Wednesday, December 25, 2013

The Only Way to Celebrate Christmas Around Here... with Julian Casablancas, of course.

Happy holidays, whichever ones you celebrate. I have scheduled this post ahead, and sincerely hope I am not working as you read this.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Then A Miracle Occurs

There's a famous cartoon by Sidney Harris that shows scientists at a board pointing at a complex proof. Between all the math, someone has written, "Then a miracle occurs." Obviously, this is unsatisfying, and yet that comic is so popular because it's captured something very true.

I know a lot about the writing craft. I have a master's degree in writing, have spent my entire adult life making a living this way in one field or another, have done much study and practice on my own, and have attended more workshops than I can count. I've worked with excellent and talented editors, many of whom taught me more than all my formal training put together. I have published hundreds of thousands of words of fiction and nonfiction, and written many hundreds of thousands more.

And yet...

When it comes down to it, I still don't know what goes on when I write my stories. The day before something is due I often don't know how the hell I'm going to make it work and get to the end.

And then a miracle occurs.

(Note: It pleases me thematically to schedule this post for Christmas Eve, but I don't intend to say that miracle is Jesus or anything.)

Monday, December 23, 2013

Twelve Days of Kinkmas

Nina came home from shopping on Black Friday to find her lover, Julia, wearing nothing but a pair of black panties and tying a bow over her pussy.

Nina dropped her shopping bags on the floor just inside the front door to their apartment to drink in the sight of Julia spread out on their light green couch, the fabric bringing out the green in her otherwise blue eyes, muscles taut as she lifted her torso off the couch to observe her own handiwork and a tiny crease of concentration adorning the bridge of her bold nose. Her breasts trembled slightly, betraying the effort it took to hold herself up in that position. Her long brown hair hung in exuberant corkscrews down her back, arms, and front, allowing Nina only the most tantalizing glimpses of her bare nipples.

"What are you doing, babe?" Nina asked, already planning how she might involve herself in Julia's activities.

Julia jumped and turned a startled gaze on Nina, her eyes wide and innocent. "Nothing!"

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like something that's already getting my panties very wet."

Julia tied the finishing touch on the bow. She'd used a satin ribbon stained a deep, rich red. The color brought out the pink tones in her skin, making it seem as if a light blush glowed from her everywhere. "It's your Christmas present."

"It's a month from Christmas." Nina stepped closer. "How about I open it now?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Julia sat straight up, her face stern and her arms crossed over her breasts. Nina couldn't help noticing the way the gesture pushed them upward, emphasizing their enticing curves.

She grinned. "Absolutely not? Even if I beg?"

An unmistakable shudder shook Julia's body. "Especially not if you beg."

That's the beginning of my story, "Don't Open Until Christmas," which appears in F. Leonora Solomon's Twelve Days of Kinkmas. If you're looking to get into the kinky holiday spirit, I recommend you pick it up at Ravenous Romance, Amazon, All Romance, Barnes & Noble, or wherever else you like to buy books!

And happy holidays to all!

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Winter Warmers: The Day Before Twenty-Four Surprises

My fellow Winter Warmers author Tilly Hunter has also agreed to share a few details about what her characters were doing the day before her story, "Twenty-Four Surprises," takes place!

Sam is busy putting all Tom’s chocolates into the calendar in the right order while he’s working late; twenty-four melt-in-the-mouth delights that she has just bought from their local deli-cum-confectioners. She’s carefully considered the flavours Tom likes best and is pleased with herself for coming up with the idea of home-made Advent calendars for each other. But she’s worried Tom might not be taking it as seriously as she is. She’ll probably get twenty-four squares broken off a bar of Dairy Milk. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.

Meanwhile, Tom is very glad that since he owns his own business, he can access whatever he likes on the computers at work. But only after the rest of the staff have left. He has twenty-four photos to print off so he can fold them up and hide them behind the Advent calendar’s doors to represent the implements he plans to use. Some of the pictures are on his phone – taken over the past week of all the seemingly innocent items he’s found at home that can be put to other uses. Others are a matter of revisiting the online stores he’s shopped at over the past couple of weeks. I bet Sam has no idea I’m putting this much effort in, he thinks, she’s probably expecting me to forget altogether. Well, he’s going to make this Advent special for her – with some benefits for himself, of course. She’s probably forgotten all about the drunken conversation in which she confessed she wanted him to spank her and went into some detail of how she’d like it to happen. Tom’s looking forward to warming her backside on his own terms, if he can just keep up his stern Victorian gentleman act without bursting out laughing.


Story blurb: When Sam suggests that she and Tom make Advent calendars for each other instead of buying them off the shelf, she has tasty chocolates in mind. But while she fills Tom’s with twenty-four treats from their local deli, he is planning something completely different. Something that is going to fulfil a tipsy confession Sam made about her desire to be spanked, and which will test the limits of her patience.

Author bio: Tilly Hunter is a British writer and editor with a wicked imagination and a fondness for quirky stories that usually involve rope. Her work has been published by Xcite Books, House of Erotica, Storm Moon Press, Ryan Field Press and MLR Press. She blogs at and offers editing services to authors at When she isn’t writing, she can often be found halfway up a mountain, or curled up by her imaginary fireside with some knitting and a slice of cake.


You can read Tilly's story, mine ("Filled With Christmas Spirit"), and many others in Winter Warmers, which is available from Amazon US, Amazon UK, All Romance, and many other e-book distributors. It's also available in paperback!

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Through the Storm

My story, "Sinkhole," will appear in Coming Together: Through the Storm, a collection of weather-themed erotica that will benefit Mercy Corps, an organization that provides aid during natural disasters (and at other times as well).

It's about a woman who brings her girlfriend home to meet her conservative mother. The trip isn't going well until a muddy encounter during a sudden rainstorm forces the two lovers to stop trying to look perfect.

The anthology will be out around the end of the month. You could keep tabs on it here if you wanted to.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Tamsin Flowers on The Christmas Tattoo

I'm back again for my second visit to Annabeth's this month and this time I've brought something much more in keeping with the season. The bells are jingling, the snow is falling (in my imagination at least) and I've got a scene for you from my current release, The Christmas Tattoo. This is a sweet love story with a spicy sprinkling of just the sort of naughtiness you need when you're curled up in front of a roaring fire with a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie.

In the excerpt below, my hero and heroine, Bradie and Colt, are just getting down and dirty together for the very first time. They once dated, innocently, in high school—while more recently a steamy kiss was interrupted by the arrival of Colt's business partner. But now, these two know what they want and nothing's going to stop them - possibly the most exciting moment at the start of any new relationship…
I hope you enjoy reading it and I'm wishing you all the happiest and most romantic of holidays.



The Christmas Tattoo - blurb

When sexy red-head Bradie Clements comes home from Washington to nurse a broken heart and build bridges with her estranged father, she’s certainly not on the lookout for romance. After catching her boyfriend Kris in bed with her best friend and boss, all she wants to do is run and hide. But a chance encounter with local tattoo artist Colton Bassett leads to an unexpected appointment with his needle. Even though it’s cold outside, the temperature rises to boiling point as the two discover an irresistible attraction. But then Kris arrives on the scene to claim her back in time for his family Christmas and Bradie starts to remember what she saw in him. Tormented by jealousy and suspicion over Colton’s pregnant business partner, Bradie starts to wonder if her new romance is over before it’s begun...

Buy links

Available at, Amazon UK, Kobo, and Xcite Books

He pulled her into his arms and then his mouth found hers with an urgent kiss. He needed this as much as she did, and the thought made Bradie want him even more. Desire flared up through her body as his tongue parted her lips and found its way into her mouth as they staggered back against the plan chest. With her hands, Bradie could feel his heart pounding under the thin cotton of his t-shirt; she wanted to rip it off and feel the heat of his skin as well.

Somehow, without breaking the kiss, Colt led her to his bedroom, his hands sliding across her back in a way that made her suddenly breathless. He sat her on the edge of his unmade double bed and knelt in front of her.

“This is weird, Bradie, but it’s like we’re somehow picking up where we left off all those years ago.”

Bradie nodded. Her eyes were drawn to his lips; red and bee-stung from kissing and she wanted to taste them some more.

“Not weird,” she said. “Good.”

“I need to see you naked,” said Colt.

