Yeah, that's right. Because there can never be enough hot menage fun going on in the world, I have another book release this week. It's called All Other Things, and it features - you've guessed it - lots of multiple partner shenanigans.
Plus it's also got a married couple, an absolutely filthy Irishman, sex acts that are illegal in many, many places around the world and a good dollop of emotion thrown into the mix. Want to hear more?
Here's the blurb:
Bea’s husband Tommy is the sweetest, most gorgeous guy she’s ever met. There’s just one problem—he doesn’t seem to want to have sex with her. Or at least, he shows no interest in the kind of sex she’s craving. Kinky, torrid, passion-filled sex, of the sort a too-handsome and too-fascinating colleague at her workplace is offering.
Kieran is everything that Tommy’s not—dark to his light, triple caramel swirl to Tommy’s vanilla. But Bea will not be tempted. Or at least, she thinks she won’t. Until she discovers Tommy and Kieran have been IMing each other for some time—and they haven’t been talking about innocent things.
They’ve been talking about her, and more importantly, they’ve been talking about what they’d like to do to her. Together. And once Tommy’s buttons have been pushed and Kieran’s been let off his leash, anything seems possible…
Sounds hot, right? Well, I think it sounds hot. And I kind of had to lay down in a darkened room for a little bit after writing several of its scenes, which says a lot, I feel.
And if you want to feel it too, well, here's the buy link:
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9586-all-other-things.aspx
Or you know - if you're feeling lucky you could just enter my competition! All you have to do is comment, leave your name, and I'll stick it in the hat. I'm going to give away two copies, too, so there's an absolutely excellent chance you'll win!
Hooray!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Guest Post: Roped Emotions by Elise Hepner
My pal Elise had a release last week, so here's a little bit about it and its total amazeballsness. Who doesn't love a good fairytale, eh?
Blurb:
Rapunzel is trapped by the harsh, inescapable reality of her prison, so she builds vivid sexual fantasies where she has full control and no one can take it away. If nothing else, at least she has command over her thoughts.
When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes out her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.
Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits while twisting their definitions of control forever.
Excerpt:
“What in Christ’s name…”
I must be hearing echoes from the town nearby, where Mother sells her herbs and braided goods. No one ventures this far toward my tower because Mother’s gone to great lengths to see that they don’t—bear traps are her new favorite method of discouragement. Once one life is claimed, I imagine word spreads fairly quickly to stay away from the area. Why then are there hoof beats that make my head pulse with a slight pain?
There’s no understandable excuse I can delude myself with any longer. Before I can focus on the consequences, I swing my head out the window into the oppressive, humid summer air. Just the very top of his head is visible, his hair brushing past his cheekbones, glowing from the sunshine and shot through with gold. Never have I seen a color so close to my own before—not that I see many people.
For a few moments I can’t quite come to terms with his presence and it’s not for a lack of staring that my pulse inevitably echoes inside my head like an overbeaten drum. This is my chance. Mother won’t be back for quite some time with her wares. He’s circling the tower, slouched over a horse who looks a bit like a nag. Certainly not a proper horse for a man with such fine clothes in gorgeous colors and sumptuous fabrics.
There’s no going back from this moment. It’s a certainty that makes my teeth chatter in a wash of cold fear, despite the heat, and my hands clasp around my middle as I try to hold myself together. He hasn’t looked up yet, more intent on studying the free-standing structure than noticing my shadow plastered across the grass. My mind is desperately working out what I’ll cry out to him. Even as my throat closes with an infusion of happiness that makes me rock on my feet.
“Excuse me?” A tentative question I’m not sure he will hear because it can’t be any louder than a frightened whisper. “Sir, you’re really not supposed to be here.”
Somehow, I’ve managed to make this part louder because he glances up—and his slack-jawed expression is a blow to my chest. He possesses the most gorgeous cobalt blue eyes. Underneath my ribs, the pain grows until taking a full breath is hard. Mother is right, he hasn’t even overcome his shock as my heavy plait of hair rests down the stone side of my prison. He’s not to be trusted.
What am I thinking? He won’t even come near me to aid my escape and his eyes are swamped in confusion—and there’s a flash of unreadable emotion that I refuse to question. He must leave here now and I must somehow convince him to bring no one back with him. I won’t be paraded around for anyone’s amusement. This man has made a mistake coming here.
