I found out yesterday that my story, Begging For It, will be released by Ellora’s Cave this coming Friday! It’s part of the 1-800-Dom-help series, but a stand-alone story. Click on the cover to read an excerpt!

She needs punishment…before she deserves pleasure.

Tragedy scarred TJ Lipton. Now, the only way she can find pleasure is when its delivered with a heavy-handed dose of S&M. But finding a lover who can give her what she needs proves an elusive quest—until she finds the sex club Unfettered and a Dom named Cross McNally.

Cross understands all too well what drives TJ. He takes command of her body to give her everything she needs—restraint, the stinging kiss of a flogger, the thrill of a three-way—a sexual adventure that pulls her beyond her painful past and has her begging for more of his tender brand of domination.

Yeah, there’s plenty of sexy punishment, boys tying a girl up and down for her pleasure, and a story. What a deal! I hope you’ll check it out this Friday—then let me know if you want Tyler’s story.

In the meantime, I need to wrap up the Dark Fairy contest. Who gets that pretty little trinket? Christina Freas is this week’s lucky winner! Christina, send me an email with your snail mail addy and I’ll get it into the mail. I have to do ALL my mailings this week or I will be woefully behind. So be quick!

As to this week’s prize? I went to Memphis a couple of months ago and bought up some fun things at Tater Red’s on Beale street. This week’s prize is a very cute voodoo doll. Doesn’t everyone need one of these? Be sure to post a comment to enter the drawing. And you can post here or on Facebook over the coming week so that you’ll increase your chances of winning!

Branded

The concept for Stormy Wedding was simple. Ellora’s Cave put a shout out about their new Branded line of erotic stories. Branded is a series of erotic tales set within the confines of a marriage.

One of my pet peeves about romance is that the story ends when the marriage begins. And that is where I began my story…at the end…with the wedding. My first-ever erotic story starts at the rehearsal dinner of a wedding and ends in bed. In between dinner and bed, a storm rages outside the wedding venue while a tempest of passion erupts inside.

Why Branded? According to my handy dandy dictionary, branded means (1) a mark burned with a hot iron, as upon cattle, to show ownership. Ouch! And may I say, double ouch. And not the image I want to portray. (2) A trade-mark to show quality or kind. I like that better. (3) To impress deeply upon mind or memory. I like that best. But I do still hear the sizzle of that hot iron, which isn’t all bad.

What do you think? Does the romance and passion end when the vows are said? Feel free to tell me about your wedding, your wedding disaster or your dream wedding. Leave me a comment and email address and I’ll put you in a drawing for a free e-copy of Stormy Wedding or a deck or Ellora’s Cave playing cards. And don’t forget to check out the other Branded titles at Ellora’s Cave. To read an excerpt pop over to my blog: www.kelliscottbooks.blogspot.com

Today’s the last day of the Dark Fairy contest! Post a comment today to win!

I’m Day 8 of a blog tour to celebrate the release of Carnal Machines! Folks ask me all the time why I write for these collections. They’re short. The pay stinks. My name’s not on the cover. What I tell them is that I love being in the company of great writers. That readers who’ve never read me might discover me. That shorts give me a chance to try something new.

I’ve never done Steampunk. To me, it’s a fascinting, frightening genre. So much to learn. A huge world to build. And I’m not very mechanically oriented. So writing a story for this particular collection was a challenge I couldn’t resist. A chance to dip my toes in strange waters. I was thrilled when my story made the cut!

I will admit, I didn’t fly very far from the truth in my fantasy. I researched Victorian sexual practices, remembering from an old Amanda Quick book a common treatment for “female hysteria”, then researched machinery that actually was used to stimulate women into orgasm in those times, for purely medicinal reasons, and then building on those. Yes, my story’s all about sex. I hope you’ll enjoy the excerpt I’ve provided here from Dr. Mullaley’s Cure.

If you’d like a peak at the other authors and stories that are part of the collection, edited by D.L. King, here’s a list of blogs and dates. Some have already past so you’ll have plenty to sample already!