The longing in his voice and his eyes was palpable, and it was matched by the insistent thrumming of her own pulse and the heat building on her skin.

Again she nodded and Colt’s hands gently lifted the bottom edge of her sweater. She raised her arms above her head to allow him to peel it off and was instantly rewarded with his sharp intake of breath. She’d had no reason to put on her prettiest lace bra that morning, but she did and now it was definitely having the desired effect. Sweater tossed aside and Colt’s hands went straight to her breasts. His eyes were wide as he ever so gently pushed the lace aside to liberate them and then, with a soft groan, his mouth came forward to claim one. Bradie’s insides flipped and she sank back on her elbows on the bed, spreading her legs wide so Colt could lean in forwards against her. Her nipples pebbled, one under the hot rasping pressure of Colt’s tongue, one caught in the cool grasp of his finger and thumb. Her hands raked through his hair and she felt primed to take what Colt could give her, what she desperately needed from him.

Colt’s teeth suddenly nipped her other nipple, making her gasp, and then she felt his hands at the top of her jeans.

“Are you sure you want this?” he whispered. “Because if we go any further, I won’t be able to stop.”

His voice cracked a little and Bradie sat up to bring her mouth to his. As she kissed him she spoke through it.

“More than anything, Colt. I want you more than anything.”

His hands came to the side of her face and he deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue, pushing it as far back as he could, exploring her teeth and twisting it against her own tongue. Bradie pulled up his t-shirt and laid her hands on his chest. His nipples hardened under her touch and then she let her hands slide down the ridges of his firm abs.

“Now, Colt,” she urged. “Don’t make me wait.”

In a desperate scrabble, Colt’s t-shirt and jeans, and her own jeans, panties, boots and socks were all cast aside. At last they were naked and as Bradie lay back on the bed, Colt swooped down on top of her. Feeling the warmth of his skin along the whole length of her body gave her an electric shock and in the half-light bleeding through the door from the living room, she could make out the dark shadows of his tattoos. She couldn’t ever remember being this turned on or needy with Kris but she pushed the thought from her mind and started to kiss the base of Colt’s neck.

His hands slid up and down her body, cupping her breasts and stroking the soft curve of her stomach. As they brushed the narrow strip of hair leading down between her legs, she let her teeth find purchase on Colt’s shoulder. He grunted and pulled her tight against him; she felt for the first time the firm pressure of his erection against her thigh.

Tamsin Flowers

Tamsin Flowers loves to write light-hearted erotica, often with a twist in the tail/tale and a sense of fun. In the words of one reviewer, 'Ms Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body.' Her stories have appeared in a wide variety of anthologies and she is now graduating to novellas, for publishers including Cleis Press, Xcite Books, Secret Cravings and Totally Bound. This year, she entered NaNoWriMo, with the intention of penning her magnum opus in the very near future. In the meantime, like most erotica writers, she finds herself working on at least ten stories at once: while she figures out whose leg belongs in which story, you can find out more about her at Tamsin's Superotica or Tamsin Flowers.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Winter Warmers: The Day Before the Christmas Devil Comes

I asked my fellow Winter Warmers author Angela R Sargenti to play a game related to her story in the anthology, "The Christmas Devil," and she kindly obliged.

I once heard it said that a story is about a very important moment in a character's life, a time when something changes. I think sometimes about what happens before that moment comes. I asked Angie to tell me about what her character's life was like the day before the events of "The Christmas Devil," and she surpassed my expectations by writing me a short diary entry from her main character. Here it is:

My name is Katrina, and I am mistress of this grand old house. My parents died and left it to me two years ago, along with a pile of money.

These days, money is power, even for a woman, and I used my power to behave as a man does.

I’d heard of Krampus, sure. He is a common fixture where I live, and appears on the eve of St. Nicholas Day to take all the naughty little children to hell, or beat them and give them rocks instead of gifts. It’s a children’s tale, meant to frighten them into being good all year, lest St. Nicholas take them off his good list and place them on Krampus’s naughty list.

That’s all it is.

Or so I thought, until he also came to me.

Why, on December 4th, I had no idea of the monster’s true existence and was making plans to steal away and visit one of my several lovers. I never knew the danger to my backside from Krampus’s fearsome birch switch.

But I know it now, and believe me, I shall endeavor to keep myself on the straight and narrow from here on out. Next St. Nicholas day I shall be rejoicing instead of facing that infernal creature.

- Katrina Bell

"The Christmas Devil" is the story of a naughty young lady who is given the choice between going to hell or submitting to the birch.


Angela’s currently hard at work on her latest novel, and she has penned dozens of erotica stories for sites such as Leo DeGraunce, For The Girls, and Oysters & Chocolate, among others. Her work appears in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 (under her pen name, AR Shannon), The House of Erotica Summer Scorchers Collection, and more recently the anthology, Baby Got Back: Anal Erotica. Yet more stories are to appear in upcoming anthologies, and an erotic fairy tale, “Lord Sir Beast,” is to be released in the very near future. She has served as guest editor for the August 2012 issue of Leo DeGraunce and she has four e-books of her own, Working Out the Kinks, Start Me Up: A Collection of Erotic Love Stories, So Spankable! and Brattitudes. For more information, please check out her links:

@angiesargenti on Twitter



(Incidentally, if you would like to amaze yourself, look up Krampus on Google images or a similar service. I once came across an unbelievable collection of images at a museum in Fall River, Massachusetts—surprising, disturbing, and arousing illustrations. I was so pleased when I saw that Angie had written about him because I knew someone needed to do it.)

You can read Angie's story, mine ("Filled With Christmas Spirit"), and many others in Winter Warmers, which is available from Amazon US, Amazon UK, All Romance, and many other e-book distributors. It's also available in paperback!

Sunday, December 15, 2013

The Orgasm Contest

A quick note to say that my story, "The Orgasm Contest," will be in this anthology from House of Erotica.

Here's a hint: dual wield industrial-strength vibrators.

More to come!

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Laila Blake on Driftwood Deeds

I'm pleased to welcome Laila Blake today, telling us about her new release, Driftwood Deeds!


After a few contributions to anthologies, Driftwood Deeds is my first solo venture into erotica and I couldn't be more excited about it. About 10 years ago, I wrote a story called Stains of Blue – and although you would be hard-pressed to find similar passages, there are definitely parallels in story and feeling. I wanted to write a story like Stains of Blue, a story that would feel similar, a story that would square my own feelings about equality and submission as well as feel positive and, obviously, wet some panties on the way.

Driftwood Deeds is a small story about communication and a sexual awakening, and as such exactly the story I wanted to enter the genre with. I hope you enjoy it!


When journalist Iris Ellis visits a sleepy seaside town to interview recluse screenwriter Paul Archer, he offers her insights into never acted upon fantasies of dominance and submission. Too curious to deny herself a taste of them, Iris gives herself up to Paul’s gentle guidance, but when she realizes that a taste can never be enough, she must find the courage to ask for what she needs or risk losing it all.


Instead of pulling his hand back, however, he let it hang down just in front of my face. It didn’t touch the ground but floated above it by a mere fraction of an inch. Instinctively, I twisted my neck and shoulders further until I could push my nose into his palm.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and his tone made my chest seize up with longing. And again I wanted to plead and whine for more even as his smell and his warm fingers rubbed over my cheeks and my nose, even as the moment was simple and perfect as it was.

“I want you to lick it for me, like a little puppy, can you do that for me?”

My mouth opened but instead of a verbalized answer, I nodded and moved back just enough to find his hand with my mouth. I brushed my lips over the side of his finger, kissed the knuckle of the pinkie one. I was just about to draw it into my mouth again when a sharp smack onto my ass short-circuited my whole body. I jerked and howled out more in surprise than pain. I went tense as a board for a second and then stared up at him with wide eyes.


“I didn’t say kiss my hand. I said lick it like a puppy.” This was the first time I detected any hint of strictness in his voice and I blushed. He had said that.

“Did you lick it like a puppy?”

I shook my head but this time that wasn’t enough. “What was that?”

“N... no, Paul,” I answered and he smiled again, gently petting my ass as he shook his head.

“No, you didn’t. Want to try that again?”

“Yes...” It was more sigh than word, and this time I launched myself into the task with a literal mindedness that felt alien and oddly humiliating—not in the tiny little licks that a kitten might have produced but the eager broad tongue strokes of an over-excited golden retriever, licks that left his fingers wet and shiny and that winded me so that I ended up panting, looking up at him wideeyed and not stopping until he’d tell me to.

