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Sizzling Heat Wave: Fav Summer Reads

27 May

Hello Lady Smut readers — where are we going? Where have we been?

We’ve been busy publishing! Here are some new reads by our crew past and present that you want to check out for your summer reading:

FEARLESS

fearless cover

Sarah’s life of discipline and rigid control is nearly shattered by two men—one who wishes to submit to her, the other who might break her.

Sarah Marillioux fled back to Washington, DC after a weekend of reckless, delicious, impetuous passion in London with another Dominant, Steffan Vidar. Two years later, Sarah has re-established her life of unerring discipline and control until Steffan reappears to threaten her status quo of relegating all romantic encounters to a dungeon. He’s moved to DC and, with him, is Laurent Chacon, Steffan’s angelic submissive—a mixture of masculine strength and aching vulnerability. Together they will bring her carefully constructed world crashing down around her. It would almost be worth it to have Laurent. The problem is, she’d have to take Steffan, too.  AMAZON, APPLE, BARNES & NOBLE, KOBO

BEST WOMEN’S EROTICA

best women's erotica

In Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 4, award-winning editor Rachel Kramer Bussel has gathered the hottest sexy stories starring outspoken women who daringly pursue love and lust.

You’ll read about a single mom who goes back to college and gets some very hands-on education from her hot professor, an Amish woman tenderly revealing her most intimate desires, and a woman who crafts the man of her dreams. From outsiders who passionately claim their place without apology to women taking the boldest of risks with their hearts and their bodies, these sizzling stories are sure to make your heart pound.

Featuring stories by popular authors including Alyssa Cole, Megan Hart, Tamsen Parker, Sofia Quintero, Suleikha Snyder, and Alessandra Torre, along with a variety newcomers to the genre, these tales will turn you on and stay with you long after you’ve finished.

 

 

 

Cowboy up! Cowboy for Hire…classic romantic comedy from Isabelle Drake

28 Aug

 

Cowboy for Hire-medium

A cowboy, romance, laughs, a sweet happy ending…Cowboy for Hire has all of that. It’s also one of my earliest releases – now rereleased from Riverdale Ave Books.

Remember Ellora’s Cave? I sure do. I had about twenty books with them. Cowboy for Hire was my second. It’s recently been releasesd and to say I’m excited is an understatement. For me, it’s like coming home. Some of my readers may not know this about me, but I wrote sweet, traditional romances before creating my first erotic romance, Everglades Wildfire. I was even a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist in the Traditional Romance category.

It’s natural for people to ask writers of erotic romance why they write such sexually explicit stories. Interestingly, people don’t ask that  of sweet romance authors. I think that’s because it’s apparent—everyone loves a love story. That’s what Cowboy for Hire is—a tender, light-hearted, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, story about two people getting past the tangles of their past and getting tangled together.

~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt, aka, beginning of Chapter One:

Lang Thompson eased his foot off the worthless brake pedal and waited for the red Arizona dust to clear. A board swung above the cab of his truck, once, twice, three times. The rusty nail holding it gave up the fight and the weathered two-by-four smacked across the hood with a weary thump.

One more dent wasn’t going to matter.

He pushed back his beat-up Stetson, mumbling a string of words that in his childhood would’ve earned him an afternoon in the milk house. He didn’t need this.

Outside his window a hairy, black Australian shepherd barked and waved its tail.

“You don’t need to tell me, I see the mess.”

For a split second he considered backing out and leaving. The way the place looked, the owner probably wouldn’t even notice the new gaping hole.

No, he didn’t want any unfinished business hanging over his head when he hit the highway again to head south, away from the miserable memories he’d left behind. There was that and the fact that his conscience had an unfortunate way of popping up at the worst times.

He glanced down at the animal now sitting among the rubble that used to be the side of a barn. A tired, seen-better-days barn, but a barn nonetheless.

For the sake of his furry witness, he held back another string of words unfit for delicate ears as he shoved the door open and stepped out. He leaned against the truck and yanked his hat down to block out the afternoon sun. The owner had to be around somewhere.

“I guess I should’ve hung a no parking sign there.”

Lang turned to the shapely outline in the shadows. His bad luck kept getting worse. A woman. He didn’t want to shoot the breeze with a bored rancher’s wife.

3979abe550f21576c24f7d58d2210593.jpg“If you’ll tell me where to find your husband, I’ll straighten this out with him.”

As she moved into the sunshine Lang tried to convince himself he didn’t see her thick blonde hair or deep, blue eyes. He didn’t notice the way her breasts strained against that plain white T-shirt tucked neatly into her faded jeans, either. And that bolt of physical awareness that shot straight to his cock? It didn’t exist.

A blindingly bright smile spilt across her sun-kissed face. “I can’t do that.”

No, those sweet lips didn’t really have an effect on him either. But just to be sure, he stepped away as she came closer. “Do what?”

Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the desert sun, she glanced over her shoulder toward the mess. “Did you plow into my barn because you suffer from memory loss?”

Lang turned toward his truck. He had indeed plowed into the barn. Her barn. “Your barn?”

She nodded, then reached down to rub the dog’s ears, giving him the perfect opportunity to look down her shirt. Was that a white bra with pink lace trim?

Damn he loved lace.

Forcing his gaze back to her face, he asked, “You don’t have a husband I can talk things over with?”

Sunlight blinked off the golden strands of her hair as she shook her head and scratched under the animal’s chin. Her silence didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t she pissed? “Look, ma’am, I’m really sorry—”

While waving her hands to cut him off, she moved closer, her sexy, long legs making short work of the distance. “You don’t need to explain right now.”

Judging from the tilt of her head and the welcome in her eyes, he was missing some piece of a puzzle.

But what?

He stamped out his curiosity. He only wanted to take care of business, then get back on the road and find that ranch for sale his cousin Cole had badgered him into looking over. With that out of the way, he’d get back to his real goal, which was putting as much distance between the remnants of his old life and himself as possible. He tugged his gaze away from her all-too-easy-on-the-eyes face, glanced around but soon found himself looking her way again. “Where am I anyway?”

Her delicate eyebrows knotted together and her shoulders dropped. “You didn’t come about the ad for work?”

“Work?” He shook his head. “No. I was trying to turn around, get back on the freeway.”

Her kissable pink lips curved weakly, the glimmer in her eyes faded but didn’t go out completely. “You’re at The Circle Cat Ranch.”

“And where is that?”

“Cactus Junction.” She dipped her head the other way and a few tempting strands of silken hair slipped over her shoulder. “You do know what state you’re in?”

Arizona. Only a couple of hours from the Mexican border.

Her gaze circled his face, considering, then dropped lower, assessing. He straightened, planting his legs wide enough to place the bulge in his pants front and center. If she insisted on getting a good look at him, he might as well give her a view worth the effort.

As though she realized she was rudely looking him over like he was a colt on the auction block, she brought her attention back to his face and tried to cover her actions with a smile as she spoke. “You look like you could use a drink. I know I could.” She brushed past him without waiting for a reply. “Come on up to the house and have some lemonade.”

That place his cousin was so hot for them to buy was in Cactus Junction. At least he didn’t have much farther to go.

