…and revealing the rather bizarre sight that inspired my Totally Bound novella, Maestro. To find out what it was, and why I ventured into the world of opera for the story’s setting, click on the book cover below to be taken to the interview.
I’m taking part in The Romance Reviews’ Third Anniversary Party, and today is your chance to win a copy of my older woman/younger man BDSM-themed novella from Totally Bound, Maestro. To be in with a chance of winning, all you have to do is register at TRR if you haven’t done so already, then answer the simple multiple-choice question. With over 200 authors taking part in the event, there are lots of other books and great prizes to be won every day, and the overall winner will get a $100 gift card. So what are you waiting for? Get over to The Romance Reviews now, and good luck!
It’s Sunday snog time again at Blissekiss.co.uk, and for all those of you who like a man in uniform, here’s a quick kiss from An Act of Duty, my story from the Totally Bound Stand to Attention anthology. To set the scene, Mark is in Amsterdam, keeping a promise to his fallen comrade and good friend, Ozzy. But a quiet drink in a bar has turned into a full-on brawl, and now he’s helping the bar’s Dutch owner, Robin, deal with the aftermath of the incident…
Mark made a brief examination of the Dutchman’s face, aware as he pressed his fingers to Robin’s cheek of the warmth of his skin and the potent scent of sweat mixed with something more primal and male.
“Well,” he said, noting the beginning of a bruise forming, “it looks like you’re going to get a nice shiner—”
“Sorry?” Robin replied, failing to recognise the term.
Mark chuckled. “A black eye. But that’s all. There’ll be no permanent scarring.”
“That’s good to know. Not that there’s anything wrong with scars. They can be very sexy.” As Robin spoke, he traced his fingertips over the jagged white scar that ran the length of Mark’s face from cheek to chin, close to his hairline. Mark shivered, partly from the thrill of Robin’s touch and partly in remembrance of the circumstances in which he’d gained that wound.
His heart thumped wildly, his senses rousing in response to Robin’s sensual caress. A second finger had been added to the first, and now Robin trailed them over Mark’s lips, exploring their contours. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. Very sexy.”
Almost before Mark knew what was happening, Robin had kissed him. The lightest of pecks, it still left Mark’s lips tingling. His cock stirred in his underwear, and realised that for the first time since Ozzy had died, he was getting properly turned on. Grief and guilt at not being able to do anything to save his friend’s life had destroyed his sex drive but now, it was reawakening, rising like a phoenix. He cupped Robin’s face in his palms and returned the kiss. His mouth pressed hard against Robin’s, and his tongue flickered along the seam between the lips till they parted and he was able to slip inside.
They ground their bodies together, their passion mounting. Mark ran his fingers through Robin’s dark curls, such a contrast to his own hair, which he kept cropped close to his skull, for ease of maintenance. They felt like silk to his touch.
Robin was stroking his chest through his plain white T-shirt, feeling muscles honed by the physical exertions of Mark’s life in theatre. “Mmm, so hard,” he murmured. “But then I knew you’d have a good body. “
“Yours isn’t too shabby, either,” Mark responded. The Dutchman had a long, lean physique, even if he didn’t possess Mark’s washboard abs or impressive biceps. Mark suspected Robin kept fit by hauling barrels of beer around, maybe cycling around the streets as all the locals here seemed to do. But now wasn’t the time to speculate on the man’s exercise regime. All he wanted to do was become better acquainted with that body in a sexual sense.
It didn’t surprise him that he—or Robin—was suddenly so keen to get physical. They’d been in a situation where they’d been placed in sudden danger, forced to fight to protect themselves and the bar. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins. Fucking Robin would confirm that he’d beaten that danger. He was alive. And Robin had to be feeling something similar. Though the Dutchman’s next words proved he was working to a slightly different agenda.
To find out what happens next, check out An Act of Duty, and Stand to Attention, which also features hot m/m stories by Sean Michael, Jambrea Jo Jones, Lily Harlem, Noelle Keaton and Lucy Felthouse. And don’t forget to visit Blissekiss and immerse yourself in the full snog-tastic experience provided by this week’s selection of authors.
