Glory Days

It started when I was in elementary school. Not many people, but a few, all of them grown-ups I looked up to—they’d sit back and shake their heads and they’d say: “Enjoy this, kid. You’ll look back on this one day as the best time of your life.”

At the time, I imagine I shrugged, not really understanding that kind of bone-deep nostalgia or that faint undertone of regret. In middle school, I openly scoffed. I was miserable, and adults were trying to tell me I’d look back on that time fondly? (Spoiler alert: I don’t.) In high school, more and more people started to repeat the promise to me, that in some distant future I too would wistfully remember my teen years. I was just as skeptical, and not much better at hiding my doubt.

But in college…In college I got that first little shiver of fear. Maybe the people telling me to soak it up were right.

The truth of the matter is, college was one of the best times of my life. I got married pretty young, and I grew up in a pretty strict household, so I remember those first few years when I was on my own with a rush. I experimented with all sorts of things, some of them good ideas and some bad, and all of it was exciting. I tried on a half-dozen different majors. I learned not to drink on an empty stomach. I figured out a little bit about who I was. And I learned a lot about love.

Sitting here in my mid-thirties, I look back on my college days with an undeniable sense of nostalgia. That said, I wouldn’t go back and relive it if I could. Sure, those were thrilling, heady years, but they were crazy, too. I was anguished as often as I was elated, and what I can reminisce on now as harmless experimentation at the time felt like flying on a high wire without a net.

And besides, why relive it when I can write about it?

Some of my very favorite stories to read and write take place in college. There’s so much to explore with characters who are just finding themselves, and when you pair self-discovery with that bright, impossible moment of discovering the heart of another person? Magical. And definitely worth reminiscing on.

She needs an escape…and he’s exactly what she had in mind.

College senior Ellen Price spends every spare minute studying to get into medical school. Until spring break yawns before her, as empty as her wallet.

With no money to hit the beach, she fills her empty to-do list with a plan: for just one week, she will become the kind of take-no-prisoners woman she secretly wishes to be, starting with the hot guy at the bar. It’s a no-risk situation: at the end of break, he’ll head back to his campus, and she’ll go back to hers. No muss, no fuss.

At first, Josh Markley isn’t sure what to think when the quiet, intense beauty from his pre-med classes approaches him for a night of casual sex. Even more mystifying, she doesn’t seem to return his recognition. But if she wants to play “strangers in a bar”, he’s game.

Their passionate night is a welcome respite from life’s stress, but afterward, Josh realizes he wants more—from himself, from life, from Ellen. Except she still thinks he’s a one-off she’ll never see again. Confessing the truth now—before she figures it out on her own—could shatter the fragile beginnings of just what the doctor ordered. A forever love.

Warning: Contains mistaken identities, a sometimes-glasses-wearing hottie, deep questions about figuring out what you want from life, and a red-hot college romance.

Links:
GoodReads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Samhain

Bio:

Jeanette Grey started out with degrees in physics and painting, which she dutifully applied to stunted careers in teaching, technical support, and advertising. When none of that panned out, she started writing. Her stories include futuristic romances and erotic contemporaries, and almost all of them include hints of either science or art.

When she isn’t writing, Jeanette enjoys making pottery, playing board games, and spending time with her husband and her pet frog. She lives, loves, and writes in upstate New York.

Personal Links:

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Building a Community

When I started the UGLY STICK SALOON Series, I knew I wanted to build a whole community of characters where I could end one story and start another revisiting some of the same places and same characters. In the Ugly Stick Saloon Series, secondary characters get their stories. This gives the readers a chance to revisit some of their favorite characters like old friends.

In one of my first UGLY STICK SALOON books, SEX ED, I introduced Ed and Kendall’s story. But Lacey Lambert played a big secondary role in that story. She’s finally getting her story in BOOTS AND LACE. The reader gets to learn why Lacey acts the way she does and how Nick McBride wins her over. It’s been over a year since SEX ED came out. It’s about time Lacey got her man!

