Thank you everyone who entered my $50 gift certificate giveaway. I just picked the winner using a random number generator, and it’s Caroline T. Caroline, I’ve emailed you your gift certificate
My first novel, My Secret Life has been re-edited, reformatted and it has a sexy new cover. I’ve slashed the price today to 99c (normally $3.99) on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and iTunes and, thanks to a pricing quirk, Brits can pick it up even cheaper – 49p!
Be aware that while His Slave, His Princess is what I consider erotic romance, My Secret Life is definitely erotica and contains explicit scenes. It’s quite “edgy” in places.
I’m in another anthology, this time edited by the absolutely awesome Polly J. Adams. This one’s all about betrayal and raw, untempered lust. When you can’t stop throwing glances at that special person across the room, even though you’re married (or they are), even though you know it could hurt someone if you’re found out. You meet in secret, in hotel rooms rented by the hour, stealing kisses in cabs when no one’s looking, desperately promising yourself that you’ll end it, soon…but you can’t.
Unfaithful – Explicit Stories of Escape and Betrayal is out now on Amazon, and for a limited time it’s just $0.99!
As well as my story, you get six others! Jenny Goes Dogging by Polly J Adams, The Cheaters by Saffron Sands, Caught with the Maid by Jade K Scott, An Adulterous Surprise by Carl East, An Irresistible Offer by Angel Wild and Sleeping with the Past by Polly J Adams and Ruby Fielding.
My story is called “The Road Trip”. Carrie has been happily married to Jack for four years and has never told him that, the night before she met him in college, she had a one night stand with his buddy, notorious bad boy Trent. She still has feelings for him and suspects he feels the same way, but she manages to keep a lid on things by ensuring they’re never alone together.
Then they’re forced to drive cross-country. Just the two of them in a car together, for two days.
Can Carrie stay faithful? Or is her life about to spin out of control?
When we hit the road again, we switched drivers. I figured that would be easier, because if he had to concentrate on the road he couldn’t look at me.
I’d underestimated how much I wanted to look at him.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The black t-shirt he wore hugged his pecs and his lean, hard abs. The blond hairs on his forearms glinted gold in the afternoon sun and I imagined them wrapped around me, his tan against my pale skin.
I tried reading. I got car sick. I stared out of the window and got white-line fever. If felt like there was nowhere to look except right at him, at that tightly muscled body that I could still remember naked just as clearly as if it was yesterday.
God, I wanted him. I wanted him so much.
Stop it! You’re married! Your husband is right there in front of you!
But storm clouds rolled in and the day turned into night. We had to shift lanes a few times to get past some slow-moving trucks, and at some point we lost the RV. Jack was probably only a half mile behind us, but he wasn’t visible anymore.
And that made a difference.
It started with glances. So quick that there wasn’t time to tell him keep your eyes on the road, but they were there. Not just my legs, this time. My breasts. My face. Every part of me, as if he was building up a picture, bit by bit. As if he was thinking of nothing else, as he drove along. And every time I dared to meet his gaze, those icy blue eyes locked onto mine and I had to look away before they drained what little self control I had left.
“I do,” he said out of nowhere.
“Do think about it.” He gave me a long look and I felt my pulse quicken.
And then I realized his hand was on my knee. His touch was like a live wire, filling me up with crackling, surging energy every second it remained there. I had to move it and yet I couldn’t. My arms felt like they were made out of concrete.
“Don’t start something,” I told him weakly.
“I didn’t start it,” he said. “You did. You started talking about it. You started it when you agreed to drive all this way with me. You started it when you wore that dress.”
My mouth moved weakly, but I couldn’t protest because I knew it was true.
“I’m married,” I said at last.
“I know.” He sounded angry. Angry with me? Angry with the situation? Angry because he wouldn’t get what he wanted…or, terrifyingly, that he would, and hated himself for it?
“Trent…we can’t. Please…remove your hand from my knee.”
He laughed. “‘Please remove your hand from my knee?’ When did you get such a stick up your ass?”
I swallowed. “Trent—”
“You weren’t like that in my room.”
I shut my eyes. “Don’t.”
“What was it you yelled again?” His hand was moving higher. Very slowly, but definitely inching higher, pushing the hem of the dress with it. “’Fuck me from behind.’ No, wait. It was, ‘Fuck me like an animal.’”
“Move your hand,” I said tightly.
“Move it yourself,” he told me. “If you want to.”
His hand stayed there, slowly moving higher. My inner thigh. My upper inner thigh. One finger grazed the elastic of my panties. The presence of him, so close to me, the wicked mind that knew how to give me pleasure in so many different ways….
“Nothing’s going to happen,” I said.
“Something’s already happening,” he told me. And then the edge of his hand was rubbing me, slow and gentle, against my soft lips, and I could feel it closing in on me, inevitable, my future being set in stone. I had seconds to change our course: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—
I tore away from him. I couldn’t bring myself to move his hand so I twisted in my seat towards the door, clamping my thighs together. The reality of it slammed through me—what we’d nearly done. God, what we’d already done. I could feel the wetness, the evidence of my infidelity.
