Archive for July, 2010

New Cave Release – Juniper Bell

How is one innocent country girl to choose between a Duke, a Marquis and an Earl? Must she?

When Miss Alicia Silverwood marries the Earl of Dorchester, he whisks her off to Notre Plaisir, a country manor where erotic surprises await in the company of three powerful lords.

The young Earl needs a wife and heir. The cynical Marquis de Beaumont needs a playmate. And the commanding Duke of Warrington needs a reason to live. As for the new Lady Dorchester, she’s about to discover the true nature of her own sensual needs. On top of that, she’s falling in love.

It might take a miracle for Lady Alicia and her three lords to come to an arrangement that makes them all happy. Or perhaps all that’s required is a little scandalous rule-breaking.

Reader Advisory: Contains an m/m/f/m ménage with brief m/m sex, as well as a deflowering and much sweet loving.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: MY THREE LORDS

Copyright © JUNIPER BELL, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

“I make you two promises, Alicia. The first is that I shall not take your maidenhead. Only one man may do so, and that is your husband. The second is that tonight you will experience more pleasure than you’ve ever imagined, thanks to me. If the Earl were here tonight, you’d receive no gentle caresses, no stroking such as I intend to give you. Your nipples would be left untouched, save for a rough tweak or two. Whereas I intend to savor their sweetness and watch them stand to attention like pink sentinels of your desire.”

Pinned as if I were a helpless butterfly, I lost myself in the soothing cadence of his speech. I became aware of the heat and strength of his body, and an unfamiliar tingling in my belly.

“You may think you prefer the Earl, but you’d regret it deeply. Your deflowering would be painful rather than pleasurable. Harsh rather than sweet. Such an event in a young girl’s life should bring tears of joy along with the tears of pain. That is what I offer, and the Earl, cognizant of your best interests as well as his own, has allowed me to provide this service. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and when he didn’t respond, whispered, “Yes.”

“Then come. Rise now.”

The weight lifted off me and he helped me to my feet. When I stood facing him, I saw a look such as I’d never seen on his jaded face before. He looked almost tender. Slowly, gently, he traced the skin along the edge of my loosened stays. I felt a prickling in the tips of my breasts. When I looked down at myself, my nipples were just as he said, pink and standing up under the layers of undergarments. He hooked his finger in the busk between my breasts. My breath caught.

“I won’t proceed further unless I have your full consent. Despite my reputation, I am not in the habit of forcing my attentions on unwilling girls. I must know that you accept what I’m offering you, fully and completely.”

His black gaze seared into me, as if he could see all the hidden corners of my soul. And perhaps he could, because God help me, I wanted the things he’d promised, and more. I wanted to lie down on the bed and roll myself in the bedclothes, or strip off my chemise and run outside under the stars. I didn’t fully understand what was happening to me. My body felt heavy and yet light at the same time.

“I do,” I whispered. “I accept.”

His eyes glittered in the candlelight. I felt dizzy. For a moment, I was back in the barn at home, caught with a goatherd’s hand hovering over my breast. I’d looked up in alarm at the sound of soft laughter. The sight of the Marquis’ delighted, mocking smile had turned me to stone.

There had been another feeling as well, a charge in the air that had made my skin prickle.

I felt it again as his eyes deliberately consumed my body, top to toe. Under my eyelashes, I performed an inspection of my own. The Marquis was not a bad-looking man, slender of build, perhaps a head taller than myself. As always, he was dressed in the height of fashion, with an embroidered cream waistcoat and a splendid coat of dark blue superfine that fit him to perfection. He always appeared to be mocking the world around him, but over the years I had on occasion seen him perform small kindnesses that surprised me.

“There has always been a special feeling between us, has there not?” As he spoke, he deftly removed my stays until I stood in nothing more than my chemise. I shivered at his nearness. Not for the first time, I thought what a powerful man he was, not in physique but in presence…a powerful man inclined to darkness.