Here’s a bit of Friday fun for you – a little snippet from The Girl With The Million-Dollar Butt, from the Xcite anthology of the same name. Ciara Keane may be a hot singing talent, but how does she distinguish herself from all the other pop starlets out there? According to her manager, the answer is to insure her best asset – her backside. And that’s how she finds herself submitting to a very thorough examination to make sure she fits the insurer’s criteria:
“Where do you want me?” I asked.
“Just where you are will be fine. But I’m going to need you to take off your kimono.”
Leo plucked the tape measure from the coffee table. “Yes, I need to take some other measurements, too. You see, the ratio of the waist to the hips is really important. Surveys have proved the bigger it is, the more desirable the woman …”
Coyly, I kept my back to him as I undid the belt of the kimono, letting it slip from my shoulders. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw his gaze was fixed on my bottom, almost entirely exposed by the teeny triangle of white cotton that made up my panties.
“Mmm, very nice.” Leo came up behind me. I felt the measuring tape circling me, but not round my waist, or my hips. Instead, the cool plastic pressed against my nipples, making them crinkle in response.
As he pulled the tape away, he took the opportunity to run his fingers over the tight peaks, forcing a moan from me as I reacted to the delicious stimulation. “You didn’t say anything about needing to measure my boobs,” I gasped out.
“It’s all part of the equation. “Leo’s breath was hot against my ear. “You may not be the classic hourglass, Miss Keane, but they do say women with small tits and big butts are the most sexually responsive …”
Now I didn’t need to wonder how big his cock might be. It was pressing at the groove between my arse cheeks, and I swore I could feel the heat of it even through our layers of clothing
“Waist, then hips.” He matched his actions to his words, measuring the relevant parts of my body in turn, but making sure he copped a substantial feel in the process. I noticed he didn’t actually write any of his findings down, but I assumed he’d simply fill those in later.
By the time he laid the measuring tape to one side, I was very hot and extremely bothered. Leo had come tantalisingly close to feeling my pussy through my panties on a couple of occasions, but he’d always pulled back, and by now I was desperate for him to go that bit further.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Now I need to give your butt a closer inspection, check for any birthmarks or blemishes, and for that your panties are going to have to come off.”
Does she comply? You can find out in The Girl with the Million-Dollar Butt, which also contains stories by Gerome Asanti, N. Vasco, Maggie Morton and Viva Jones, and is available from Xcite and Amazon. This is one collection that definitely doesn’t bring up the rear!
Thank you to the lovely Elizabeth for hosting me. Lucky Fall is about a bashful bookseller who has a birthday encounter with one very sexy British billionaire. I managed to catch Victor Ivanov in between business meetings so your followers would get a more intimate glimpse of the man who rocked Julianne’s world.
Victor – I would keep it in my mansion, but I don’t care for secrets, but I must admit I’m intrigued why anyone would want to hide such a thing. Julianne would want to keep it as a pet and I can already see that argument.
MK – What is your favourite colour for socks?
Victor – Black – versatile enough to wear with a suit or jeans. However, I am most comfortable sans clothing, including foot coverings.
MK – Boxers or briefs?
Victor – Boxer briefs – the best of both worlds. However, again I must admit I would rather be at my most comfortable. Refer to prior question.
MK – *blushes. Clears throat.* Dogs or cats?
Victor – Definitely dogs. Especially the beautiful Blood hound Julianne rescued. He sometimes gets confused about who is alpha male, so I inevitably play the bad cop role as Julianne indulges him a great deal. But then again, her compassion is one of the things that draws me to her.
MK – Apart from Julianne what other famous person would you like to get naughty with?
Victor – I plead the fifth. Although, if you placed my sockless feet on hot coals, I would tell you Diane Lane. She resembles Julianne.
MK – Aww, very sweet, Victor.
Victor – Yeah, don’t let word spread about that. I do have a reputation to protect.