“What a good, eager little learner we are...” he whispered and it hit me that this was exactly what I craved, ever since I could remember. He just had to say it, gently and condescending, and I moaned and then licked harder just to hear it again.

“Good puppy, that’s enough, thank you.” He smiled, touched my still lips and brought a finger to his mouth for a taste. I only realized now that his hand was still firmly placed on my rear where I couldn’t feel the sting anymore. The warmth his hand projected seemed to radiate all the way through skin and tissue instead. But again, all I could think about was the next moment and the next—aching for more.

“You liked that,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “And you did so well.” Already his fingers were sneaking under my skirt again but this time, without any hesitation, he hooked them into the elastic of my panties and tights and pulled them down. There was no question in whether he had a right to do so, no careful testing or shy probing. He just took what he wanted and told me to lift my ass so that he could bring them down to my knees but no further.

“My, my... someone wet their panties good, didn’t they?”


Laila Blake ( is a linguist, author and translator. She writes character-driven love stories, whether in romance, erotica, YA or mainstream, co-hosts the podcast Lilt and blogs about writing, feminism and society. The first installment of her Lakeside series, a paranormal romantic fantasy, was published in early 2013. She lives in Cologne/Germany with her cat Nookie, adores obscure folk singers and plays the guitar.


Book Links
A Hotter State:

Amazon US:
Amazon UK:

Driftwood Deeds Pinterest Board:
Driftwood Deeds Playlist:

Author Social Media

Friday, December 13, 2013

Tamsin Flowers on The Crimson Bond

My lovely friend Tamsin Flowers is here with us today! She's having an awesome end to her writing year, with many new releases in anthologies and otherwise. I'm delighted to turn the floor over to her.


Hi Annabeth,

I'm delighted to be here today and I've brought you a scene from my latest release, The Crimson Bond. This is the story of three passionate vampires who become entangled in a complex and ever-shifting love triangle as allegiances change and flow between them. Willow Jackson, a naïve young student, is accidentally transformed into a vampire when Etienne Corbeau takes too much of her blood. Saved from certain death by his vampire wife, Elouise, Willow forms a bond with the two of them that can never be broken but that will always cause conflict between them…

The excerpt I've chosen for today is from fairly early in the book, before Willow has become a vampire. It's the first encounter between Willow and Elouise, when neither of them have any idea what they will become to each other. Willow is afraid that she's been attacked by a vampire and goes to confront the man she believes responsible for the attack, but instead she meets his wife… It's an important scene because it shows just how easily Willow is seduced by the two vampires - even though she wants to resist them, she finds them powerless under their spell. And it's a pivotal scene for this very reason - if she had managed to resist them, perhaps she could have escaped being transformed into a vampire herself. But where would be the story in that?




Willow Jackson develops an unhealthy obsession Etienne Corbeau; little does she realise he's a suave, sophisticated vampire. After appearing in her dreams, Willow is astounded to find Etienne in her room for real and even more shocked when, in the throes of a passion she can’t resist, he sinks his teeth into her neck and drinks her blood.

But Etienne is greedy and to save Willow's life, his wife Elouise forces her to drink vampire blood. From this moment Willow is herself a vampire, forming an unbreakable bond with Elouise which forces her to choose between the beautiful new vampire and her husband of two centuries.

As Willow learns to tame her bloodlust and vampire sex carries her to new heights of physical pleasure, Elouise is snatched away from her. The battle lines are drawn: now she and Etienne will fight for possession of the woman they both love...


“What’s your name?” said Willow, still leaning back against the wall. Her voice was shaky and she glanced at where she’d left the whisky on the table.

The woman followed her gaze and picked up the glass.

“I’m Elouise. Elouise Day. I married Etienne in 1920, the year he changed me.”

“Changed you?” Willow couldn’t believe the woman in front of her was claiming to have been married for nearly a hundred years.

“Into a vampire.”

She pointed up to her open mouth with a finger and for the first time Willow noticed two sharper looking teeth on either side of her upper jaw. Hardly fangs, but definitely pointed.

She stepped toward Willow with the glass and held it to her lips. Willow gulped the strong alcohol gratefully.

“For you to have become a vampire, you would have had to drink some of his blood in return.” Her eyes narrowed for a second. “Which I assume you didn’t?”

“No,” said Willow, shaking her head.

Elouise put the glass down on the table behind her. She was standing very close to Willow now and she placed one of her hands on Willow’s shoulder. She stared intensely at Willow’s face with sharp, emerald eyes. Willow took a nervous breath. The air around her smelled deliciously of sandalwood and myrrh.

“Etienne was telling the truth. You are very beautiful.” Her voice had lowered by a half tone and she spoke slowly, each word caressing Willow’s ears.

In a sudden blur of movement she had both Willow’s hands pinned back against the wall above her head. Her wrists were crossed and held in a vice-like grip by one of Elouise’s hands. With her other hand, she gently peeled away the dressing on Willow’s neck. She moved in closer until Willow felt the vampire’s breath on her throat.

Willow turned her head away from the vampire. But the rest of her body was powerless to move, paralyzed by something stronger than fright. Elouise Day had a power that drained her will to resist. She felt the stroke of a tongue close to her collarbone, gliding over the two wounds.

Not again, she thought to herself and a whimper escaped her lips. But even as she shied away from the female vampire, she needed to experience the searing combination of pain and pleasure again.

“Shhhhhh, pretty girl,” whispered Elouise, lifting her head to look up at her. She touched Willow’s mouth with a soft finger, a caress that made Willow’s legs weaker still.

“Etienne,” she called in a deep, guttural voice. “Come and watch me feed on your little blood-baby.”

Willow saw a streak of grey cross the room and then Etienne Corbeau appeared at his wife’s side. He put a hand up to her bobbed hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back, kissing her ferociously inches from Willow’s face. Willow felt the pleasure sensors deep within her waken and stir.

Then he pushed Elouise roughly away and turned the full beam of his dark eyes on Willow. Elouise licked her lips with a satisfied smile.

“Please let me go,” whispered Willow.

But as she said it, her mind was bombarded with memories of what had happened last time she’d seen Etienne. His hands on her breasts and his mouth at her throat. The searing pain had become as addictive as pleasure. She whimpered as her back arched involuntarily, thrusting her hips away from the wall toward the vampire.

As fear was overcome by longing, Willow felt both of the vampires’ hands on her body.

Buy links

You'll find The Crimson Bond at Secret Cravings, Amazon US, Amazon UK, All Romance and Smashwords.

Tamsin Flowers
Tamsin Flowers loves to write light-hearted erotica, often with a twist in the tail/tale and a sense of fun. In the words of one reviewer, 'Ms Flowers has a way of describing sexual tension that forces itself upon your own body.' Her stories have appeared in a wide variety of anthologies , for publishers including Cleis Press, Xcite Books and Go Deeper Press. She has now graduated to novellas with the intention of penning her magnum opus in the very near future. In the meantime, like most erotica writers, she finds herself working on at least ten stories at once: while she figures out whose leg belongs in which story, you can find out more about her at Tamsin's Superotica or Tamsin Flowers.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Guess What's Out In Time For Christmas?

I didn't expect to see this book out until next year, but now you can pick it up in time to send it to the sweet and sexy loved one of your choice. Edited by Kristina Wright, it's a "candy sampler" or erotic and romantic flash fiction. xoxo: Sweet and Sexy Romance includes my story, "When the Vacation Is Over." Here's a snip:

It started when Amy took Paul's hand while standing in front of the enormous Buddha statue on Hong Kong's Lantau Island. If she had been home, she would never have done something like that. She would have focused on their differences — his dark skin compared with her light, his glasses versus her contacts, and his having traveled there as a sort of pilgrimage rather than, like her, visiting the statue simply because the guidebooks recommended it.

Now, in a foreign country, Amy's definition of common ground had transformed completely. She sat next to Paul on the crowded, careening bus to the Po Lin Monastery because he looked American, and smiled in genuine delight when she discovered they were from "the same place" — though normally she would have said South Florida and Central Florida might as well have been two different countries.

