the way, my boys insist on hitting Starbucks after the orthodontist and we always pray for a streetside parking space because that’s the only way I’ll stop. So far, we haven’t had an ortho trip that hasn’t included a stop for Chai.

What quirky things do you do with food or weaknesses do you have? I’m giving away a $5.00 Amazon gift card, drawn randomly from everyone who responds before October 11, 2015.

About the Author

Big dreamer and certifiable overachiever Susan Ann Wall embraces life at full speed and volume. She’s a beer and tea snob, can be bribed with dark chocolate, and the #1 thing on her bucket list is to be the center of a Bon Jovi flash mob.

A national bestselling author, Susan’s newest novel, The Sound of Circumstance, is available for pre-order at the links included below!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/1jA1sXU
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Learn about all of Susan’s books at www.susanannwall.com and connect with her at the links below:

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Well, it is October so discussing paranormal romance seems appropriate :-} Besides, it ties in so nicely with the lovely Venetian mask I’m giving away 😉

I write erotic romance inspired by the classics. That focus allows me to follow wherever the original story leads me. So far it has led me to contemporary cowboy romance, sci-fi romance and paranormal romance. Erotic paranormal romance is what I call my sweet spot. I don’t know about you, but I really enjoy reading paranormal because I’m never sure what kind of world I’ll discover.

Like most, I’m a fan of a good shifter or vampire romance as much as the next person. But I also like angels, ghosts, curses, special powers and anything else that might make the ordinary, extraordinary. In my own stories, I have all different types of paranormal:

In Masque, there are 73 ghosts and a hero who has been alive for over 150 years.

In Passion’s Poison, the heroine is cursed with genetic poisonous orgasms.

In Passion of Sleepy Hollow, the Sleepy Hollow village of 1790 appears in present day only one weekend a year.

And in my soon to be released Pleasures of Christmas Past, the Spirit of Christmas Past falls in love.

What type of paranormal romance is your favorite? Has there been one that was truly unique that you enjoyed? It seems a good time of year to take stock. After all, Halloween is at the end of this month 😉

That’s why I’ve made October my annual Mask Giveaway Month. I can’t leave Delilah’s blog without giving readers a chance to win one of the 7 hand decorated Venetian masks I’m giving away this month! And to celebrate this year, I have re-released Masque with a hot new cover. Here’s a short excerpt for your reading enjoyment, and don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win. Good luck!

Always, Lexi
www.lexipostbooks.com

 

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.

Masque Excerpt:

Rena spun at the deep voice that caressed her senses. Before her stood a woman’s wet dream come to life, though as a respectable woman, she shouldn’t be having wet dreams, or so she’d been informed.

The man looked as if he’d stepped out of a nineteenth-century drawing room, except his coffee-brown hair hung loose about his shoulders. She was pretty sure it should have been tied in a queue to be proper. His entire demeanor projected upper class from his sharp nose, to his angular chin outlined by a neatly trimmed beard, to his broad-shouldered stance. A rather tall stance it was too, with one snugly encased leg crossed over the other. But his eyes stupefied her. They appeared gray, ancient, yet flickered with bright shards of blue.

Valerie recovered first, brandishing her tightly held candelabra as she stepped forward. “Who are you and what are you doing in here?”

He straightened and gave them a formal bow. “My name is Synn MacAllistair. That is Synn as in S Y N N. I’m the caretaker of the ghosts.”

Rena took a deep breath. She could feel her cheeks heating as his voice reverberated through her body. Sin fit him. When he moved his gaze from Valerie to herself, his intense scrutiny warmed her. She swallowed. “Uh, I didn’t think anyone lived here.”

His stare held hers captive. “I do.”

Valerie retreated to stand next to her. “Oh really. With a padlock on the outside of the gate?”

He raised his right brow, the look of arrogance worthy of Mr. Darcy. “There is a postern gate.”

Rena racked her brain. She’d heard that word before. Oh yes. “I thought only the owners of a castle knew the secret to that rear exit.”

He raised his brows together. “That is true but I desi—discovered it while following a small boy around the Abbey.”

Valerie crossed her arms. “A small boy?”

“Yes. The children in the neighborhood dare each other to get close to the Abbey. They want to see the ghosts, who are quite harmless to humans.” He gestured to the housekeeper. “Mrs. McMurray here will become more solid as the full moon approaches and will be pleased to help you in any way she can.”

