Today I’d like to welcome the fabulous K D Grace to the Naughty Corner. She’s talking about her story in the Love Under The Mistletoe Xcite Cariad Christmas collection.
Thanks for having me over, Liz, to celebrate the release of Cariad’s fabulous Christmas collection, Love Under the Mistletoe. I’m very privileged to be between the covers with you, Alice Raine, and Demelza Hart with my novella, A Valentine for Christmas. It’s lovely to be in such sexy company.
I’d like to talk a bit about decorations. I’m sure all of us have fond memories that involve decorating … something. As a child, I used to love the decorating of the tree and the house at Christmas time. And then there was the wrapping of the presents. My mother got wise early on and started putting everything – even my own gifts in boxes, taping them securely shut, and letting me take care of all the wrapping. I could get pretty creative with some shiny paper, a bit of tinsel, a roll of cello tape and some ribbon. My mother got out of the wrapping, which she loathed, and had hours of quiet entertainment for her very energetic daughter. Result!
And what child doesn’t love the Christmas pageant? It was the perfect opportunity to decorate ourselves with cardboard and glitter angel wings and tinsel haloes. I’ve always been a bit of a magpie. I love things that glitter and shine, and I’m sure you can well imagine how suited I am to a halo J
We live in the age of elaborate body decoration. I mean even if you’d never get a tattoo for yourself (not brave enough, me) how can you not love to look at them and admire how beautiful some of them are. Then there’s body piercing, hair colour, cut and styles, and manicures and pedicures have evolved into a whole new art form. A few hours at a salon and you can emerge a whole new person. Let’s not forget shoes and handbags, clothes and make-up. Practical or not, we humans love to decorate our bodies. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that we humans love to decorate just about everything, and nothing gives us a better chance to do just that than Christmas and New Year.
Gerard Jasper, the hero in A Valentine for Christmas, isn’t keen on decorations. In fact, he hates the holiday season, and would gladly skip it if he could. In spite of his loathing of the season, he condescends to let his housekeeper put up a tree every year because she’s been with his family for a long time. Imagine his surprise when he comes home on Christmas Eve after a hard day at the office and finds someone has left him a gift under that Christmas tree. That gift really doesn’t need much unwrapping because that gift is a woman, and that woman is wearing nothing but the red velvet ribbons that bind her wrists and ankles and the sprig of mistletoe adorning her hair.
Which brings us to a completely different level of body decoration – love bites, red marks from spanking, a little bit of rug burn on the knees and elbows, lovely red welts across a bare bottom. And let’s not forget those stylish little bruises left by fingertips when they grasp at and curl around tender flesh in the throes of passion. Though some body decoration is not meant for public viewing, very little body art makes the wearer, nor the creator, prouder. The body art of passion implies possession. It’s a physical way of saying I belong to you, and you’ve left your mark on me. And even if no one else knows or sees, I’ll know. I’ll know from the tenderness, I’ll know every time I sit down, I’ll know every time I get dressed or get undressed. Those marks will remind me of passion and wild abandon; they’ll remind me of the act of physically coming together, and I’ll be sorry to see those lovely body decorations fade, while at the same time I’ll be looking forward to the next ones. Those lovely decorations are not seasonal. They’re a symbol of possessing and being possessed and, for humans, the need to belong to someone is at least as old as the need to decorate our bodies.
Blurb A Valentine for Christmas:
All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?
Excerpt from A Valentine for Christmas:
It was late when Gerard got home – even later than he’d anticipated, but that was fine. Being tired enough to sleep for a week made facing the next few days a lot easier. He shoved out of his jacket and slung it over the ladder-back chair by the door, then loosened his tie, somehow not finding the strength to actually remove it completely. Ignoring the evergreen bunting strung across the balcony above the stairs, he made his way into his study. From the credenza across from his desk, he poured himself a whiskey, neat, then dropped into the Cordovan leather chair beside the fireplace. He tossed back the shot, then closed his eyes. He only intended to rest them for a few minutes before he went to the kitchen where he knew Olga had left food prepared for him. He’d specifically overseen the menu this time to make certain not a slice of turkey nor a smidge of cranberry sauce darkened the fridge. It was bad enough his apartment was decked out like Rockefeller Center, but at least he could dictate his own meals.
Yes, he had only planned to close his eyes for a minute, but it was a scuffling sound and a soft moan that startled him from sleep and from dreams of falling into deep, icy water. He opened his eyes and looked around. In the silence he could hear heavy breathing. There was another moan. He exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Carefully, cautiously, he leaned forward in the chair, wrapped his fingers around the poker in front of the fireplace and pulled it free from its stand. Holding his breath, he came slowly to his feet.