Standing on the steps leading up to the bronze statue's smiling abundance, taking pictures of each other, then angling their cell phones awkwardly to take pictures of themselves together, Amy glanced at Paul and saw in his face the same joy, freedom, and wonder she felt in her heart. She reached for him naturally, before she thought about it.

Out now from Cleis Press!

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

(Canceled) I'm Reading at the Museum of Sex!

Update: I just learned that the reading has been canceled. I'm leaving the post up because I think that is the less confusing way to do this. I will have to read dirty words to you people another time!

The fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel has organized a reading for The Big Book of Orgasms, and I'm so excited to be participating. I'm also stoked to meet my fellow contributors in the flesh.

Here's the official blurb:

The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories reading
Between the Covers at Museum of Sex, 233 Fifth Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: 28 St. (N, R)/28 St. (4, 6, 6X)/23 St. (N, R))
Join The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories editor Rachel Kramer Bussel and contributors Andreas Amsterdam, T. Fox Dunham, Jeremy Edwards, Drew Griffiths, Thea Landen, Annabeth Leong, Lula Lisbon, Lillian Ann Slugocki, Suleikha Snyder and possibly a few others.

If you're in New York City at the time, I hope to see you there, too!

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Girls Rule, Boys Drool by Lucy Felthouse

Today I've got information about Girls Rule, Boys Drool, a collection of three lesbian erotic short stories from the always amazing Lucy Felthouse.

Here's a description of each of the included stories:

Girls Rule, Boys Drool

Boyish dyke Toni is working at the local golf club, serving champagne to arrogant, privileged folk, when she spots Clarissa. She’s one of the posh people, but she looks like she’d rather be somewhere else—anywhere else. Toni’s immediately smitten and wants to put a smile on the older woman’s beautiful face, so she decides to show Clarissa just why girls rule and boys drool.

Making An Impression

Joely’s holiday has consisted mainly of chilling out by the hotel pool, having the occasional swim and reading lots. That is, until a hot brunette arrives and suddenly, Joely has trouble concentrating on anything else. Her gaydar non-existent, Joely decides on an unusual course of action to find out whether the newcomer bats for the same side as her.

Fear as an Aphrodisiac

Girlfriends Nikki and Sonya are on holiday in Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. They’re having fun sightseeing, until a super-scary tourist attraction sends Nikki into meltdown. Once outside again, Nikki slowly starts to feel better—and, much to her surprise, horny. Quickly realising that the fear has acted as a potent aphrodisiac, she decides to take advantage of that fact, right there in the middle of the city.

Available from:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

All Romance E-books

Coming soon to all other good eBook retailers.

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Finally, Nikki and Sonya found the turning off Edinburgh’s Royal Mile that they needed. They’d expected a road, but Mary King’s Close was nothing more than a narrow passageway that looked like it led to the next street along. Glancing at one another, it seemed both girls suspected they were in the wrong place—despite the name of the alleyway—but as they headed along the close, they came across more signage and discovered they were wrong. The signs proclaimed that they were indeed at The Real Mary King’s Close, and this time they exchanged a relieved look and moved inside the tourist attraction.

After paying their money, they were put into a group that was already waiting, and after a few minutes was called to attention by a member of staff. The young man, dressed in incredibly old-fashioned attire welcomed them to the attraction and gave some brief information about what they should expect from the tour, as well as some health and safety spiel.

Then they were ushered deeper into the building and down some stairs. Another peculiarly-dressed actor met them and gave his talk. The group soon learned that Mary King’s Close had been a town of sorts, a collection of streets and houses, named after the most prominent local—Mary King. It had functioned well, this part of Edinburgh—in its day. But it had also befallen hard times and tragedy, including the Black Death. It was rumoured that people affected had been bricked into their houses to prevent the disease spreading further. It had never been confirmed nor denied, but the very idea sent a shiver down Nikki’s spine.

As they advanced into the underground town—now covered over by modern Edinburgh—they learned more about the inhabitants, their lives and, in some cases, their deaths. By the time they were shown the shrine of a young girl, covered with offerings both old and new, Nikki was clinging onto Sonya’s arm so hard that the other girl gave her a nudge.

“Oi, you’re hurting me! What’s the matter with you?”

“Sorry,” Nikki replied. “I’m getting a little creeped out, that’s all.”

“A little? The way you’re squeezing my arm, I’m beginning to think you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“I said I’m sorry. God. Don’t you think it’s spooky down here?”

A meaningful glance from the tour guide shut them up. Nikki dropped her hand to Sonya’s and held it. The group continued through the subterranean labyrinth, listening to more tales of the past, the things that had happened within the very place they stood, over four hundred years ago.

Some periods of total darkness with recounts of history later, and Nikki was a nervous wreck. She’d always had an overactive imagination, and although she’d never seen a ghost—despite Sonya’s words—she believed in them and was really succumbing to the eeriness of the ancient place. She had gotten to the stage where she fully expected to see the spectre of little Annie—having left the site of her shrine—peering around a corner, beckoning to her. Or the chilly finger of a plague victim trailing down the back of her neck. She grew so paralyzed with fear that she fell silent and didn’t take in a word of the rest of the excursion—simply holding onto Sonya’s hand as they walked through the rooms and tunnels.

When they eventually emerged into the outside world once more, Nikki heaved a sigh of relief. “Sonya, darling, take me for a drink, now. A stiff one. A double vodka and coke sounds perfect right now. Maybe even a triple.”

“Were you really that scared?” The other woman looked disbelieving.

“What do you mean, were? I still bloody am. I’m sure I’d have found it interesting if I wasn’t so busy being terrified. I’m surprised I didn’t wet myself.”

“Aww, babe.” Sonya pulled the other girl into her arms. “I didn’t realise you hated it that much. We could have left if I’d known.”

“No,” Nikki shook her head. “It’s okay, I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just got to the stage where I blocked it all out. But I’d still really like a drink, if you don’t mind.”

Sonya gently pushed Nikki against the wall of the alleyway and hugged her once more. “Okay, we’ll go for a drink soon. Let me hold you for a few minutes, first.”

The other girl said nothing, just relaxed into her lover’s embrace and slowly, very slowly, felt the fear ebbing away. With not a small amount of horror, she realised that she was turned on. Her knickers were damp and sticking to her, and the heat emanating from between her legs was unmistakable. What the actual fuck? She kept quiet, instead nuzzling into Sonya’s neck and pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there.

“Ooh,” Sonya said, shuddering, “that was lovely. What was that for?”

“For being nice.” Nikki’s voice was muffled, and she kissed her girlfriend again.

“Hey,” Sonya said, grabbing Nikki’s hands and squeezing them, “you’d better stop that, otherwise I’m going to get turned on. And that’s the last thing you want right now. I’m trying to be understanding here, sweetheart.”

Nikki came to the conclusion that she didn’t mind if Sonya got turned on, not at all. In fact, some sexy fun might just take her mind off the creepy underground place they’d just visited. It was damn weird that being scared had turned her on, but the more she thought about it, the more she figured it kinda made sense. Nothing, in her opinion, was scarier than death, and the French word for orgasm translated to ‘the little death’—so it was widely accepted that sex and death were connected. Sex was about life, death was about, well, death. So, in an attempt to stop thinking about things that confused the hell out of her, she was going to embrace life, wholeheartedly. And if that meant experiencing the little death, then so be it.

“I don’t mind,” she whispered into Sonya’s ear.

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Sonya replied, grabbing her shoulders and moving her back so she could look at her face. “You don’t mind what?”

“I don’t mind you getting turned on.”

Author bio

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over eighty publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Monday, December 9, 2013

Music Mondays: "Atlas Air" by Massive Attack

"It took all the man in me to be the dog you wanted me to be." -- Massive Attack

I once heard the Massive Attack singer's voice as "wet-panty inducing," and I think of that every single time I listen to this song. Because it's true. Enjoy.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

She Who Must Be Obeyed

Sometime in 2014, I'll be part of a collection from Lethe Press called She Who Must Be Obeyed: Femme Dominant Lesbian Erotica, edited by the fantastic D.L. King.

This is from the original call for submissions:

There’s something about a hot, sexy woman in a pencil skirt, flawlessly made-up, wielding a riding crop. Well, I think there is. I know, for me, sometimes it’s hard to decide between the black leather pencil skirt and the black rubber one. You know what I mean. I’m talking about a woman worshipped by girls, bois and butch bottoms, alike; I’m not particular – well, not that particular.

Tell me stories about women who can silence a room simply by entering it. What’s it like when a mere glance can make you weak in the knees and a stare will put you in your place – at her feet. I’m looking for power exchange as seen from either the femme’s point of view or her worshipper’s.

I've gotten permission to share the table of contents, and I'm so excited looking at this list. I'll post more information when I've got it!

Noir by Valerie Alexander

The Nose Art Gal by Mary Tintagel

Uncharted Territory by Evan Mora

Grace: Under Pressure by D. L. King

The Bullwhip and the Bull Rider by Sacchi Green

Demo Model by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Too Old for This by Giselle Renarde

The Dame by Styx St. John

Triptych by Lula Lisbon

Angel on Fire by Jessica Lennox

Mares in Heat by Evey Brett

Tears from Heaven by Jean Roberta

Bleed by Teresa Noelle Roberts

Evelyn Gets Ready by Annabeth Leong

Anger Management by Beth Wylde

Garden Party by Karen Taylor

Prima by Katya Harris

The Ride by Kathleen Delaney-Adams

Stretch by Kathleen Tudor

Silvia by River Light

The book is available for preorder here.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Risk Rider and Dare Take the Con

This weekend, Coming Together: For Equality released, edited by the fabulous Beth Wylde. Like all of Coming Together's books, it supports a good cause—in this case, Planting Peace—Equality House. Every story is also written to an anti-bullying theme.

This book is so hot and so important, people. I talk often about how erotica saved my life, and this is a great example. Erotica is how I've claimed who I am, how I've come to terms with myself in a true, brave way, and many of these stories are on a similar theme.

My story is called "Risk Rider and Dare Take the Con," and as I was working on it I realized how much I needed to write it.

I've been a geek girl all my life, and I've dealt with a lot of nonsense from other geeks. For all that the geek community prides itself on being accepting, I've found that this often translates to expecting everyone to put up with bad behavior from jerks (who are excused with whispered explanations about how "he's just socially awkward"). In the past year or so, there's been a lot of discussion of harassment at cons, and that's the thing that came to mind when I saw the call for Coming Together: For Equality. I'm not a cosplayer—I'm afraid I don't have the skills—but I have borrowed friends' costumes a few times and I admire the work and devotion that cosplayers put in.

Here's an excerpt of my story. It's about how two characters' embrace of their erotic selves gives them the strength to deal with harassment at a comic convention.

When Jamie-Lyn complained about convention harassment with her friends at home, they could never understand why she put herself through it at all. She'd struggled to explain herself, trying to describe how good it felt to wear a costume so well-made that she could believe she actually was the motorcycle-riding hero of her dreams, how it changed the way she walked and talked and felt about herself. She was funnier when she dressed as Risk Rider, she told her friends, because she adopted the character's sardonic humor. She didn't take shit from people—after all, she'd actually shoved that guy just now, instead of looking down and skulking away the way Jamie-Lyn at home would have done. And she did feel sexy, though that didn't mean she wanted to be harassed by every single douchebag at the con.

That last part usually made friends wrinkle their brows in concern. Some people tried to gently inform her that dressing in full-body leather and going out in public might sort of be seen as inviting attention from the douchebags. If she didn't want the attention, why did she wear the costume?

Jamie-Lyn couldn't hold back a little growl of anger. She shrugged off Risk Rider's motorcycle jacket, embellished with exuberant streaks of blood-red stars, and folded it over one arm. She would go back to her room, change into jeans and a con T-shirt, and try to enjoy the event by blending into the crowd for once. She would do this and it would be a relief, and the tears currently threatening to pour down her cheeks were not telling her otherwise. They were not.

"I dare you to dress like a girl," someone said from a few feet away, using that taunting, scornful voice that had become all too familiar. In the mood she was in, she wanted to just keep walking to the elevator bank as quickly as possible, but something about the way the sentence was delivered made her pause. The guy speaking had emphasized the word "dare," almost as if...

Jamie-Lyn looked up, and sure enough the jerk was in the process of tormenting a cosplayer dressed as Dare, Risk Rider's wife and crime-fighting partner. The first thing Jamie-Lyn noticed was how nicely the leather was stitched. A home sewing machine could handle light leather, but not always well, and this costume showed none of the telltale bunching that appeared when a machine too weak for the job began to seize up. The person who made this costume either had an industrial machine or the patience of a saint. Also, this was Jamie-Lyn's favorite version of Dare, replicating the costume the heroine wore after a redesign intended to make her look more realistically badass. It was tight and tailored, but would actually provide protection if Dare fell off her bike.

The cosplayer was a man, and Jamie-Lyn felt a little respect rise in her chest. Female cosplayers took all kinds of nonsense for daring to go around dressed up in public, and the only people who had to deal with as much crap—and sometimes even more—were men who dared to put on female characters' costumes non-ironically. She wanted to talk to this guy, maybe trade leather-working tips, and maybe even take a picture together. Jamie-Lyn had been photographed a few times at cons standing next to a Dare, but she liked the symmetry she'd get next to a man in a Dare costume.

Also, this man looked good. He was slim enough that Dare's skintight leather pants looked great hugging his ass and thighs. Big, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a chin that came to a sharp point made for a slightly feminine face that made Jamie-Lyn think all the more about how its owner was a man. He wore Dare's leathers exactly the way that Jamie-Lyn had always imagined the heroine would—with a lot of energy, a little sass, and just the right amount of negligence. Dare was a tech expert as well as a biker, and often went out still half-involved in her latest project. This guy had left his hair uncombed and wore a soldering iron strapped to his waist. It was a great effort, and Jamie-Lyn couldn't wait to introduce herself.

She took a step closer, then frowned when she remembered what had drawn her attention in the first place. The guy harassing Dare hadn't backed off, and in fact, judging by the way he glanced around for support, he was in the process of showing off for a group of his friends. The bully noticed Jamie-Lyn approaching, and an ugly smile spread over his face.

"I see your husband's coming to pick you up, little girl." The guy got in Dare's face and shoved him once in the chest, hard enough to make the costumed man step back. The cosplayer's hands fisted at his sides, and Jamie-Lyn got the idea that he knew how to defend himself if pushed too far. Still, she didn't want him to feel as alone as she had all morning.

Jamie-Lyn sighed. This attacker got points for actually knowing the comic, then lost them all for being a towering jerk.

"Are you going to cry like a girl?"

The guy also seemed to think that all he had to do to win the insult game was say the word "girl" repeatedly. Jamie-Lyn steeled herself for confrontation and went to stand beside Dare. "Our friend already went to get con security," she told the guy in a low voice. "How about you leave us alone? They've got a zero-tolerance policy here, and you'll forfeit your admission fee." She hoped the guy didn't call her bluff. The con security volunteers she'd met so far were well-meaning but overworked. They did their best to enforce policies, but there weren't enough of them. Jamie-Lyn had yet to encounter one that day, despite the many harassers she'd found instead.

The attacker muttered something, and Jamie-Lyn held her breath, uncertain of which way this situation would go. Then someone else walked up to them, and Jamie-Lyn dared to hope that for once this would be a decent person. "Risk Rider and Dare! You guys look awesome!"

You can read the rest of the story in Coming Together: For Equality and support a great cause in the process.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Guest Post: A.M. Hartnett on Here For A Good Time

I'm very pleased to welcome A.M. Hartnett to my blog today, talking about her latest release, Here For A Good Time. We've been anthology friends several times, and she has an awesome blog (The Bewildered Writer), writes awesome stories, and somehow makes her heroes sound so real that I get jealous that mine don't seem quite that forcefully alive. I asked her to tell us about the scene that defined this work for her, and she's come through with exactly the sort of story that makes me a little envious.

Without further ado, I'll pass the floor to her!

A.M. Hartnett:

When Annabeth suggested I talk about that moment when the story clicked into place for me, I knew exactly the moment of the story that this happened.

Like most of the stuff I've published, Here For A Good Time languished in my to-do pile for years. Every so often I would pull it out and have a look, but I'd just get so frustrated and overwhelmed with trying to make it happen that I'd close it and move on to something else. For the longest time, poor Alexis sat on the balcony of The Deveaux resort hotel, waiting for something to happen.

Then, one day, it happened. Someone joined her on the balcony. This person wasn't special or anything, just one of her co-workers who was going to act as a giant sex toy for the next scene, after which Alexis would go about her business with the bossman. Chris Kendrick, bit player, human dildo.

The next scene was the scene. Goodbye Mr. Kendrick, hello sexytimes with the bossman, but when it came time to put Alexis in the backseat of a hired car with her boss, guess who jumped in with her?

I tried to backtrack. I tried to push him into the background, but he wouldn’t budge. This was his conquest, his woman, his story, and I could either go with it or go write something else.


‘Allow me.’

Kendrick brushed past her and pulled open the door of the taxi.

She smiled, the picture of politeness, but inside she simmered. The rest of the team had already piled into the other two cars and were headed down The Deveaux’s long driveway. Kendrick had been the last to come down the steps, and so it would just be the two of them on the ride over.

As their car motored towards the main road, she suffered throb after agonising throb at the thought of his tongue snaking around her clit. She squeezed her thighs together and tapped her watch impatiently.

The cab merged with traffic. Kendrick nudged her knee with his. ‘What have you been doing to amuse yourself since I left?’

She loved the naughty tone in his voice and had to bite down on her giggle. Though still insufferable, he had certainly grown on her since that afternoon.

‘Nothing exciting.’

‘Nothing at all?’

Alexis was grateful for the shadows in the back of the car. Her cheeks caught on fire as his question brought a sudden surge of recollection: long fingers stroking her G-spot and a hard cock filling her mouth.

She shook her head and let her hair fall over her eyes. ‘I’ve been a very good girl, Kendrick.’

‘Jesus, I wish you’d stop calling me Kendrick. I have a name.’ He moved closer, arm sliding around her shoulders to pull her closer.

‘I’ve been calling you Kendrick for almost three years now. I’m not likely to break it after – so soon. Besides, you insist on calling me Miss Shea.’

‘I think I’m going to have to come up with some more creative names for you now.’ He nuzzled his face into her hair. ‘After the way you sucked on me, “Lollipop” seems fitting.’

‘Shush.’ She turned and found her mouth sinfully close to his. ‘The driver …’

‘I’m sure he’s heard worse.’ Kendrick’s hot breath skittered across her chest and drew gooseflesh to the surface. ‘You’re the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘I’m glad you approve, but it is pretty tame.’

‘Bullshit. Those are fuck-me shoes if I’ve ever seen them. Makes me want to give you a little something to keep you satisfied until after dinner.’

A smudge of shadow shifted, and then there was his hand on her ribs. She brought her hand up and pressed it against his chest. Sensation sizzled along her arm as her fingertips brushed the curls where his shirt was open at the neck.

That look. Even in the semi-dark, she knew it. The prelude to something. Something soft. Something wet. Something wicked.


When Alexis booked her work retreat at The Deveaux, the most she had to look forward to was a bit of spa time on the company dime, but flashy salesman Chris Kendrick has an even better suggestion. For years they’ve had a hot and cold working relationship with a bit of flirting mixed in, and now is the perfect time to get that spark out of their systems.

Three days hopping in and out of beds (and other convenient places) shows Alexis that Kendrick’s smooth demeanour is more than just talk, and that aromatherapy and soft-tissue massages have nothing on Kendrick’s firm hand.





A.M. Hartnett began writing in 2006 and has published more than thirty short stories. Her work has appeared in more than a dozen anthologies, including Cleis Press’s Sudden Sex: 69 Sultry Short Stories (Ed. Alison Tyler), and The Big Book of Orgasm: 69 Sexy Stories (Ed. Rachel Kramer Bussel). She has also written three novellas and a novel as Annemarie Hartnett. For more information on her publications, please visit


Yeah, after that excerpt I'm a goner. Why did Amazon invent one-click purchasing?

Friday, November 22, 2013

One Flesh

The publisher described this book as "sweet lesbian fiction with fisting," and I can't tell you how much I love seeing all those words together in one description. Enjoy!

Leticia and Rosalie are planning their wedding, wanting very much to make their special day one to remember, but Rosalie has something else weighing on her mind, one more thing she wants to make as special and as memorable as the ceremony itself—their wedding night. Rosalie wants to be with Leticia in a way that neither of them had ever been with anyone else. But finding something that would be a first time for both of them turns out to be harder than expected.

As it turns out, there is one thing Leticia has wanted to do but has never trusted anyone enough to allow herself to overcome the fear of it. And it's something that Rosalie has never done either.

The women discuss the idea of fisting as a means of connecting and forming an intimate bond with each other, one that they've never formed with anyone else. They've never loved or trusted anyone else they way the love and trust each other, and they are determined to find a way to make it work.


"I'll call tomorrow to tell the church how many flowers we want to order," Leticia said, sighing and folding her notebook closed. No matter how many neat lists she made with her favorite purple pen, the sheer quantity of wedding-related details was overwhelming. "Can you call the caterer back, Rosalie? I still feel like they sneaked a charge in somewhere, but I can't get a straight answer out of them about it."

Her fiancée smiled indulgently. "Better yet. I'll go in person on my lunch break, and they won't know what hit them."

"Great." Leticia rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She'd wanted to go to bed early, but another evening of wedding planning had made that completely impossible. She was excited to be marrying her one true love and all, but it was easy to lose track of that when she had fourteen phone calls to make and her mother demanded an e-mailed progress report every single night. "That's got to be enough for now."

Leticia stole a quick glance at Rosalie. She'd changed into a cute pair of pajamas when she got home from work, the childish pattern an odd contrast with her sophisticated coppery makeup. Leticia briefly fantasized about peeling the clothing away, revealing her lover's curves and smooth brown skin. Unfortunately, at that very same moment, she had to stifle a yawn. She was so damn sleepy. They would need to get to bed immediately if she was going to give Rosalie proper attention.

"We can't quit planning yet," Rosalie said. "We haven't discussed the most important thing, and it's coming up soon."

Leticia groaned. She flipped her notebook open again and paged through her color-coded, highlighted lists. "We've talked about everything I had listed for the day, and we even went over things that have deadlines coming up in the next few days. I don't see what we're—"

"The wedding night," Rosalie purred. "We haven't discussed that at all."

There was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes. Leticia actually blushed, the way she had at Rosalie's makeup counter the first time they met, when the other woman's soft words of praise, roughened by the obvious desire in her voice, had gotten Leticia so hot and flushed it had been impossible to identify the correct shade of foundation for her skin tone. She'd been forced to come back later, not that she'd minded.

Now that she'd figured out what Rosalie was hinting at, Leticia played innocent. For all her lover's passion, her Catholic upbringing had left her with an adorable aversion to using direct language. Leticia loved to watch Rosalie get flustered while trying to explain her naughty desires. She batted her eyelashes and focused on her notes again. "We've reserved our hotel room the night of. We've got our plane tickets to Puerto Rico for the honeymoon a couple days after that. Everything appears to be in order."

"The wedding night," Rosalie said, apparently oblivious to Leticia's teasing. She rolled her hands through the air, one over the other, the gesture an invitation to take the word "night" and run with it. "The whole reason I wanted an afternoon wedding was so we could have plenty of time together. Afterward. In the hotel."

"You mean to take a good, long nap? I'm sure we'll be tired after dealing with all the guests, and coming down from pre-wedding nerves, too." Leticia couldn't resist continuing the act.

"Not a nap. But I am talking about what we might do in bed." Now Rosalie colored, a deep red undertone becoming visible beneath the screen of her makeup.

Leticia composed her face as much as she could manage and shrugged. "Oh, are you talking about sex?" A giggle threatened to slip through at Rosalie's incredulous, exasperated expression. "I don't know. I've read tons of articles about how people get so exhausted from all the things leading up to a wedding that they don't even really want to have sex by the time the day is done. We'll have plenty of time for that later in the honeymoon, won't we?"

"Don't even really want to have sex," Rosalie repeated slowly, as if the phrase was a math problem and she couldn't quite work it out. Her forehead wrinkled in utter puzzlement. A snort burst from Leticia. Realization dawned on Rosalie's face. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and tossed it at her. They'd both collapsed in giggles by the time the thin paper floated airily to the floor beside Leticia.

Leticia allowed the force of her laughter to pull her off the chair. She crawled the short space to Rosalie's chair and raised one brown foot to her lips. Leticia did enjoy a little foot worship now and then, but her current mood was far from reverent. Slowly, carefully, she slipped her mouth over Rosalie's polished big toe. She licked until Rosalie's breathing changed, confused between laughter and moaning. Then Leticia lifted off the toe and pressed her mouth to the sole of Rosalie's foot. She inhaled, gripped the ankle tightly, and blew a powerful raspberry.

Rosalie squealed and tried to get away. Leticia smiled but kept up the wet, ticklish vibrations. Rosalie's foot jerked in her hands. Leticia kept hold easily. She had plenty of practice restraining patients, which happened to have fun applications at home.

Rosalie writhed as she laughed. Leticia drew breath for another raspberry, but cut her eyes up as much as she dared. She didn't want to miss the sight of her lover, breasts bouncing under her shirt as her rib cage shook, hips rolling as she struggled to get away, face squeezed tight as if to ward off the unbearable sensation of being tickled. Effectively, this previewed Rosalie's orgasm. Warm arousal spread through Leticia's body as she forced Rosalie to stay in this state, and as she looked forward to seeing the real thing very soon.

Rosalie rained playful blows onto Leticia's head. "Why the hell am I marrying you?" It took forever for her to get the sentence out, as she had to gasp each word between shrieking laughs.

Leticia grinned and tugged at her lower legs. Her lover took the hint and rolled out of the chair to join her on the floor. Leticia wrapped her arms around Rosalie, who felt small and hot and curvy. She slipped one hand down to tickle between her ribs, rewarded by another delicious howl. Rosalie shoved at her chest. "You are evil, I swear."

"I'm sorry," Leticia said softly, managing to sound sincerely regretful. She kissed Rosalie's temples with great tenderness, until her lover relaxed and stopped wriggling. Leticia murmured more soothing words, rubbing Rosalie's back... then licked the side of her face.

Buy links:

All Romance Ebooks

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Barnes and Noble

Storm Moon Press

More to come!

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Coming Soon from Storm Moon Press

Wow, I love this cover! And I'm so excited about this story. A wedding, a honeymoon suite, and deep fisting is all I'll say for now. This book will be out very soon, and I'll tell you a lot more when it is.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Review: Bedded Bliss

Bedded Bliss: A Couple's Guide to Lust Ever After is a very ambitious book. Editor Kristina Wright combines memoir (stories of her own long-term marriage), erotic fiction written by herself and others, and self help, and does so over a very broad range of situations. The book is addressed to married couples, and Wright includes chapters aimed at people who are struggling with young children, people dealing with the way sex changes with age, people interested in trying out kink or polyamory, people facing financial stress, and much more.

The ground Bedded Bliss covers makes for an interesting read—and attests to the ground that a married couple can cover over the course of a long sex life. Wright pulls off a difficult balancing act: she brings up many, many possible directions for married couples to go while at the same time affirming the value of too-often-maligned vanilla sex. The book is gentle but exciting, far-reaching and open-minded without making the reader feel as if spicing up the sex life requires a fat bank account and the flexibility of a member of Cirque du Soleil.

It's a very intimate book, and this is the thing I liked best about it. Wright and her contributors all open up about their own sex lives, and that makes the erotic fiction she includes feel all the more intimate in turn. Many contributors have more than one story in the collection, and I liked the effect—it made me feel as if I knew them better to see them presenting couples from several angles. In many cases, the stories seem more autobiographical than fictional. The writers often use first-person POV, along with the names of their actual spouses. In other cases, they use consistent characters over several stories, such as Jeremy Edwards' Mel and Lawrence or Heidi Champa's Duncan and Lena.

I also appreciated the inclusion of male writers in this book—they didn't make up fifty percent, but there were a higher proportion of them than in many collections of erotica that I've read. Considering the goals and subject matter of this book, I think it's important to have that perspective.

Some of the strengths of Bedded Bliss, however, can also become liabilities. Its wide subject matter can seem like a lack of focus at times. The material was all hot and interesting, but I couldn't always keep track of the through line. The book's chapters generally follow a format: a short essay from Wright, some exercises a couple could try, and erotic fiction related to the essay. As I read, however, the chapters ran together, and I wasn't always sure what was being demonstrated. In some cases I couldn't clearly see the distinction between one chapter and another. The last chapter in particular threw me. It contained many more erotic stories than the others and came off as a catch-all, a place to put the miscellany that hadn't fit well elsewhere.

This phenomenon was made more problematic because I read the Kindle edition of this book. The navigation and table of contents in the electronic version left much to be desired, and I often wished for the physical book instead. It would have helped me to be able to flip back and forth easily. This is the sort of book that made me want to make connections—to read stories in a different order than the one they're presented in, to skip around, to scan and explore. It particularly annoyed me that the Kindle Edition's table of contents did not list the erotic fiction titles and authors.

I have mixed feelings about how Bedded Bliss handled the reality of non-heterosexual married couples. There was one story by Evan Mora, a woman in a long-term lesbian relationship. I was glad to see it, but it was included in that random chapter at the end, so I'm not sure most non-heterosexual readers would get far enough to know it's there. The book could be read by a non-heterosexual couple, I suppose, but until I reached Mora's story, it had screamed heterosexual to me. Considering the inclusion of Mora's story, I wished there had been a paragraph or two in the introduction that made a point of welcoming LGBTQ readers to the table, and (in for a penny, in for a pound) a greater commitment to telling the stories of married couples outside the heteronormative spectrum. As it was, Mora's story struck me as too little, too late.

Another interesting but mixed feature of Bedded Bliss is that it's pretty clear it's aimed at couples who are currently happy or at least have a very strong foundation. For a reader who feels generally positive toward his or her spouse, the language of the book will likely feel affirming and encouraging. For a reader who's having deeper problems, this same language may be incredibly off-putting.

For example, Wright says, "If the idea of sharing your deepest, darkest sexual fantasies with your spouse sends you running into the closet, consider this: you got married because, in addition to being the love of your life and sexy as hell, this is the person you trust most in the world. Right?"

I've been married twice, so I read that passage with two sets of eyes. The current me can answer yes to that question (I am happily married this time, so far). In my previous marriage, however, that question would have filled me with helpless frustration.

I think it's good for a book like this to exist, one that tries to help marriages long before they're broken, or to help people build on something that's already good. Bedded Bliss does acknowledge in places, however, that there are limits to this approach and some relationships may not work out.

In the end, I think Bedded Bliss may not have matched the heights of its ambition, but the result is still a book that will be very sexy and valuable to many people. This book fills an important niche that's rarely served (the only similar book I can think of is Alison Tyler's Never Have the Same Sex Twice). Wright and her contributors are wise about marriage, encouraging and realistic, rich with experience to share. They offer some necessary pushback against media-driven images of who gets to have good sex and what good sex is. They demonstrate how each couple must define for themselves what it means to have a sexually satisfying relationship. That's important, and I'm glad to have read this book.

Bedded Bliss is available here, and in many places online and in physical stores.

Disclosures: This post is part of the official blog tour for Bedded Bliss. I write for Cleis Press, and have been edited by Kristina Wright. However, I purchased my own copy of Bedded Bliss, and the opinions I've expressed are my own.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

New Review Policy: No Numbers

I'm posting a review tomorrow for a blog tour, and this seems like a good time to mention that I've decided to stop rating things by number of stars. There are two main reasons:

1. I am fickle.
I have noticed that star ratings are very inconsistent for me. If I read a fun book over the weekend and I was excited and happy, I'll rate it 5 stars. Then, I might really analyze a book, write an intricate review, and in that context decide it is worth 4 stars only (because I am mentally comparing it to War and Peace/the best books I've ever read, etc). The books I've rated 5 stars are frequently not better than the ones I've rated 4 stars. It's very dependent on my purpose in reading and my mood. Looking back at my reviews on Goodreads a few months ago, I realized this bothered me. Publications such as Rolling Stone offer starred ratings and have a consistent system for doing so (I hope). Writing reviews is something I want to do for fun, with recognition that I'm reading some things for fun and some things more seriously, and I don't think that's compatible with the sort of star system that's on Goodreads or Amazon.

2. I'm not comfortable with the way I'm constantly being invited to rate things online.
I love to think and talk about books, movies, music, etc, and that's never going to change. However, I want to do that as a reader and engaged person, not as a consumer. I am weary of receiving e-mail asking me what I thought of whatever thing I just bought (food, book, movie, whatever). I'm not in that rating mode all the time, and I don't think it would be good for my mental health if I were. I don't want to constantly assess whether I've received my money's worth, and I don't think that's the most valuable discussion I can have about a book. This doesn't mean I won't criticize or praise. It means that I'll do it as a person, not as a wallet. The more invitations I've received by e-mail to rate things, the more I've become aware that they threaten to dehumanize both me and whoever created whatever I'm interacting with. Society is full of encouragements to ever higher levels of consumerism, and I think it's good to resist that as much as possible.

And there's one minor reason:

1. As a writer, I've struggled to be receptive to what amounts to a letter grade.
I'm not in school anymore. While I think reviews can be interesting to read, every writer knows that they're also fraught with minefields of impending insecurity. It is much easier for me to read someone's written thoughts, even if they're harsh, than to see my work reduced to a score. I especially struggle when I see a score with no explanation. In general, I try to avoid reading reviews of my own work, but when I can't help but look, I always deal with it better if I don't pay attention to the score. It takes the interaction into that school realm where I feel as if I need to worry about my GPA or something (and the way Goodreads and Amazon compile and average star ratings contribute to that further). If I could change one thing about reviews as a writer, I would take off the stars and letter grades. Since I don't like it myself, I'm going to do unto others.

I'll leave you with a comic on the subject of rating systems. I've always really enjoyed this one:

Friday, November 15, 2013

For Your Listening Pleasure

When I saw the call for submissions for Rachel Kramer Bussel's The Big Book of Orgasms, I thought immediately of her previous anthology Orgasmic, which I loved, and which was full of the broadest imaginable group of stories about orgasm. My favorite stories in that book were the ones about unusual ways to orgasm—there was a great horseback riding story and another called "Chemistry" about the effect of a favorite scent. I was intrigued by that, and wanted to write something along those lines.

As may be evident from my long history of music posts, I get turned on listening to music all the time. I used to go to bed every night and let The Only Time by Nine Inch Nails soothe me to sleep because there is this one gorgeous moment when Trent Reznor gets a catch in his voice and gives a little moan, and for many years that was the purest expression of sex to me.

I also remember nights of dancing when between the music and my partner my clit was throbbing in time to the beat. I remember the times I stood on stage with a bass guitar slung across my chest and I felt the sexual power flowing from me (no matter how meager the audience might have been). I remember the times I climbed into someone's tricked out pickup truck and the whole damn cab was vibrating, every bone in my body was vibrating, and the music was taking over every part of me and leaving me breathless.

It was the truck thing that made me wonder... I had a friend who had a tiny seat in the back of the cab that sat directly above an enormous subwoofer, and there were rumors about what that did to the girls who rode there.

I'd never tried to use bass notes to come, but most of the time when I'd had the opportunity, I was fighting the urge, not giving in to it. And so I came up with the idea for "All You Do Is Play," which appears in this anthology:

Sharon sighed, sinking onto the corner of her bass amp, stroking its black body and rubber insulated cords — one leading to the wall and the other to the red, pearlescent body of her bass guitar. Long hours of playing had made the habit strong. The bass was in her arms before she made a conscious decision to pick it up, her left hand sliding up its familiar neck and her right hand's stiffened first and middle fingers hovering over the strings.

This felt easier than anything, certainly easier than thinking about loneliness any more. She switched on the amp. It buzzed to life beneath her, humming and gently vibrating.

Sharon tuned the instrument and experimented with a few notes. They filled up the room, lingering in the air like smoke. She normally played standing, but her feet hurt after the hours in the club. Sitting on the amp, the notes came up into her feet through the vibration of the floor, and into her body from the movement of the amp beneath her ass. She grinned and played faster, lower notes.

The music settled between her legs and trembled there. Sharon's fingers sped over the instrument's thick strings, plucking them to keep the sensation going. She tilted her hips and squirmed, trying to guide the amp's stimulation more directly to her sex. She slipped, the corner of the amp pressing through her panties, rubbing the opening of her cunt.

Of course, I had to test this because I care about you, readers, and I wouldn't want to torture you with impossible notions. I quickly discovered that I could not give myself an orgasm with nothing but my bass guitar because, frankly, I do not have enough hands. It was way too hard to play the bass, move against the amp, and not fall over, all at the same time. This, however, was a surmountable issue, and simply called for further research. What I needed was someone else to hold the bass and play it.

Perhaps it will not be surprising that my partner eagerly agreed to serve this noble cause. I will not lie. It was tricky to pull this off. It took diligent effort and a bit of practice. In my story, I may have glossed over a bit of the trial and error. However, I can assure you that we were able to make this work.

I have seen some speculative reviews on Amazon, and I'm here to tell you that this approach to orgasm is kink-tested, partner-approved. :) That said, it did require some loud and somewhat unmelodious playing (I don't know, maybe some people enjoy rapid, jangly, bassy notes).

Bonus trivia:
The following line from the story was actually spoken by my partner during research: "You like the notes from this string the most!"

I've been excited to write this post for a while, because I think "All You Do Is Play" has the best behind the scenes info of anything I've written. While I believe in embracing the sexiness of writing erotica, that doesn't always call for such unusual pursuits (but just wait until I tell you about the testing I did for "Objects of Desire," forthcoming in another Cleis anthology—all I will say at the moment is that it involved a rolling pin).

If I've intrigued you and you'd like to read the rest of the story, you will also get 68 other fantastic stories for your money! This baby's got work from many of my favorite authors, including Cecilia Tan, Tenille Brown, Giselle Renarde, Xan West, Sinclair Sexsmith, Donna George Storey, Kay Jaybee, A.M. Hartnett... (Um, I guess I'll stop the list there, but I could keep going...).

Now, as Nelly says, "Somebody give me a bass line":

This is part of the official blog tour for The Big Book of Orgasms.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

It's Not Too Early to Be Filled With Christmas Spirit

You know I mean that in a kinky way, right? Of course you do!

I've got you covered with The House of Erotica Winter Warmers collection, in which I join fellow House of Erotica authors to turn up the heat for the winter.

My story is called "Filled With Christmas Spirit," and I'm sure you'll be surprised to learn that I'm actually talking about going caroling while wearing a butt plug. Because how else would you do it?

Here's a snip:

"Good girl," Marcus said. "Can you guess what the fourth thing I wanted was?" He brought his hand to her side, stroking her with the firm affection he might have used with an expensive racehorse.

She shook her head.

"Give me a guess."

"Uh, sheet music? If we're going caroling, that is."

Marcus burst out laughing. "That wasn't what I had in mind, but you get points for that answer." He released her and went to rummage in the dresser. "I need lube to get your ass ready for this plug."

"Marcus, you can't really mean to take me out of the house with that in me!"

"If it doesn't work, it doesn't work, but I certainly mean to give it a shot."

Caroline whimpered, already imagining herself surrounded by fresh-faced, wholesome-looking carolers, trying to conceal the secret fullness in her ass.

"If I'd known this idea would excite you so much, I would have tried it sooner."

Caroline frowned, then realized her whimper had become a moan before it ended.

The bed creaked as Marcus settled himself behind her. A moment later, he spread her labia. The sudden intimate touch underscored the submission she had chosen to give him. He hadn't needed to kiss her first, or to slowly work his way up to touching her there. Instead, he took it as his right to touch her there.

His finger slipped into her. "You're soaking, Caroline."

Marcus found her favorite inner spots and pressed against them, leaving Caroline unable to answer him with words. She braced herself on her palms as well as she could, resisting the urge to drop flat onto the bed as he slid more fingers inside her. Every time she swallowed, she felt the ribbon against her throat and remembered that she'd given herself over to Marcus's plans for the evening.

"We shouldn't lose our Christmas spirit," Marcus said in the same teasing tone he'd been using since he got home. "I think you should practice your caroling now, Caroline." He lingered on the similarity of the activity and her name, pronouncing the repeated sounds with relish. She might have commented on this if she'd been able to speak. Instead, she shook her head rapidly and continued to moan.

"Oh, come on. I know you like Christmas. Let's give it a shot together, shall we?" He cleared his throat theatrically while suddenly giving his fingers a twist inside her. Caroline cried out in surprise at the same moment that Marcus sang in a rich baritone, "God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay."

You can pick up the anthology at All Romance, Amazon US, Amazon UK, and other good e-book retailers.