They turned and stared at their ghost, having forgotten her. The older woman nodded vigorously, her white cap covering her gray hair falling to the side. Mrs. McMurray’s plump frame included pudgy arms sprouting from a short-sleeved blouse and a white apron that protected her skirt, but from the knees down, she didn’t exist at all.

Rena’s heart pounded. A real ghost. If what Synn said was true, that the ghosts would become solid, the possibilities for her new venture were endless. Could the ghosts serve breakfast to the guests? How would she pay them? She couldn’t resist asking. “Are you the one who keeps it so clean in here?”

Mrs. McMurray blushed and nodded again. She actually blushed.

Synn clarified. “She and a dozen maids have kept this place clean for centuries in the hopes that someone would come here to live. Do you plan to stay?”

She turned to answer him, but Valerie gave him a disapproving look. “The real estate agent didn’t say anything about anyone living here.”

He sighed, clearly bored. “No, I imagine he didn’t. He is what we refer to as a lickfinger.”

Rena chuckled at the strange word. She couldn’t help it. It sounded backward.

Valerie didn’t find the expression funny. “Well, you need to know, Rena owns this castle now, abbey, whatever you want to call it, and she has the right to throw you out.”

Rena grabbed her arm. “Valerie.” She changed her warning tone to a more pleasant octave as she addressed the sexy man in front of her. “You are of course welcome to stay, Synn. Perhaps you can help us understand the ghosts, the history of the Abbey and anything else that might be helpful.” She smiled encouragingly. She didn’t want him to leave.

He gave her an arrogant nod. “I would be happy to be of service. Perhaps I should start by helping you to bring your personal items upstairs as the footmen will not be solid enough to lift anything for another week.”

Another week? How strange. She didn’t remember seeing anything on television regarding ghosts changing with the moon. “Thank you. That would be perfect.” She could tell Valerie didn’t trust him. She, on the other hand, was thrilled to have him in the Abbey. Anyone who could help her succeed was welcome. The fact that the man was incredibly hot didn’t hurt either.

He nodded once and held his arm out to her. She looked at her friend and shrugged, then looped her arm with his. The second they made contact, a sizzling sensation raced across her skin.

He didn’t move. Did he feel it too? He gazed down at her, his face serious. “Shall we?”

She nodded, her throat having closed at his look. There was something sensual about his lips. They were strong, full and serious and made her want to taste him. Sheesh, hadn’t she learned anything from her failed engagement? She needed to keep her libido under control. Men like Synn wouldn’t appreciate her scandalous thoughts. Besides, who used phrases like “shall we”?

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We writers get asked all the time: “Where do your ideas come from?”

The answer to that is easy or hard, depending on your POV, the time of month, whether you’ve had your daily infusion of coffee… Okay, so they come from everywhere, and sometimes, from mysterious dream demons.

Can you tell it’s 2:42 in the morning after I dosed myself with Tramadol for a killer backache? So, I’m suffering from insomnia and a hazy fugue. I was lying there in bed, thinking about inspiration, and wishing my mind would just stop working because I really need to sleep, but this idea I had today wouldn’t leave me alone. Why today, you ask? Because I was invited to be part of a box collection with a very short deadline, and adrenaline works wonders for stimulating the muse!

I’m rambling. I know it, but right now I don’t care, because the idea I had wasn’t a new one. It was an old one I stalled on and killed over a year ago, but which now feels alive and well. Ready for another SEAL story? How about a SEAL helping a woman with PTSD? Not a soldier, a cop.

She dreams about her dead ex-partner every night, and wakes up after having experienced a change to the memory of that horrible day she lost her love. She can’t move past it, because it feels fresh every time she closes her eyes.

So, what’s a girl to do? Screw a SEAL. Well, of course, it’s not quite that easy—well, she is, because she just doesn’t give a damn and wants to feel something again. Plus, maybe if he exhausts her she’ll get some sleep. Okay, so maybe my needs and my PTSD-suffering cop are getting confused here. I really should try to go back to bed.

The only thing I know for certain is that I want to use this photo as a backdrop for the cover. Because hey, a girl can only move on if she goes island-hopping, right? Again, maybe I’m confusing my needs with hers.

So, want to help me with a title?

I thought “In Dreams” would be nice and very relevant to the story, but that’s been used quite a few times.