Not that he wanted to buy a place and start all over but Cole had cajoled him until he’d agreed to at least look it over. A promise is a promise. Even to a cousin like Cole.

The woman’s hips swayed invitingly as she strode toward the house. Each determined stride called to some better left unspoken part of him.

He grumbled and tore his gaze away. He’d written complicated entanglements with women off. For good.

The screen door smacked shut after she disappeared inside.

Why did it seem like the last shred of control he had over his life was slipping away? The hot wave of lust pooling in his gut shouted a warning, telling him to forget his so-called integrity and take the chance that once he got on the road he wouldn’t need brakes any time soon. He could always coast to a stop.

He groaned. All those hours in the milk house taught him more than to mind his tongue. He had to stick around and settle the issue at hand. That ranch for sale wasn’t going anywhere. With a quick glance down to be sure he wasn’t wearing any of his fast food breakfast on his shirt, Lang headed after the woman and the dog.

~~~~~~~~~~

Get your copy of this sweet but still hot cowboy romance direct from Riverdale Ave Books or Amazon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Isabelle Drake’s other new release, an erotic contemporary romance beach read, Make Me Blush, is currently available for free with Kindle Unlimited. Find her on Facebook or Amazon and follow her Instagram story for the most personal pics.

An Excerpt for MC, Gangster and Burlesque Book Lovers

26 Jul

by Elizabeth SaFleur

Hey, lady Smutters. Who’s in the mood for Friday fun? How about an excerpt from my next novella, Shakedown, which will launch the brand, spanking new series, The Shakedown Series. Like motorcycle club reads? Gangsters? Cons? Burlesque? This series will have All Of That and more. Read on for an excerpt of Shakedown.

Releases on September 4! To get a notice of its official release, follow me on Amazon, Bookbub or join my email newsletter.

~~Sexy Excerpt~~

Rachel’s Uber driver had looked at her like she was crazy when she gave him the address to Shakedown. He asked her twice if he should wait for her when she stepped out of his minivan onto the crumbling pavement of the club’s parking lot. Over an old warehouse, an obnoxiously large sign lit up by Broadway lights read Shakedown.

Against her better judgment, she was here—at the club Trick insisted was not a strip joint. She didn’t know how long this confrontation would take so she sent the driver on his way. She charged up to the door powered by the tornado that had been whirling inside her over the last few days. In fact, her anger had grown into an F5. She’d emptied her mental warehouse of stop signs. Every time she’d raised one up, she punched it back down. It was time for Trick to make restitution and return the trust fund that she and Jay were to use for school.

Old movie poster shadow boxes were tacked to the brick walls by the entrance. She took a moment to look at the depictions of dancing girls and Vaudeville acts behind the scratched glass. Not a strip club, huh?

Rachel slung open the door and stepped into the blackness. The large, glass front door hadn’t been easy to yank open, but that was the thing about rage—it gave you strength. She paused just inside the empty club to let her eyes adjust. As the interior’s details crystallized, her first thought was that she’d stepped onto a movie set.

“Well, this is way nicer than I imagined,” she muttered. White tablecloths draped dozens of small tables crammed into the center of the room. Half moon–shaped booths in dark green, tufted velvet lined the far left wall. A long, polished oak bar with a brass rail ran the length of the club to her right.

“Applications are at the end of the bar. Auditions start tomorrow.”

She turned. A man with a goatee, a scar riding high on his right cheek, and poured into a gray Henley leaned on the bar over a newspaper spread across the surface. The paper crackled as he turned a page.

“Audition? No, I’m looking for Trick Masters.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”

She crossed her arms. “The woman he stole three million dollars from.”

The man straightened and laughed. “I’ll get him for you, Rachel.”

“How did you know my name?”

“He said if the most beautiful woman in the world walks in and demands money her name is Rachel.”

Great. So Trick believed she was a foregone conclusion? Think again, buddy.

While the guy ducked behind a curtain near the bar, ostensibly to find Trick, she pulled out her cell phone to see if Jay had returned any of the dozen messages she’d left in the last two days. He hadn’t.

She hit his number again and again went straight to voice mail. “Jay, are you ever going to call me back? The Betrayer is in Baltimore. Don’t they ever let you make calls? A text at least?”

Jay’s oil rig tour had to be up soon. Nothing like having your trust fund-slash-tuition money disappear to make you take any job that pays well. Too bad waitressing at the fanciest restaurant in Baltimore didn’t turn out as well for her.

She looked around the room. “And, you will not believe where I am,” she said into the silence on the other end of the phone. Jay needed to come back and see where Trick—once the darling of the Washington, D.C. investment scene—had landed—for shits, grins, and giggles if nothing else. She shook her head as she took in the stage framed in heavy, red velvet drapes, empty except for a tall microphone stand in the center. Lights aimed at the stage hung from girders in the ceiling. At least no dance cages or stripper poles were in view, and the scent of orange blossoms and cedar wafted in the air rather than the usual stale beer and sweat smell of most “gentleman’s clubs”—or what she’d imagined they’d smelled like. A rustling behind her caused her to kill the one-sided call.

“Rachel.”

Stupid shivers ran up her spine from hearing Trick’s baritone. She swiveled to come face to face with the man, the Betrayer, ready to do battle, something she should have done long ago. Hell, she should have started the day he left the courtroom in handcuffs. Instead, she’d hidden in the back, watching and crying like a baby. No more tears now, she told herself. She put as much steel into her backbone as possible. “How dare you offer me a job.”

He had the nerve to raise an eyebrow. “Pretty generous on my part, I’d say.”

“Generous?” She chuffed. “You stole my money and then want me to work for it? You humiliated me once. You won’t do it again.” She strode forward until there were just six inches between them and jabbed her finger on his hard pec. “How did you find me anyway?”

No way was Trick’s presence at Talman’s a coincidence. Trick did nothing accidentally.

She didn’t know how he found her as she and Jay had changed their mobile phone numbers and left no forwarding address when they fled Washington and their creditors. Then, when she thought she couldn’t be shamed anymore, Trick Masters shows up at Talman’s, gets her demoted to hostess and has the unbelievable nerve to offer her a job. Did he expect her to work to get back the money he stole? He accused her of being afraid.  Afraid my ass. She jabbed him with her finger again for good measure.

He grabbed her wrist. “Since you can’t stop touching me,” he said, cocking his head, “let’s make this private. Office.”

“Office?” she sputtered as he pulled her into a long hallway, plush carpeting muffling their footfalls.

“Desk and everything.” He opened a door and gestured her inside.

“Nice digs.” She surveyed the large mahogany desk and oil paintings on the wall. “This Oriental carpet real? Probably. You can obviously afford to pay restitution.”

He closed the door behind them, strode to his desk and perched on the edge. “I was wrongly convicted. I don’t have your money. I never did.” He scratched his chin, the sound of fingers on stubble sounding masculine, if such a thing were possible.

“Bullshit.” She stepped closer and slapped him on the pec. He still wore that woodsy aftershave. Damn, he smelled good, which she should not be noticing.

He gave a snort of cynical amusement. “Stop poking me. Try being a grownup.” He grasped her wrist—hard.

“You find this funny? Screw you.”

“If you are offering, I might consider it. You always did excel in that area.”

She did a double take. “Forget about it.”

“Gladly. I make a habit of avoiding women who set me up and then abandon me, sweetheart.” He stood, and his grip turned vicious, backing her up a step.

“Abandon you? You were convicted of embezzlement and sentenced to jail, and don’t call me sweetheart.”

“I told you I didn’t take your money.” He backed her up until her shoulder blades pressed the door.

“A judge felt otherwise.”

“I was set up, but you already know all that.”

“Ha! And you say I’m good at fantasy. Who took it then? The fairies?” She jabbed him with her other hand. He grasped that wrist, and lifted both her arms above her head, not gently, but not enough to leave bruises.

“Stop jabbing me. Or perhaps you’re doing it on purpose simply to make me mad. You always did like make-up sex.” He leaned toward her so close she could feel his warm breath on her face, smell his woodsy cologne.

“Coming on to me?” She tried to yank her wrists free but he held them fast.

“I’m impervious to your come-ons, Rachel.”

“You couldn’t handle me anyway.” When she tried to push forward, her crotch met a semi-hard cock trapped behind those pants.

“Keep pushing, Rachel . . . you already left me once—”

“You left me.”

“I wouldn’t call incarceration voluntary ‘leaving’.”

“You almost put me out on the street. Proud of that?” she spat. Memories flooded her brain and swamped her with a cocktail of emotions she’d been working for years to neutralize. Weeks after Trick’s incarceration for embezzlement, the fancy apartment she and Trick shared overlooking the Potomac was the first to go. The same week, with no tuition money, she’d had to leave school—in her freakin’ fourth year! The Audi he’d given her? Ha! Not paid off. If she thought getting a bikini wax humiliating, the degradation bar undoubtedly had been raised the day her car was lifted up onto a flatbed tow truck, a man with a substantial pot belly leering at her and mumbling tough break, lady.

“I’m sorry your life went to hell, Princess,” he said. “But prison isn’t exactly the Four Seasons.”

“Did you think about me in jail?” she taunted. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his calf. She rubbed it up and down. “Or did you get a new boyfriend there?”

He’d once called her legs God’s gift to mankind. She’d get the truth out of him one way or the other, even if she had to use herself as bait. She wasn’t leaving until he confessed he’d taken the $3 million.

“I hocked your ring, by the way,” she said.

“Get a good price?”

“The diamond was real. Paid rent for a bit.”

“Everything I ever gave you was real, Rachel.” He ground his pelvis into hers, his cock growing harder and thicker.

“Real trouble.”

He stared at her mouth as if he were mesmerized, like he couldn’t decide what to do next. He used to do that when he was about to kiss her.

“See something you like?” she breathed with a sneer. He scowled when she pulled him closer to her with her leg. One thing about waitressing, it built strong leg muscles.

“You wish,” he circled his pelvis to match her moving hips.

Jesus, she was getting wet, and her hips would not stay still. Well, she started this, and she wasn’t a quitter. She glided her leg higher on his hip. The perfect fit of their bodies felt good—too damned good. Man, it’d been a long time since she’d had sex.

He pulled his head back and stared down at her. Suspicion flashed across his eyes.

“Now who’s afraid?” she asked.

His lips came down on hers—hard and possessive. His tongue mapped her mouth with the ease of an explorer upon familiar territory. Oh, God, she’d forgotten how good he was at this, but she had to remember. She was kissing a con man.

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

Sexy Sunday Snippet: Fade to Black: Iris and Ezra by Holly Halsey Mayes

2 Mar

Sunday! More sexy happiness. Today we have a snippet from Holly Halsey Mayes’ contemporary romance, Fade to Black: Iris and Ezra.

cover Iris

Book Blurb:

When thirty-five year old nursing student Iris Walker accepts a concert invitation with a self-proclaimed “Ivy League go-getter”, little did she know she would be attempting to escape from him by the end of the date. She runs into Ezra Black, a man in the woods behind the concert venue, and later discovers he is the lead singer of one of the bands. Desperate to ditch her date-gone-bad, Ezra helps her escape. Even though their encounter is brief, she quickly learns she can’t get him out of her mind. He can’t forget her either, and when Iris inadvertently leaves her ID on his tour bus, he takes advantage of the opportunity to see her again.

Even though Iris is attracted to him, he’s ten years younger than her and leads a busy life in the public eye. She’s divorced, with an eight year old daughter, and trying to regain custody back from her manipulative ex-husband. Dating a rock star isn’t going to help her case, particularly one tormented by the secrets from his past. Despite the different paths they find themselves on, Iris and Ezra are drawn into in a relationship that seems destined to fade away before it can begin.

Book Excerpt:

The locker room is empty. I change out of my clothes, which are still damp with sweat. I wasn’t initially going to use the steam room or sauna, but now that I’m done working out, I feel like it may be a nice way to wrap up my visit. Besides, who knows when I will get a chance to do this again?

I put on a fluffy white robe and head over to the hot tub first. These are separate for men and women, but the sauna and steam room are same sex. I lay my white robe on the chair and step into the hot tub, letting the warm water wash over me. On the edge of the tub, there is a pitcher of ice water with lemons, along with paper cups. I pour myself a glass and take a long drink.

Leaning back, I clear my mind. Even though the yoga was good for me, my heart still aches with sadness. I miss Ezra.

Stepping out of the water, I wrap my robe around myself and push open another door that leads to the steam room. The air is hot, but moist. I lay my robe down in a chair and wrap a towel around myself.

The steam room is empty so I sit on the corner bench and rest my forehead on my knees. I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s been two weeks, and my heart breaks every hour of every day. I can’t erase him from my memory—our late night conversations, his stories about the fans on tour, the places he’s seen. And the way he makes me feel when we’re together, the way he makes love to me, cherishes me. Moisture rolls down my face, from either sweat or tears, and a sob escapes me.

The door opens, causing the air pressure in the room to change as the steam rolls out. I sniff and wipe my nose with my towel. I keep my head down in a relaxed pose, and hope the person who came in leaves me alone—I’m not in the mood for conversation.

My mind strays to Ezra—his green eyes that get darker when he’s turned on, his slow sexy smile, crooked on one side when he’s teasing me, the one dimple that appears when he laughs out loud. It’s no wonder women go crazy for him. And he liked me, an older woman with a child and baggage out to here. The smell of his cologne haunts me, even in here. Did I make a mistake, letting him go? Pushing him away?

The steam jets spurt on, pushing hot air into the room, filling my lungs. I close my eyes and pull my towel over my face.

Warm hands press onto my shoulders, followed by heat—lips, softly placed on the center of my back.

Ezra.

He’s here.

I start to cry, my shoulders wracked with grief. Part of me is relieved, but at the same time, this is starting all over again with the loss. We’re postponing the inevitable.

“Why are you here?” My voice is choked up. I don’t look at him. I’m facing the wall, my knees drawn up to my chest.

“I miss you.” His deep voice echoes in the room, even though he’s trying to speak softly. “I miss the person I was when you were in my life.”

“Ezra, we can’t do this—” I start shakily, still amazed he’s here. He turns me around to face him. A towel is wrapped around his waist, hanging low. His chest hair, dark and glistening in the moist air, gathers around his navel into a trail that leads down beneath his towel. The steam vents have stopped, but the air is thick. He stands like a ghost in the mist before me. Perhaps I’m imagining him after all.

“I haven’t taken a full breath since you’ve been gone.” His eyes are pleading. His face is drawn, thinner, tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. A lock of dark hair curls and falls down over his forehead. “Please, don’t send me away.”

My heart shatters and I let out a sob. He doesn’t hesitate, grabbing my hand to kiss my palm as he rubs his cheek against my hand, the scruff on his face lightly scratching at my fingers.

He leans me back on the hot tiles and loosens the towel from my body. For a split second, I consider the fact we are in a public steam room. He takes the lemon scented hand towel and gently lays it over my eyes. I can’t see anything, but the heat from his gaze and the steam in the room is like molten lava on my skin. I should tell him no. I should stop this, but in this instant, I don’t care—one more time, just one more time to be with him.

I smell lemon from the towel and mint as he lets out a breath before softly kissing me, licking and tracing the edges of my lips. He nips my bottom lip and gives it a tug. I kiss him back, hesitant at first, but he deepens the kiss, encouraged by my acceptance. When I reach my arms up, he backs away, leaving me lying naked on the tiles and blindfolded by the hand towel.

He pulls my arms up around my head and his mouth travels downward as he traces around my nipple with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth and sucking before letting it go with a pop. I’m on fire from the inside out.

He continues his descent, kissing and licking down my stomach, pulling my knees apart, and lowering his head between my thighs. Using his fingers, he spreads me wide, licking gently from the bottom to the top. When he gets to my clit, he gives it a hard suck and I cry out.