May 1 D. L. King
May 2 Teresa Noelle Roberts
May 3 Kathleen Bradean
May 4 Jay Lawrence
May 5 Kannan Feng
May 6 Essemoh Teepee
May 7 Elizabeth Schechter
May 8 Delilah Devlin
May 9 Tracey Shellito
May 10 Renee Michaels
May 11 Elias St. James
May 12 Lisabet Sarai
May 13 Janine Ashbless

The Victorians wrote some of the best and most enduring erotica. For such a tightly-laced age, people spent a lot of time thinking about things carnal. Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mary Shelley, H.G. Wells, et al enthralled us with their visions of new possibilities. The rich and slightly decadent visuals of the steam age lend themselves perfectly to the new carnality of post-punk era. And, of course, what is repressed will be even more exciting once the corset is unlaced. Steampunk, even without sex, is erotic; with sex, it’s over-the-top hot. A widowed lady engineer invents a small device that can store the energy from sexual frustration and convert it to electricity to help power a home. Teresa Noelle Roberts shows us what it can do, confronted with sexual fulfillment. What volume of steampunk would be complete without a tale of sailing ships and the men who sail them? If your taste runs to sexy pirates in space, Poe Von Page will delight you with the mutinous crew of the Danika Blue and their new captain.

Then there’s the very special room on the top floor in the House of the Sable Locks, a brothel where sexually discriminating men go to have their fantasies fulfilled. Even if a man daren’t put those fantasies into words, Elizabeth Schechter’s “Succubus” will give the madam all the information she needs with which to make her clients happy. There are brothels, flying machines, steam-powered conveyances, manor houses, spiritualist societies. The following stories afford intelligently written, beautifully crafted glimpses into other worlds, where the Carnal Machines won’t fail to seduce you, get you wet or make you hard so, lie back, relax; a happy ending is guaranteed.

I’d been warned that the doctor was a bit eccentric. That he dabbled in machinery and had been ostracized by others in his profession for the lengths he went to please his patients.

“You’ll never find another employer,” I was told. “Not once they see your only reference is Doctor Mullaley.” The mad Irishman. The charlatan who promised cures to bored housewives and whose waiting room hadn’t been empty since I arrived for my first day’s work. If I hadn’t already been turned away at every other respectable physician’s practice, I might have heeded the advice. However, those warnings only served to stir my interest.

I was intensely curious about the nature of the doctor’s cures, and even more so about the conditions he treated, but they were only spoken of in whispers and never in the presence of an unmarried woman. Which made me wonder why he’d hired me. Not that I complained. One glance at his tall rangy frame, frosty blue eyes and dark, slicked-back hair, and my misgivings evaporated.
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Comment here today to be entered in the Dark Fairy contest (details in Monday’s post)!

Writers have favorite books they’ve written. Seduced is one of mine. The book took only five weeks to write. The fastest I’ve ever written a full-length novel. It wasn’t fully plotted, but developed as I wrote, surprising me at every turn. Nic and Chessa were both so damaged, so in love, but sooooo denying it. The story had everything. A haunted past. Steamy, desperate sex. A maniacal demon they had to chase. For Nic, this demon had to be taken down. He was responsible for both his brother’s and his wife’s deaths—centuries ago. If you’d like to see more of his past, more of what drives him, click on the cover and read the first chapter of the book.

“…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.

Nicolas stuck to the shadows, standing beneath the long fronds of Spanish moss trailing from an ancient oak. He watched as the cops combed the bayou bank with their flashlights, looking for clues, photographing the victims, and grieving over their friends’ bodies.

He waited patiently, knowing Chessa would be here sooner or later. Since the night was burning away fast, he hoped for sooner.

The carnage had begun. The Devourer had fed and would grow stronger and more frighteningly cunning as he cut a swath through New Orleans.

A squad car pulled up and Chessa climbed out, looking rumpled and wearing a man’s wrinkled white shirt beneath her leather jacket.

Nicolas stiffened, his gaze darting to the tall man climbing out to stand beside her in the glare of headlights. As though the gesture was an old habit, the man’s hand settled at the small of her back.

Chessa didn’t deliver him a blistering glare, just a quick worried glance.

Merde! Bitch! Nicolas drew a deep breath, stunned by what he saw. Only hours ago, she’d begged him to fuck her, but here she was with another man—one she seemed to know rather well.