Then I thought, “In Her Dreams”, but again, it’s been used a time or two and very recently. So, no.

I started thinking about songs with “dreams” somewhere in the title, and came up with “Dream a Little Dream”—but it’s too sweet, too used, and now I have that Mama and the Papas song playing in my head.

This story is the next in the Uncharted SEALs series, following Watch Over Me, Her Next Breath, and Through Her Eyes. I did think about “SEAL in Her Dreams”, but I didn’t use SEAL in any of the previous titles, and hell, SEAL this and that has been used-used-used! And I guess for very good reasons!

What do you think? Should I chunk “dreams”? Do you have an idea for a title? Don’t be afraid to just put something out there. You may have the perfect title, or your title might spark an idea!

I’ve written two superhero adventure novels so far starring Chloe, a young woman who discovers she has previously unsuspected superpowers. Readers are fine with that part. What they don’t like is my heroine’s taste in men.

She broke up with a perfectly nice boyfriend, a computer nerd, comics geek, and good partner in goofy adventures. She threw herself into a fling with a ruthless executive type who never tells her the same thing twice, tends to go behind her back and not inform her what he’s up to, and who also is great in bed.

I’m not writing romance as such, but my readers still get all upset over Eric. The beta readers who see the stories before they’re published actually write notes to Chloe saying things like “Don’t do it! Don’t believe his lies!”

I made this guy up. He’s not real. He’s not even a superhero. But he’s hot in that Mad Men or bad billionaire way: He has power, he likes power, and he uses it for his own ends. Maybe sometimes he’s on the same side as the heroine. Maybe sometimes he’s not. Men like this DO get women to fall for them. Maybe they don’t keep them. Maybe they don’t even want to keep them. Or maybe they do, but the men themselves always come first in their calculations, not the women they’re sleeping with.

I’m tickled that I have created a man who is this true to life, but I’m a little sorry readers don’t seem to appreciate the fantasy thrill of a fictional relationship with Mr. Wrong. No harm comes to the heroine in my stories. She does get upset over Eric, but she’s a superheroine. She figures it out. Maybe that’s the underlying issue. Do readers worry that my heroine—or they themselves?—won’t be strong enough to resist the charms of a Mr. Wrong?

Temporary Superheroine is on sale at Amazon. Special discounted price October 8 through October 17. https://amzn.to/1L25FOw

Crisis at Comicon  (Temporary Superheroine Book 2) is available at a discounted pre-order price at Amazon: https://amzn.to/1FCz0id

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EXCERPT FROM TEMPORARY SUPERHEROINE:

“Chloe.” Eric determinedly came close to me so our breaths began to mingle. He eyed me with warmth and put a large hand on my shoulder, leaning in as if to kiss my cheek in greeting. I shrugged off both. I hadn’t forgotten he had snubbed me this morning. A lifetime ago.

“Chloe,” he repeated insistently, and leaned down and kissed my lips lightly, before I could fend him off again.

At the touch of his lips, secret parts of me started to melt. I feared they weren’t secret from him. I steeled myself and stated my mission. “I came for my amulet, which you stole.”

“I knew you would.” Eric smiled his predatory smile.

Ignoring his effect on me wasn’t working. I melted even more.

“I even told Bodacious Barb to make sure to tell you I had it,” he said.

“Why?” I was mystified. Eric was always a step or two ahead of me. In addition to all his worldly advantages, he simply was an ace manipulator.

“To bring you back to me,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for my cold shoulder this morning.”

“When you dropped me like a used tissue.” Since he’d given me the opening to talk about his behavior, I didn’t see any reason to sugarcoat it.

He had the grace to wince. “Is that how I came off? Sorry. I recognized the amulet last night while we were—ah…” He paused, obviously seeking a polite way of saying we were having sex.

“While our clothes were off,” I said flatly. “Continue.”

His expression was charmingly rueful. “I wanted to. So I didn’t question you about the amulet then. You wore me out, girl, then disappeared too fast.” He gave me a frank look. “I always thought women liked to cuddle afterwards, but when I woke, you were gone.”

My face had turned hot as he reminded me of the details of our time in his bedroom. Which had been too wonderful and had scared the hell out of me. Could my vanishing act have bothered him? My experience with men told me he was giving me a line of bull. When they’re done, they want you gone. At least the guys like Eric who can have any woman, because they are physically attractive and have money and power. He radiated virility. He could regularly sample a variety of women. I didn’t flatter myself that he cared about me.