Yet, there’s still a part of me that grips the windowsill until my palms are numb and that clings to the hope that he will at least acknowledge me. So long since I’ve had any kind of normal conversation. One that didn’t revolve around my hair, my rules or my mother’s day. Won’t he say anything? I’m as trapped by his thick silence as I am by the beauty of his face.
“Please, you must go and tell no one about what you’ve seen. You shouldn’t have ignored the traps. They are there for a reason.”
I don’t know how I’ve gotten that all out because my main focus lies on the foreign stirrings of heat in my cheeks as the pulsing sensation twists lower in my abdomen. What is happening to me? With a certainty that surprises me, I find myself clenching my thighs together, only to have the subtle touch of flesh-on-flesh be more than I can bear. He has yet to take his gaze from mine and a shudder slips up my spine.
“How long have you been here?” His voice carries the strain I hold back and I’m slightly put at ease that at least we are on similar ground. “Who did this to you?”
“For a man who is about to leave, I don’t believe it matters.”
The words barely tumble out of my mouth before I clamp my hand over my lips. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh and instantly regret it. He is so handsome—and these sudden urges, they are overwhelming and confusing to the point where I wish to completely remove the problem. My lips part in an apology and I watch a jovial grin span from ear to ear as he laughs at me until I can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of my heart.
Who is this man? Now he stares at me with a playfulness that washes a wave of goose bumps across my flesh. He doesn’t seem offended, merely amused at my suggestion that he leave. To further that fact, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree branch. While I can only stare at the way his tight riding boots and breeches hug his muscular body from his calves all the way up to his perfectly rounded buttocks.
Though I’d learned of desire from my mother—and all its wicked principles—I never expected it to rear its head in my lonely, simple world.
However, now my life spirals out of control quickly enough that I tilt back against the wall to my left and watch with trembling hands. This mysterious man climbs the wall of my tower as if it had been built to be climbed so easily—without any aid from my hair. One strong, sun-kissed hand and booted foot at a time. When he offers up his hand to me to pull him over the side, what choice do I have? Even a man that strong would eventually grow tired and plummet to his death—and I want him tucked close to my body, not on the ground.
“I was beginning to wonder what it took to get some assistance.”
He softly grunts and clasps my hand hard enough that I gasp as I shift my weight to pull him over the side. Muscles I didn’t know existed inside me burn with sharp pain from disuse because of my isolation. His touch radiates heat all along my arm. If it wasn’t for his precarious situation, I would fight to pull away on instinct—but as it is, he manages to throw himself into my home with as much grace as a charging boar—and he trips, falling on top of me and sending us to the hard, stone floor.
His surprisingly soft hand brushes the hair out of my face and lingers, gently stroking, down my cheek. Should I be frightened? Probably. At the moment I can’t bear the thought that my first sincerely gentle touch from a man would be anything but special. His sharp leather scent surrounds my tingling skin.
“Isn’t this a day for surprises?” His gaze cuts through all the fear inside me and his mouth holds the subtle curve of a half smile. “I should move myself off you, this isn’t proper at all when we’ve barely been introduced.”
Yet he doesn’t move an inch.
A realization whips through my mind and would have left me on the floor if I wasn’t already pinned there by a gorgeous man who touches me with such reverence I might weep. When will this happen again? After this twisted, meandering path of fate, there is no doubt I will be alone again—and I want a loving memory to cling to at night when my old fears tighten my chest until I can’t breathe. This is a choice I can make for myself. And I won’t live the rest of my ordinary, sheltered life not knowing true passion when it burns across my skin.
“They call me Rapunzel.”
“Samuel.”
His inviting smile lights up my whole world.
Buy Links:
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9567-roped-emotions.aspx
Author Links:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-Hepner-Writing/311925106401
www.twitter.com/EHepner
www.ehwriting.com
Blurb:
Rapunzel is trapped by the harsh, inescapable reality of her prison, so she builds vivid sexual fantasies where she has full control and no one can take it away. If nothing else, at least she has command over her thoughts.
When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes out her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.
Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits while twisting their definitions of control forever.