MK – Would you ever take part in a TV reality show? Which one?
Victor – Never – I value my privacy too much. Although, I think Julianne could win America’s Next Top Model.
MK – Tell us something we don’t know about Julianne.
Victor – Her favourite presents are books, chocolates, and candles…in that order. Also, she enjoys role play…. don’t tell her I told you.
MK – What will I find if I look in your fridge?
Victor – Forgive my manners, I should have offered you something.
MK – Oh no, this really is just an interview questions.
Victor – Oh, okay then, I have chilled champagne, fresh strawberries and French cheese.
MK – Um, change my mind then. I’d actually like that. (Sipping champagne) What’s your worst quality?
Victor – I’m tenacious. When I know what I want I go after it. I’m a very jealous man, and that can make it difficult to have a relationship with me.
MK – What would you say was the best thing before sliced bread?
Victor – Bread.
MK – Clever.
Victor – You asked. Seriously, I would say the written word. Books were my friends before I ever knew what friendship was.
MK – What’s the naughtiest thing you ever did as a kid?
Victor – I had a difficult childhood, but I did once steal a loaf of bread… unfortunately, it wasn’t sliced.
MK – I’m letting that go.
Victor – I appreciate it. As I said, I value my privacy and if I honestly answered that question, I’m afraid it could get me into some trouble.
MK – What’s on your iPod?
Victor – I don’t care for those apples.
MK –*Scratches head, then gets joke, and chuckles.* Seriously.
Victor – The favourite playlist on my phone contains Oasis, The Beatles, and U2.
A woman who thought she was finished with love meets the one man capable of changing her mind.
Julianne Brenan was living her life like a nun without a church. Suffering from a betrayal she let define her, she chooses to live in solitude. Then a chance encounter on her birthday with a younger, handsome, billionaire leads to a night of passion like she’s never experienced. Victor Ivanov releases all her inhibitions and makes her feel alive.
Julianne is thankful for the experience and chooses to cherish the memory of Victor’s gentle but demanding touch. But Victor has no intention of being a memory for Julianne. She’s a beautiful but bashful bookseller, and he’s no ordinary billionaire.
I am a hopeless romantic in a hopelessly pragmatic world. I have a full time life and two busy teenagers, but in the dark of night, I sit by the warm glow of my computer monitor, and attempt to conjure up passionate heartwarming stories with plenty of humour.
I started imagining stories in my head at a very young age. In fact, I got so good at it that friends asked me to create plots featuring them as the heroine and the object of their affection as the hero. We’d spend hours on the phone while I came up with a series of unrealistic, yet tender events, which led to a satisfying conclusion. You’ve heard of fan fiction… this was friend fiction.
Even with that, it took many years to realize I could produce an actual full-length book that readers would enjoy. I try to make my stories humorous, realistic, with flawed but redeeming characters. I hope you enjoy my stories and always find The Happily Ever After in every endeavour.
Today is Sexy Snippets day over at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association blog. Once a month, any author has the opportunity to leave an extract from a published book, as long as its under 200 words long and they follow the rules set down by the blog’s moderator, the lovely Lisabet Sarai. I’m chipping in with a saucy little extract from my m/m novella Steel City Seductions, but if you want to read a whole raft of sizzling snippets, and maybe leave a contribution of your own, go to the ERWA blog now.
Today I’d like to welcome Ashe Barker to the Naughty Corner. Her story Reawakening is part of the Totally Bound Paramour collection, and she’s brought along Zack Lassiter, the book’s hero.
Thanks Elizabeth for inviting me over here today to share a snippet from Re-Awakening, my story in the Paramour collection. If you want to get your hands on the whole thing – and who wouldn’t fancy getting to grips with the hot and oh-so-sexy Zack Lassiter? – you can find it in the Totally Bound book boutique. The Paramour collection went on general release on 7 February.
Knowing the sort of hot gossip we all like to keep abreast of, I tracked down Zack and fired a few finely honed questions at him. All in the name of research obviously. Here’s what he had to say for himself…
Me: Hello Zack, thanks for finding time to chat. I realise you must be very busy just now.