~~~~

Get your copy now on Amazon.

~~~~

Holly Mayes is a native of Michigan and enjoys reading, writing, photography and spending time with her two daughters, husband, cat and dog.

She has been published for her short stories in the Lansing Community College Washington Square Review, the women’s online journal When Women Waken, and the Rescued Pets Anthology by Splattered Ink Press.

Sexy Sunday Snippet: An Actor’s Guide to Romance by Catherine Curzon & Eleanor Harkstead

18 Feb

Happy Sunday Sexies! This week we have some hotness from Catherine Curzon’s single title pairing, An Actor’s Guide to Romance.

An Actors Guide to Romance cover

Book Blurb:

For twenty years, Adam Fisher and Thomas Fox have been the best of enemies. From their first meeting at drama school to shared stages, shared bills and a competition to amass the most illustrious awards, they have been the names on every theatregoers’ lips. Separately they can sell out an entire run in an hour, so when they’re cast as lovers in London’s hottest new play, the tickets are gone in minutes.

But for rakish Adam and gentlemanly Thomas, the small matter of their first on-stage kiss is causing a headache for everyone. Over a bottle of wine on one rainy night in the city, these two acting legends will do whatever it takes to banish their first-night nerves. After all, as everyone knows, the show must go on!

Excerpt:

This was more than the script called for, more than their history of arguments and jibes and rivalry called for too, and it was Adam who broke the kiss first. He gazed at Thomas through eyes that shone with desire, his lips parted in a perfect, tempting pout.

“The first time I read the script,” he purred, “I thought how much better it would’ve been if they went to bed at this point, don’t you think? Our brave young playwright missed a trick there.”

Thomas panted, trying and failing to make sense of what had just happened. And what Adam was saying. Bed?

He rested the tip of his nose against Adam’s, staring into those beautiful blue eyes, his mouth fallen open as if the kiss had robbed him of the power of speech.

Since Thomas was an actor, the silence didn’t last long.

“I think you’re right. Damn right.” Thomas swallowed, grinning as he stroked Adam’s back. “What this play needs is a love scene. A proper one with naked, tangled limbs…” He brushed his lips against Adam’s. “Lots of sighing… Perhaps a headboard banging against a wall as well. Do you agree?”

“The way I see it, we need to really work through this tension between us.” Adam nodded gravely. “Twenty years of rivalry haven’t done it, so we could just see if a very sweaty, very dramatic fuck achieves what awards and curtain calls can’t. You might still hate me at the end of it, but you’ll be very happy at the same time.”

“I’m pretty happy now, to be honest.” Thomas brought his other hand between their bodies and cupped it over the bulge of Adam’s erection. “As are you, I notice. Now—if my co-star wouldn’t mind leading the way to the bedroom, we can get this love scene blocked out properly.”

“This is a one-time, gala performance. A royal command, if you like. One night only.” Adam took Thomas by the hand and led him from the sitting room. They passed along a hallway decorated with bright oiled canvasses showing splashes of color and seaside scenes, alongside vintage posters of long-since-forgotten productions. Then he pushed open a doorway and told Thomas, “After you!”

Adam’s white, metal-framed bed was heaped with quilts and cushions and Thomas wanted to grab Adam and dive at it with him in his arms. It looked antique, like the rest of the furniture, complementing the busy William Morris wallpaper.

“What a glorious room for a romp!”

“I remember how you hated my digs at RADA—you said they looked like a Turkish brothel!” Adam laughed and turned to the dresser. He took a cigarette lighter and ignited it, touching the flame to the candles that stood there, each as irregular as the next. “I’m still embracing Turkish brothel chic, though it’s a lot less damp these days!”

Just as Adam spoke, the rain began to fall hard against the windows and hiss against the sill outside.

“That rain tells me that we’re still in London.” Thomas bent to loosen his shoelaces. He kicked off his brogues and pulled off his socks. “But Turkish brothel—oh, yes, perfect for our daring actors as they explore the inner depths of their characters.”

“This doesn’t make us friends, you know, or lovers. It just means we get all that unhealthy competition out.” Thomas wasn’t sure who Adam was trying to convince, but from the need he felt and the outline of Adam’s erection in his linen trousers, it wasn’t working. “Then a simple on-stage kiss will be no challenge.”

“Oh, of course, Adam—this is textbook Stanislavski.” He began to unbutton his shirt with one hand and caught Adam around the waist with the other. “Always go to bed with other members of the cast. Even barmy old Brecht recommends it.”

Was that sarcastic enough? Thomas wondered, as he ghosted his lips across Adam’s cheek and brought them to settle on his mouth again. He felt Adam’s hands brush against his own to take over unbuttoning his shirt, felt the fabric fall away and those same palms brushing over his naked chest.

“The curtain rises,” Adam whispered against his lips. “The moon hangs low above the horizon.”

Then, his voice trailing into a breath, Adam abandoned Chekhov in favor of another kiss, even as he eased Thomas’ shirt from his shoulders and let it whisper onto the floor.

Still deep in their kiss, Thomas popped open the buttons of Adam’s shirt one by one. He slid his hand between the folds of fabric and took Adam’s hardened nipple between finger and thumb. He felt the heat of his rival’s—no—his lover’s breath, heard the hint of a whimper deep in his throat before Adam gasped, “You’ve found my weak spot, you old fox.”