Excerpt:
“What in Christ’s name…”
I must be hearing echoes from the town nearby, where Mother sells her herbs and braided goods. No one ventures this far toward my tower because Mother’s gone to great lengths to see that they don’t—bear traps are her new favorite method of discouragement. Once one life is claimed, I imagine word spreads fairly quickly to stay away from the area. Why then are there hoof beats that make my head pulse with a slight pain?
There’s no understandable excuse I can delude myself with any longer. Before I can focus on the consequences, I swing my head out the window into the oppressive, humid summer air. Just the very top of his head is visible, his hair brushing past his cheekbones, glowing from the sunshine and shot through with gold. Never have I seen a color so close to my own before—not that I see many people.
For a few moments I can’t quite come to terms with his presence and it’s not for a lack of staring that my pulse inevitably echoes inside my head like an overbeaten drum. This is my chance. Mother won’t be back for quite some time with her wares. He’s circling the tower, slouched over a horse who looks a bit like a nag. Certainly not a proper horse for a man with such fine clothes in gorgeous colors and sumptuous fabrics.
There’s no going back from this moment. It’s a certainty that makes my teeth chatter in a wash of cold fear, despite the heat, and my hands clasp around my middle as I try to hold myself together. He hasn’t looked up yet, more intent on studying the free-standing structure than noticing my shadow plastered across the grass. My mind is desperately working out what I’ll cry out to him. Even as my throat closes with an infusion of happiness that makes me rock on my feet.
“Excuse me?” A tentative question I’m not sure he will hear because it can’t be any louder than a frightened whisper. “Sir, you’re really not supposed to be here.”
Somehow, I’ve managed to make this part louder because he glances up—and his slack-jawed expression is a blow to my chest. He possesses the most gorgeous cobalt blue eyes. Underneath my ribs, the pain grows until taking a full breath is hard. Mother is right, he hasn’t even overcome his shock as my heavy plait of hair rests down the stone side of my prison. He’s not to be trusted.
What am I thinking? He won’t even come near me to aid my escape and his eyes are swamped in confusion—and there’s a flash of unreadable emotion that I refuse to question. He must leave here now and I must somehow convince him to bring no one back with him. I won’t be paraded around for anyone’s amusement. This man has made a mistake coming here.
Yet, there’s still a part of me that grips the windowsill until my palms are numb and that clings to the hope that he will at least acknowledge me. So long since I’ve had any kind of normal conversation. One that didn’t revolve around my hair, my rules or my mother’s day. Won’t he say anything? I’m as trapped by his thick silence as I am by the beauty of his face.
“Please, you must go and tell no one about what you’ve seen. You shouldn’t have ignored the traps. They are there for a reason.”
I don’t know how I’ve gotten that all out because my main focus lies on the foreign stirrings of heat in my cheeks as the pulsing sensation twists lower in my abdomen. What is happening to me? With a certainty that surprises me, I find myself clenching my thighs together, only to have the subtle touch of flesh-on-flesh be more than I can bear. He has yet to take his gaze from mine and a shudder slips up my spine.
“How long have you been here?” His voice carries the strain I hold back and I’m slightly put at ease that at least we are on similar ground. “Who did this to you?”
“For a man who is about to leave, I don’t believe it matters.”
The words barely tumble out of my mouth before I clamp my hand over my lips. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh and instantly regret it. He is so handsome—and these sudden urges, they are overwhelming and confusing to the point where I wish to completely remove the problem. My lips part in an apology and I watch a jovial grin span from ear to ear as he laughs at me until I can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of my heart.
Who is this man? Now he stares at me with a playfulness that washes a wave of goose bumps across my flesh. He doesn’t seem offended, merely amused at my suggestion that he leave. To further that fact, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree branch. While I can only stare at the way his tight riding boots and breeches hug his muscular body from his calves all the way up to his perfectly rounded buttocks.
Though I’d learned of desire from my mother—and all its wicked principles—I never expected it to rear its head in my lonely, simple world.
However, now my life spirals out of control quickly enough that I tilt back against the wall to my left and watch with trembling hands. This mysterious man climbs the wall of my tower as if it had been built to be climbed so easily—without any aid from my hair. One strong, sun-kissed hand and booted foot at a time. When he offers up his hand to me to pull him over the side, what choice do I have? Even a man that strong would eventually grow tired and plummet to his death—and I want him tucked close to my body, not on the ground.
“I was beginning to wonder what it took to get some assistance.”
He softly grunts and clasps my hand hard enough that I gasp as I shift my weight to pull him over the side. Muscles I didn’t know existed inside me burn with sharp pain from disuse because of my isolation. His touch radiates heat all along my arm. If it wasn’t for his precarious situation, I would fight to pull away on instinct—but as it is, he manages to throw himself into my home with as much grace as a charging boar—and he trips, falling on top of me and sending us to the hard, stone floor.
His surprisingly soft hand brushes the hair out of my face and lingers, gently stroking, down my cheek. Should I be frightened? Probably. At the moment I can’t bear the thought that my first sincerely gentle touch from a man would be anything but special. His sharp leather scent surrounds my tingling skin.
“Isn’t this a day for surprises?” His gaze cuts through all the fear inside me and his mouth holds the subtle curve of a half smile. “I should move myself off you, this isn’t proper at all when we’ve barely been introduced.”
Yet he doesn’t move an inch.
A realization whips through my mind and would have left me on the floor if I wasn’t already pinned there by a gorgeous man who touches me with such reverence I might weep. When will this happen again? After this twisted, meandering path of fate, there is no doubt I will be alone again—and I want a loving memory to cling to at night when my old fears tighten my chest until I can’t breathe. This is a choice I can make for myself. And I won’t live the rest of my ordinary, sheltered life not knowing true passion when it burns across my skin.
“They call me Rapunzel.”
“Samuel.”
His inviting smile lights up my whole world.
Buy Links:
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9567-roped-emotions.aspx
Author Links:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-Hepner-Writing/311925106401
www.twitter.com/EHepner
www.ehwriting.com
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Winners!
First of all, I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who entered! I've never had so many people take part in one of these competitions, and even though it's probably weird and sad I was really touched. Plus, the compliments made me blush for about a week.
So, before I embarrass myself further with anymore gushing, here are the names I drew out of the hat:
Barednakedlady (aka Jill)
and
Evita
Hooray! Just decide which book you'd like, ladies (either Telling Tales or Guarded, take your pick!), then email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk and I'll get it sent to you.
Also, I decided to do an extra prize. Mainly because "eyebrow-singing" is perhaps the greatest way I've ever heard my work described, but also because I just feel like it. So Astahil - if you'd like a copy of either Telling Tales or Guarded, just email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk and I'll send you one. For being orsum and having burnt eyebrows.
So, before I embarrass myself further with anymore gushing, here are the names I drew out of the hat:
Barednakedlady (aka Jill)
and
Evita
Hooray! Just decide which book you'd like, ladies (either Telling Tales or Guarded, take your pick!), then email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk and I'll get it sent to you.
Also, I decided to do an extra prize. Mainly because "eyebrow-singing" is perhaps the greatest way I've ever heard my work described, but also because I just feel like it. So Astahil - if you'd like a copy of either Telling Tales or Guarded, just email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk and I'll send you one. For being orsum and having burnt eyebrows.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Mancandy Monday: Loki
Now just to be clear, that's Loki from the movie Thor I'm talking about. Not some shitty drawing of Loki out of the nightmares of strange children, as in this thing:
I swear to God, I once wet the bed at the age of three because of an image like that. I had a doll that looked like that thing, and it came alive and ate my baby brother. That exact creature lived in the basement of my primary school, and feasted on the bones of children who didn't eat their mashed potato. I think that I once -
Okay, yeah. You get the picture. That's a creepy looking Loki.
But the Loki I am interested looks much more like this:
And suddenly I'm kind of wanting him to be a doll that comes alive and tries to eat me. But when I say that, I obviously mean the good kind of eat. You know, the sort that features much less gnawing on bones and a lot more face-planting between my legs.
I mean, he's just amazeballs in Thor. The movie itself is kind of boring and Thor looks like someone squeezed his face too hard and then sneezed Cheeto dust all over him, but Tom Hiddleston as Loki is divine. He anguishes. Which isn't even the right word, but it just fits better than angsts because angsts sounds plebian and Tom Hiddleston is all refined and he went to Cambridge and studied old dead people and he probably rows a boat on a sunlit river while reading the Telegraph I dunno.