ZL: No problem, lovely to see you again, Ashe. Always nice to chat. Now, what is it you’d like to know?
Me: Well, let’s start with the big one and get that out of the way. If I gave you an elephant and asked you to keep it a secret, where would you hide it?
ZL: A what?
Me: An elephant. Big thing, grey, has a trunk.
ZL: Right, an elephant. That’s what I thought you said. I think I’d probably stick it in one of Gennie’s guest bedrooms. Might be a struggle getting it upstairs, but she’s been thinking about getting a lift installed for people in wheelchairs. That might work…
Me: Excellent answer, very inventive. Now for something simpler. What’s your favourite colour for socks?
ZL: Red, definitely. Or brown. Black perhaps. Anything really, except white. I don’t like white socks.
Me: Excellent taste. So, boxers or briefs
ZL: Boxers as a rule. More ball room
Me: Ball room? Is that an important factor.
ZL: Oh yes, I’d say so. Can’t be getting all constricted, it’s not good for the circulation. I do like to circulate, when I can.
Me: Right, I see. So, dogs or cats?
ZL: I’m not that keen on either, but probably dogs. Cats tend to trip me up
Me: Apart from Gennie, is there a famous person would you like to get naughty with?
ZL: Me? Naughty? I hardly think so. I’m a choirboy.
Me: Raises eyebrow sternly. Please give the question some thought, Mr Lassiter
ZL: Oh well, as you insist. Scratches head, thinks hard. I suppose Keira Knightley has her attractions. In a good light. So does Julia Roberts but my own pretty woman is my lovely Gennie
Me: Good answer. Now, would you ever take part in a TV reality show? And if so, which one?
ZL: ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here’. Definitely. I’d love to eat slugs and kangaroo penis, and stick my dick in dark holes with rats running around. Full of those tricks, I am. And Gennie would love the trip to Australia to meet me coming back across the bridge through the fireworks and ticker tape. I’d do it for her…
Me: What a hero. Now, could you tell us something we don’t know about Gennie?
ZL: She’s a closet foot fetishist. She loves it when I stroke her heels and massage the soles of her feet. Purrs like a kitten. She’ll do anything for me when I get between her toes…
Me: Yes, quite. (Fans self discreetly) What will I find if I look in your fridge?
ZL: Sod all. Now Gennie’s fridge, that’s a treasure trove. Ice cream, cheesecake, Stella Artois. I’ve been known to shove the odd dildo in there when her back’s turned – makes for a nice evening’s sport.
Me: More fanning. I hardly dare ask – what’s your worst quality?
ZL: I’m too self-effacing.
Me: What would you say was the best thing before sliced bread?
ZL: I’m not sure just when sliced bread arrived. I think the internal combustion engine might be up there though. Pennicillin? Electric lightbulbs?
Me: What’s the naughtiest thing you ever did as a kid?
ZL: Me and my brother used to play chicken on the train lines near our house. My mum would go ape if she ever knew. Don’t you dare tell her – I’ll deny it.
Me: What’s on your iPod?
ZL: Coffee stains and a swanky cover.
Here’s the blurb for Re-Awakening:
Her Master gone, is she destined to spend the rest of her life alone? Or can she bring herself to surrender – again?
Too busy trying to make a living out of her guest house in the Yorkshire Dales, Imogen hadn’t time to be lonely, or even think about having fun. And surrender to her innermost submissive desires is just a distant memory.
A widow for six years, Imogen is not looking for another lover, let alone a Master. She had one of those, once, and no-one could ever compare. Certainly not a handsome, cocky young man, passing through the area and needing a room for the weekend.
But when sexy Zack Latimer turns up on her doorstep he instantly recognises the underlying grief cocooning Imogen from the world outside. The intuitive young Dom makes himself at home in her house, and quickly exposes her most private needs and fears. He sees straight through her facade of self-sufficiency to expose the yearning she tries so hard to stifle. Unable to deny or resist the intense attraction she feels for her sensual guest, Imogen is quickly drawn in as he invites her to rediscover her submissive nature. Can she surrender once more, perhaps even find happiness and fulfilment again with a new Master?