~~~~

Get your copy now direct from Pride Publishing or Amazon.

~~~~

Catherine Curzon  is a historian of 18th century royalty. Her work has been featured on many platforms and she has also spoken at venues across the UK. She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. Eleanor lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.

Justice Wears A Stiletto

24 Jan

COVER REVEAL!

“No one is regular when it comes to sex.”  ~Candor Moore

Secret Service Agent Candor Moore puts her life at risk every day to protect the men and women this country elects to high office. She expects no thanks, would prefer to remain invisible. So when she saves the life of Senator Thomas Kincaid she doesn’t know how to handle his sudden romantic interest in her. Love is messy. Love is unpredictable. Love cannot be controlled. But sex where she can exercise her full Femme Domme nature? Oh, yes.

Thomas can’t stop thinking about the beautiful guardian angel who put her body between him and a bullet—the first woman to spark his interest since his wife died. Candor proves to be a hard sell when he asks her out, and even harder to pin down around commitment. Thomas had never considered himself a sexually submissive man, but for his Mistress Angel’s love, he’ll go all in—which proves to be the key to earning her heart.

 BUY LINKS for Spanking the Senator

Amazon US   Amazon UK   Amazon CA   Amazon AU   Barnes & Noble  Kobo

About the Justice Series

Washington, D.C. is full of powerful women. Meet the three most formidable. In Elizabeth SaFleur’s Justice series, meet three D.C.-based Femme Dommes—Stella, Candor and Julianna—and the submissive men who get what they need: discipline, love and a larger purpose.

About the Justice Series
About the White House Gets A Spanking, book #1
About Spanking the Senator, book #2

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary romance that dares to “go there.” Expect alpha males (and females), seductive encounters, and love. Learn more about her steamy and sexy stories by following her on Amazon and Bookbub.

Sick, Sick, Sick: Men Who Take Care Of Others Are HOT

26 Sep

by Madeline Iva

We’re celebrating Kiersten Hallie Krum’s latest novel SEAL’d WITH A TWISTSEAL’d… features a hot doctor named Grant who was in the first book in the series.  He takes care of others–and when in Book 1 he can’t heal a buddy and that buddy dies–he becomes totally tormented.  So I wanna talk about THE BIG SICK and guys who care for those who hurt.

Which brings me to a new obsession of mine: the whole hurting/caring trope in fan fic.  Lurv it so hard.  I get the ovary spasms over it the way other other women almost die looking at a super hot guy holding a baby.  This is why women go so crazy for doctors, of course.  Nothing new here.  But I’ve always felt a leetle removed from the doctor thing.  After all, it’s usually the nurses who do the tending, isn’t it?

Matthew Fox’s hotness on LOST was 95% the doc/healer thing.

I will confess to two exceptions to this rule. (They’re weird–don’t judge.) One is the doctor who removed my wisdom teeth.  That guy was nothing super to write home about, but I’d delayed getting my wisdom teeth out because I didn’t have the money and then I got a massive infection.  My obnoxious roommate at the time pointed out that having a really bad infection near your brain isn’t good.  Ya think? My maxillofacial surgeon had this amazing bedside manner.  “There there, it’s gonna be okay,” was the gist of his reassurances, but something about how he conveyed that to me in my distress just had me crushing out on him for about a week.

I know it’s ridiculous–but Clemens would give this close attentive look at Ripley, and then give her a ‘tincture’ and my ovaries would implode.

The other doc was (wait for it) Charles Dance in Aliens 3.  Yes…Charles Dance is a fabulous (now somewhat elderly) British Actor.  in Aliens 3 he played Clemens a “medical officer” who treats Ripley. Basically he tends to her wonky health from all the deep space time and other issues she’s experienced.  He gave her these little tinctures, and was just kind of attentive to how she was feeling.  It’s really just a tiny break from all the alien biting mayhem, but he’s an amazing actor, and that bit of a role was very well written.  The whole Ripley thing–a woman trying to save humanity when the other humans around her are most often just not being very helpful — and then suddenly someone actually cares about HER — not in some overt soppy way, but just kind of peering at her and then “making it better” — well, it really got to me.

Which brings me to THE BIG SICK.  Omg, I was almost crying to death just hearing about the movie–just watching the previews.  Why was so deeply affected? I think it goes so deep with me that it goes back to the trauma of watching my mom when she was 34 and just really ill.  She needed someone to step in and just sure things were going to be okay.  No one did–and she died.  (I know, I know, it’s very sad.) The prospect of a romance hero stepping in to care for someone who’s sick and needs someone to ‘make it better’ just undoes me to the f*cking core.

So anyway–my sweetie and I go see THE BIG SICK and…while it was a good date night movie, for sure.  But ultimately I was let down.  I mean, there’s much to rejoice about in this based-on-a-true-story, and I enjoyed it as much as any other semi-rom com I’ve seen in a while.  There are critics out there as well for the movie.  All of their stuff has to do with race.  I’m not talking about that.

I’m talking about my fav hurting/caring trope.  There was much hurting…In the movie, Emily gets really sick really fast and is in a coma in less than 24 hours. But we don’t see a whole lot of tending to from the “hero” Kumail Nanjiani.  He’s funny, he’s a good actor.  It’s great to see someone raising themselves up by their own bootstraps vis-a-vis creating a movie that others aren’t writing with East Asian leads.  Huzzah to all that. I think at one point before the coma, Emily’s ankle hurts and he’s solicitous.  At one point when she’s in a coma, he urges the family to make one decision and not another.  Like…that’s it.  Other than that, he’s sitting around and waiting with her family. Which is what you do when someone you love is in a coma…true.  But I guess I was expecting more after-care when she comes out of the coma…I mean, I can easily see there’s a kind of feminist “I can take care of myself” and “I don’t need a man to take care of me” kind of thing maybe going on.  But come on–this is just basic humanity we’re talking about here.  We’re not talking about opening a door. We’re talking about being on the cusp of death and it’s all hands on deck.

After the coma, Emily’s got PT, she’s not all together for a while.  And he…anyway, he tries showing her his devotion and commitment–but as she points out–that’s all fine and good.  “Only all that happened while I was asleep.”  And in the audience I’m saying the next line I would have written, “But what have you done for me lately?”

Again, in the movie, he basically is forced to choose at one point between his family and his true love– and he chooses her.  That’s romantic. That’s a big deal.  But in my heart, I also would have preferred him to help her with the groceries.  Because this is Chicago — groceries, a cane, and no car — these three things do not go well together.  You know what I’m saying?

A caring partner to help you out just when you need help the most.  The very idea makes my heart do intense crunches…We leave behind the realm of women who are afraid to take a big shit in a potential love interest’s apartment.  We enter the world where you look like sh*t–and he doesn’t care.  Because he loves you.  You are not great company because you don’t feel well–and he feels badly–not because you’re not funny and charming at the moment–but because you’re hurting, because he loves you.  For some reason we have accepted hand in hand the idea of not needing men and at the same time performing for them a lot — getting out of bed to put on make up before he wakes up.  I find this appalling.  Utterly appalling.  I think women fear they’re not somehow worthy of being so deeply loved that their humanity and flaws don’t really matter.  So maybe that’s why I’m all about this kind of a trope–because I think we need to march in the opposite direction.  I think that a lot of good men out there who would excel at nurturing and caring–if given the chance.

I may have a write a story or two about this in the future.  And because germs and feeling punky in general are not the hottest thing when it comes to sex–they may have to be on the sweeter side of the heat spectrum.  They may have to live in the more squishy comforting side of romance.

In the meantime,  Kiersten’s really got talent at portraying that heavy throb of hurting and the need for some deep romantic connection. In her book, I find that the scorching sex to make it all better–at least for me.  Please go check out SEAL’d WITH A TWIST! (Don’t you lurv the cover? I think it’s crazy hot.)

SEALed WITH A TWIST

18 Sep

It’s a new week here at Lady Smut and we are still agog about our smokin’ new look–and thrilled to feature the emotional and sexy new book from Lady Smut blogger Kiersten Hallie Krum–SEALed With A Twist.

In this follow up to Kiersten’s wildly popular, RONE award finalist novel, Wild on the Rocks, fan-favorite, Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti, returns to Barefoot Bay for the second wedding of his friends, Quinn and Jasper (from Wild on the Rocks)…and runs straight into the arms of a mysterious woman from his rocky past.

 

EXCERPT

~~~~~

“I remember you.”