***Leave a comment for a chance to win a download of Sex Ed ***

Author Bio

Myla Jackson spent twenty years in South Central Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, retired Army and Air Force Reservist, she’s proud to be writing full-time, penning intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edge of their seats or laughing out loud. Now, living in northwest Arkansas, she’s given up wrangling cattle and exotic birds to wrangle her muses, a malti-poo and a yorkie. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, out snow skiing, boating, or riding her four-wheeler, dreaming up new stories. Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter

Welcome back to the Ugly Stick Saloon!

She wants no strings…but he wants it all.

After her philandering husband left her, Lacey Lambert found sanctuary, and a better class of friends, at the Ugly Stick Saloon. Where she learned that the best revenge—against her ex, and the “friends” who kicked her out of the Temptation Garden Club—is to live life to the fullest.

Now that her best friend is moving out of her apartment building, she’s feeling a little lonely. And more than ready for a little commitment-free sex with the hot new downstairs tenant.

Freshly divorced, Nick McBride isn’t looking for another failed relationship. But when the luscious brunette offers no-strings sex—with him and his brother—he can’t come up with a good reason to refuse.

After he gets over the shock that she likes it loud, long, and in front of an open window, he finds himself wanting more time with her. Maybe even on a permanent basis. But it’ll take every ounce of his cowboy charms to convince her to let him sweep her off her feet.

Samhain Publishing
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CHANCE ENCOUNTERS… NOT?

This is a year of new beginnings for me. In February, I published the first three novellas in the Sheikhs of the Golden Triangle series. March is the month I’m blogging for the first time ever. Thanks for inviting me, Delilah!

Have you ever wondered about the timing of events? Looking back at the crossroads in your past, have you ever wondered how different your life might be if you’d taken the other road?  Sometimes life feels orchestrated, other times totally random. Is there any such thing as coincidence?

Life is like story creation for a work of fiction, and we are characters in our own novels.

Writing The Sheikh’s Spy made me reflect on the sequence of how things unfold in our lives.

For example, Olympia is kidnapped by a wealthy sheikh and held as collateral because her brother can’t pay his astronomical gambling debt.  One evening she is called from the harem quarters to entertain visiting dignitaries, and overhears a plot to kill Sheikh Adnan in the neighboring kingdom of Zahiria.  She breaks free, intent on warning him that his life is in danger.

Get Your Copy    |    Read Chapter One.

If Olympia’s brother hadn’t gambled in that casino on the Riviera the same night the nefarious Sheikh Mahjub was there… or if the sheikh hadn’t decided impulsively to take Olympia as his chattel until the debt was paid… or if Olympia hadn’t decided to escape and find her way to Zahiria… Adnan may have lost his life. Did his survival truly rest on a series of ‘what if’ events, or would he have been spared in some other way?

Then I reflected on a few major events in my own life. If my parents hadn’t taken me to a particular night club on my twenty-first birthday, I wouldn’t have met the man who became my first husband. When he asked for my phone number, I hesitated and wanted to fake a number, but something compelled me to give him my phone number.

In the series prequel, The Amulet, what if the Prince of Zahiria hadn’t fallen in love with the witch’s daughter? If he’d married the princess his parents had chosen for him, perhaps a long series of misfortunes and wars could have been averted. Oonagh the witch may never have created an amulet to protect his kingdom, and the intrigues that plagued the region for centuries may never have happened.

I like to think we have some control over our lives, but sometimes in hindsight it seems life’s pivotal moments came about like the toss of a coin, or the spin of the wheel at a roulette table.

Maybe we are all characters in a gigantic work of fiction some cosmic being out there is writing. I find such thoughts fascinating. When we make everyday decisions, it doesn’t feel like we’re taking a gamble, at least not most of the time.

Does it all end at death, or does the saga continue on the other side of the veil? In Christmas Spirits, the ghost of Anna O’Cleary agrees to give up her right to visit her old Irish castle ever again in exchange for a weekend with her beloved husband, Sheikh Khazan, in the flesh again one last time. Her goal is to entice him to follow her to the spirit world when she leaves. This was such a major gamble, she probably considered the ‘what ifs’ before she sealed the deal.