He picked up a candle and slowly walked around me, shining its light on my body. The warmth from the candle paled in comparison to the penetrating weight of his gaze. I fixed my eyes on the pretty dressing table on the far side of the room. I counted five silver-backed brushes and considered attempting to count the individual bristles to distract myself from the strange feelings stealing over me.

A gentle touch on my posterior made me start. His hand cupped my bottom and warmth flooded my being. How could such a simple touch create such an uproar within me? With a firm hand and wandering fingers, he stroked my flesh. I felt the back of my chemise inch up my legs. The feel of his fingertips roaming across the backs of my thighs was so exquisite, I closed my eyes so the pleasure would continue.

“Ah no, my dear, you are not allowed to close your eyes. I want you to fully comprehend that it is I, the dreaded Marquis de Beaumont, who is bringing you this enjoyment. Whose hands are now stroking your tender buttocks?”

Tendrils of fire seemed to spread across my bottom as he quickened his touch. “Yours,” I gasped.

“And who intends to remove this interfering chemise from your body?”

My throat became suddenly parched. If he removed my chemise, I would be naked before the most notorious rake in England. “You,” I whispered. “But, please…”

“Yes?” His fingers danced up the curve of my spine and my belly seemed to quiver in response. Cool air caressed my back as he drew up the chemise. “Ah, so lovely. I’ve waited a very long time for this moment.”

I clutched the front of it to my chest. My head was such a confusing swarm of thoughts, I didn’t know what I wanted to say. Please continue. Stop this instant. The two opposite impulses battled in my mind. “Why me?” I managed. “Why a long time?”

“Why you?” My question did not make him pause in his intrusions on my body. Every inch of exposed skin drew a caress or a pat from his relentless, curious, knowing hands. Every touch sent a cascade of shivers across my flesh. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but you first caught my eye as a girl dashing after your brothers. You ran directly into me, like a Spanish bull into a cape. I have been accustomed to find myself a figure of fright for young girls. But you seemed to have no fear of me. I plucked you off the ground and held you high. You looked back at me with those frank eyes of yours, whose color I find no words for, somewhere in the mysterious realm between gray and blue, and you said, quite simply, “You were directly in my path. You will please to put me down now.” And so I did, and watched, bemused, as you raced away to join your brothers. At that moment I knew you were an unusual girl.”

By this time he was in front of me, loosing my hands from their grip on my chemise. I looked up at him and found myself surprised by a hint of softness in his usually sharp eyes.

“This chemise,” he told me softly, “can hide nothing from me. I know your soul, ma chérie, perhaps better than you do yourself. You desire things you cannot name. You sense it in the springtime air, the moonlight over a stream, the scent of lilacs in the sunshine. The world promises you something just beyond your senses, something you cannot grasp, simply because you don’t yet know how. I will show you how, my dear.”

Advertisements

Weekly News

In town yesterday, it was very clear the British school summer holiday had begun. The main street was full of those small humans called children. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love kids, have five of my own, just don’t much like the stages where they’re ‘into’ everything and ‘getting in the way’. Poor little sods—I realise that’s the way we develop, but when they’re all racing around outside the shops, screeching and screaming, their mothers getting more irate by the minute, I bless the fact that mine are well past that stage. I’ve done all that, been there and got several T-shirts in several different ‘stages’, and wouldn’t want to go through it again. In short, I’ve turned into a grumpy old cow.

In the freezer store, a woman, her husband, and seven kids that I counted, decided to do their shopping in a straight line ACROSS every aisle. So, they blocked the way and had a few frustrated shoppers waiting for them to move, me included. Brits are a polite bunch—most of them anyway—and no one asked them to budge over for ages, until one woman, her child crying in her pushchair because, let’s face it, she was bored shitless, pushed ahead of us all and loudly exclaimed, “Excuse me!”