The words were so soft, it took several seconds for them to resonate in Skye, a slow earthquake that rippled out with increasing impact as their meaning and consequence took root.

“But you changed your look,” Grant continued. “Dyed your hair. Added some new tattoos I should’ve figured were temps. Slathered on enough makeup to make me wonder who you’re trying to hide from. Even with all that, there was something was so familiar about you. Couldn’t figure out how or why.

“Now I know.” His head slid to the side and Skye trembled for a different reason when he nipped at the jittery pulse in her neck. Her neck stretched back with an invitation he was eager to take. His hand slipped to pull one strand of her top out of his way before she felt his tongue on her throat as his mouth followed the line of it up to her ear. “I remember how you taste. How you feel when I’m inside you. How you sound when I make you come.”

That was an uncomfortably thorough and arousing account. Her legs shifted on the sand and restless with the need to relax beneath him and take all that was promised by his hard body and hot words.

“And sweetheart,” he continued, head lifting out of her neck so he could stare into her face. “When a girl runs out on you after a night of spectacular sex, it’s the definition of unfinished business.”

“You left first,” she accused, a child’s defense, but all she could manage against a tsunami of arousal. Dammit.

He released her wrists and brushed her hair back from her forehead before spearing his fingers through the bunched strands to cradle her head in his wide palm. “My friend needed me,” he explained, no less terse for the gentle way he touched her. “The same friend, funny enough, who got remarried last night, no small part because six months ago, I left a sexy debutante passed out in my bed to help him get his head outta his ass and make up with his then ex-wife. I didn’t think you’d bail the second I was gone!”

Remembering how hurt she’d been when she realized he’d run out on her re-ignited Skye’s ire. “Then you should’ve left a note!” She shoved at his shoulders, not that she could move him, but so frustrated, she couldn’t hold back. “Let me up!”

He cursed under his breath, but set her free, sliding off to her right so he shielded her while she set her suit to rights.

“I figured,” he growled, over his shoulder, “that after a night that good, you’d want more. I damn well did.” Checking she was decent, he flipped back around to face her. “Because, you’re right. What happened between us was a goddamn sexual unicorn. I wanted more. I wanted you. All the while, you were using the security guard to work out your rich-girl issues. Daddy cut off your trust fund again?”

She sucked a breath in through her teeth and lurched upright. “You have no idea what I was dealing with that night.”

“Ditto, princess,” he shot back.

“I’m not a princess.” She’d been cleaning toilets for long enough to bring that fact home.

Grant cocked an elbow on his bent knee and sneered, “You are. An American princess. Privileged and entitled. I grew up with your kind, sweetheart. I know your kind.”

“You do not know me.” Skye swept sand off her arms with a regal sniff, unconsciously giving weight to his label. “Amazing that you suddenly recall such salient details of our…dalliance when last night it escaped your memory entirely despite the fact that I stood naked before you. How convenient for you to stumble upon the details now. When, exactly, did you deign to remember you had…Biblical knowledge of me six months ago?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Biblical?”

“So help me, if you laugh…”

“This morning.” He cut her off before she could finish what they both knew would’ve been an empty threat. “I remembered this morning when Jasper and Quinn surprised me with morning-after breakfast. He brought up when I pulled you from the pool back then and—” He snapped his fingers so close to her face, she started in place. “Your puzzle pieces clicked together.”

“I am not a puzzle!”

“Baby, you are a Rubik’s Cube of contradictions. Fortunately, I’ve been well-trained in decoding all possible combinations.”

That was be disastrous.

God, he remembered. And in detail. Skye floundered for a retort, floored by too many quick changes to find stable footing.

As if sensing his advantage, Grant tugged her back in his arms. One calloused thumb rubbed her button lip; it caught on wind-chapped flesh, so that her tongue shot out to moisten his digit. She watched his pupil flare into a sharp green as desire drew skin taut across the craggy planes of his face.

A low keen hit her ear and Skye was too turned on to be mortified when she realized it came from her.

“Oh yeah,” Grant said, his words a sibilant sound against her cheek. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb sweeping back over her parted mouth. “I remember that too.”

This was bad. This was very, very bad. She was getting sucked back under when he’d already turned her down once. Truth was, she didn’t want to find someone else to be with for however long she had left here on Mimosa Key. Not when she was drawn to him like an opposing polarity, constantly failing to break the laws of magnetism and getting stuck on him over and over again.

And when he touched her…

Lord, was she in trouble.

It’d been that way since the night she’d slept with him. A night when she’d been given a glimpse of something she knew she’d never have again, not from any other man. And it wasn’t the orgasms or Grant’s physical prowess in her bed. It was how he’d lifted her up and carried her away from her deepest humiliation, from a lifetime of being less than, and made her feel like the most important woman in the world.

Treasured even.

Precious.

“It might’ve been a one-night stand for you, but waking up to find you gone killed me.”

Grant’s shock at her words was no less that hers for having said them. He reared back liked she’d slapped him. “The hell you say.”

But the gate had been breached and half a year of emotional trauma ripped out of her, raw and unrestrained. “That night—that was the worst night of my life. I was a joke, a punchline, and everyone at that bloody wedding knew it. So, yeah, tequila and the pool. Since if I was already publicly humiliated, best to make it really memorable.”

“But then you were there, laughing like I was the best time you’d ever seen. You jumped in the pool and…plucked me up like I weighed nothing.” She latched onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Cripes, I’ve never known anyone as strong as you,” she mused, fingers tracing the lateral muscles that bunched under her touch. “You took me out of that…horror show and made it…” she sighed heavily, “so much better. And god, the sex was amazing. Don’t look so smug. I may not have a lot of experience, but even I know three orgasms in one night isn’t customary. And then you were gone.”

She’d felt so ashamed and at the same time, so devastated by his absence. “After all that, you made me feel like some filthy cliché,” she said in a small voice. “I was fighting the first hangover of my life. Sick and…so very ashamed for…so many reasons. I had to get out of there before anyone saw me.” She bristled now, embarrassed at how naïve she’d been. “I get it now. I understand how such things work. But Grant, whether you meant to or not, you broke my heart.”

The hand cradling her head slid around to cup her chin. “Skye,” he murmured. “I didn’t know.”

Drained from her emotional purge, Skye merely nodded. “I know.”

