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.