“So?” I asked, refusing to soften at his confession. I wanted to hold onto my anger at him. Then he wouldn’t be able to play me. Again.

“This morning, I didn’t know what to think, and I backed off.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Eric.” I glared at him.

BIO:

Award-winning author Irene Vartanoff has combined her love of romances and comic books by working for Marvel Comics and DC Comics as well as Harlequin, Bantam, Berkley, and My RomanceStory.com. Her first superhero adventure novel, Temporary Superheroine, was quickly followed by her first sweet contemporary romance novel, Captive of the Cattle Baron. Irene is also the author of several romance graphic romance novellas including Breaking All the Rules and The Egyptian’s Texas Spitfire. Under her comic book nom de plume, Poison Ivy, she contributes to the MyRomanceStory.com blog.

Thanks!
Irene Vartanoff
Writer & Editor
irene@irenevartanoff.com

Romance authors love to write about falling in love. The rush of newness, the promise of passion and happily ever after, and the exhilarating but sometimes frustrating “getting to know each other” phase are aspects most romance readers love to hear about. Today, I don’t want to talk about any of those. I want to talk about how people in love…stay in love.

It’s hard to keep the romance alive in our busy worlds. We have obligations to work, kids, friends, and our community. What we often forget is we also have a responsibility to the person we love. This is especially important when the world seems out to get us. No matter how good our life is, bad stuff happens. We can’t stop it all. We deal with it, right? It’s how we face our challenges that sometimes gets us in trouble with our partners, but those with a solid base built on love have the best chance of surviving. Yeah, basic. Sometimes that’s easier said than done.

Arawn and Minerva, the characters in Hunter Sacrificed, face those same struggles, only on a more divine and far-reaching level. Their love is challenged, and the Wild Hunt series is their story. It begins and ends with their epic tale of love, betrayal, forgiveness and hope. (And you get to step into their journey for free! Read on for the links.)

For the rest of us, our relationship hardships can be lessened if we take the time to keep love alive. It doesn’t need to be a huge undertaking every day. Little things matter. Here’s my list of the top three ways my husband and I remind each other that we’re in life together:

1. Taking a few minutes every day to talk about something outside of the three big ones: work, family and money. For the hubby and I, this can be anything from science (yes, we’re both geeks) to the newest action movie.
2. Silly, random texts. We might not be able to respond, but it’s nice to pick up our phones and see each other’s profile pic.
3. Holding each other. Hugs are good for the soul.

So what do you do to express your love? I’d love to hear about your special ways!

Hunter Sacrificed, Wild Hunt book 0.5 Blurb

His vow to save mankind turns him into the father of the damned.

Arawn, Lord of the Underworld, is faced with the hardest decision of his long life. Because of his neglect, humans are suffering…but his vow to make things right could cost him everything he holds dear.

Minerva, the Goddess of Love, holds his heart and soul, but the act he must now commit might very well destroy their love.

His sacrifice doesn’t go far enough to end the humans’ agony. It compounds it—and turns him into a pawn. He cannot renege on his deal with the Triad, but he can avenge those he’s wronged.

To do that, he’ll need every one of his Huntsmen to win the greatest game of all time—the Wild Hunt.

Warning: Goodness and light vs. sacrifice and darkness. Seriously, what could possibly go wrong?

Excerpt #1

Hands clenched at his sides to stop himself from pulling her into his embrace, he motioned toward her with a jerk of his chin. “Turn. I want to see all of you.”

The order he’d given to her all those years ago brought back the memory of their first time together. He embraced the recollection, allowing it to guide him into what might be their final night together.

She raised a brow.

He growled. “If you have not realized where you are, this is Hell. I rule here, and my commands are to be obeyed immediately. Now, turn.”

With her lower lip caught between her teeth, she dropped her gaze and complied with his demand, slowly spinning on her heel. The ends of her silver hair swayed. A tinkling sound accompanied the move, and the flickering lights from the candles illuminating the room reflected on the strands, making her appear as if she carried her own inner light. The sight entranced him. He allowed the spell she wove to mesmerize him for another moment before shifting his focused stare to her rounded bottom. The ends of her hair caressed her ass cheeks. Soft yet firm, she was made for loving.