His hands fisted at his sides, readying to drive them through the handsome face of the human standing beside her.

Nicolas forced himself to think, drawing a deep cleansing breath.

He’d never been a jealous lover—knew all vampires craved sex almost as much as they did blood. A blood fuck with a host wasn’t considered an infidelity. But vampires left their hosts behind. They didn’t consort with them afterward. Courtesy among lovers meant seeking strangers to feed the two hungers. Comfort and affection were drawn from those you loved.

Only Chessa didn’t love him. Regret washed through him. Maybe she never would.

But who the hell was this man?

He stepped out of the shadows and strode toward the cozy couple as they conferred with several officers beside a long yellow stripe of crime scene tape.

“Halt! Get your hands above your head or I swear I’ll pull this damn trigger.”

Nicolas rolled his eyes, tempted to flash by the young officer faster than he could blink.

Chessa’s gaze landed on him, and her eyes widened for a moment. She gave him a subtle shake of her head.

He paused, then raised his hands obediently.

“It’s okay, Len,” she said, her voice husky. “Let him through.”

Len gave him a narrowed glance that swept him up and down. A warning not to cause any trouble because he’d be watching. Then he holstered his weapon and stepped back.

Nicolas gave him a mirthless smile and ducked beneath the tape to join Chessa and her “friend.”

“I’m Nicolas Montfaucon,” he said, ignoring everyone else as he leveled a glare at the man standing beside Chessa.

The man’s lips curved in a slight smile, his expression slyly amused, and he held out his hand. “I’m Alex, Chessa’s new partner.”

Another bloody partner! Although he would have preferred to ignore the hand held in his direction, Nicolas gripped it hard, gauging the other man’s strength.

“Good grief, Nic,” Chessa muttered. “If you wrestle him to the ground, I’ll fucking clout you.”
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The Dark Fairy contest continues! See Monday’s blog for details, then post a comment today!

Fly on the Wall…yes or no?

by Elle James

If you could be somewhere in spirit, but not body, or if you could be so tiny no one would notice you, like say a fly on the wall in a room full of people, would you do it?

So many times I’ve wanted to be a fly on the wall, a voyeur in my children’s lives, to see how they interact with others or to live vicariously through the fun activities they get involved in. Then again, to see them make the same mistakes and the social guffaws I made at their ages only makes me glad I’m not a fly on the wall in their lives.

But if I could be a ghost, floating in an out of rooms, seeing things without being seen, would I want that ability? Maybe not. What good would it do? If I saw a tragedy about to happen and I could do nothing to warn the people, I’d feel a lot worse than not having been there at all. But then again, if my body was out of commission, I’d like to be able to get around without it…Hmmm…bears considering.

The book I released last week HAUNTED is about a woman who is in a coma, but her spirit is free to roam. It has a similar concept to the movies JUST LIKE HEAVEN and GHOST DAD, with a different storyline. I wanted to write a mystery about a car crash that took two lives and almost a third. The victim who “isn’t quite dead” gets to help solve the mystery of who was responsible for the crash. Needless to say, the ghost character had many frustrating moments when she was powerless to help those who needed it most.

What about you? If you were in a coma, would you want your spirit to roam while your body lies in a vegetative state?

About the Author:
Elle James spent twenty years livin’ and lovin’ in South Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, Elle is proud to be writing full-time, penning intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edge of their seats. Now living in northwest Arkansas, she isn’t wrangling cattle, she’s wrangling her muses, a malti-poo and yorkie. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, out snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

You can reach Elle James at www.ellejames.com or email her at ellejames@earthlink.net.

May 1st, I thought I was back in my writing groove. I made new pages on a new story, was busy reading through the galleys of my upcoming Berkley release. All was chugging along nicely.

The next day, however, was a complete nightmare. I went to my daughter’s for a cup of coffee before beginning my day. We sat in the sunshine (it’s back, at last!) while we watched the two-year-old run around the yard. She slowed down as she approached us, but somehow twisted up her feet, rolled on a pine cone and came down. My daughter and I heard a snap. I hoped like hell it was the pine cone, but the little one screamed like a banshee. Because of floodwaters, we couldn’t take her to the emergency room seven miles away. Instead, we drove back roads to the next town to get her to an emergency room where they confirmed she’d broken her tibia. A “toddler’s fracture” they called it.

