Come join us at: Some Write It Hot 2
February 28, 2011
I’m standing at the proverbial fork in the road. After four years living abroad in Ireland, my husband and I have decided it’s time to move back home to the States. We’ve been so homesick for so long, I’m amazed it’s taken us almost six months to get to this point. Don’t get me wrong, I realize how blessed we are to have had this experience. We’ve met some fantastic people, done some crazy things and seen some amazing sights. I’m half afraid that crossing so many items off my bucket list so early is tempting fate. But if viewing the latest “People of Walmart” email makes you homesick, it’s probably time to move back home.
Before we can move, we have to figure out where our next home is. So far we’ve narrowed it down to Salt Lake City, Phoenix or Seattle-ish. Needless to say there are pros and cons to all the locations. Honestly, I’m hoping for Phoenix. I’m excited at the thought of summer for a change, plus we could get a house with a swimming pool *big grin* But any way it goes, I’ll be happy because I won’t be staring at the “People of Walmart” in envy—I will be one of those shlubs very, very soon!
See where Gillian’s at on her website
February 25, 2011
Just in case you need to catch up:
“I’m sorry Paul. What would you have me do?” At least she was dressed with the clothes we stole off the line. We sat in the shadows of the wharf across from the ship, Sherry perched on a keg of rum.
“Din’t cross yo mind gist take a poke and yo meal and leave well nuff alone?” He glanced from one of us to the other in fascination. “I don’t rightly know what yor ‘spectin’ me to do with her. Shor you noticed she’s white.”
I had to board the ship before the crew got back from their night ashore. One or two men I might sway with my eyes, but not a ship full at once–especially not now with my concentration shot all to hell. Why couldn’t I leave her? Many young girls had trod that path before her and many would come after. Why this one?
“Did you leave the money like I told you?” I immediately regretted my words. “I’m sorry, I know you did. I’m frettin’ over every little thing just now. What?”
Paul’s lip quirked up at the edge. “Yor fine talk seems to be slippin’ a mite, Massa Tom.”
“I am no man’s master! I’m a poor orphaned Texas boy, who tried to make out as best he could and ended up as…” my hands flew about like angry hornets, “this-thing-that I’ve become. I want her to have a chance. Is that wrong?”
“Nothin’ be wrong wit what yo done or wit you, Sa. Takes her wit you, she a perty little thing. You two makes a fine pair!”
“No. Being close to her stretches my will to breaking.” I read in his eyes he didn’t understand and I didn’t have time to explain. Mariska’s fate hung in the balance. I had to go, Sherry to stay, simple as that. “Paul, I got no one to send her to, no one I trust but you. I can plant a seed in her mind; she’ll believe what I tell her. I could tell her you were her Daddy’s man before the war. He died fighting and her Ma of a broken heart soon after his passing. Might some even be true, she said her Ma was dead.” I sucked up what courage I had. “She’s virgin still Paul, how could I leave her in a whorehouse?”
February 23, 2011
Sometimes I sit and stare into midair, trying to figure out what my character will do next. If the answer doesn’t come easily, and a simple mechanical exercise like changing the scene’s POV character doesn’t provide any solutions, I move to another scene. When more than a few such cloudy episodes have been left suspended in mid-air, though, they tend to form to a head-clogging substance that stops all forward motion. My favorite remedy for this situation is to run each of the characters—but especially the one who seems to be a problem—through a free online personality test.
As best I can tell, the test won’t work until I’ve wrestled with the character long enough to have several problems hanging in the air. Some of the ten-question pop quizzes give surprisingly useful insight, but my favorites are the 60- to 75-question Briggs Myers test, with or without a secondary Jungian analysis. The outcome of the test provides an archetype, says who this character has turned out to be, based on decisions I’ve made for and about him, as opposed to the character archetype I had planned to use for my story.
Say I plan for a scientist/thinker sort, an INTP. (After a few quizzes, this acronym will make perfect sense.) But as I write the scenes that come most easily, my decisions about this character’s preferences and instincts actually point toward an INTJ. Okay, so what’s an INTJ? Another professor/thinker type, but less of a goof and more sarcastic, less likely to get elbows deep in goop and more likely to come up with fifteen ways (on paper) to turn goop into poog, less likely to be the 25-year-old who makes a brilliant invention or discovery that no one can replicate and more likely to spend a lifetime discovering (and documenting) all the steps toward that brilliant outcome. Okay, so I have an INTJ character—what does that mean in terms of my unresolved scenes? The INTJ archetype has recognized strengths, like an INTJ’s ability to see the big picture and mental flexibility as far as accepting input. The archetype also comes with recognized weaknesses such as an INTJ’s insensitivity to other people’s feelings and tendency to react to extreme stress by focusing on minutia and repetitive activities. The archetype even comes with concrete details like an INTJ’s tendency toward sarcasm. Knowing these factors make my writing flow much more smoothly and easily.
Running all the primary characters through the same test (or a parallel test from another site) lets me use all kinds of canned wisdom about how this personality interacts with that personality, what conflicts they will face, and what action they (or the one of them who is most interested in cooperation) will have to take to work together. Say you have an INTJ trying to deal with Lucy from Peanuts, a classic ESTJ. To get any number of ideas for how the characters would clash and mesh, open your search engine’s bar and type in INTJ ESTJ.
By the way, if this reads like useless crap to you, your personality is unlikely to end in J.
February 21, 2011
February 18, 2011
Coming to KINDLE near you in March
About the book:
Penniless when she arrives in Norfolk, her mother and father drowned at sea, Raine Brinsley longs to return home to her grandfather in Maine. When Derek Stafford, owner of a large plantation, offers a solution to her dilemma, she’s stunned, if not outraged. She’d prefer to fulfill the contract to have his child and forget about him and his self-serving scheme. If only she could dispel the passion he’s awakened in her.
Derek’s only wish is to father an heir to Stafford House, thus securing his future. He didn’t count on the Scottish lass with green eyes interfering with his well-laid plan. After one night in her arms, guilt, not to mention the loss of his soul, becomes his penance. He’ll do anything to win her back, anything to quench the hunger tormenting his soul.
Read beginning chapters of Sojourn With A Stranger at Free Fantastical Fiction
For the latest information on Keta’s releases please follow her blog
February 16, 2011
Cover Art copyright 2010 by Stella Price.
“Come on, girl, give me something.” Kate leaned over the Jeep’s console to get closer to Beth, as though spicy details might be easier whispered than spoken as they bumped along the jungle trail at fifteen kph. She had been prodding for some all morning.
Immediately on their return the first day, the entire compound guessed what had happened between Carlos and Beth. And any doubts which may have lingered were put to rest when he moved into her room the same night. For the last two weeks, they’d spent every moment together, until yesterday. He couldn’t put his rounds off any longer, he’d said. He’d be gone a few days.
Kate simply took advantage of the opportunity to get Beth alone by volunteering them to drive into town for supplies. “Don’t be so selfish. Since you’re the only one getting any around here, we all have to live vicariously through you.”
Beth didn’t fall for Kate’s pitiful attempt to wring details from her. “Jean-Paul likes you.” She grinned. “He’s cute. And the accent–très sexy. He’d make a great fuck-buddy.”
“Pfah,” Kate puffed as she sat back in the passenger seat. “Wake up, Beth. Jean-Paul likes you. He just knows better than to try competing with Tarzan. I’m not desperate. So, tell me,” she said, turning back to Beth, “is he as good as he looks?”
Beth smiled a secret smile. “He’s as good as it gets and that’s all you’ll get from me.”
The road took a tight turn around a rise, forcing Beth to brake. A moment later, they came to an abrupt halt as the front end of the Jeep slammed into a downed tree. Beth caught herself with a hand to the dash, but her chest hit the steering wheel, knocking the breath from her.
“Damn,” Kate said. “And I so looked forward to getting my hair cut.”
“We have to turn around. Now.” Beth gripped the wheel until her knuckles hurt. If these guys wanted to spring a trap, they couldn’t have picked a better spot.
“There’s no place to turn around,” Kate muttered, catching some of her nervousness.
“How are you at backing up? I could get out and direct.” Hopeful, Beth glanced at Kate for an answer and found her staring wide-eyed over Beth’s shoulder. A second later, something cold and hard poked the side of Beth’s neck. Her heart leaped into her throat, but she focused on the gun with perfect clarity and swallowed the fear.
“¡Salga! Get out the car,” a heavily accented voice said near her ear. “¡Ándale.” The man stepped back. Both women scrambled to the ground.
Before turning to face the gun, Beth glanced up at Kate where she stood stock-still at the passenger side. Even wide-eyed and afraid, she appeared to be calculating her options. Kate being Kate, Beth felt sure she’d make some kind of move. She cleared her throat to get her friend’s attention and mouthed “no.” She wanted only to get out of this in one piece.
The gun swung a few inches, pointing the way to the compound, then back to Beth’s face. “¡Vaya! Walk.”
Carter would not be happy losing the car, but Beth didn’t expend too much energy worrying. She reached into the bed of the Jeep for her pack without taking her eyes from the man.
He waved the gun at her. “No. Go.”
Damn, she needed the things in her pack–her camera, her ID, her birth control pills, for God’s sake. Things not easily replaced in the middle of the jungle without transportation. Though she didn’t think he would use the gun, she wasn’t about to argue with it either.
“Let’s go, Kate,” she said and turned into the chest of a second poacher. She tried to go around. Big as a bear and smelling like one, he grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the tailgate of the car.
“Where is your boyfriend today, chica?” The idea this man had been watching them sent shudders through Beth. What did they want with Carlos? She shrugged and didn’t answer.
The first said some angry words in Spanish. Big Guy answered without taking his eyes off her. Beth stood squashed between the back of the Jeep and his unwashed body, quietly dreading the argument’s end.
Movement in the corner of her eye drew Beth’s attention. She turned her head in time to catch Kate running toward them. Every instinct told her to call out, to stop her friend from doing something which might anger these desperate men even further, but her voice stuck in her throat.
Kate shoved Beth’s captor hard enough to make him stumble. “Leave her alone. We’re going.” She took firm hold of Beth’s arm and pulled her away from the car.
As Beth slipped past him, Big Guy snatched her arm away from Kate and twisted her to the ground. At the same time, he thrust Kate at his partner.
The smaller man held her roughly against his chest, still arguing, still waving the gun.
Then Kate screamed.
A black streak passed behind Beth. The man pinning her to the ground disappeared with a grunt.
Freed, she turned and stared, transfixed for a second, as the cat tore at him. The urgency of their situation cut her interest short. She scrambled to her feet in time to see Kate shoulder her stunned captor aside, knocking the gun from his hand.
Beth kicked the weapon under a shrub at the side of the track. She followed Kate’s trail into the relatively sparse growth beneath the canopy. They ran.
Behind them, the man’s screams cut off.
They wove through the trees in the almost dark. The monkeys’ frantic hooting made it impossible to hear if anyone followed.
The cat roared, much closer than Beth expected.
Kate cried out. Beth slowed to a stop, looking over her shoulder, terrified she’d find the cat attacking her friend.
Kate sat, legs splayed, on the ground where she’d fallen, safe for the moment. She stared back the way they’d come, her expression confused and frightened. Beth followed her gaze.
Carlos strode toward them from the shadows. Speechless with relief, Beth spun on her heels and ran to him.
He stopped where Kate sat and bent to offer his hand.
Kate gaped at him, her face a mask of confusion. “B’alam,” she said. She took the hand he offered and let him pull her to her feet as Beth walked up.
“Are you okay?” Beth asked. Had Kate bumped her head when she fell? What did she say?
Kate blinked a few times, never taking her eyes from Carlos. Her confusion turned to awe.
“You’re naked,” she said.
His gaze fixed on her, but he made no comment.
Beth said as calmly as she could manage, “Carlos, poachers…two at least. The cat attacked. He must be near. Why are you naked?”
“I took care of the poachers.”
“He’s the cat.”
“You took care of them? Are they dead?”
“No, running for town.” His eyes, still locked to Kate’s, filled with despair.
“Did you hear me, Beth? He’s the cat.”
Beth gaped at her like she spoke some obscure language.
“B’alam,” Kate said. “Leave it to you to get a god to fall in love with you.”
“I don’t understand. Carlos, what is she talking about?”
Carlos turned sad eyes to her. “I’m so sorry, querida. You were never to see this. Talk to Kate. She can tell you what she knows. I should go now.”
“You mean I’m right?” Kate said. “Don’t go. I have a million questions. How old are you?”
“Older than I look. Beth, forgive me. I will go now.”
“No, Carlos. Wait!”
He walked three steps and his body began to contort. A scream developed in Beth’s throat and stuck as his legs shortened, back lengthened. When the cat stood before her, it glanced back. All that remained of Carlos was the eyes.
“Jesus,” Kate said.
Beth felt her legs give way, then nothing.
* * * *
She came around slowly to the sound of Kate calling her name. When her eyes finally opened, her friend’s worried face looked down at her.
“Are you all right?”
Beth shook her head. She was far from all right, but couldn’t put two thoughts together coherently enough to voice it. With no energy to protest, she let Kate help her to her feet and walk her back toward the road in silence.
The Jeep was where they’d left it, but turned around facing the way they’d come. Both their packs lay in the back undisturbed.
Without a word, Beth climbed into the passenger seat. If Kate didn’t feel up to driving, they would have to sit here until she did. Beth had no desire to get behind the wheel, or to hurry back to the compound.
Kate started the engine right up. No one said a word for the hour drive back to where they’d started. Beth went directly to her room and lay in her hammock, leaving Kate to decide what to tell the others.
He’d warned her. She’d thought he wanted to hide the fact he’d been in prison, or had smuggled drugs in his sordid youth, or some other perfectly normal skeleton. That he wasn’t human–scientists’ minds did not go in those directions. He was beautiful beyond belief, but everything about him said man. He tasted like a man, smelled like one. Yes, he made her body sing like no man had before, but the only magic there was the magic in her heart.
Yet she had to believe what her eyes told her. As a scientist, she should want to explore, to find out why the impossible was, after all, possible. She didn’t, though. She wanted only to remember Carlos as he lay beside her after love, sweet and vulnerable, spent and happy.
The secret revealed. Carlos did not exist. She couldn’t think of him as he was, so she mourned what he wasn’t.
Later in the afternoon, Kate stopped at her threshold. She held a thick book much like the dozens of textbooks Beth had hoped never to see again after four years as an undergrad science major.
Beth roused herself, ready for answers.
Kate spread the book open on the small desk next to the window.
“Here he is.” She pointed to one of four statues pictured on a page of pre-Columbian art. “B’alam Agab, the night jaguar–supposedly one of the four progenitors of mankind–that’s the Maya legend. The Olmec, however…”
“Kate, you’re not talking hundreds of years here; you’re talking millennia.”
Kate glanced up. “Yeah.”
Beth skimmed through the passage next to the picture, then read it more closely. When she finished, she flipped the book closed and shoved it at Kate. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Like, who would believe me?” Kate said, pulling the book to her chest. “I want to talk to him, though. Imagine the history he could clear up. Olmec! Beth, so little is known…”
“Anything he told you couldn’t be proved.”
“Well, I understand that. But you can’t expect me to stop wanting to know. That’s my job, right?”
* * * *
At breakfast, Carter clinked his cup for their attention.
“Carlos has been called away. He won’t be back,” he announced.
Everyone turned to Beth.
“What did you do?” Sam asked.
Kate stuck up for her. “Leave her alone. Beth didn’t do anything to make him go.”
“The situation was a disaster waiting to happen,” Sam said. “Just great, Beth. Now we don’t have a guide for a month until Antonio gets back.”
Look for the final chapter, Chapter 7, on March 9.
Thanks for reading.
and, oh, if you’ve already read, a couple stars would be appreciated. Better yet, stars and a review🙂
February 14, 2011
Sometimes the best-laid plans don’t mean you get laid.
Chaz and Mike are inaugurating their life together as an openly gay couple. Bliss is inevitable, until a dead relative rises up and brings their plans to a screeching halt.
Chaz’s not-so-dearly departed Amish Uncle Silas has bequeathed his nephew his farm . . . and a $60,000 tax bill if Chaz doesn’t play by the rules.
With empty wallets, the duo and their kitten, TCT, head off for Iowa to live on the farm for ninety days – without electricity or plumbing . . . or sex.
While Mike finds trees to climb, horses to ride, and a big ax to play with, and TCT discovers a wide array of critters to chase and capture, Chaz faces a past veiled in mystery.
As a young boy, Chaz spent time on the farm. Why can’t he remember the giant oak tree or the ancient barn? Each time he tries to enter the barn, terror stops him cold.
Chaz will need courage he’s never had before, along with all the strength in his partner’s lusciously muscled body, to solve the riddles plaguing him. Keeping Mike and his axe from chopping off the wrong piece of lumber might not be a bad idea, either.
“Chaz, it’s a dick, not a birthday candle.” Mike rolled his eyes.
This wasn’t working out at all like I’d thought it would. It had become painfully obvious the best-laid plans didn’t always mean you got laid.
I looked up from between Mike’s muscled thighs. The un-bottled perfume of his heat and pearly drops of natural lubricant hung in the air.
“Then why do they call it a blowjob?”
I certainly didn’t know. I’d bruised myself the first time I tried to beat off. The epiphany – and me – came when I massaged my swollen member to ease the pain.
He flopped his head onto the pillow and rubbed his brow in an attempt to stave off the obvious headache. “I don’t know, man. Why do they call showing somebody your ass, ‘shooting the moon?’ The moon doesn’t have a butt crack through the middle of it.”
The size of the monster in my hands set my tongue on a collision course with my quivering nerves. “Actually, it has nothing to do with the moon. Well, not in the classic idiom of the earth’s singular satellite. The terminology relates to the concept of bringing darkness into the light. The adage purportedly has historical references as far back as Adonis. You see, Adonis, by popular opinion, somewhere along the line became confused, intertwined if you will, with a nonexistent god named Adidas. Thusly, Adidas holds reference to ‘false identify,’ which in turn may, at times, depending on the debate, also mean ‘to bring out the reality of that concealed.’ In layman’s vocabulary, ‘shooting the moon’ is a primitive means of revealing something previously hidden. I can explain it further if it would help?”
His left hand joined his right in massaging his temples. “No. I’ve got it. Thanks.”
A muffled shriek rose from my throat. “You’re losing your erection!”
“Ya think?” Rolling onto his side, he patted the black silk sheets. “Come up here and lay with me.”
Begrudgingly, I obliged him. It was to be our first time. Not just as a couple, but as an openly gay couple. Two virginal homosexuals surrendering our homosexual virginity to each other. A beautiful, life-changing experience, and I’d blown it . . . sort of.
Mike pulled me in close. Even had I wanted to resist, which I didn’t, the strength of the high-rise construction worker wouldn’t have allowed me to. Tall and lean, the man’s muscles had muscles.
His abs weren’t washboard, they were those warning strips the street department puts down to wake up drivers so they don’t cruise through a stop sign. I swear his eyelids could lift as much weight as my spindly arms could. I leaned against telephone poles. Mike climbed them – upside down.
Warm, wet, his lips pressed a kiss onto my throat. My cock responded with a few drops of its own wetness, then shuddered and throbbed when his hand engulfed it.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” The words, throaty, all man, thrust more blood into my erection than I thought it could handle. My testicles tightened when he dotted my chest with kisses, a trail of wanting to my waist.
The Cat Too. TCT for short. A tuxedo kitten Mike had given me, the traitorous creature had abandoned me for Mike. Sat on his shoulder like a parrot.
I’d put it out of the bedroom. If it was going to throw a hissy fit every time Mike and I made – tried to – make love, we needed another plan.
Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. The doorbell? Great. Just fricking wonderful.
The moment, and my erection, waning, Mike rolled onto his back and sighed. “You get the impression this isn’t supposed to happen today?”
“There’s always tonight.” I whispered, kissed his forehead, then tumbled off the bed. Slipping into gray flannel shorts and a T-shirt, I opened the bedroom door. There stood TCT, back arched, tail perpendicular, eyes focused towards the entrance to our apartment. He hadn’t thrown a fit about us, he’d known before the bell rang somebody was at the door.
“Good, kitty.” I stroked his back. He responded by wrapping his fur ball body around my hand, sank needle-sharp teeth and claws into my skin, then left me bleeding while he bolted through the doorway and scrambled up the covers to lie next to Mike.
My cat. Yeah, right.
Wounded, both in body and spirit, I opened the front door.
“Chaz Westerbrook?” the woman asked – in a baritone voice.
“Yes?” I scoured the face. Nothing about it held any familiarity. Either as a male or female. The orange bouffant looked nice, in a Folies-Bergere sort of way. The Adam’s apple had a point capable of popping balloons. He was tall enough, that’s where my line-of-sight rested.
“Would you autograph this for me? Please?”
In his hand he held a copy of my debut novel, “A Kiss From the Shadows,” the first book of my gay love trilogy. A fan. My chest and ego swelled with pride.
“Certainly.” Taking the novel from him, I asked, “Do you have a pen?”
He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his lavender paisley sundress and pulled a pen out of his black lace bra.
I opened the cover. “Who would you like it to?”
“Jasmine. If you don’t mind?”
His smile was priceless. Really. All of the teeth were capped in gold with diamond insets on the canines. I didn’t want to ask why. He might have told me.
“To Jasmine,” I said aloud. “You will always be in my thoughts. Chaz.” It was true. How could I forget him? His chest was hairier than TCT. I handed the book back to him. “Have you ever considered filling in your cleft? You remind me of a young Kirk Douglas.” I left out the part about a young Kirk Douglas crossbred with King Kong.
“I get that a lot.” He embraced the book to his chest, licked it – yuck – and opened a lime green shoulder bag. “You seeing anyone?” The long-lashed, brown eyes looked a little too hopeful.
“Yeah, snow cone.” The growl came from behind me. “He’s in a relationship, so hit the bricks.”
“Well,” he huffed. “In that case . . . .” The book went in the bag. When he withdrew his hand, a sheaf of papers thumped against my chest.
“You’ve been served.”
February 12, 2011
Alas for lost innocence. Author Cari Silverwood has left it far behind. In fact, she’s jumped so enthusiastically into the kinkier side of erotic romance that we heard her inviting Darth Vader to a bondage and hot wax session. (I think he accepted)
Although Cari is previously published under another name in another genre, I think she’s going to stay on the dark side for a while. Her characters have given her a long list of sexual activities they want to try, and she’s having way too much fun trying to incorporate the various positions, places, and…other things…into her stories.
Surprisingly serene despite having a teen and preteen, Cari lives in Australia with a husband who is master of the raised eyebrow when catching glimpses of what she writes. Since she’s a pet-lover with an amazingly diverse menagerie–dogs, cats, lizards, fish, and birds–it’s not surprising that her cocker spaniel managed to sneak his way into her story. And you can get an idea of her sense of humor–the floppy-eared, puffy-pawed spaniel is named “Killer”.
Her first erotic romance, Three Days of Dominance, is coming out this spring from Loose Id, and having read parts of it, I’d say readers are in for a thrill.
Blurb for Three Days of Dominance
When a man with mint-green eyes steps from a lake and offers to rescue Danii’s dog in exchange for three days of total obedience, it’s obvious he must be either joking or crazy. And, being a police officer, she knows how to handle the crazies. But when it comes to Heketoro, she’s the one being handled. Each day their lovemaking becomes wilder and Danii discovers exactly how far this man can take her. Though the tattoos drawing themselves on his body make it clear he’s not quite human, to Danii what’s more important is their burgeoning love for each other.
An ancient curse prevents Heketoro from returning to his world. With one last ritual of love needed to break this curse, Heketoro’s enemies return and threaten to destroy him by using his only weakness — Danii. Will love, or their enemies, triumph?
Excerpt (note – this is an early, unedited version)
Her wrists were drawn taut, above her head, secured to the headboard by ropes of thorned red rose and bougainvillea. The pricks of their thorns threatened to puncture her dream. She resisted that, wanting more. Raising her head, she stared down the length of her body, past her red protruding nipples, and along her stomach where sweat lined the floral rope fastening her thighs up against her body. With her bottom tilted and her legs spread, her pussy was open, available.
The man, his black hair spread in floating streamers about his head, lifted his head from between her thighs and she gasped, rolling her hips upwards. The wet tip of his tongue slid across as he licked her juices off his lower lip. Her clit, so recently probed by that clever tongue, pulsed. If he didn’t put it back there, soon…
She panted, feeling his thumbs glide in the slickness of her labia, felt them sink deep, then deeper inside, and gasped again, lost in the molten sensation. She tried to move her arms, her legs, and couldn’t. Trapped and pinioned for him to do what he wished. Excitement screwed her insides a notch tighter. Her vagina squeezed around his thumbs. He pulled them out and she mewed at the loss.
Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he rose to his feet, shifting position until his hands wrapped around her thighs and the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.
Anticipation made everything feverish bright, sent lust snaking, thick as syrup, to her groin. Her thigh muscles juddered as she pushed up vainly against the rope. The rope tightened. The thorns bit down.
The man smiled with satisfaction as her struggling subsided, becoming a trembling acceptance of what was to come. He drove the head of his cock into her, sliding inside, and halted. She groaned, anticipating the thrust as he penetrated farther.
Watching her intently, he skated his finger in tantalizing circles about her clit, sometimes touching the aching nub, and sometimes not. He gripped it between finger and thumb, and squeezed, then thrust with his cock, then squeezed, then thrust — the rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge, her clit so swollen she was sure she’d explode if her release was held off a second longer.
Withdrawing until the head barely parted her lips, he poised there, making her ache, making her want.
Aaah. She arched, threw back her head, opened her mouth…and something soft and furry landed on her. A long tongue swept across her face. The dream dissolved.
Danii opened one eye. Two doggy eyes looked back.
“Killer,” she rasped. Her Cocker Spaniel barked twice and squirmed closer. She plonked a hand on his head to still his tongue and squinted at the alarm clock.
“Six o’clock. Gah! Couldn’t you have waited one more minute? We nearly did it this time!” Not that it would have mattered. Her dreams always ended before she came, though this time had been close, much closer than usual.
Danii squeezed her thighs together and groaned. She really needed a lover. Only, good men didn’t grow on trees, especially not men that did special tricks with bougainvillea. Whoa, that had been something, way too kinky. She’d never let a man do that to her for real, but in dreams, in dreams it was…nice.
Killer barked again, more urgently.
“You want to go for your walk, don’t you?”
He ruffed and sat up, tail swishing across the sheets.
“Okay. Okay. I’m getting up.”
* * * * *
Getting her mind in gear in the early morning was something she’d had practice at for years. Within half an hour, Danii was at the lake, having wrenched on jeans and a top and collected the neighbor’s dog like she’d promised. The lake was pristine blue-green, cool, and still. The sun’s rays struggled over the horizon in little sparks and glints that hurt her eyes when she looked up.
Preoccupied by thoughts of what might await her at work, Danii barely noticed the concrete path under her feet, the ducks cruising on the water, or the myriad other life in and around the lake. She’d been here a million times and the dogs more than made up for her inattention as they sniffed weeds and tree trunks, a patch or two of sodden grass, and eyed off everything that moved.
Most likely there’d be a long list of thefts and assaults to investigate today. No court appearances, thank heavens.With a wrench she brought her mind back to the here and now — time for all the stresses of work later, when she had to think about it.
Killer and Jugsy, the neighbor’s Dalmatian, easily kept up with her on the lazy walk around the lake, though the Dalmatian had a habit of doing pretzel maneuvers around Killer every so often.
A distinctive child’s hat with butterfly appliqué rested abandoned on the grass ahead. She knew Marie, the mother of the child, and went to pick it up. Jugsy’s lead tangled with Killer’s at the same time she bent over. She absentmindedly fiddled with the lead, and dropped it.
In that one millisecond of sloppiness, a dragonfly darted across Jugsy’s nose, and he took off like a spotted rocket. She lunged then dived for the loop of the lead, and missed. With a gigantic splash, Jugsy plunged into the lake and was yards out before she’d scrambled up off the grass.
Holy hells. Who was to know the dog could win an Olympic medal in dog paddle?