The universe always fills a void. If I hadn’t met my first husband in that nightclub on my twenty-first birthday, maybe I’d have bumped into him poolside, or in a restaurant the next day. Or maybe I’d have met and married an entirely different man instead.

The two things we do seem to have control over are our minds and hearts. We magnetize people, places and things to ourselves based on the thoughts we put out, and the intentions we hold in our hearts.  So, are we the ones writing our own novel?

Have you ever pondered, “What if I’d done this instead of that?”

Thanks for reading this post and pondering the “what ifs” with me. If you have any thoughts about this, or crossroad experiences to share, I’d love to hear them.

If you enjoy sizzling desert princes and passionate heroines in exotic settings, check out my website.

Delilah, thanks again for having me!

Follow me as my writing journey unfolds ~~ I love hearing from readers and making new friends in the world of book lovers!
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Today I’m going to discuss ‘this or that’ writers.

If someone is referred to only as a ‘lesbian erotica writer’ or ‘science fiction writer’, they have unfortunately let themselves be stamped as a ‘this or that’ writer.

Such writers should immediately do whatever is necessary to shirk that potentially income-limiting label. Of course, there are writers who choose to focus on a specific niche, m/m romance or pet mysteries, for example, and in that case, it is very, very good to be a ‘this or that’ writer, only you are now a specialty writer with high income potential. You have established yourself as an expert; people will seek out your work.

Since I’m discussing ‘this or that’ writers, I’m leaving specialty writers out of this, except to say that SPs write for one genre (and sometimes that genre’s subgenres), usually one they personally enjoy reading or found they have a knack for, and they have mastered their craft. An SP is like a neurologist or orthopedic surgeon. I am talking about the advantages of being a general practitioner.

A writer with skill, talent, and experience, can write almost any type of material. And unless you choose to be known as a genre writer, say romance or fantasy, you should make a concerted effort to write stories of all kinds and submit, submit, submit. Like an investor, you should build up a diversified portfolio, only instead of investments; your portfolio consists of writing samples.

Diversification makes it harder to attain a certain level of success, but it is worth it in the long run. And while it will probably take longer to become a ‘famous mystery writer’ or a ‘bestselling romance author’ if you diversify, the truth is that you will make more short-term money by not pigeonholing yourself. And I do believe that making a living from their art is the ultimate goal of most writers.

I have not penned any bestsellers as of yet, but I do make a living as a writer and have so for the past six years. The key to that being that I do not categorize myself and try to avoid letting others do so. I am a writer, period. Whether it’s advertising copy, web copy, screenplays, brochures, newsletters, newspaper and magazine articles, or fiction, I am available and experienced and ready to write. Potential employers do not look at my resume and think, ‘She only has experience writing comedy. We can’t hire her for this.’ Instead they think, ‘She has experience with all kinds of writing.’

An added bonus of exercising your writing talent is just that – you get some exercise! Play around with types of characters, plots and subplots, genres, styles, tones, and of course, words. you will only be a better writer for it. Making your brain twist and turn, overcome obstacles, and think – will make you a better specialty writer as well, if that’s your chosen path.

If you do decide to stick to a certain genre, one that really tickles, draws, and titillates you, all this exercise will just make your specialty that much stronger. And if you decide to write, write, write – everything from magazine features to op-ed pieces to BDSM erotica to cookbooks, you’ll find that there is nothing you can’t do.

Ily Goyanes is a journalist, editor, publisher, and widely published erotica author. She writes about food and culture for the Miami New Times (Village Voice Media) and the Fuming Foodie, her columnist alter ego, has been known to cause a bit of controversy. Her erotica appears in Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations, Spankalicious: Erotic Adventures in Spanking, and Power Plays: Kinkster Erotica, as well as the upcoming Smokin’ Hot Firemen.  Her first full-length anthology, Girls Who Score: Hot Lesbian Erotica, has been nominated for a Lambda Literary Award. She has been interviewed by PBS, The Miami Herald, The Sun-Sentinel, South Florida Gay News, and numerous other media outlets, as well as serving as a panelist at the 2012 Miami Book Fair International. Write her at ily.goyanes@gmail.com.

