Monday, December 28, 2009

New Release: Waiting In Vain!

That's right. I have a new mini-novella out today, right on my birthday sequel! (I get two birthday days this year, because yesterday, I was thirty. So it's birthday one, and birthday two: electric boogaloo).

Isn't that fabulous? Not only is it an actual story what I have wrote that's being released from a real place and everything, but it's my first from the amazing Total-E-Bound, it's Christmas themed, it stars an Alex O'Loughlin look-a-like, I thought I'd never be published again after my publisher closed and it's being released on Birthday Two! Excitement!!

Here's the blurb:
His desires aren't going to wait for her any longer...When Nancy is invited to her sister-in-law's Christmas get-together so that she won't be alone over the holidays, she doesn't have the heart to refuse. They've been nothing but fun in the past, after all.

But Nancy isn't counting on just how much fun it's going to be this year. Sexy, sultry Mick Hennessey is on the prowl, and he isn't about to stop at a sly hand on her thigh under the dining room table. He wants to see how far he can push her, even if it means risking her heart on top of her most secret desires.

Here's the link:

(Only 1.69! It's a Crimbo bargain! All the Charlotte Stein flavour, none of the bank breaking)

And here's a pic of my hunk of the moment, wearing a Christmas hat:

Mmmm, hunky. And also, not as droopy as that hat suggests. And my story has nothing to do with vampires, so I don't know why I've used a vampire hunk. But there it is. Alexander Skarsgard's hotness transcends sense.

Anyway, enough about me. How are you? How was your Christmas? Did some sexy man launch himself at you like a laser guided sexy missile? I tell you what, if you tell me about your Christmas, I will reward your seasonal spirit by putting you in a giant hat and shaking you around. Orsum, eh? And then I shall pick one of you at random to receive a free totally free fab copy of Waiting In Vain!

I'm practically Santa Clause. The Alexander Skarsgard version.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Mancandy Monday: Santa Claus

Bearded, wears sultry red, is massive (probably all over), gives loads of pressies and has a fabulous bachelor pad, despite only working one day a year.

What more could a girl want? And especially when he's Tim Allen, as he is in the pic above. What? Tim Allen is kind of hot, in a nice Dad sort of way.

Plus Santa would be a total slut for you. You know he would be. Check out his catchphrase:

Ho ho ho!

What other interpretation of those words could there be? Unless he means that he'd like YOU to be his ho ho ho, in which case- right on, Santa. I'll be leaving more than milk and a mince pie under MY tree, for you.

Merry Christmas, Everybody!

Monday, December 14, 2009

Mancandy Monday: That Dude From Oglaf

Seriously, have you read that comic strip recommended by Janine Ashbless? Oglaf? Here it is:

And it is hilarious, filthy, brilliant at playing with fantasy conventions and just...go read it. I've fallen in love. With both it and one of the creations in it:

Yeah, I know he's a cartoon. And I know that it doesn't excuse this awful crush because I once fancied Pete Venkman from The Real Ghostbusters cartoon show. But as I spent the evening trying to think of a real live man who could play the part of a castle skivvy with a bodily fluid sprite that tattles on him, I feel I can be forgiven.

Can't I?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

U.S. Release!

So today, The Things That Make Me Give In is released in the states. Et voila:

It's also available here and here:

Amazing! Especially considering that I didn't even think it would get released in England, never mind America.

So to celebrate, I'm putting up yet another excerpt from my book. I know, I know. You're tired of excerpts. Where are all the hot men? Well, I'll give you one of those, too. Because I'm nice that way.

Here is an excerpt from Spying, and a pic of Alex O'Loughlin looking an awful lot like the main character...


That first time– I tried to turn away. I thought about saintly things, like Jesus and Gandhi and charity drives.

But even then it was too much for me to fight. Gandhi lost and I ended up standing at that secret window, fingernail between my chewing teeth, thighs pressed too tight together, watching the man in the apartment across the alley.

It’s the angle of the apartments, I think. Mine is higher up, and his is lower down, and the strip of alley between us means that he can’t see my window as well as I can see his.

At first I was sure he was putting on a show for the couple below, but then they invited me around to tea and I saw nothing but wall facing the alley. No window. He thinks he does his little show for nothing but brick, or maybe he doesn’t think it’s a show at all.

It’s just the way he is. He can’t help himself.

And I can’t help watching.

I mean, it makes things worse that he’s gorgeous. I don’t think that’s what initially hooked me, but it certainly contributes. He has this lean, leonine face, which gives him a constant predatory air. His lips curl into an ever-pout, as sultry as the exotic dancer I liked to imagine he was. When his mouth hangs open, pulled by lust, it destroys every effort that morality makes at claiming me.

But I didn’t notice his face the first time, because I was too busy watching him reveal his body to my starving eyes.

He had been wearing this clingy top, with buttons all down the front. A kind of undershirt, I think– obviously I had missed the first part of the show. But the second part was the real meat of the thing, so I needn’t have worried.

I remember thinking in an almost laughing way: what is he doing? Because he had stood there in front of his window, sideways on to me, and started unbuttoning the shirt. And he had done it in such a deliberate, sluttish, stripping sort of way that I had immediately thought: he’s with someone. Someone is in front of him, off-screen where I can’t see, and he’s stripping for her one button at a time.

But I know now that there was no one.

I think he does it in front of a mirror. I can’t fault him for it; God knows I would too, if I looked like him. I would slide that shirt off my shoulders, shoulders jutting out like accusing fingers, lips parted. I would admire the golden slide of my body, the rough scratch of hair on my chest, the dip of my navel and the curves of my solid muscles.