He struggled with something for a moment before exhaling hard. Releasing her, he scrubbed both hands over the scruff on his face and considered her over the tips of his fingers.

“That night,” he began. He hesitated. “I—fuck—I was dealing with some shit too. Still am, for fuck’s sweet sake. You were blitzed. Totally shitfaced.” His face softened as if seeing her again. “And so beautiful. Stunning and tragic.”

She winced at the description. “I sound irresistible.”

“Utterly,” he said with simple sincerity. “And I—” His eyes clouded and he ducked his chin to gaze out toward the water. “I needed to forget for a while. I took advantage of that. I took advantage of you.”

The admission cost him. More, she saw the memory of what had driven him then continued to claw at him. ““What happened to you?” she asked softly. When he didn’t answer, she risked pushing a bit more. “You’re different. You’ve changed.” Now he looked at her.

“You come with me right now, back to the villa, and I’ll show you how much I haven’t.”

She’d be lying if she said the idea didn’t tempt her. “Don’t do that,” she gently admonished. “Tell me what you wanted to forget that night. Tell me what haunts you.”

“Tell me why you were drunk in that pool,” he countered. “Tell me what you’re hiding from now.”

“Grant,” she said. Only his name, but it hung there between them, weighted with meaning that didn’t require articulation.

“Let it go, Skye,” he demanded, brusque in a way that was meant to be obeyed.

Unfazed, she tilted her head to catalog his nuances. To anyone looking, he probably came off cool and aloof. A seasoned warrior at rest, perusing the beach with watchful eyes, never fully off-duty, but enjoying the bright side of life.

But all of it was a skillful mirage. The leveled lines of his shoulders remained locked tight, braced against whatever turmoil broiled right beneath his surface. His jaw was set, an acute angle that restrained some unholy impulse.

Beneath all that was…pain. His beautiful irises were dull and flat, deadened by the damage he kept locked away. A knot twisted in her plexus, making her chest feel concave with empathy. She wanted to hold him close, overwhelmed by an instinctive urge to protect this man no one else seemed to notice was quietly falling apart.

So Skye, with the lack of self-preservation no Thornquist breeding could fully wash out, led with her heart.

“Something’s changed in you.” She tried for a smile but knew it was weak. “I can see it there, behind your eyes. You’re not hiding it from me; I think, for some reason, you’re not trying that hard to.”

He started to reply, no doubt more assertions of how wrong she had him, but the alarm on her phone interrupted them. “Time to go,” she announced softly. “Mandy is treating me to a spa appointment.”

She rolled onto her side and pushed against the yielding sand, feeling ungainly and awkward through the modified yoga pose that got her to her feet. Once steady, she gazed down at him, strong and imposing even posed at her feet, self-assured if strangely aloof.

He stood in a rush with far more grace than she’d managed, as though the shifting sand was as solid beneath him as concrete.

Annoying.

Skye bent to gather her shorts and tee, pulling both on mechanically. Casting him a look from under her lashes, Skye searched her feelings, but they were too conflicted for her to settle on one. This was when being bold became uncomfortable risky. By the pool, in the dark of night, she could blame emotional trauma and the mistakes only the night would forgive. In bright sunshiny day, it was much harder to come up with excuses she could live with.

“Stay safe, Grant,” she said, feeling lame but somehow as if it was the right thing to say.

“If you can’t be safe, be fucking deadly,” he returned, then explained, “Something we say on the Teams.”

“Well.” That was certainly…definitive. “Try to be both. Not that I want you to be deadly per se,” she floundered as what she’d said registered. “I mean, I do, if that’s what it takes to make you and your friends safe, but it’s not like I want other people dead.” She winced when humor flashed through his eyes. “Just—keep breathing. For my sake, if not your own.” She studied his stalwart face for a moment. “Because I have a feeling you really don’t care whether you do or not.”

“But you do.”

“Yes,” she confirmed without hesitation. “I do.”

Those arms rippled as he again crossed them over his chest, a move she recognized as defensive but felt more aggressive coming from him. “Not sure what you want me to do with that, Skye.” And, by that flat, unyielding tone, he wasn’t too keen to find out.

Her smile turned wane. “Me neither.” She laid a hand on one bulging forearm. “But I care whether you live or die, Grant Sisti. What puzzles me is why you don’t.”

She gave him a squeeze, and left it at that, stepping back while swinging her bag up and over her shoulder before starting the short walk back to her putt putt.

Before she was three steps in, Grant snagged her hand and pulled her up short. “Skye,” he said in a sibilant tone, too masculine to be a whisper but pitched for her ears only. She shot an inquisitive glance over her shoulder.

Grant closed the distance between them in one stride. His hand skirted up her spine to squeeze the back of her neck. “Don’t try to get into my head,” he warned. “You won’t like what you find.”