He plays Loki with all the commitment of a first year student at RADA, only really good. His eyes are haunted, he cries, he does it all while looking like Lt Cmdr Data only even more impossibly handsome and also normal coloured.
Plus, he wears a lot of leather and knee high boots and big helmets, and you all know how much I adore big helmets. I adore them almost as much as all the crying he does, about Daddy never loving him as much as Thor. I just wanted to go to him and hold him close to my vagi- my breast and tell him everything was going to be all right.
He's just flawless and perfectly my type. In fact, he's so perfectly my type that before we even watched the movie I saw a picture of him next to Thor looking all big-eyed and dark-haired and Husband said: you're going to come out of the cinema fancying that guy's pants off.
And I did. I fancied his pants off so hard that he spent an entire scene opposite Anthony Hopkins with his cock flapping in the Asgardian breeze.
But wait. Wait. There is one problem with this crush. Because although Loki is absolutely gorgeous and sensitive and viscious and all of the things I love, in real life Tom Hiddleston is...well. How can I put this delicately?
Not as orsum. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's still achingly attractive. His eyes are beautiful, his cheekbones are exquisite. He's lovely and funny in interviews and polite in a way that makes my vagina sit up and bark like a dog.
But the thing is...he has a massive, massive forehead. I mean - it's immense. Druids could pray to this thing. I don't even know how I failed to notice while watching Loki rend his breast in Thor, because seriously man. It is gargantuan.
Oh - oh what's that? You don't believe me? You think I'm exaggerating? Oh well CHECK IT:
Yeah. What are you saying now? That's right. Nothing.
Well, either that or you're pointing out that I obviously doctored this image with MS Paint. Badly, as usual. But I swear, his forehead is really big. And not only that but he has curly blonde hair, like he just fell out of painting done by some member of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood who didn't realise he was gay yet.
I just can't with that. I could cope with the big forehead - it's probably like one of those rules about comparing feet and hands and nose to cock size, anyway. Only you know, about breadth instead of length. His is three feet wide, probably.
But the curls, the curls. No. No. They agitate me. They make me think of giving his head a Brazilian. I just don't know what to do with this crush. I want to see him in a million things basically being Loki, and instead I get him in bike shorts looking like a cherub in Suburban Shootout.
Come on, Tom. Get it together. You and Michael Fassbender in a film where you both have the exact same haircut and then have weird incesty clone sex - make it happen.
Make it happen and I'll love you forever, I swear.
Well. I'll love you until next Monday, at least.
I swear to God, I once wet the bed at the age of three because of an image like that. I had a doll that looked like that thing, and it came alive and ate my baby brother. That exact creature lived in the basement of my primary school, and feasted on the bones of children who didn't eat their mashed potato. I think that I once -
Okay, yeah. You get the picture. That's a creepy looking Loki.
But the Loki I am interested looks much more like this:
And suddenly I'm kind of wanting him to be a doll that comes alive and tries to eat me. But when I say that, I obviously mean the good kind of eat. You know, the sort that features much less gnawing on bones and a lot more face-planting between my legs.
I mean, he's just amazeballs in Thor. The movie itself is kind of boring and Thor looks like someone squeezed his face too hard and then sneezed Cheeto dust all over him, but Tom Hiddleston as Loki is divine. He anguishes. Which isn't even the right word, but it just fits better than angsts because angsts sounds plebian and Tom Hiddleston is all refined and he went to Cambridge and studied old dead people and he probably rows a boat on a sunlit river while reading the Telegraph I dunno.
He plays Loki with all the commitment of a first year student at RADA, only really good. His eyes are haunted, he cries, he does it all while looking like Lt Cmdr Data only even more impossibly handsome and also normal coloured.
Plus, he wears a lot of leather and knee high boots and big helmets, and you all know how much I adore big helmets. I adore them almost as much as all the crying he does, about Daddy never loving him as much as Thor. I just wanted to go to him and hold him close to my vagi- my breast and tell him everything was going to be all right.
He's just flawless and perfectly my type. In fact, he's so perfectly my type that before we even watched the movie I saw a picture of him next to Thor looking all big-eyed and dark-haired and Husband said: you're going to come out of the cinema fancying that guy's pants off.