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February 11, 2011
have always loved other worlds so it was so natural to create new ones with my books. With Blue Heaven, I called upon some historical and mythical aspects of history so the world where Stryver and Blue walked was solid and very visual. I must have done something right cause the reader reviews have been high. As with all authors, we want our readers to ‘get’ the story and ‘love’ our characters. So here’s a taste of chapter one of my debut novel, Blue Heaven.
Siren buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/blue-heaven
Amazon buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Heaven-Publishing … 299&sr=1-1
Jadette’s Website: http://www.jadettepaige.weebly.com
Jadette’s blog: http://www.jadettepaige.blogspot.com
On strong winds from Heaven, Fate arrives to play with empty hearts.
Take him from Heaven’s Seat. Bring him to me. We will protect his sacred head. Master Aidal’s instructions ran through Stryver Zorti’s mind as he entered the main gate of the religious city. They helped him to remain focused on his goal.
Two Raegemon soldiers brushed past him. He stiffened, lowered his head, and glanced back. The two armored men disappeared into a cluster of people. They hadn’t paid attention to his rough, leather attire worn by most mercenaries. And why would they? Even mercenaries attended the annual festival.
He wished his old friend, comrade, and lover, Rance, was alive to help watch his back. But no, the protection, the connection they had shared on and off missions had ended a year prior after a poison dart pierced his lover’s spine.
He clenched his fists, shaking off the depressing memories. Once this mission was done, he’d have his freedom to live alone. Once free from his servitude to his master, he’d find a nice little farm, nothing too large, and grow fruit trees. He’d never seek another relationship. Rance’s loss hurt too much.
If all went the way he planned, he’d hide in the cathedral, and when night fell, he’d have the prize. He needn’t worry about the guard discovering his purpose here. He’d slip unnoticed by the warriors to steal their most precious person.
He found his target, the holiest of men, on Sanctuary Avenue, the road leading to the Cathedral of Heaven’s Seat. Revelers flowed about him, celebrating the Leirinto Festival in honor of another flourishing year in the Raegemon region of upper Jomin Provence.
Stryver moved along the avenue, even with the dais carried by four shaved-head monks dressed in flowing, golden robes. Curiosity drove him forward. One look up close at the revered man wouldn’t hurt. A simple glance to measure what challenge his target might offer when Stryver kidnapped him.
He swung his gaze toward the human instilled with a god’s soul.
The wind gusted, ruffling Stryver’s hair and swaying the long linen bands streaming from the Godchild’s hat. Decorative pennants snapped.
Fathomless, clear azure eyes, purity radiating from them, glanced his way. They snagged and held Stryver’s eyes, burning into his mind, branding his soul.
The Godchild’s eyes widened with surprise, recognition, or fear. Stryver couldn’t tell.
A light flickered deep within Stryver’s chest. It grew warmer, the heat increasing with each heartbeat. He stumbled closer. He lifted a hand. Desire to touch the holy man overrode his normal caution. Uncontrollable need to discover what lay hidden beneath the white linen robes, the intricate folded hat, and the silken veil dominated his actions. He had to view the Godchild’s features, his body, naked to his gaze.
Breaths lasted an eternity.
The light in Stryver’s chest brightened, spreading warmth, anticipation. The holy man looked away.
The connection between them broke. The Godchild’s attention moved to the next person lining the crowded streets.
Gasping for air, trembling, Stryver stopped, his arm still raised.
He stared at nothing, his senses dulled.
One of the monks mingling in the crush of people placed something in his hand, said a quiet, mumbled blessing before disappearing in the crowds.
Someone bumped him.
Bright clothes streaked by. Pennants waved. The long poles they were attached to tilted. Painted masks leered. The noise, the smells converged on him. Celebrants dressed in home-spun clothes, alongside dark-robed, hooded pilgrims, slipped past him in a human array of textures, noises, and odors, jostling him out of the way. The procession moved forward.
The mind-numbing innocence, the purity of the holy man’s gaze sent chills through Stryver. His body shook from the aftershocks. Weakened, vulnerable, he staggered into the nearest alley. He slumped against the dingy brick wall. He drew in deep gulps of air tinged with smoky incense to calm his racing heart, barely managing to gain control of his senses.
What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He couldn’t go through with this mission. The man’s power was overwhelming.
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