One person from that family moved, the gap created barely enough for anyone to get through, let alone a shopping trolley/cart. In the end, after several people tsked and barged through, another family member moved out of the way, with, I might add, a look of disgust as though they had every right to hog the damn aisle.

Yeah, I know it’s hardly something to whinge about when there are far more important things going on in the world, but shit, I’ve just whinged anyway.

The visit to town made me want to scream, say stuff like, “Shitfuckwankerandbugger!” and return home as quickly as possible. Except it was hot. Hell, yeah. Let’s moan about the weather now. When it’s cold, that’s wrong, and when it’s hot, that’s wrong too. But it was muggy, the air thick, and by the time I got home I felt the need for a bath.

While I’m at it, I’ll have another moan. Workmen are due at my house again today. Not only does it mean I had to get up early and tidy up (snarl), it means going most of the day (again—they were here before replacing old fires) without electricity while they change the old fuse boxes for new, fix a smoke alarm, seal my bathroom light fixtures because apparently mine aren’t condensation proof, and put a ‘shaver light’ on the bathroom wall.

I don’t do ‘others’ in my house. I feel violated and ‘nosed at’. Uncomfortable in my own space. I used to be the kind of person who had every effer come round, but now? Sod that for a laugh. Like I said, I’m turning into a grumpy old cow.

Moo on ya!

We finished season five of 24—which, in my opinion, is the best so far. You know, the one with the nerve gas that had me thinking of myself as a terrorist as I sprayed those pesky darn flies last week with bug killer—and started season six. Six isn’t so exciting. The vice president is getting in my nellies—hey, seems everything is in this post!—as he did when he starred in Deadwood. The plot has the same pattern—one thing going on until the halfway point, then it switches. And just when I thought we’d got rid of the dreaded Audrey, who also got on my nellies in previous seasons, she comes back. Fucknghellsbellsshebugsme. But, there is hope. I’m loving Maurice, the Brit bald head. His dry sense of humour is cool. Hey, can you believe I actually LIKED something here? Shit. Maybe I’m not such a grumpy cow after all…

Fight, the novel I co-authored with Jaime Samms, is out very soon. I should have a release date coming because the final pdf is good to go. I can’t wait for this one to go live and see how readers take it. Much excitement!

I haven’t written much the past few days. The kids being off for summer has messed with my mojo. I’m used to being alone. I suspect I’ll just get used to them being home then they’ll go back, but that first day of solitude will be heaven. I love my kids, obviously, but all of them in the house at once is…different. Tests my patience.

So, my current novel is only about 2K longer. I last wrote on Saturday, doing my part in a revision on another co-author. The book has been subbed, and we wait, biting our nails, hoping the book is what the publisher wants. I’ve toyed with writing a Quickie but didn’t. Basically just pissed about the past few days online and in the house. I do need to write at some point, because when I don’t I get quiet, lost in my head, which is good sometimes but at others it really isn’t. If you’re a deep thinker, you’ll know what I mean.

Anyway, I’d best be off before the workmen arrive and my Internet goes off along with the electric. Good job my Nat’s coming for the day, or I’d be bored shitless. Last time the workmen were here I sat in the garden all day and wrote in my notebook. Got a big chunk down too. And got cramp in my hand.

Oh my Lord! I’ve done nothing but moan today. Honestly, I need a slap! Feel free to have a moan in comments. It’ll make me feel less alone in my moany state. LOL. Byeee!

 

 

 


Weight Loss is a Bitch? Nah, She’s my Friend!

Discussing weight is a tricky issue due to the offending factor. There are ‘thin’ people who have never struggled with being overweight and some of them may say obesity is disgusting. Of course, that’s their opinion, and if their claims are true that they ‘eat what they like’ and ‘don’t do any exercise other than walking upstairs to take a bath’, then they’re blessed with perfect metabolism and are very lucky. Some people have fucked-up metabolism or thyroid issues and the weight piles on. Others simply eat the wrong food and don’t do enough exercise. I was one of the latter, and it took a good while for me to accept what I needed to do in order to lose weight. It took many years for me to get my head around finding the right diet plan, doing regular exercise, and believing I could lose the weight—and wanting to do it.