Oh mystery apartment guy, how glorious you are! I’m weak, I’m weak, weak in the presence of shapely strippers.

And then he slid his jeans down his legs, too, and I was hypnotised. I was paralysed. The little movie he made in the box of his window got hold of me, and chained me to my own window. I bit semi-circles into all of my nails. I spliced my thighs together.

The jockeys he was wearing clung to him in a way I wanted my hands to. My hands were actually briefly jealous of them. He had – has – a fabulous arse. Almost too big, perhaps, with a delicious curving heft to it that makes a person want to squeeze.

And of course, his cock. I think his cock sealed the paralysis. The way it curved – really curved – like a crooked finger, and always seemed to try and bob upwards as though its own weight kept dragging it back down again. It had a lot of weight, like the rest of him. A real fleshiness, a solidness.

It didn’t take much for me to imagine taking that cock in my mouth, my pussy, my arse– anywhere, anywhere he wanted to put it. For the first time in my life, I fantasised about a real live man, a man I could actually see, fucking and fucking me. I remember standing there feeling a hollow space between my legs, one that waited for him to fill it up.

And it was better and dirtier because it wasn’t some actor in some movie, but a real person. I watched a real person take his cock in his hand, and rub himself slowly, so slowly. I watched him look down at what he was doing, and watched his lips part and heard the groan he made even though it was soundless to me, and it was as sweet as ripe cherries. As sweet as sugar poured on my tongue.

He fucked his own hand, and rocked his hips into it, and let his eyes shutter closed just for me, all for me. And when he came I came close too, because there’s nothing sexier than watching a man make love to himself.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.

In truth, there are sexier things. And he was only too happy to show them to me.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Some Nice Things

So I think I mentioned that Michelle Buonfiglio said that my book was one of the sexiest erotic romance reads of 2009, or similar. Which was enough to put me on for the entire rest of my career, TBH. If she had never spoken a word to me ever again for the entirety of our days, I would have thought nothing of it. If she had by some freak accident been at my Christmas dinner table and failed to so much as ask me to pass the brussel sprouts (gladly), I wouldn't have blinked an eye.

She is Michelle Buonfiglio. I am tiny speck. I'm not even a tiny speck of something, I am beyond something, I am nothing. A speck of nothing on the shoe of no-one.

So to say I'm staggered that she put me on a list of books is an understatement. And it's not even a list of books she's heard of. Or books that have the word "things" in the title. Or books written by Charlottes- though it could have been. There's another Charlotte on there. I had to keep checking, just to make sure it wasn't "Charlottes Who Released Books In 2009".

But it's not. It's a list of her faves of 2009.

So I went away to check that "fave" didn't mean "some books that are orsum, and one that definitely isn't".

But get this: it doesn't mean that! Not anywhere! And it's not even a best and worst list, with one book that's rubbish and one that's brilliant! Underneath the heading "Erotic Romance" there is Megan Hart's book (which would have been the brilliant one) and my book (which would have been the awful one).

But it's not even the awful one! See:

I'm not making this up. If I was going to make this up, I'd aim much lower. Something that's almost believable, like: "my best friend actually bothered to put a review of my book somewhere for me, and didn't lend said book to some nobody she hardly knows".

I know, right? Laughable. But still, within the boundaries of believability, I feel. Unlike Michelle Buonfiglio noticing my book and liking it so most that she puts it on a list of faves, which is something I thought would never happen in a million years. It's only slightly behind "snogging Zachary Quinto", and he's gay!


P.S. Today is the actual real release day of Justine Elyot's book, On Demand. As my book has been noticed by Michelle Buonfiglio, hers is probably about to be noticed by Jesus because she's waaayyy better than me. So you must must buy it, before she's more famous than God and you're not allowed to buy her books anymore, because they're just too orsum and have had Jesus' fingers all over them. So get it here, quick!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Mancandy Monday: The Hot Dude On The Cover Of On Demand

I was going to do "Mancandy Monday: Justine Elyot", but that would have been weird.

I mean, I've never seen her face. So technically, she could look like Zachary Quinto. But somehow, I don't think God is kind enough to put the brilliant mind of an orsum erotica writer into the body of someone who looks like ZQ.

So I chose the burly beefcake caged inside a gorgeous suit on the cover of her book, On Demand, as today's belated Mancandy Monday. Et voila:

Just look at him there. Look how massive he is! So burly. And he's kind of half-smiling, too, as though he's singing Sugar Lumps in his head: I see you girl, checking out the front of my trunks. That sort of thing.

But more than how hot this hunk is, more than my confused feelings for Justine "ZQ" Elyot, is what is within the sexy covers of this fabulous book. I haven't finished reading it yet, but ohhh, what I have read. And what I read from Justine Elyot before I got my mitts on her fab collection of short stories.

The first story I ever read of hers was Advanced Corsetry, in Liaisons. Directly after reading it, I went online to find out who she was. That's the effect Justine's work has on you- you want to know more, immediatly, about this electric new voice on the erotica scene. She made me so happy, that BL was still taking on new brilliant writers like her.

She is a master of words, a wit, and in every sex scene she pushes boundaries and expectations. If you're not interested in any of those things, then obviously, don't buy her book. But I know you are interested in those things. I know what you're thinking right now: why haven't I bought On Demand, already?

Because you're mad, clearly. Now get out there and buy it!