Made for me.

She wasn’t. He knew that. It didn’t stop the wonder he experienced in her presence from seizing him.

He closed the distance between them but didn’t touch her. He curled his hands until his nails dug into his palm. Head bent, he buried his nose in the fall of her hair. A deep inhale satisfied his craving for her scent. She smelled of life and goodness.

Everything I am not.

Mouth at her ear, he whispered, “You tempt me, goddess.”

“How? I have not spoken.” She repeated the response she’d given him all those years ago.

Pleased she picked up on his prompting, he captured her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled on her tender flesh until her air escaped on a slow exhale, and her body relaxed against his.

He released her lobe, then pressed his lips to her neck. “You stand before me naked and aroused.”

“You too are naked and aroused, my dark lord. The fact that I am should please you.”

“It does not.”

She turned her head, and her glowing gray eyes filled his vision. “And why not?”

He ran his hand over her hair. His fingers itched with the desire to wrap her shimmering locks around his palm. He dropped his arm.

“You make me want things I shouldn’t.”

Excerpt #2

“Arawn, Lord of the Underworld, it is about time you came.”

The Triad’s voice surrounded Arawn. He cracked his eyelids, but only the endless expanse of white clouds greeted him. “You’ve been expecting me?”

Why he asked, he didn’t know. The answer seemed important, however. Doubt had hovered in his mind ever since Minerva had first appeared to him. Learning about her deal with Lucifer had compounded it. Arawn couldn’t help but feel…played.

“Not played. Led.” The Triad responded to his unspoken thought, proving it could easily read Arawn’s mind.

The deity’s intrusion didn’t anger him. Its words did. Arawn remembered the games among the other gods in the early days of the world. He’d hated it. The isolation of the Underworld had been part of the reason he’d accepted the role he’d been offered. The segregation from the heavens hadn’t offered him peace, however.

He’d entered his eternal hell.

And Minerva saved me from it.

Arawn ground his jaw. “Manipulated, you mean.”

“No. You cannot be controlled. Even the gods have free will.”

“But you can take all my choices away save one, can’t you?”

Silence answered him.

“Well?” He knew better than to argue with the Triad. The tortured look in Minerva’s eyes pushed him to demand the truth.

“You always have two choices, Arawn god of Hell.”

Of course I do. He worked his jaw back and forth. “The right one and the wrong one.”

“Exactly. Which have you chosen?”

GET THE BOOK FOR ***FREE*** AT:
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iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/hunter-sacrificed/id1021881938
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A little about Nancy…

A true romantic at heart, Nancy Corrigan is convinced there’s a knight in shining armor for every woman (or man), but you won’t find damsels in distress in her stories. She adores pairing alpha heroes with women strong enough to match them and bring them to their knees. She also enjoys flipping the traditional roles in romances because her motto is—love and people should never be forced to conform to anyone’s norm.

She holds a degree in chemistry and has worked in research but now focuses on ensuring quality. She considers it the perfect outlet for her as she’s the first to admit she has some OCD tendencies. It carries over into her writing life too. While engrossed in a novel, she has a habit of forgetting to eat and sleep. Fortunately, she’s married to her own knight in shining armor who understands her oddities and loves her anyway. They reside in Pennsylvania with their three children, dog, snake and guinea pigs. Her other interests include tattoos, animals, classic cars and all things spooky and sexy.

 

Feels like it’s been forever since I was here! I wanted to fit everyone in who wanted a date to blog, and didn’t leave myself any time. So, I’m waving madly—hi, there!

The biggest thing that’s happened around here is that the pool finally cooled. October 1st was the last time I ventured into the water—and man, was it ever cold! But I was determined to make it to October. Now, I get the job of maintaining that pretty, clear water without any reward. Y’all probably think I’m nuts, but I love the pool. After years of jogging, some of those years in combat boots, my poor feet can’t hold up to long walks (bone spurs, stretched ligaments). I love the pool. Did I already say that? The weight is off my feet, and I swim like a fish. Now, my only exercise for the next six and a half months will be the twice daily walks across the highway (maybe 600 yards?) to my dd’s place and cleaning house. Although Kelly swears we’ll be doing shortish nature walks with the kids this year. We’ll see.

Are any of you water babies, too? Do you get depressed when you can’t swim? What exercise do you do in the cold winter months?