Because I’ve been in the mindset of ‘fuck it, I’ll always be fat, can never lose weight’ I totally understand obesity and how a person can get bigger. It happens. Life, depression, having kids, being comfortable…God, so many reasons why it occurs. It can take a long time to get your mind to accept you have a ‘problem’—if, indeed, a person sees being overweight as problem in the first place. Some people are happy as they are, thankyouverymuch, and for a long time I was one of those people. So what if I carried extra weight? So damn what?

It wasn’t until I started getting out of breath when walking short distances, struggling to combat the urge for just one more doughnut etc., that I looked down at myself and realised, for me, I had to do something. I got scared that my eating habits would escalate and make me ill. That I would die young. This enlightenment doesn’t happen for everyone—as I said, some are happy as they are, and that’s their business—but I wanted not just to lose weight, but to feel better and live longer. That’s my life choice, one I cottoned on to just in time, because I feel I was teetering on that fine line between being able to lose weight without it being too much of a chore, or going the other way and adding more pounds to my body and giving up ever trying to get them off.

Below are a couple of pictures I took this morning. One is of a pair of trousers that fitted me on Boxing Day 2009, with a pair of jeans I currently wear placed on top. The other is of my midsection while I’m wearing jeans today the same size as those pictured. At times it has been hard work. Doughnuts are what I crave, so to get my mind off accepting that I don’t need them has been hard going, but once the weight started coming off I got more determined to keep going. I hope to place a smaller size jeans on top of the ones here at some point this year, even if it’s Boxing Day by the time I reach my goal. That means it will have taken one year to ditch the pounds I promised myself I would dump.

If you’re on the losing weight, healthy eating, or exercise plans, good luck, and remember: YOU CAN DO THIS!

 


Free Read – Novella – Love Quest

Click Cover to Download the novella, Love Quest!

Born a Hinka witch on the plain of Oricitis, Megan Kristie’s sole existence is to practise the art of erotica. However, Megan isn’t like other Hinkas. She has an inner jester that prevents her from conforming to the rules.

Hinkas visit Earth to learn new ways of erotica and return to Oricitis to share their knowledge. Megan has one last Earth mission left before she can participate in the ultimate Oricitis rite: to share the Goddessa Hinka’s bed. She has been granted permission to take on a new Earth identity and live as a human, complete with a past, a job, and weird parents. There is one clause: that at the end of her last Earth mission, she must return to Oricitis. For good.

Able to relax and completely be herself on Earth, her existence as Megan has been completely erased from her mind. Now Clarissa Fielding, she’s a single woman on the search for romance. She gives herself one week to find the man of her dreams, resulting in hilarious mishaps. Zany Clarissa finds love in the most unconventional way and finally feels her life is complete.

But will Goddessa Hinka come to collect her? And will Clarissa have to return to Oricitis?


Happy Release Day, Cris!

Older widow Delia Barnes is sporting a black eye when she greets fellow authors before an erotic romance convention, which she explains away by joking “I didn’t say ‘Yes Master’ quick enough.” Sitting at the bar, burned-out ad executive and former Dom Kurt Reinhardt overhears the remark—and interrupts to suggest maybe she needs “a new Master”.

Urged by her friends to accept the younger man’s invitation to learn some D/s basics—hey, an author needs to do her research, right?—Delia joins him to get first-hand experience at being submissive, starting with removing her panties in a corner booth. Later, she learns more than she bargained for when she spends a weekend at Kurt’s home…with his eager business partner added to the mix.

But an innocent misstep brings Delia’s world crashing down around her. Can she trust Kurt with her heart…and her life?

Reader Advisory: Delia gets some up-close-and-personal training during a delectable m/f/m ménage.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: WHAT SHE NEEDS

Copyright © CRIS ANSON, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

“A woman could get spoiled very quickly here.”