And I did. I fancied his pants off so hard that he spent an entire scene opposite Anthony Hopkins with his cock flapping in the Asgardian breeze.
But wait. Wait. There is one problem with this crush. Because although Loki is absolutely gorgeous and sensitive and viscious and all of the things I love, in real life Tom Hiddleston is...well. How can I put this delicately?
Not as orsum. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's still achingly attractive. His eyes are beautiful, his cheekbones are exquisite. He's lovely and funny in interviews and polite in a way that makes my vagina sit up and bark like a dog.
But the thing is...he has a massive, massive forehead. I mean - it's immense. Druids could pray to this thing. I don't even know how I failed to notice while watching Loki rend his breast in Thor, because seriously man. It is gargantuan.
Oh - oh what's that? You don't believe me? You think I'm exaggerating? Oh well CHECK IT:
Yeah. What are you saying now? That's right. Nothing.
Well, either that or you're pointing out that I obviously doctored this image with MS Paint. Badly, as usual. But I swear, his forehead is really big. And not only that but he has curly blonde hair, like he just fell out of painting done by some member of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood who didn't realise he was gay yet.
I just can't with that. I could cope with the big forehead - it's probably like one of those rules about comparing feet and hands and nose to cock size, anyway. Only you know, about breadth instead of length. His is three feet wide, probably.
But the curls, the curls. No. No. They agitate me. They make me think of giving his head a Brazilian. I just don't know what to do with this crush. I want to see him in a million things basically being Loki, and instead I get him in bike shorts looking like a cherub in Suburban Shootout.
Come on, Tom. Get it together. You and Michael Fassbender in a film where you both have the exact same haircut and then have weird incesty clone sex - make it happen.
Make it happen and I'll love you forever, I swear.
Well. I'll love you until next Monday, at least.
Monday, September 5, 2011
New Releases! Competitions!
So today I've got some new books out. Hurrah! And coincedently they both feature red hot menage or more type scenarios, they're both about obsession and lust and well...all the things I hope you know I'm mad for, by now.
The first is Guarded, my Bollywood themed, Arabian Nights stylee type bonk-fest, featuring two hunky bodyguards and one lucky Princess. Here's the blurb for it:
Their duty is to protect and guard, but their desires want more…
When Amina is captured by the Maharaja of Hadad and forced to read his prophetic scrolls, all she can think of is escape. But then Ashan and Orin are assigned to guard her, and they’re giving her some thoughts she’s sure she shouldn’t be having.
They’re both big, they’re both handsome, and they’re both sworn to protect, guard and be by her side at all times – something which proves increasingly difficult as the steamy nights get longer and their desire for each other reaches boiling point. When she next runs, they’re right on her tail, and this time they have more for her than bound hands and stern words. They’ve got their own needs, and they mean to satisfy them…
And the link, if it takes your fancy:
http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1352
You can also read a sizzling excerpt, there, and find other novellas under the Bollywood theme from such amazeballs writers as Justine Elyot and Victoria Blisse!
And then there's also my new erotic novel, Telling Tales. It's not the official release date for this book, so you're getting it massively early - if only so far on the Kindle, or over at ARE. But at ARE, you can get it for the absolute bargain price of $4.99. I have no idea how long for, so don't hesitate!
This one's really balls to the wall. And by that I mean there are literally balls flinging about the place. And willies, and fannies, and all of that red hot stuff. It's got MMF, MFM, MFFM, MFMF, MMMMM - hell, it's got so many acronyms you can almost make whole new words out of the initials. I mean, you can totally pronounce MFFM, right? It's muffum. And MMMMM makes a definite and real sound, one that I think sums up the scene nicely:
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
But anyhoo, here's the blurb:
Allie has held a brightly burning torch for Wade since college. They were part of a writing group together, and everything about those days with him, Cameron and Kitty fills her with longing. All of her old and most decadent fantasies are coming back to her as though they never left, and when their former Professor leaves them his rambling mansion in his will, it’s a chance for them all to reunite.
But there’s more than friendship bubbling beneath the surface. As secrets are revealed and relationships rekindled, the stories get dirtier and the stakes get higher. And now Allie’s realized that she isn’t quite sure who she wants…fun-loving Wade, or quiet, restrained Cameron.