Answer for a chance to win a copy of It Takes a SEAL!

* * * * *

Enjoy a glimpse inside my Adventure Girls series.
Ex-SEALs and an Army Ranger—more adventure than most women could handle…

  

It Takes a SEAL, An Adventure Girls, Inc. Story

A travel agent visiting friends in the Bahamas is stranded on a desert island with a sexy ex-SEAL after their private pleasure cruise is interrupted by men who mistake her lover for a reclusive billionaire.

Justin was poised to thrust, and he knew he’d draw no complaints from the woman lying beneath him. Instead, he paused.

What the hell was he doing? Rushing this like he was a teenage boy with the first girl to say yes. Susan was worthy of so much more than a quick tumble. He ought to be worshiping her body, seducing her mind to ensure her pleasure and make double-damn sure she said yes again. Because he wanted more than this.

Slowing down was going to kill him. Her hair was a wild, tangled damp mess. Her skin a little pink from sunburn. And yet, she was impossibly beautiful. Long and lean. Her small breasts tipped with pretty cotton-candy pink nipples. Her mound was smooth, a courtesy he appreciated because he wanted to spend time with his mouth buried there, maybe hours and hours.

Her eyebrows furrowed, and her hand shot down, passing his cock to grip his balls. She gave them a firm tug. “This is not the time for an attack of finesse.”

His breath gusted with a laugh. “An attack of finesse?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to prove a thing to me. Just be quick.”

He grunted and gave her a swirl of his hips, sinking slightly deeper into her slick channel. “How’d you know?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You had this look, like you were dying to go with it, do it fast, but then you sighed.” Her eyelids dipped and her gaze grew smoky. “I won’t be disappointed. I promise. I can already tell this is going to be something special.”

“And you know that how?”

She tugged his balls again, but then her fingers began to roll them, massaging them, and his cock got a little harder. “I know,” she whispered, “because you’re right there, and so am I. Finish it.” She released him, and her hands clamped both cheeks of his ass, her fingernails digging into his skin.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re gonna leave bruises.”

“And you care?”

He gave her a crooked grin and planted both hands on the mattress on either side of her shoulders. “Might be hard to explain to my other girlfriends.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Yeah. I like it when you’re eyes go cold as icicles.”

She shook her head, and gave a sexy snort. Then her legs shifted, feet sliding up, and she pumped her hips, forcing his cock deeper inside her. “You fill me up, SEAL-boy. Do it now.”

And since he was more than ready to concede the battle, he took the plunge, his thrust so hard and fast her breath gusted. He gave her another deep, sharp thrust and watched her head tilt back, her mouth opening as she held, suspended, the pleasure there for him to see in her reddening cheeks and tightly closed eyes. “That’s it baby. That’s it,” he said with another strong pump of his hips. He burrowed and twisted, tunneling fast into her slippery depths.

When at last he was fully seated, he came down on an elbow and slid a hand beneath her smooth, round butt, squeezing it, molding it as he gave her shorter thrusts, more targeted, waiting for her gasps. A whimpered mew told him he’d found just the right spot to rake the crown of his cock against again and again.

She curled under him, lifting her head to nuzzle his neck, slinging a long leg around his hip as she countered his thrusts. The way she hugged him close made his chest fill and tighten. She was a snuggle-bunny, a mewling kitten, a sexy mess as she rubbed and hummed and moaned.

He held her fast and rolled, bringing her over him, and she shook back her hair, snugged her knees close to his body, then began to rock, forward and up, down and back, slowly at first, biting her lower lip as she savored the motion, driving down on his cock. Then she pumped faster, her breasts quivering and jerking, and he reached up to cup them, fondling them and rubbing the tips, watching them grow engorged, the tips extending. His abdomen knotted as he leaned up to toggle one with his tongue, and then he sucked it into his mouth, noting the catch in her breath and the hot liquid flowing around his cock as she churned her sweet cream.

He suckled her other breast, and she cried out, but she was losing rhythm, her movements jerking as she became more frantic. He rolled them again and pushed her thighs upward, hands skimming the backs of her thighs, his lips grazing the tender insides before he locked her ankles behind his neck. Then he lifted her hand from his shoulder and sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them before popping them free. “Baby, touch yourself.”

And then he braced his weight on his hands and began to piston fast, fucking her hard, watching avidly as she lowered her wet fingertips into the top of her stretched folds and rubbed.