He moved in close, kissed her temple. “Exactly what I had in mind.”

His scent, an exotic spice—applewood smoke and fresh air—intoxicated her. “Kurt…”

“I know. I can’t wait another second.” He lifted the glass from her nerveless fingers and set it as well as his own on a side table. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as his fingers tunneled through her hair. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a whole week now.”

“Kurt,” she repeated, her ability to string two words together suddenly deserting her.

They were almost of a height with her three-inch black pumps and his bare feet. His gaze bored deeply into hers, and it felt as if he were staring into her soul, searching for her most profound yearnings. The intimate penetration caused her lower lip to tremble. His eyes snapped to the subtle movement and he moved those last few millimeters between them and touched his mouth to hers.

Tiny explosions detonated around her lips and she softened, opened to his touch. His tongue took instant advantage, exploring the perimeter then stroking over hers, thrusting and sucking in turn until she was wild to feel him aligned against her. Yet he held himself apart, nothing touching except their lips, and his hands in her hair.

So Delia took the initiative. She snaked her arms around Kurt’s waist and arched her back, rubbing against him, thighs to thighs, hips to hips, silently berating her lack of foresight in not removing her suit jacket when she’d handed him her car coat. She wanted to feel his chest against her breasts, skin against skin. Heat bloomed inside her, seeking an answering heat. After all the phone sex she was primed for the real thing. His kisses, the solid reality of his body against hers, were dangerous to her sanity.

“Delia.” Kurt’s voice was ragged, his erection pressing hard against her as he took her upper arms in his grip and gently disengaged their bodies.

“We have all weekend,” he continued smoothly, apparently having regained his control. “I will teach you that a little anticipation, a little withholding of ecstasy, can be most rewarding.”

She couldn’t suppress a delectable shiver at the thought. Her only worry was what his reaction would be when he saw her body with its more than four decades of wear and tear. Not that she lacked self-confidence. She had it to spare. But this was entirely new territory for her.

“You’re cold,” he said. “I’m a terrible host. Here, let’s get you into the Jacuzzi. I’ve set it at ninety-nine degrees. Did you bring a swimsuit? Or would you be comfortable lolling around in your birthday suit?”

Delia blinked. This was the moment of truth. Was she a cougar or not? Did she want sex with this man or not?

Go for it! She could hear Judith urging her to grab the brass ring. Still, he was the first man she’d kissed—and what a toe-curling kiss it was!—since Robert died four years ago, and no one else had seen her naked in twenty-two years.

“Delia. Your Master is asking you to remove your jacket and skirt. Will you do that for me?”

Yes. That’s what she needed, to have the decision taken from her after all the myriad decisions she’d made at the office. And that’s why, she reminded herself, she’d removed her prim white blouse just before leaving said office. She had to take a deep breath for this. Yes, she’d dressed for seduction, but actually doing it took all the nerve she could muster.

Slowly she undid the three fabric-covered buttons from her gray faux-suede jacket and slid it off her shoulders, revealing a silky, cobalt blue bra that molded her B cups perfectly to create a gentle cleavage. His eyes flared but he said nothing as he reached out a hand for the garment. She draped it over his arm.

“Now the skirt.”

She could do this, no sweat. Just think how all the other cougars would handle it. Undo button. Slide zipper down. Wiggle hips to let the skirt slither down her legs.

He inhaled a harsh breath.

A part of her rejoiced that she could elicit such a reaction from him at the sight of her. Thigh-high sheer gray stockings rode her long legs. Bikini panties, matching the bra, barely covered her scar.

Reaching out a hand to him for stability, she lifted one leg to remove a black stiletto.

“No. Not yet.”

Seeing the lust on his face made her spine straighten and gave her a much-needed shot of courage.

“Step out of the puddle of your skirt, take it to that chair in the corner and set it down. Then come back, walking slowly.”

Was that a wobble in his voice? Perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as he portrayed.

As she followed his instructions, she couldn’t help but notice the involuntary sway of her hips, the catwalk saunter that suddenly felt the right way to walk, to tease. Being an exhibitionist was a high she hadn’t expected.

“Sit here. On the edge of the tub.”

She did, lowering herself gracefully.

He knelt before her, lifted her left leg and slid her shoe off. Began to massage her foot, gently kneading her sole, the arch, each individual toe. Delia closed her eyes in bliss. His fingers strayed higher, to her calf, the back of her knee, the outer muscles of her thigh.

“Let’s get this off, shall we?”

Her eyes snapped open. He tugged at the elasticized lace garter, rolled the stocking down to her ankle. Then set his lips on the indentations of her skin where the elastic had constricted her all day. He licked and nipped, skimmed his fingertips across her mound as he massaged the skin.

The sight of his black-haired head so near her crotch sent a shock of cream drizzling through her pussy lips to dampen her panties.

“Don’t move, Delia.”

She didn’t even realize she had shifted her hips to bring his mouth closer to the spot between her legs that throbbed so heatedly.

After a few delicious minutes of torture, he moved to her right leg and performed the same combination of magic and teasing. Delia felt her breathing go shallow. He’d spread her legs and knelt between them. He couldn’t not smell her arousal, so close to the source was he.

“Delia. Delicious Delia. You smell of ambrosia.” Kurt’s fingers delved beneath the elastic of her cobalt panties, one hand on each side, and he slowly slid them toward each other. Hesitated. Continued until both index fingers met at the juncture that hid her clit.

“Bare. I like bare. Thank you, Delia, for that gift.” His fingers stroked abstract designs on the sensitive skin surrounding her nether lips, and Delia was glad she’d acted on a whim and shaved all of it, not just her bikini line.

Kurt dipped his head then, stroked her through her panties with firm pressure of his tongue. Delia almost jumped, but his grip on her thighs reminded her not to move. Such delicious torture, his mouth sucking, tongue delving, fingers probing, and she unable to flex her hips for more. She gripped the crown of the tub as she felt her muscles tense, her insides clench. Oh god, it felt so good, it had been so long, she was going to—

He leaned back, still on his knees. “Stand up.”


New Cave Release! Cris Anson

Older widow Delia Barnes is sporting a black eye when she greets fellow authors before an erotic romance convention, which she explains away by joking “I didn’t say ‘Yes Master’ quick enough.” Sitting at the bar, burned-out ad executive and former Dom Kurt Reinhardt overhears the remark—and interrupts to suggest maybe she needs “a new Master”.

Urged by her friends to accept the younger man’s invitation to learn some D/s basics—hey, an author needs to do her research, right?—Delia joins him to get first-hand experience at being submissive, starting with removing her panties in a corner booth. Later, she learns more than she bargained for when she spends a weekend at Kurt’s home…with his eager business partner added to the mix.

But an innocent misstep brings Delia’s world crashing down around her. Can she trust Kurt with her heart…and her life?

Reader Advisory: Delia gets some up-close-and-personal training during a delectable m/f/m ménage.

 


Weekly News

My good friend Tess MacKall has some great news to share HERE. A few of my other friends have had the same news—M. King, Cindy Jacks, and Cora Zane—and I’m so bleedin’ pleased for them all I could burst. Having known these wonderful women for a few years now, I’ve watched them grow and strive for their places in the writing world, all of us aspiring to be where we aimed to be. To get there is a wonderful feeling, but when your friends get there too—wow, it’s such a brilliant range of emotions because you know how they feel. I cried when each of these women told me they’d achieved their dream, and I’m sure I’ll cry again when others email me to tell me their exciting news. It’s been a long road for all of us, but with perseverance and the will to succeed, we all got there. Whether it’s in a magazine, a print book, or with a publisher you’ve always aspired to join, I hope that when good news comes your way, you enjoy the feeling and congratulate yourself with a pat on the back.

Today I felt like one of the terrorists Jack Bauer seeks out in 24. Why? Because I stood in my living room with a can of Raid fly killer and liberally sprayed the room. Not that I’m obsessed with 24 or anything, but I immediately thought about the nerve gas in the current series we’re watching and wondered whether the poor flies were foaming at the mouth when they fell, pink goo and all. I doubt they were, and I wasn’t about to get out my microscope and study the little buggers. Around an hour after I sprayed, the little sods were back. Well, not the previous little sods, but new ones, zooming in from the garden to fly in circles beneath the ceiling light fixture. What’s that all about? Why do flies insist on doing that? Crazy shits.

Anyway, as usual, 24 is living up to the standards of previous seasons—complete with predictable plots and twists. But that doesn’t matter. Guessing what happens next is all part of the fun, and getting it right is even funnier. I will admit to a few things bugging me now, though.

1. Jack’s raspy whisper when he gives news no one else is allowed to hear.

2. Jack’s raspy shout when he gives news he wants every bugger to hear.

3. Most of the time, whenever a civilian helps Jack, they end up dead.

4. President Logan’s ear bobbing up and down every so often when he’s staring at someone. Very funny to begin with, though. So much so I got Hub to replay the amazing moving ear scene a few times while I laughed my ass off louder with each viewing. Um, yeah. I’m weird.

But, as this season comes to a close (Which one are we on, dear? Ah, 5 Hub says), I’m wondering whether all the loose ends are going to be tied up, because at the moment there are a few threads hanging. Like:

Where the hell did they put Tony’s body when he was accidentally injected? And more to the point, if Tony isn’t really dead—as indicated by one of Hub’s work mates—that’s even worse. No mention has been made of where the hell he is, silly little inch-wide beard and all.

Not long now before we start season 6. They have got better with each one, but I’m wondering if any season can beat this one. This has been my fave so far.

On the writing front, I’ve been penning a tale in my EC name, completing a novella that didn’t quite hit the spot for me. Deciding to make it erotic horror, I’ve been writing extra chapters, expanding the original idea so the book ends up as a more well-rounded novel. With my backlist in place now, I’m able to slow down on the EC work and take my time, writing longer books with more intricate plots. I have four books contracted with EC at the moment and another in the subs queue. I also have a revision on another I need to complete, so things are working very well at The Cave. I received a new book cover last week, perfect for the book, and the characters are just as I’d imagined. The cover artist, Dar Albert, is fabulously talented and I’m very pleased to have had her create my covers so far. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next.

I started book three in the Blinded series for loveyoudivine yesterday and finished it today—all bar the added bits and bobs I like to put in when I read through from start to finish. You know, sights, sounds, smells, shit like that. I also want to add some stronger emotions too, because the book took an unexpected turn, and Ryan is faced with something he never thought he’d experience at his age. I have enough spare word count in the last two chapters that will allow me to add another 800 or so to each one, so there’s plenty of room for improvement. Once done, I can get back to my EC novel and revision. Next month will hopefully see both EC jobs complete, me writing Wildfire, the 4th book in the Blinded series, and then I’ll start a new m/m—a novel, something I haven’t done with m/m before. My series all read like a novel when read one after the other, but I plan to send this whole novel to EC and see if they like Sarah Masters’ voice.

Myself and Jaime Samms started another co-author the other week. This one has four main characters instead of our previous two, so we’ve estimated an 80K book. Do you dig the cover? The plot will be intricate with sub-plots bouncing around the main one. Be prepared for some rocking writing from Jaime as she brings her male policemen to life and a seriously deranged dude from me. I love writing thrillers with weirdoes in them, so to be able to pen what my heart loves best has been a blessing—and writing with Jaime, one of the easiest people to co-author with, has been bloody brilliant.

Whatever you’re writing, here’s hoping you enjoy every minute! Goodbye for now, folks!