There was more scuffling and a sharp, low grunt. It sounded as though it were coming from behind the Christmas tree. Fucking tree was a health hazard, a fire hazard, and Twyla never stopped to think that it was perfect for a thief to hide behind, though how the hell anyone could have gotten past his security was beyond him. He tightened his grip on the poker and raised it like a baseball bat. Bracing himself, he took a step forward, but the next moan he heard was decidedly feminine and it was coming from under the tree! With a quick movement, he reached for the lamp near the chair and switched it on, and the moan became a little yelp of surprise.
‘What the …’ Words died in his mouth as he lowered his arm and dropped the poker against the chair. He blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Surely he still had to be dreaming. Thought this dream beat the hell out of the usual drowning dream. There was another moan and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it came from the woman lying on her side under the tree. She was completely naked except for the red velvet ribbons that seductively bound her wrists and her ankles. The only other thing she wore was a sprig of mistletoe pinned in the muss of thick dark hair that fell over her shoulders partially obscuring breasts that were obviously full enough to balance the rest of a figure that curved dangerously in all the right places. Even in that confused post-wake-up state, Gerard’s cock got the picture just fine, thank you! But what the hell was a naked woman doing tied up beneath his Christmas tree?
Before he could ask, the woman moaned again – louder this time – and doubled over as though she were in pain.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked, dropping to his knees, forgetting the fact that this chick had invaded his privacy.
‘Oh, God!’ She gasped. ‘It’s my leg. I have a cramp. In my left hip and it’s making my butt numb.’ She bit back a curse that he was pretty sure would have curled his hair if she’d let it fly. But he figured perhaps she was on her best behavior – red ribbons, mistletoe and all.
It was then that both he and his cock remembered, at exactly the same time, that she was tied up. He was in complete control. He settled on his haunches and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.
She moaned again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which made her breasts bounce and her hair slide away to reveal nipples darkened and stiff atop goose-fleshed areolae. ‘I’m your Christmas present.’
He blinked. ‘My what?’
‘Christmas present? You know, happy holidays, noel, peace on earth … ouch! Oh hell that hurts.’ She hissed between barely parted lips and writhed in a way that should have made him sympathetic, but only made him hornier. ‘Could you please untie me so I can take care of this cramp.’
‘My Christmas present?’
‘Yup. Ouch! Ow! Please!’
‘From whom?’ Oh fuck, the more she shifted and shimmied, the more her breasts bounced and they were exquisite, and the more they bounced, the more of his brain function rerouted itself to his cock.
‘I don’t know,’ she bit back. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘But how do I know you’re for real?’ Surely Terrill and Twyla wouldn’t be so cheeky. Would they? He added quickly, ‘How do I know that the minute I untie you, you won’t try shoot me and rob me?’
She gave him a sour look. ‘Seriously? Where would I put a gun?’
His eyes followed down the curves of her body to the juncture between her legs with its tight nest of dark curls.
Whatever it was she was about to say, she swallowed it and offered a forced smile that was not quite coquettish, and all the sexier for it. ‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’ She nodded down over he belly. ‘Just please untie me so I can work out this damned cramp.’
He studied her for a long moment while she writhed and bit a full bottom lip he found himself wanting to taste. ‘It was pretty ballsy of someone, anyone really, to send me a prostitute as a Christmas present.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t need to buy sex, you know?’
‘I’m not a prostitute and you’re not buying me.’ She sucked back a sharp breath. ‘I’m a gift. Pleeeeese,’ she begged, ‘Untie me.’
I don’t need a gift. I didn’t ask for a gift.’
‘Of course you didn’t ask. That’s why they call it a gift.’ She practically bounced off the floor as another wave of pain hit.
‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to see a woman in pain either.’ He heaved a hard-put-upon sigh and leaned forward, pulling her into his arms. She yelped as he scrambled to his feet and moved to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. But instead of laying her down on it, he sat and turned her over his knee. What the hell was he doing? He should untie her, toss her in a taxi and send her on her way.
‘You’re gonna spank me?’ her voice came out high pitched and breathy. ‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Might do, if you give me any grief,’ he said, realizing too late that draped across his lap as she was, she could definitely feel his erection. Well she was naked, wasn’t she? And he was a healthy male. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting to make him hard. ‘So tell me now,’ he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he did in the boardroom in spite of the message his body was giving, ‘where does it hurt?’
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.
KD has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition are all available.
Find K D Here: