Some Write It Hot

October 29, 2010

An Era Halloween By KevaD

Filed under: Free read,Who we are — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Ali Katz opened the door, a wry grin playing at one corner of her strategically painted lips. “Good evening, Domme Evanne.”

Evanne Lorraine, clad in black latex, an orchid stapled to her vest, disdainfully surveyed the
room before responding. “Domme Ali. Has the new submissive arrived?”

“I’m afraid not,” Amber Green interjected, handing Evanne a freshly iced glass of lemonade.

“The novice failed to arrive at the established hour.” Wickedly, a brow rose, a hint to her anticipation. “We could dispatch a reminder.”

Lifting her creamy white chin, Ali uttered the one name none in attendance dared speak but her. “Cher.”

From the far corner of the room, Cherise Sinclair righted herself to full erection. “How may I be of service, Domme Ali?”

Behind her, now visible, Ash Penn stroked the hair of DH Starr, then, checked the leather straps at his wrists securely bound to ‘O’ rings bolted into the wall. “See, Doug? It’s mind over matter. Once the body is captured, the mind simply doesn’t matter.”

Lauren Fraser seized the opportunity and butted up against the man’s ass, twisting her lithe body around him like a python.

“But, I’m gay,” he sputtered.

“Oh, relax, silly. I’m not going to take your clothes off. I just need to know if it’s possible to do a rear entry and lick a nipple at the same time.”

“Maybe if you slipped under him and hung there like baby possums do on their mothers,” offered Elaina Lee. “I think Gillian wrote a scene like that once.”

Gillian Archer pranced over to the threesome, her interest undulating. She dropped to her knees and ran a practiced hand along Doug’s torso. “Not enough room. You’re too tall for him. You’d be flat on your back.”

Stella Price called out from a barstool at the kitchen counter. “I don’t mind my women on their back. There’s still an audience for missionary.”

A nudge to her ribs cut off her ejaculation. “A little oral’s a good thing. Too much and the client thinks that’s all you can do.” Jenika Snow returned to sliding her fingers up and down the straw in her daiquiri. “You think I can get the drink to come to me without sucking if I do this long enough?”

Charles stared blindly at her; his face flushed, then, he quickly dialed the number of his fiancée. “Cancel the movie. Cancel the popcorn. But keep the butter handy.”
Near the back door Linda LaRoque, with virginal nervousness, muttered. “I know we just joined this bunch. But if we leave now, do you think we can keep our morality intact?”

A deep-throat pulse of self-induced pleasure erupted from Shaw Carey. “I hope not.”

“Oooh.” The sound, more heated passion than word, floated from Keta Diablo next to them. “Now that’s hot.”

Linda and Shaw’s unexplored arousal perked.

Cross-legged on the floor, Christopher diligently typed on a laptop.

“Is he working on a story?” Linda asked.

“Noo.” Keta’s hand slipped to her waistband, then lower. “Marketing strategies.”

On the sofa, Judith Leger glanced to her left at Jadette Paige, the other half of her Siamese twin costume. “What would you call a position where you lie prone on a man’s back, and stick your face between his legs?”

“Stupid.” A throaty growl slithered from Jadette’s lips.

Judith scrunched her nose. “What’s that pounding?”

Jadette’s mouth pursed. “William Neale. I locked him in the bathroom.”


“Yesterday.” She flopped her feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Ow.” KevaD turned his head and glared at the duo. “Did you have to wear spurs for chrissakes?”

“Silence, sub.” Cate Chase stepped on his fingers as she strode past. “You’re a table. Don’t forget that. Tables don’t speak.”

Ellie Heller knelt, a steaming round pan in her hands. “Would you like some of my succulent pie, KevaD?”

He flashed a wanting grin. “Sure. Love a piece of your pie anytime.”

She set the burning pan on his shirtless back and walked away. “There you go. Enjoy.”

Standing behind the sofa, Lillian Grant suckled an oyster from its shell. “That was cold, doll.”

Carol licked the glistening juice from the tip of the hardened casing. “This is my first time.”

“You’d never know it. You always swallow?” Lillian kept her tone polite.

“I meant my first time at an ERA soirée. Not cleaning the juice from something hard I just had in my mouth.”

Lillian looked around the room. “Kinda weird being the only two from down under, don’t ya’ think?”

“I don’t know. I think a few folks here have been down and under more than once.”

“I’m talking about Australia.”

“Oh. Are you an Aussie, too?” Carol asked.

“Didn’t the accent give you a hint?”

“I don’t think you have an accent. They all do, but I hadn’t noticed anything odd about you except the way you keep taking notes.”

“Not notes. I’m an accountant by day. I’m keeping track of how many oysters you chuck down before you upchuck.”

“Who’s that in the black robe and mortar cap?” Carol, new, hadn’t met everyone yet.

“Kimberely. She just got her masters degree. Besides writing, she loves to fish.”

“No. Oh no. Please. Don’t.” Carol cringed.

“Yup. Now she’s a master baiter.”

Ali’s voice silenced the room. “We need your special services, Cher.”

Cherise scurried across the plank flooring. “How may I serve thee, Domme Ali, Domme Evanne, and Domme Amber?”

“The new sub has failed to obey our instructions. We require the upstart be brought before us.”

She turned, her voice edgy, sharp. “Debbie. Jerri.”

Jerri Drennen and Debbie Vaughan bolted to her side.

“Retrieve the insubordinate one.”

Debbie reached behind her back, produced a matte black Glock 45caliber pistol, and quickly jacked a round into the chamber. Jerri snagged a stun gun from her waistband and promptly slapped the tip against Debbie’s arm. She twitched all the way to the floor.

“What the fu…?” Debbie scrubbed her face with her free hand, pointed the Glock at Jerri’s crotch with the other. “Five seconds and I pull the trigger.”

“I had to make sure the batteries still work. They’re from an old vibrator.” Jerri held out a hand and pulled Debbie to her feet.

Debbie scowled at Jerri before addressing Cherise. “What does the ignorant one look like, Cherise?”

Barbara Sheridan yanked a black drape from the wall. “Here. On the other side of the glass. The one seated at the keyboard, daring to look in at us, a voyeur believing safety exists beyond our imagination.”

Jerri and Debbie’s faces contorted to leering smiles, their perverse glee visible to me through the computer screen.

The armed duo walked towards me. “Thy will be done.”

October 28, 2010

3-D Excitement by Cate Chase

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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One day last week, I was wandering around Facebook and found this article on 3-D printing. You can read the article for the details, but someone has come up with a copier that works just like I write!
It layers, using malleable substances like plastic or metal. Think phyllo dough or papier mache.

Using this technology, a company called Bespoke is creating artificial limbs you can run through your dishwasher!

Anything you can think up can be 3-D printed, as long as you can draw the design. I’m sure it won’t be too long before they can give one of those 3-D copiers a holographic image and press the COPY button.

This technology also encourages mom and pop businesses. Let’s say you make odd looking lamps and don’t want to sell them to IKEA to mass produce. Buy your own 3-D copier, set up a page on the internet and create on demand. Doll houses, Prefab walls you simply attach to another wall…

This fantastic concept kept me up for three nights.

I’m not out to create cookie cutter books, but for me, writing is about layers. If I can get the dialog down, the rest comes rushing in and gets added a layer at a time. I posted something for crit the other day, and Amber asked me, “What about the smells?”

Woops, Good catch, Amber!

The other direction it took me was what if someone gave the copier a design for a magic box? And what if they printed several boxes and just set them out on a table at a park? Book plot here we come!

My grandmother was born before cars were common. She got to see us go to the moon and much more. For our generation and our children’s, technology could potentially make the world my twenty year old knows now completely obsolete in only a few years time.

And the best part is I get to write, to live and work in the creative world, which makes me a little bitty part of things as wonderful as a 3-D copier!

October 27, 2010

Wicked Games by Evanne Lorraine

Filed under: backlist — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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A few years ago, before I’d ever heard of cougar stories, I wrote Wicked Games, the erotic adventure of an older woman younger man relationship that becomes much more complex than either of them imagined. Since writing this tale, I hope I’ve learned a bit more about how to write, but each story still has a special spot in my heart. I hope you enjoy the excerpt.

The massage room’s door creaked open and she bolted to her feet. A young sex god, in all his bronzed glory, sauntered out of the room.

The masseur.

At the sight of him, she drew in a startled breath. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected and she wasn’t prepared for the effect of meeting him. He was bare from the waist up, his upper body gleamed, redolent with intoxicating oil. A white towel draped around his neck, highlighting his tan. A sprinkling of curly black hair decorated the sculpted muscles of a magnificent chest. A narrow trail of the same dark hair arrowed down washboard abs, disappearing into his cotton slacks.

When she was able to draw her gaze to his face, she found classic features, along with darker than sin eyes. He evaluated her with frank masculine appraisal. A wave of sensual longing swept through her, clenching feminine muscles and tightening her nipples. Thankfully, the white shirt she’d tossed on over her bikini obscured the direction of her thoughts.

He eyed her with an expression of faint amusement. “You wish to schedule a massage, for you and your husband?”

As if his face and body alone weren’t enough to send her hormones into lusty overdrive, his voice was deep, seductive, and the English words he spoke lightly accented by French.

“Just me,” she breathed.

He arched one eyebrow. “No husband?”

“No husband,” she said in a more normal tone, tilting her chin and daring him to make fun of her single status here in honeymoon heaven.

“Me neither,” he said, taking her elbow, and then walking her toward the main entrance.

More thrilled than was sensible by his easy touch, she teased him. “No husband?”

“No wife,” he grinned at her and a single dimple winked.

She swallowed a sigh of pure sexual yearning. Of course, there was no wife. He was too young and handsome.

“When?” he asked.

Right here, right now. Well, perhaps over there behind those lush plants, where no one would notice.
“When do I want the massage?” She asked coolly, ignoring the inappropriate clamor in her lust-soaked mind.

“Exactly,” he said with a smaller smile. One that didn’t include the dimple.

“Now?” She twisted toward the massage room.

“Non,” he said abruptly, and then just as quickly softened his tone. “Now is not good, in one hour at your cabin. Oui?”

“My cabin? Why not the massage room?” Faint tingles of alarm skittered along her spine. Yes, he was young, virile, and way too good-looking. But, he was also a powerfully built man – a stranger who could be hiding dangerous intentions.

Broad shoulders rippled with a too casual shrug. “We could, some clients prefer their own quarters–a massage is very relaxing. Many prefer to take a nap afterwards. It is your choice,

What was the worst thing that could happen? That this young sex god would ravish her. Wasn’t that exactly what she needed? Perhaps, but jumping into a sexual encounter…. Was it smart? Was it safe? Was it sane?

No, times three.

Some strange brazen woman took control of her mouth, speaking coolly. “My cabin is number six. See you in an hour.”

Stop by to visit me any time, at my website to read more dangerously sexy stories.

October 26, 2010

Master of the Abyss by Cherise Sinclair

Filed under: New Release — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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On the mountain, the watcher seeks out evil women. And then they die.

Two years ago, when Jake Hunt uncollared his slave, she committed suicide. Guilt-ridden, he will commit to a woman for one night only, devoting his energy to a mountain lodge that caters to a BDSM crowd.

Kallie Masterson is tough. Unwanted as a child, she worked hard to become a wilderness guide. She’s proud of who she is, and hurt that Jake frowns on her for acting like a man.

After rescuing the macho guide from a bar fight, Jake is stunned that the ugly men’s clothing hides a warm, responsive woman. A submissive woman. When guide business brings her to the lodge on BDSM night, and she is obviously aroused by the play, Jake takes the little sub right into his world of pain and pleasure. He warns her: one night only. But she responds so beautifully — so joyously — under his command, that one night soon becomes two, then three…

Then a missing hiker reminds Jake of his past lover, and he realizes he’s become too involved. He pulls back.

Meanwhile, the watcher on the mountain has rendered his verdict: Kallie Masterson is evil. The sentence: Death.


“Uh.” Kallie’s face heated. Why couldn’t those floorboards crack open and let her disappear? Where was a good earthquake when you needed one? How much had he heard?

“Yes, Kallie, you do resemble her,” he said in an even tone. He’d definitely caught Simon’s comment. Her face was probably red enough to light the room.

“Oh. Well.” I look like an old girlfriend. Reassuring at first, then rather uncomfortable.

He set his foot on the couch beside her hip and leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knee, studying her until she had to force herself not to squirm. His masculine scent had the tang of a high mountain forest, clean and compelling, but he was intimidatingly close. She edged back against the couch cushions, realizing that after flinging her to the wolves, to Jake, Simon had abandoned her without a word. Her heart thudded inside her chest, more loudly than any spanking or whipping going on.

“I had planned to leave you alone,” he said, half under his breath.

Well, that hurt. “Then go.” She made a shooing motion with her fingers.

“But then you planted yourself in here. Asked questions.”

“I won’t ask any more.” If her heart would only slow down, she’d be able to think. “I don’t want to know anything at all about you or your girlfriend, okay?”

“She was also my submissive,” he said, his voice deep. Rough as a talus slope and as dangerous. “I was her master. Do you know what that means, sprite?”

Mouth too dry to answer, Kallie shook her head. Master?