Her breaths were ragged, chopped apart with his quick thrusts, and she was gasping, moaning, wriggling beneath him as he pounded. Sweat slicked their bellies and their faces, and added another layer of moist sounds to their coupling.

The moment she came, her sex tightened around him and he shouted, the sensation of her clenching around him too much, too delicious to resist. He exploded, rutting harder. His body tightened, every muscle in his thighs and abdomen, his arms, shuddering as come spat from his balls in wave after wave of release.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze locked with hers. He quickly reached back to unlock her ankles and help he slide her legs down to rest on the mattress, and then he fell against her, nuzzling into the corner of her neck, smiling as her fingers combed through his hair and rubbed his cheek and ear. Both their chest billowed as they recovered their breath.

At last, Justin lifted his head, sought her swollen mouth and kissed her. Their tongues touched, a tentative caress, sweet in its wonder.

“You okay?” he whispered. “Stretch any tendons?” he said, lifting a brow.

Her smile was tired, but blissful. “I’m better than okay. Need a little praise?”

“Yeah. Stroke me, baby.”

She laughed. “Justin Walsh,” she said, trailing her fingers through his hair. “I’m speechless.”

“I’m not.” His smile stretched.

“Are you ever?”

“Now, what do you think?”

Her gaze slid away. “I think, you have a right to be boastful.”

“Now that’s very pale praise. Hardly worth mentioning. Guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

She dragged in a deep breath. “You were…” She stopped and swallowed, “…exactly what I needed.”

I had a reader ask recently who (or what) is my muse?

Let’s start by defining a muse. Per Merriam-Webster.com, a muse (noun) is a source of inspiration; especially: a guiding genius.  When capitalized, Muse is also one of the nine sister goddesses in Greek mythology presiding over song and poetry, and the arts and sciences.

The concept of a muse has always struck me as somewhat bewildering and a bit far-fetched. Poets and sculptors have muses. Authors, however, draw their stimulus from everyone and everything around them. From that sour-faced lady in line at the grocery store to a funny meme posted on Facebook. Inspiration is in the eye of the beholder.

Even so, I’ve always harbored the fantasy of having a muse because it would be a fun thing to be able to claim.  A few years ago, a lovely gray cat ambushed me during a walk and followed me home.  After unsuccessful attempts to find her owner, we decided to keep her.  I wanted to call her Muse, or maybe Mews, but Mr. Snark vetoed it.

Go away! You’re bothering me!

Luckily, I was able to find a work around.  We named the kitty Clio instead. Mr. Snark thinks she’s named after Pinocchio’s cat, Cleo, but she’s really named for the Greek Muse of history. She’s really not all that inspirational so far as story ideas go. In fact, she’s a little on the grumpy side, but she’s soft and plush.  Made for petting, and we love her.

What about you? Do you have a muse? Leave me a comment below!

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Caridad Pineiro: Undead Uprising: A Wolf Alone – Will she lead her pack in a war against the vampires or will she sacrifice everything for the human she loves?

Rosemary Edghill: Lizzie Fair and the Dragon of Heart’s Desire – Visiting the World of Iron is never a good idea. Ask any Morning Lord.

Kristine Kathryn Rusch: Show Trial -A beautiful woman, a terrible time, and faerie justice…served cold.

Brenda Carre: Finnraziel – She raised a god to life and thwarted the Queen of Demons, can she prevent a war without destroying the man she loves and the last two dragons she’s sworn to guard?

Ann Gimpel: Highland Secrets – Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, Scottish dragon shifters, and forbidden romance.

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Susan Scott: Dragons Will Fall – To defeat a dragon is impossible. To love a dragon—deadly!

Melissa Snark: Hunger Moon – Wolf shifters, hunters, and a Norse winter witch—How will Valkyrie Victoria Storm ever find her true love…before someone kills her?

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Author Bio

Melissa Snark lives in the San Francisco bay area with her husband, three children, and a glaring of mischievous felines. She reads and writes fantasy and romance, and is published with The Wild Rose Press & Nordic Lights Press. She is a coffeeoholic, chocoholic, and a serious geek girl. Her Loki’s Wolves series stems from her fascination with wolves and mythology.

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She blogs about books and writing: https://www.thesnarkology.com/

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• Email: MelissaSnark at gmail.com