“Maybe not,” she allowed. Going with her gut, she twisted at the waist and leaned into his touch, stretching her neck up to briefly press her lips against his. “But I bet I’ll still like you.”

~~~~~

SEALed With a Twist is now available exclusively from Amazon Kindle

Blurb:

Debutante. Heiress. Lady.

Skylar Thornquist has been called them all. But when her family insisted she stand as bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding to Skye’s ex-fiancé, she rebelled, drowning her public humiliation in tequila and a one-night stand of carnal debauchery with Grant Sisti. To escape her family’s iron grip, Skye now hides out cleaning toilets at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, masking her breeding and identity under a dye job, heavy makeup, and a smattering of fake tattoos while she tries to discover which label sticks to her best.

Doctor. Joker. Warrior.

Navy SEAL Grant “Twisted” Sisti has been them all. But since he failed to prevent the violent death of his teammate six months ago, Grant isn’t sure he can be any of those men anymore. He’s back at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa for his best friend’s wedding, but Grant knows he’s reaching the end of his rope. A state that isn’t improved by finding the help swimming naked in his private villa’s pool.

They never expected to find each other again on Barefoot Bay, both hiding from who there were, both wondering who they should be. Until Skye’s identity is compromised and the Thornquist iron grip gets a stranglehold on her new life…only this time there’s a Navy SEAL by her side.

 

 

Kiersten Hallie Krum writes smart, sharp, and sexy romantic suspense. She is the author of the prestigious RONE award finalist, Wild on the Rocks, and its follow-up, SEALed With a Twist. She is also a past winner of the Emily Award for unpublished novelists. 

A member of the Romance Writers of America, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Long Island Romance Writers, Kiersten has been working in book publishing for more than twenty years in marketing and promotion. At other times in her career, she’s worked back stage for a regional theater, managed advertorials for a commerce newspaper in the World Trade Center, and served as senior editor for a pharmaceutical advertising agency.

Writer, singer, editor, traveler, tequila drinker, and cat herder, Kiersten avoids pen names since keeping her multiple personalities straight is hard enough work. Born and bred in New Jersey (and accent free), Kiersten sings as easily, and as frequently, as she breathes, drives fast with the windows down and the music up, likes to randomly switch accents for kicks and giggles, and would be happy to spend all her money traveling for the rest of her life.

How to have a kinky date night inspired by On Fire

19 Jul

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

It’s On Fire week here at Lady Smut, so I wanted to talk about what you can learn about having a kinky or otherwise naughty date night from the characters in the book.

While I never intend my erotic fiction anthologies to be in any way how to books and they’ll never be marketed as nonfiction, nonetheless, I believe that those who want to gain inspiration for their own bedroom sexytime fun can do so. You don’t have to follow the action of a fictional story to the letter, but rather you can use it to spark your imagination and perhaps a discussion.
As I recently wrote about for Brides, erotica can improve your relationship, whether you’re reading it together as a couple, or if each partner is reading it separately, then joining forces to dish on their favorite parts. beI keep that in mind while editing, and make sure to include scenarios that, for the most part, could plausibly happen, while leaving room for sexual fantasy and creative flourishes.
So what can you learn about having a sexy and kinky date night from my latest release, On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories? A few of the authors provide some very arousing clues. One is just how much fun adding sex toys into your love life can be. As wonderful as they are for solo pleasure, they aren’t just for masturbation. A rabbit vibrator brings some major heat in “The Sweetest Thing” by Giselle Renarde.
 
One of my favorite stories in the book is the BDSM tale “Behind the Blindfold” by Rebecca Croteau (come back Sunday for an excerpt), not only because it’s deliciously kinky, but also because the dominant/submissive relationship is ritualized and relished. The couple have a play room in their home, where the narrator goes and kneels. For them, it’s silk cords and a blindfold that signal the tone their evening will take. It’s not that these kinky sex toys are taking the place of their human connection, but rather that they’re amplifying them. They are both signals and tools that help each person get into the right headspace.
In the story “My Wife, My Sub, My Love” by Victoria Blisse, told from the point of view of the narrator, a dominant male, about his wife, referenced in the title, they enjoy some very risqué outdoor sex. Theirs isn’t the ultra planned ritual of “Behind the Blindfold,” and one thing I appreciated about it is that it shows that couples can negotiate between family time and sexy time as needed. During a walk in a public garden, they steal away to enjoy some furtive oral sex. He’s made her skip wearing underwear, and she’s obeying his commands, even though she’s nervous about possibly being found out.
“As soon as we entered the clearing I pushed her down over that trunk. She had looked wonderful suspended over the rough wood, her hands in the soil, her ass in the air. The old trunk was so wide her toes didn’t touch the ground. I pulled up her dress and exposed her ass. WheN I finished spanking her, her buttocks were reddened damask; she looked like the perfect rose, like she’d grown there.”
While a fictional tale can’t give you precise tips on how to get away with public sex, this one does show how a couple engages in oral sex and erotic spanking surreptitiously.
If you read On Fire, I hope you’ll come away utterly entertained and perhaps even inspired! Follow Lady Smut, and stay tuned for much more during On Fire week.

Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com.

A Dirty Job Calls For Dirty Sex…Heroes Who Drive a Tractor

6 Jul

Click to buy.

by Madeline Iva

Men who drive tractors kinda get me hot.  I like their competence combined with patience and persistence.  I’ve worked on a farm. I’ve shoveled shit, stacked hay bales, emptied ice out of water buckets with a hammer.  Hard muscles come from daily physical labor, and a soul-aching beauty from the quiet surroundings. Yet ripping treasure from the soil is never easy. There’s a psychological hardiness men on tractors require. A serious weather event at the wrong time can ruin an entire crop in a matter of hours.  The farmer must resign himself to fate, bow his shoulders before mother nature, and plow on.

There’s a whole new generation of men and women in their twenties and thirties who are junking the city life and headed for the fields.  Will they stick with it? What happens to us all if they don’t? In the real world only 1% of the U.S. population farms now.  I think I read somewhere the average age of farmers in America is, like 67, or something. We need a new generation of young farmer heroes more than ever.

Sarina Bowen’s book BITTERSWEET and Adriana Anders book IN HIS HANDS both contain hot men who drive tractors. Here’s more about them–plus some extra goodies.

I found out about Sarina Bowen’s book after Adriana Anders wrote this HEA blog on BEGINNER’S GUIDE  TO DARK GRITTY SEXY READS. “…if you like rugged, hard-bodied farmers (and Lord knows I do), then Bittersweet will be your poison.”

Okay then!  Ya hooked me, Adriana.  I just started the book myself–here’s a blurb:

BITTERSWEET

Farmers make the earth move.

The last person Griffin Shipley expects to find stuck in a ditch on his Vermont country road is his ex-hookup. Five years ago they’d shared a couple of steamy nights together. But that was a lifetime ago.

At twenty-seven, Griff is now the accidental patriarch of his family farm. Even his enormous shoulders feel the strain of supporting his mother, three siblings and a dotty grandfather. He doesn’t have time for the sorority girl who’s shown up expecting to buy his harvest at half price.

Vermont was never in Audrey Kidder’s travel plans. Neither was Griff Shipley. But she needs a second chance with the restaurant conglomerate employing her. Okay—a fifth chance. And no self-righteous cider-making lumbersexual farmer will stand in her way.

They’re adversaries. They want entirely different things from life. Too bad their sexual chemistry is as hot as Audrey’s top secret enchilada sauce, and then some.

Oh, hey: Read the first chapter!

I also found this on Sarina Bowen’s website — a breakdown of all her books by their tropes.  Hilarious–but useful too, if you’re looking for a certain kind of read. (Ooooh look: virgin heroes!)

Click to buy.

Adriana, meanwhile, has quite the farmer-boy hero: he’s burly, beardy, and brooding.  I love a romance that starts off with that kind of desperate feel, and a hero guy who’s doing his own thing and just wants to be left alone. Luc is also French and grows grapes.  So, you know, sexy and sophisticated.  And dirty.  Yum!

I buzzed straight to the part of her website that said:  Need some sexy winemaker hero inspiration to tide you over? Check out Luc’s Pinterest Board here!

So, um, that’s where I’ll be for the next hour. ; >  IN HIS HANDS has gotten a **lot** of good reviews.  You can’t go wrong with the other books in Adriana Anders’ series either — a fav of mine is BY HER TOUCH.  Another super-broody hero–this time, he’s got tattoos, a motorcycle,  a secret, and bad men out to find him.

[BTW, even though it’s a series–cause it’s all taking place in the same area with a few cross-over characters–the books really stand alone,  I swear. So feel free to start with book three or book two if you want.]

IN HIS HANDS

Blank Canvas #3
He is Her Salvation…
Abby Merkley has been a member of the Church of the Apocalyptic Faith since she was a child, and there’s no way out–except death. She will fight the odds to survive, but there’s no one in the world she can trust, nowhere she can run that the cult can’t find her…until her handsome, brooding neighbor takes her into the safety of his arms.

Luc Stanek craves a quiet life. But he doesn’t hesitate when a desperate woman lands, bloodied and branded on his doorstep. Soon he finds himself drawn into her chaotic world, caught in the center of an apocalyptic war…and determined to save the fierce beauty no matter the cost.

Oh. My. God.

Hot beardy goodness and lots o Gerard Butler on Adriana’s Pinterest page. Click to go there.

Out August 1, 2017 

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Madeline Iva writes fantasy and paranormal romance.  Her fantasy romance, WICKED APPRENTICE, featuring a magic geek heroine, is available on AmazonBarnes & NobleKobo, and through iTunes.  Sign up for Madeline Iva news & give aways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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