Good Morning Everyone,

I’m so excited to show a peek at my upcoming 1NS Trading Up Releasing 4/18/13!

If you haven’t ever read a 1NS series book you are missing out! I don’t even know the exact number of books out from various authors we have at this point. I’d like to say well over a hundred stories as we have a 1NS Paranormal and 1NS GBLT line as well.  I never thought I could work off of a detail sheet with to create a story….but here I am on my third 1NS. My previous 1NS stories are Tell Me No Lies a paranormal 1NS and Burn Me if You Can, an IR 1NS.

There is just something so mystical about Madame Eve that makes me want to keep creating characters that need her assistance in finding love, and if not finding the love of their live, opening themselves for a chance to find love in the future.

I also wanted to do a story with some sensory deprivation, and I’d never done more than a short scene with one sense taken away. I really enjoyed the challenge of taking it to the next level and really having fun.  Not to mention taking away the first moment a couple meets in person where they decide prematurely what will and won’t happen with the date.

Camilla’s deal breakers make finding a man to fit her wants, needs, and desires darn near impossible. For years she’s been primped and primed to be the perfect political daughter, when all she really wants to do is let loose a little without her world collapsing.  When a friend sends her Madam Eve’s way she figures she may just have the chance to explore a bit without being outed.

Jonah Black’s career is heading for a change. While his friends have dubbed him married to the military, he can’t deny that his focus has been off centered. While they enjoy the pleasures of life and wives, he has nothing to come home to.  When offered the chance for a 1NS, he signs up and is unprepared for the exotic woman picked for him.

The flames licking inside her were too much to take, along with his roaming hand.  She leaned forward and grasped the chilled wine goblet as a lifeline. When he nudged her lips to take a second taste, she pressed the together, holding her finger up and then laughing because he couldn’t see it in the dark. She took a long cool sip, more from Jonah’s effect on her than the food. She licked her lips then tucked herself against him, momentarily satisfied.

“Better?

“Mmm.” Cam sighed. “When’s it your turn? I’m having all the fun.”

“I’m having a good time feeding you.”

“You’re not hungry?” In the dark, his heart pounded against her cheek.“I’m hungry, all right. Ravenous, even.” Jonah caressed her thigh. Cam had no doubt his eyes would scorch her to her very soul. His lazy trail along her skin left her smoldering in need. She let him ply her with another skewer to distract from the throb at the apex of her thighs. She sucked a piece of pineapple he held between his fingers. Juices trickled down her chin. He mopped the stream of liquid with the pad of his thumb and heard him  nosily sucked it off.  Holy bananas, she wanted a taste of him now. Her mind kept rewinding to the feel of his finger parting her lips.

“I uh- need to use the ladies room.” Cam pressed the button on the table for assistance. Cesaire instructed.  Seconds later, her guide assisted her out of her chair and slid it back in.

“Here we go, Ms. Knox.”

She stepped awkwardly away from the table.  Along the way, she heard soft sighs and giggles. Definitely some hard-core kissing action. The idea of giving in to the dark side and making out in public heightened her ardor. A loud bang startled her. She jumped, almost losing Cesaire’s grasp.

“Don’t worry Ms. Knox. Almost there.” A few more steps and he ushered her into a space where dim lighting burned her dilated pupils for a moment before her eyes adjusted. He sat on a lounge chair between two doors marked Men and Women. The dim glow brought her normal self-conscious thoughts raging forward. In the dark Jonah couldn’t see her physical flaws. Would that change once he saw the real her?

Comment and leave an email address I’ll pick a winner for some swag!

This bundle of Mahalia’s books is available now for only $5.88!

Writing Sex: Making Readers Feel It

I write erotic romance with BDSM and spanking.  I’ve been doing it for a long time, since well before Ellora’s Cave was born.  I was doing it so long ago that my first sales were to some of the many small press erotic publications common before the advent of the Internet and the World Wide Web, and at the time I’d never even talked to another author writing erotic romance. In fact, other than the writers in those magazines, I didn’t know of any others. I had no critique groups or partners and I pretty much taught myself how to do it.  I learned mostly by imitating others.