They took x-rays, contacted the children’s hospital in Little Rock, then off again we went with the little one moaning pitifully in the backseat the whole way. At their emergency room, they splinted the break, gave her tylenol laced with codeine for the pain, thank god, then late afternoon, we were finally on our way home.

Since then, it’s been so complicated. The little one doesn’t understand she can’t stand on her leg, and picks constantly at the cotton padding surrounding the splint. Mama has to keep her close. The six-year-old is feeling neglected and acting up. Whew!

Today, I took a break to try to get some things off my desk. So, sorry this isn’t an entertaining blog post. Tomorrow, I have a guest blogger, my own sister, filling in.

My Dark Fairy contest is still ongoing (see Monday’s post for a picture of the prize). Be sure to post something here or on facebook for another chance to win.

The Dark Fairy contest continues. See Monday’s blog for details—then post a comment today for another chance to win!

On Friday, my husband and I will be celebrating our thirty-third anniversary. I always kid him that he owes me TWO presents since we renewed our vows on our fifteenth wedding anniversary 😉 The last thirty three years haven’t been easy—we’ve had our share of spats, generally because of outside pressures that make us snap at each other because we can’t say what we’re thinking to the person who really deserves it. But through it all, I’ve always known Gizmo Guy would be there, a sounding board, someone I could turn to in those dark wee hours and unload all my worries.

I noticed that about him from our very first date—that he’d listen to what I say and not fob it off as unimportant or worse, me being overly-emotional or ridiculous. I’d say something, he’d listen and comment in his usual soft thoughtful way. No judgment, just quiet reason. Which he would then often follow it up with a very sly joke. He still does, and I hope that he knows that I’ll always listen to him too. (Actually, he does know that—but it took him about four months to figure that out because I can be rather…passionate…about topics but I’ll always respect someone else’s opinion.) Even before we were lovers, we were friends. He’s still my best friend even after all these years.

It wasn’t until I started writing this post that I realized all of my stories are about friends-to-lovers. They weren’t necessarily best friends at the start of the story, but every single one of my couples have known each other for a while before they start dating. There’s already a certain amount of trust established, and often a fair bit of carefully hidden lust.

It’s true with my upcoming release, Deliberate Deceptions too, but this time I switched things up. Chad and Lauren had not only been best friends, they’d been married for several years. Except they lost the trust that is so essential to a good relationship which doomed their marriage—and their friendship.

When I wrote Personal Protection back in 2008, I already had it in the back of my head that Chad was divorced and that he regretted it, that he’d never stopped loving his wife (I’ve cleaned it up a bit and removed some of the F-bombs they dropped during this conversation):

When Sam flipped him off, Chad sighed. “You’re exhausted because you’ve been staying here late every night for the past week. Go home, Sam. Go talk to Rosie. Straighten this mess out before you lose her completely. Before she comes and asks me for a transfer because damn it, Sam, that’s going to happen too fricking soon.”

“This from the man who let his wife slip through his fingers because he was too frickin’ busy feeling sorry for himself to pay any attention to her.”

Chad stiffened. When he spoke his voice was quiet, but he couldn’t disguise the bitterness filling it. “Who better to give advice? Yes, I messed up a good thing with Lauren. I was too blinded by everything that happened to see that I was driving her away. That’s why I hate to see you make the same stupid mistake.”

But when I wrote it I hadn’t a clue why he’d been feeling sorry for himself that he’d let his marriage shatter, I just knew he was still hurting and blaming himself for the break-up. Which meant that I also knew that part of his story was going to be about him healing that self-loathing. There’s a lot of Gizmo Guy in Chad—he’s one of those quietly determined guys who knows what he wants and goes after it without a lot of fanfare. (Although I wish Gizmo Guy were as organized as Chad is, I’m glad he’s not when you discover the reason for Chad’s slight OCD tendencies.)

Writing Chad’s story was a challenge because how do you go about restoring a trust that’s been broken so badly your marriage hasn’t just failed but failed spectacularly, and in Chad and Lauren’s case, failed very publicly? If figuring out what made Chad feel sorry for himself was one key, then the mysterious Lauren was the other.
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