Neither of them have been honest with her about their feelings. And now all four have the chance to act on the tales that ignite their most primal desires.
And the links:
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-tellingtales-598649-144.html
http://www.amazon.com/Telling-Tales-ebook/dp/B005KT24L4/ref=sr_1_24?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1315241832&sr=1-24
Where you can also find excerpts that barely touch on the kinds of shenanigans that go on in this book. Seriously. I'm mortified that I wrote it. My Gran doesn't speak to me anymore. Even though that's a total lie and she's my biggest fan because now I write the kinds of books she grew up reading, only with the sex left in.
And on that over-sharing note about my elderly Grandmother, I shall take my leave. Though not before doing what I always do on release day:
If you'd like to win a copy of the above books, just comment on this post. I'll stick your name in the hat, shake it around, and the first to emerge will win Telling Tales. The second to emerge will win Guarded. Hell, I might even give you a choice, or have the first prize be both, or who knows? Enter and find out!
The first is Guarded, my Bollywood themed, Arabian Nights stylee type bonk-fest, featuring two hunky bodyguards and one lucky Princess. Here's the blurb for it:
Their duty is to protect and guard, but their desires want more…
When Amina is captured by the Maharaja of Hadad and forced to read his prophetic scrolls, all she can think of is escape. But then Ashan and Orin are assigned to guard her, and they’re giving her some thoughts she’s sure she shouldn’t be having.
They’re both big, they’re both handsome, and they’re both sworn to protect, guard and be by her side at all times – something which proves increasingly difficult as the steamy nights get longer and their desire for each other reaches boiling point. When she next runs, they’re right on her tail, and this time they have more for her than bound hands and stern words. They’ve got their own needs, and they mean to satisfy them…
And the link, if it takes your fancy:
http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1352
You can also read a sizzling excerpt, there, and find other novellas under the Bollywood theme from such amazeballs writers as Justine Elyot and Victoria Blisse!
And then there's also my new erotic novel, Telling Tales. It's not the official release date for this book, so you're getting it massively early - if only so far on the Kindle, or over at ARE. But at ARE, you can get it for the absolute bargain price of $4.99. I have no idea how long for, so don't hesitate!
This one's really balls to the wall. And by that I mean there are literally balls flinging about the place. And willies, and fannies, and all of that red hot stuff. It's got MMF, MFM, MFFM, MFMF, MMMMM - hell, it's got so many acronyms you can almost make whole new words out of the initials. I mean, you can totally pronounce MFFM, right? It's muffum. And MMMMM makes a definite and real sound, one that I think sums up the scene nicely:
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
But anyhoo, here's the blurb:
Allie has held a brightly burning torch for Wade since college. They were part of a writing group together, and everything about those days with him, Cameron and Kitty fills her with longing. All of her old and most decadent fantasies are coming back to her as though they never left, and when their former Professor leaves them his rambling mansion in his will, it’s a chance for them all to reunite.
But there’s more than friendship bubbling beneath the surface. As secrets are revealed and relationships rekindled, the stories get dirtier and the stakes get higher. And now Allie’s realized that she isn’t quite sure who she wants…fun-loving Wade, or quiet, restrained Cameron.
Neither of them have been honest with her about their feelings. And now all four have the chance to act on the tales that ignite their most primal desires.
And the links:
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-tellingtales-598649-144.html
http://www.amazon.com/Telling-Tales-ebook/dp/B005KT24L4/ref=sr_1_24?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1315241832&sr=1-24
Where you can also find excerpts that barely touch on the kinds of shenanigans that go on in this book. Seriously. I'm mortified that I wrote it. My Gran doesn't speak to me anymore. Even though that's a total lie and she's my biggest fan because now I write the kinds of books she grew up reading, only with the sex left in.
And on that over-sharing note about my elderly Grandmother, I shall take my leave. Though not before doing what I always do on release day:
If you'd like to win a copy of the above books, just comment on this post. I'll stick your name in the hat, shake it around, and the first to emerge will win Telling Tales. The second to emerge will win Guarded. Hell, I might even give you a choice, or have the first prize be both, or who knows? Enter and find out!
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