Since then, I’ve sold a lot more stories and read a lot of erotic romance stories for contests and on free sites. Many of them didn’t really work for me and usually for the same reasons.  Here are three of the most common mistakes I’ve run into.

–          Describing the action with no emotion. Spanking and bondage stories lend themselves to this shortcut and I see it quite a bit. After a nice bit of dialogue to build up to the scene, one character begins spanking the other. How does the author describe the action? “Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.” Or “Spank, spank, spank, SPANK, spank, etc.” And the spankee shrieks “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” And that’s it until the spanking is over. Other than sort of describing the sound, this really shows me nothing. What I really want to know is what it feels like—either to the spanker or the spankee or, preferably to me, both. I’ll bet you’ve read some of those bondage stories that lovingly describe every twist and turn of the rope, every knot, but not what it feels like to be so bound, to be helpless and at someone else’s mercy.

–          Describing just the physical sensation. Yes, I want to know how it feels. I want the author to make me experience the burn of a spanking as well as the heat and arousal, the glorious pleasure when the beloved touches you just there, the helplessness when your movement is restricted by loving bonds. But I also want to know what’s going on in the characters’ heads as well as their bodies. I want to know why they’re in this position, why they’re letting the other do this to them, what they’re risking, and what they want from it.

–          Detailing a sex scene that doesn’t change anything between the main characters. In an erotic romance, every scene, including every sex scene, has to serve the plot and the development of the characters. It’s all about the story. Even when the story is super-sexy, if there’s no plot, no emotion, no risk, no danger, nothing to make us care about the characters or worry about what will happen to them, then it doesn’t work as a romance or even as good fiction.

The principles of good story-telling apply even to erotic romance. Show, don’t tell. Give us interesting characters and make us care about them. Build the tension between the characters. Don’t make it easy on them. Make them earn their happily ever after or at least their happily for now. And most of all entertain the reader. Grab her attention and keep it until the very last word.

Bio: As the author of more than a dozen novels, novellas and short stories for Ellora’s Cave and other publishers, Katherine Kingston makes her characters work hard for their happily-ever-afters. She writes erotic romances in a variety of genres including contemporary, medieval historical, fantasy, futuristic and paranormal. Most of her stories include kinky elements, especially BDSM and spanking. She invites you to visit her home on the web at https://www.katherinekingston.com.

 Secret Santa Sir: When Maggie gets a note from a very unofficial Secret Santa during the office’s holiday gift exchange, she’s surprised to be tempted by it. This Secret Santa offers to help fulfill her wilder sexual fantasies, those fantasies she’s never admitted to anyone else. Normally the very professional, uptight Maggie wouldn’t consider doing anything so risky. She wants a husband and family, but she also has kinky sexual fantasies and no man has ever moved her. Maggie agrees to Santa’s proposal, and her first few anonymous encounters with him are a revelation, showing her levels of sensuality she’s never experienced before. But when she meets the man behind the gifts and the glorious kisses, her life gets seriously complicated. As Maggie begins to fall in love with him, she faces two choices—longing for husband and family, and continuing a relationship that fulfills her in ways she never believed possible.

Kyle’s Bargain: In a desperate attempt to save the small strip shopping center that houses her own bookstore and a few other small retailers, Meg Travis tries to blackmail developer Kyle Harrison into going with her to talk to the people his project is about to displace. He offers her a bargain.  He’ll give her two hours of his time if she’ll agree to spend a night with him in his bed, and he won’t press charges if she’ll accept the punishment he proposes. He refuses to tell her what that penalty would be. Both honor their promises, but neither is prepared for the attraction that blazes between them in the process, turning duty into joy and punishment into pleasure.

A Slice of Southern Gothic Pie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lesbian…

She swallowed thickly.

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

“Della?” Gray’s voice startled her.

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

Della dried her eyes and shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Della pointed. “That blue Ford. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buy it now!

Loose Id | Amazon | B&N | ARE

About Paisley Smith

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

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

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

www.Paisley-Smith.com