He stroked one finger along her jaw, slowly enough that she could feel the warmth, the uneven skin of a man who worked with his hands. The strength. “I like the way you heat under my touch,” he murmured, then looked Kallie right in the eyes. “It means she did what I ordered her to do. Always. If I told her to strip and bend over the bed so I could take her from behind, that’s what she did.”

She could feel how his hands would hold her in place, his cock hard between her legs, demanding entry and… The air had completely disappeared from the room.

He gripped her chin, keeping her head tilted up, revealing her face. “I could tell her to lie on the bed with her legs spread, and no matter what I did, no matter how long, she wasn’t allowed to come.”

Kallie felt a burn start in her nether regions. And couldn’t help wondering what he had done. How had he touched her?

His eyes crinkled, and he rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “You’re flushed, little Kallie.”

“I…” She put up a hand to push his away.

“Don’t. Move.” The command swept over her like a strong gale bending the trees in its path, pinning her into stillness. Her body froze…and yet grew even more sensitive. Awake. In fact, she’d never felt like this before…and he’d not even done anything.

He chuckled. “Little submissive.” With both hands, he grasped the front of her shirt and pulled her to her feet. “Simon was right. You do want to play.” It wasn’t a question.

Her heart pounding, her eyes captured by his, she tried to back away, shaking her head. “No. No, really.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kallie,” he said ever so softly, yet all the spit in her mouth dried up.

She averted her gaze and tried to think. She’d wanted him since the first time she saw him. Now she might have him. But here? How brave was she?

She’d never deliberately done anything really outrageous in her whole life, always tried to fit in and not rock the boat. But right now she wanted to swamp the boat completely. If she did some “you know” with Jake this one time, her cousins would never find out. Her lips curved up. And my dreams will be very interesting. God, yes, I want to try it. But when she looked back at him, at his level gaze, the words stuck in her throat, and she managed only a firm nod.

“Good enough.” His sky blue eyes darkened as if storm clouds had rolled in. “We’re playing together only this one time. Only tonight.”

“I know.” Jake Hunt’s infamous “one night only” rule. With the women he dated, months would go by before he’d call again, and everyone knew he wanted physical intimacy without emotional commitment. But at least he didn’t try to lie about it like some guys. She could handle it. “Not a problem.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if to judge her sincerity. “All right then.” One corner of his mouth turned up, his dark five-o’clock shadow making the half smile look dangerous. “Let’s start with this.” He grasped her country-western shirt, and the snaps spatted like gunfire as he yanked it open.

“Hey!” The air brushed against her hot skin, and she grabbed at the shirtfront.

“Leave it open, sprite. Happens that I like skin.” His devastating grin flashed, halting every single protest. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? “Now let’s find out what you like.” He turned, pulling her in front of him so that her back rested against his chest.

Kallie gulped when she realized he’d turned her to face the woman on the coffee table.

The redhead was still restrained, stomach down. One of the dom’s hands was between her legs, his fingers obviously inside her, thrusting in and out. With his other hand, he alternated swats on her butt cheeks. Hips bucking, she pulled against the restraints.

Kallie’s heart started to pound. She could almost feel the fingers pressing inside her, the stinging of the spanking, and she shook her head. This was way too…too…something. She tried to turn away.

Jake clamped his arm around her waist, an iron bar holding her pinned against him. “Watch, Kallie.” His warm breath brushed her ear.

The woman’s voice kept getting higher — “Oh, Sir. Oh, oh, oh.” — until she climaxed with a scream, her head back and spine arching.

Kallie realized she was panting, and heat pulsed through her with every inhalation. “Let me go.” Her voice came out husky.

“Nope.” He closed his teeth on the muscle between her shoulder and neck, and she gasped as electricity streaked to her groin.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Jake murmured.

No, he was the surprising one. Despite her hot, erotic dreams of him, she’d figured he’d never see her as a woman. He didn’t like her — he hadn’t liked her –so why had he changed his mind? Worry niggled in her stomach like hungry lake trout. “I’m not your old girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice a deep, warm rumble in her ear. He splayed his hand, hot and hard, against her bare stomach.

Every bone in her body dissolved.

But did he understand what she was saying? She tried again. “I’m not her.” And I don’t want to be a substitute for some old girlfriend.

He huffed a laugh. “You sure don’t have her personality.”

That didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Don’t worry. I know you’re Kallie ‘Macho’ Masterson.”

Despite the insulting term, warmth bloomed in her. He had actually, finally, seen her.

He slid his hand beneath her jeans waistband until his fingers rested at the top of her mound, and as with a match held to dry grass, flames erupted inside her. He pressed her back against him, and she could feel the bulge of his erection. Hard. He wanted her. Pleasure warmed her heart. He really did.

Her breath caught as his other hand slid under her bra, settling right over her breast. Her very small breast. She stiffened and tried to pull away, expecting the usual stupid guy’s comment: “Why do you bother with a bra?”

Instead he tightened his arms. “Don’t move, sub.”

The firm command sent heat streaking across her skin. She tried to move — couldn’t — and with the feeling of being immobilized came the realization that he could do…anything. Her insides melted into warm liquid.

He chuckled and bit her earlobe. The sharp, unexpected pain sheared straight to her pussy, and a moan escaped her.

“I think I’ll enjoy tonight after all,” he murmured. “So, short stuff, have you tried anything like this before?”

She barely kept from rubbing against him like a cat. Touch me. Why did he keep talking? Asking a question she didn’t want to answer. But his expectant silence forced a reply. “A few times. But I never liked it.” She’d known this was too good to be true. Be fair to him, Kallie. She added reluctantly, “I’m not submissive or anything, so it’s okay if you find someone else.”

“Sure you’re not.” He slid his hand another inch, one finger on each side of her labia. So close to her clit that she had trouble paying attention to anything but the throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Tell me about those times. What did you do?”

Her brain didn’t want to work. “I… One wanted to handcuff me to the bed, and I wouldn’t let him…although it had sounded exciting at first. Another tried to spank me, and I couldn’t stop giggling.” What else? “Um, pretty much that kind of stuff.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like no trust and no true submission.” He turned her around.

The removal of his warm hands left behind cold places on her skin, and she ached down below like she’d wrenched something in a place where things didn’t get sprained. He’ll tell me to go home now; I should have lied.

He closed his hands on her shoulders. “How much do you trust me, Kallie?”

The question was unexpected, and she had to shift directions. Want, yes. But trust? “I –”

“Let me rephrase that. Can you trust me in here, surrounded by other people, to restrain you, spank you, and give you pleasure?”

Her mouth went dry. The thought of him — Jake — his hands on her, tying her, touching her… She frowned. But spanking?

His eyes crinkled. “You wear your emotions right out there on your face, don’t you, sugar?”

She thought of the dom and his sub, how he’d brought her to climax with his fingers. “Does pleasure mean us both or just me?”

“Well, now” — he slowly stroked his finger down her cheek, his gaze intent on her face — “I figured on just you, using my hands.”

The words welled up like a balloon expanding in her chest. “I want more; I want you in –” Couldn’t say it; just couldn’t… “Um.”

“You want my cock inside you. Is that what you mean?”

Run over and buy your copy of Master of the Abyss

October 25, 2010

A little of you in each story by Lauren Fraser

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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I was thinking about something a friend was teasing me about a while ago, and it really got me thinking about the characters that I write. She said you sure do like having girls night out. LOL. Now she was completely teasing me when she said it, but it really made me think.

It’s true I really do. I love the connection you get from a group of fantastic friends those people you can count on no matter what. Whether it’s a shoulder to cry while you gorge yourselves on ice cream, or someone to let your hair down with and have a few drinks, or not so few depending on the night.

I like writing and reading about strong women who can look after themselves. Women who don’t need a man to make them feel good about themselves because they are independent and confident in their own way, whatever that looks like. When I look at my female characters they all have a common thread, even when life has torn them down or thrown them for a loop, they still have the reserves within themselves to get back up. And because of that strength they attract a certain kind of man and can hold onto him when the going gets tough.

The physical characteristics vary from book to book but that core strength is always there and sometimes, okay more than sometimes, there’s a hint of tomboy in the female characters, be it that they watch sports, play them or have an athletic build. I honestly hadn’t realized it until my friend was teasing me and now that I’m conscious of it, I’m sure the slight tomboyish characteristic’s will be less noticeable. At least I hope. LOL

But it made me wonder do we all do that? In each book is there a little piece of us in the story? Whether it’s a descriptor of the character’s appearance, their career, a great group of friends or just a favorite drink, is there something that’s you woven in?

Read more from Lauren at her website

October 22, 2010

Deleted Scene from Stray by Ash Penn

Filed under: Free read — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Continuing the theme from my previous post, I thought I might post one of my many deleted scenes. With each new book I write, around a third of the word count tends to get taken out before I’ll submit it for publication. This little scene was taken out of my first published novel, Stray, and is edited for spoilers. It takes place somewhere around chapter 15.

When Dan finally emerged from the cafe, he wasn’t alone. I’d planned on us chatting over a burger somewhere, but that didn’t seem likely now since he’d stepped onto the street with some girl, her long, yellow hair flapping in the wind. She slipped her arm through his as they walked away in the opposite direction. He’d only been working there a week and they trotted along like they’d known each other for years. Bitch.

She got on the bus and Dan gave her a wave when it drew away from the kerb. He headed into a newsagents’ and I paused outside, wondering if I should go in and act surprised when we bumped into each other. Wanting our meeting to appear accidental, I passed on by, continuing to the end of the street before starting a slow wander back. He emerged from the shop just as I got there, clutching a carrier bag. Our eyes met and he froze, like a victim in a horror movie faced with the disfigured, machete wielding, psycho.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

He hunched his shoulders and tried to duck around me.

I stepped into his path. “You can say hi.”

“I’d rather not.” He kept his head down and moved around to my left.

I stepped in front of him again. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know you anymore,” he said. “Please let me pass.”

Okay, so he had a point. We had agreed to become strangers to each other, after all. But this was taking things a little far. What did he see when he reluctantly raised his chin to look me in the face? An unwashed, unshaven wreck, still in the clothes I’d worn when I left him exactly a week before.

“What’s in the bag?” I reached down to take a peek.

“Nothing.” He tried to slip it behind his knees, but I grabbed it off him and looked inside. “You having a party?” I pulled out a pack of party poppers and a set of plastic glasses. There was more party paraphernalia in there too. “It’s not one of Heather’s underwear gigs? She’ll have you modelling her nippleless bras and crotchless panties in no time.”

“No.” He frowned. “It’s for my party, if you must know.”

“Yeah? And what’s the occasion?”

“I’m twenty tomorrow.”

I swallowed, battling that empty pit where my stomach had once been. I forced a smile. “My invitation must have got lost in the post,” I said bitterly cheerful as I dropped his purchases back into the bag and handed it back. “What time do you want me?”

He lowered his gaze. “Well, I don’t. You’re not invited.”

“What are you going to do for guests, then? You don’t know anyone else apart from Heather and that blonde bint you just walked out of work with.”

He looked up sharply. “Have you been watching me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make out like I’m some kind of stalker.” I took another step towards him and he took another back until one foot dropped into the gutter. “But no,” I said, looming over him. “I was just passing by.”

He wrinkled his nose and looked away. “You smell terrible.”

“Yeah?” Hardly news to me. “Ask me why.”

“I don’t need to,” he muttered, and a long time passed before he spoke again. “Heather me about Marc.” He raised his face to look me in the eye. “I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks.” I shoved my hands in my pocket and stared at the kerb. “You could… come round sometime. Show me how sorry you are, If you like.”

“Why on earth would I like?”

“Because maybe you miss me? Like I miss you.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “There’s only one thing you miss from me, Terry. And you can get that anywhere.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I only want it from you. It was pretty bloody hot between us, you have to admit.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Already he started to edge away again. “I need to go.”

He obviously didn’t give a shit about me now he was sorted in this new life I’d helped him get. First Marc, now Dan. A pattern was beginning to emerge and I was the dropped stitch. Well, sod the pair of them. I’d do fine by myself. “You have a nice birthday,” I said, as he walked way. “And a nice life. I’ll try not to bother it again.”

That wasn’t quite true. I couldn’t let his birthday go without getting him something. After everything he’d gone through, after everything I’d put him through, he did deserve something nice. Something special. Currys was still open on the high street. I nipped in and bought an iPod on the credit card, took it home, wrapped it in yellow paper and stuck a shocking pink bow on the top.

I had no intention of gate-crashing his party. I’d leave my gift outside the door, knock, and hit the stairwell running. He might even think he had a secret admirer — rather than a stalker.

I arrived about eight and pulled up outside where a group of people were gathered at the intercom waiting to be buzzed in. I vaguely recognised the blonde girl he’d left work with among them.

“Excuse me,” I said, dusting off my politest voice. “You going up to number ten?”

She turned towards me as the rest of the crowd headed through the door and looked me up and down. There I was, bearded, grubby, and skulking. No wonder she took a step back into the safety of the foyer. “Why?”

“Could you give this to the birthday boy?” I held the gift over the threshold.
“Don’t you want to give it to him yourself?”

“I’m not dressed for a party,” I said. Maybe I should have made the effort and changed my clothes but I never intended anyone to see me. I’d only intended to drop it at Heather’s door, knock, and run like the wind.

“Who shall I say it’s from?” She lowered her gaze to the gift, eye shadow glittering under the security lights. “There’s no label.”

“Say it’s from you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.”

I pushed the box at her and she gazed down at it, then up at me. Once again I became the psycho, only this time I’d swapped a machete for the unexploded bomb in her arms.

Read more from Ash here

October 21, 2010

The Fear of Submission by Gillian Archer

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Not the sexy Dom kind, the scary editor kind.

I’m sure it’s not an uncommon thing for newbie writers. Something about the thought hitting that send button and shipping my story off into the big, bad publishing world scares the bejesus out of me. I have tonnes of excuses. The beginning isn’t quite right yet. I’m not sure the hero’s arc is deep enough. Editors probably aren’t even looking for winter themed stories right now–it’s too late in the season. Did I do a comma check? I could go on and on! And believe me, I have to all my writerly friends.

What is it that really frightens me about submitting? Is it rejection? Maybe. But not that any particular publisher will reject me–I’m more afraid all of them will. It’s not a great source of anxiety though. I have more stories and eventually one of them will land with my ideal publisher. No, I think my fear is based on what if someone accepts it. *sigh* I’m crazy, I know. But I don’t feel like I’m ready. I don’t know when or even if I will ever feel ready. I know I still have lots to learn. What if a publisher accepts me and I’m not ready? What if I don’t have the skills to get through the content/line editing process? What if I get accepted but pushed onto an editor who doesn’t like me, one who doesn’t understand my voice? What if I get accepted, get published but no one buys my books?

It’s that last one that freezes me in my tracks and I go down the it’s not ready yet path and round ‘n’ round we go. Eventually the ride will stop. I will have to pick a point and say enough already and push that send button. But I have a feeling that moment will be accompanied by a lot of booze! And maybe a little hand holding!!

Read more from Gillian at her website

October 20, 2010

My first time by Lillian Grant

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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When I first joined ERAuthors I didn’t write erotica. Now don’t get me wrong, my heroes and heroines were far from chaste, but I didn’t get into the in and outs of the consummation of their union. When I was looking for a home for my first novel I submitted it to a few publishers but only one showed any interest, Loose Id. They liked the story but before they would give me a contract they said they wanted me to submit a rewritten sex scene. I do believe my editor got her point across by mentioning the words hot and sex more times in one letter than I will ever see again.

Other than the stories I critiqued on ERAuthors, I had never read erotica but I thought, how hard can it be? Silly, silly me! Not only do you have to work out who does what to whom and when, you need to describe it in such a way that you don’t sound like a director of a cheap porn movie. It’s easy to write sex but to make it sensual is another thing altogether.

My first attempts sounded like a commentary not unlike those you hear on National Geographic documentaries about mating zebras. Not sexy at all. Having made sure that in my scene my stars only had two hands, two legs and one of the important bits each, I needed to work out what they could do without sounding like contortionists. Imagine if a reader tried to act it out and damaged themselves? The other problem was how do you describe the most interesting body parts without reusing the same few words over and over again. Thank God for the erotic thesaurus. Who knew there were so many words for the male organ, some of them so funny I was completely distracted from writing. However at last I had the ins and outs written using the most eloquent descriptions. But, alas, my work was far from done. I then needed to know how my characters experienced the seduction and then the consummation of their romance. My story was written from the heroine’s point of view so how did she react mentally and physically to my hero’s best efforts? Thankfully dear Nancy was happy to share her innermost thoughts.

Finally, I decided it worked, and to be honest if I smoked I would have been ready for a cigarette. I never would have believed that something that titillates a reader for mere minutes could take hours to write. I have a much greater respect for erotic authors now, it is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. So hats off to those who give up their time to turn seduction and romance into a beautiful sensual experience for millions of readers worldwide.

October 19, 2010

Vampires by Jenika Snow

Filed under: Writing life — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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So I was sitting in my car the other day listening to a really good Muse song that for the life of me the name has slipped my mind. I’m wondering if I should switch genres?? I enjoy writing about vampires, like really, really love writing about them. I don’t know what it is about them that just draws me….

My husband says I need to write something so out of the box it blows people away, but the thing is, I can’t really picture myself writing anything but vampires, shape shifters and my beloved Dimi of the Seven Moons. Although I have ventured into contemporary, my heart still lies with the unknown.

I think the whole idea of a lover sinking their fangs into you, or a werewolf biting your shoulder to claim you, or even a tribe of seven foot tall warriors that are so possessive, so masculine it leaves you breathless is exciting, tantalizing even…those are the things I enjoy reading as a reader, and so I think I focus all of my writing to fit what I like to read.