And is Zack that Master, or has he also gone for good?
Until 2010 I was a director of a regeneration company in Leeds, in the UK, before becoming convinced there must be more to life. I left to work as an independent consultant, and still do some of that though most of my time is now spent writing. At last I’ve been able to realise my dream of writing erotic romance myself. I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres, and I still love reading historical and contemporary romances – the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse – research.
In my own writing I usually draw on settings and anecdotes from my own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to my plots and characters, but my stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of my own lurid imagination.
When not writing – which is not very often – my time is divided between my role as resident taxi driver for my teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises. And most recently a very grumpy cockatiel. I’m a rural parish councillor, and I’m passionate about evolving rural traditions and values to suit twenty first century lifestyles.
I’ve completed my third trilogy in the Black Combe ‘family’ and I’m well on with writing the fourth, as well as a novella, and a stand-alone novel for Totally Bound’s ‘What’s Her secret?’ imprint. All are due for release over the next few months.
Don’t be a stranger…
Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite…
Her somewhat strained job prospects were still exercising Imogen’s thoughts as she cycled back along the lane to her house later that afternoon. She was wondering about maybe finding some way of working from home—four buses a day into Skipton would make commuting to work something of a tall order in any case. Perhaps she could become an internet entrepreneur. Ebay was created for the likes of her, surely. Except she’d need a reliable broadband connection and mobile phone signal for that, and Bainbridge was not exactly speeding up the fast lane of the information super-highway.
Maybe she should think about marrying someone rich. That could be a good career move. She wasn’t even that fussed about the marrying bit, just the company would do. Well, except for the sex. Anyone of her age, single, and who was prepared to move out the back of beyond to live in her idyllic country retreat with her, would probably be into vanilla stuff. Too bland. Too—predictable—for Imogen’s taste. Not that she’d tasted much of anything for years now. Not since Sean.
She was amazed to feel tears pricking at her eyes. Christ, she’d thought she was past all that. Six years on, and she really, really should be past all that. Past sobbing at the sight of his picture tucked away in a drawer in her bedroom. Past gulping back her tears at a snatch of memory—a moment of remembered shared pleasure coming back to taunt her lonely present. Over the years she’d been alone, Imogen had trained herself never to glance in that rearview mirror. She had to move on, had to keep on trying to move forward. She would get there.
She supposed her problem lay in not really knowing where ‘there’ was. What was she looking for? If not a life with Sean, then what? There must be something else for her, but she hadn’t found it yet. Maybe she never would. She’d convinced herself that this guest house was her future, now she suspected it might be a millstone instead. She wondered if it had been a challenge to begin with, a huge responsibility that had the sole purpose of sucking up her attention, her energy and her drive. She needed to fill her days, and her nights with something. Anything. A distraction. And now she was failing at this, too.
She reached her gate, dismounted and unlatched it. She pushed her bike through, brushing the tears from her face with her gloved hand. Angrily she sniffed, determined not to give in. Not to spend another evening gazing at the television and lecturing herself on the evils of pouring another glass of wine, only to eventually stumble off to bed with no idea what she’d watched for the last three hours, and an ever increasing row of empty bottles waiting to go to the bottle bank.
She rounded the corner of her house and stopped dead. A car was in the driveway. A nice car, one of those large, smooth, purring things. As she came closer, she saw it was a BMW, its dark grey bonnet gleaming in sharp contrast against her brick-red gravel chippings. The car was empty, and as she stood admiring the sleek lines, Imogen balanced her bike against her front porch and glanced around for the occupants. They had to be here somewhere, there wasn’t another property for half a mile, nowhere else they might be. She reached out, laid a palm on the top of the bonnet and felt the warmth there. The car had not been standing idle long.
The crunch of footsteps behind her settled the matter. She turned and saw him.