Is this wrong? Is this normal? I don’t know, but how do you break a habit, a desire that seems right–that has all of your attention?

So is it old, like a tattered book on a dusty shelf? Heavens know there is enough vampires and werewolves out there to keep anyone happy, but is it too much?

This is what I thought about while I listened to the soft spoken tunes of Muse. So I guess my question is…do you, the reader enjoy when a writer focuses on one thing, or would you like to see them branch off? I hear everyone saying vampires and werewolves will fade away, that the hype will die down, and that may be true, but there is something inside of me that has a feeling that they won’t, that there will always be a desire for the unnatural, or the dark and devilish…that’s just me though, but even if they do die off, I know I would still write about them.

Jenika Snow…Tales to Tantalize

October 18, 2010

Tom’s Story by Debbie Vaughan

Filed under: Free read — dangerouslysexy @ 04:00
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Chapter One

2010. I sat in my new office inhaling the scent of leather and suntan oil waiting for the applicant to arrive. What a winding road led me to this place–my newest business venture. You’ve heard the old cliché, just before you die, your entire life passes before your eyes? Well, I can honestly say it’s true. I thrashed and struggled to no avail as slender arms pinned me to the cot, long dark tresses swirled around my face as her mouth latched to my throat drawing out my life’s blood. She was a mere wisp of a thing, yet I was unable to free myself from her embrace. Truth-be-told, in the beginning I hadn’t wanted to. I hadn’t bedded many women in my life and it had been well nigh two years since my last. Even had that not been so, I don’t think I could have resisted. There was something in her eyes…a dark need…that drew me to her and, to my death.


1842. Momma screamed again and I covered my ears against the sound. She was dying. I knew it. Another cry came in the dark, a weak wail growing stronger as he drew nearer. Pa held a my baby sister out for inspection.

“Can ya’ hold her a bit Tommy boy, while I see to yur Ma?” He placed her in my shaking arms and turned, flipping back the quilt dividing the room.

I stared at the tiny red thing wrapped tightly in the blanket. Ma couldn’t have had a boy? The bundle wriggled and I clutched it tighter, fearing to drop her and risk a switchin’. A tiny fist appeared from the folds of cloth, poking at the rosebud of a mouth. I nudged it with my finger and hers latched round mine. I had a baby sister.


We grew wild and free, like the prairie critters, inseparable. By two, Colleen followed me everywhere. At six I had chores to do and she toddled along every step of the way making everything take twice as long to accomplish. I didn’t really mind although I never said, matter-o-fact, I complained and hollered about it most of the time. Everybody ignored me, Colleen most of all. She remained my shadow for years.

Even as more folk settled the grasslands either side the river, most times we kept to ourselves, unless there was a barn raise’n, weddin’, birthin’ or buryn’. Those times called for a party and no one did a party like the Irish. Everyone was invited, including the injuns. We got on peaceably, with our red neighbors. Us kids playin’ with theirs. Mom would’a tanned our hides if’n she knew we skinnydipped in the Miller’s stock pond. Bad ‘nough fer me. Colleen, never to be outdone by a boy, shucked her shimmy and jumped in not known’ how to swim a lick! She sank to the bottom like a sack full’a stone. Took me and Little Eagle both to pull her to the bank. Collie got her first kiss when he breathed air back into her. He got his first black eye when I laid into him. It was one thing to give her air, ‘nother entirely, when he kept his mouth on hers after. That summer I turned fifteen and Collie would have turned twelve in the fall. Would have…

The cholera took Colleen just shy of her twelfth year and Ma and Pa not long after, leave’n me to run things. Not that there was much left by then, between bad weather, the sickness, goldrushers scrapin’ the land bare on the way to California and the starvin’ injuns picking the stock off one by one. With nothing to hold me to the place but sadness, I saddled up and lit out. No interest in gold, I headed east.

I wasn’t a crack shot, but fair to middlin’ when I left the farm, which kept me fed, more or less. When I came upon a homestead or settlement I occasionally found work fer a spell. Years ran slowly, one into another and I became a man in all ways that counted. The widows took more than a passin’ interest, and not just in the chores I could accomplish for them. After a time the wanderlust always took hold and I would drift to the next place.

I wandered through to Kentucky in the spring of 1862, managing to stay out of the way of the war raging all around me, only to wake surrounded by union soldiers, one foggy April morn. Imagine my surprise opening my eyes to a ring of rifles pointed at my head.

-Read more >

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