“That’s it,” I told him. “It’s over. No more. No more touching, no more talking: nothing. I’m married.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He was glaring out of the windshield with an expression that could have burned away the rain. “You want it as much as I do.”
I turned and stared out of the window in silence, which wasn’t the same as denying it.
Today, the first of two anthologies I’m in is out. Saffron and Friends 2 – Menage a Trois Collection. This is my first foray into full-on erotica (as opposed to erotic romance) since My Secret Life and also the first time I’v written a threesome (although there was some dabbling in MSL).
My story is called The College Friend. It’s the tale of what happens when our happily-married heroine gets a visit from the woman she once experimented with in college. Her husband’s only too eager–possibly too eager–for them to experiment some more, but it’s been years. Will anything happen? Does she really want it to? And how will they all feel about it afterwards?
While the sex is steamy, it’s also a reasonably long (for a short story) erotica – 8,500 words. If you like my other work, you’ll probably like this. Better still, right now you can pick up the whole anthology, which contains five other stories of MFF threesomes as well as mine, for just $0.99! And you’re getting some top-quality material: stories from Carl East, Angel Wild, Jade K. Scott, Polly J. Adams and Saffron Sands! Seriously, at this price it’s a steal for Polly’s story alone. Go and get it now!
Here’s an extract from mine. Our hero and heroine are relaxing on the couch, slightly tipsy, and the heroine’s just about to confess what happened in college.
The College Friend – Extract
That night, I was lying on the couch in jeans and a tank top, my bare feet in my husband’s lap, drinking Shiraz while we discussed fantasies. His were pretty tame. Anal—predictably—which I wouldn’t do, and sex outdoors—which I decided I’d do, given the right opportunity. And then it turned to me.
I opened my mouth to say, “I’d like to be oiled by four hot guys on a desert island”—which I thought was nice and non-threatening—but what came out was,
“Sometimes I think about this girl.”
“Shit!” Mike erupted up off the couch, mainly because he’d just poured a nearly-full glass of Shiraz over himself. His white shirt turned crimson and he started tearing it off and trying not to drip on the rug. That gave me time to wonder what the hell did I just do? I started to frantically plan a way to backpedal.
As Mike stripped off his shirt, his broad chest appeared: built on the college football field, chiseled by eating well and hitting the gym three times a week. I had the sudden urge to pounce on him and push him down onto the rug, which would have had the added bonus of distracting him. But I was too late—he ran out into the kitchen.
I heard him stuffing his shirt into the washer and then he marched back into the room, still bare-chested, silver belt buckle gleaming in the dim light of the living room. He poured himself a fresh glass and topped up mine. Then: “A girl? Who?”
He wasn’t just interested—he was fascinated, which put a whole different slant on things. I squirmed against the couch cushions. “Umm…just girls. You know, sometimes.”
“You didn’t say girls. You said this girl. Who?”
Not for the first time, I cursed myself for marrying a lawyer.
I opened my mouth and then shut it again. I didn’t want to share her. Not her name, at least. “A girl I knew at college. Barbara.” It was the first name that popped into my head.
He frowned. “I don’t remember anyone called Barbara.”
“It was before I met you.”
He leaned closer. “Okay, so…what happened?”
I looked at him, surprised. “You’re…interested? I mean…interested interested? Like, you like to think about me and another woman?”
He stared at me as if I was stupid. “Hell yeah!”
I frowned. “But you’ve never said anything. You didn’t mention me and another woman when you went through your fantasies.”
He smiled and brushed a finger through my hair. “I never knew you were into it. I felt like it’d be pressuring you, to suggest it when you weren’t. I mean, you never showed even the slightest indication that you liked women.”
“What were you expecting—a t-shirt?” But behind the joke, my mind was racing. All those years, I’d kept it from him because I was scared of his reaction. Not that Mike was homophobic—hell, he had a good friend who was gay. But we’d forsaken all others. To admit that I’d once experienced something that he couldn’t possibly give me…well, from that it wasn’t a long leap to “I still want something you can’t possibly give me,” and that way, I’d figured, lay arguments and tears, even if I convinced him that he was all I wanted.
The last thing I’d been expecting was for him to find it a turn on. Was that naïve of me? Don’t all guys like the idea of two women together? Well, yes. But not necessarily their woman with another woman. Even now, he was just thinking of it as a fantasy. When it became a reality, that would be completely different.
Wait, what? Whoah there, girl. It wasn’t going to become a reality!
I realized I’d been silent for a while, and that Mike was still staring at me. “It was just one time, in college,” I said. “She was a friend, and we sort of….”
“What?” God, he was so eager! He was practically bouncing up and down.
“How could you not tell me this before?!” He leaned forward. “Did you lick her boobs?”
I put a hand over my eyes, flushing red. “Mike!”
“Did you go down on her?”
“Stop!” I put my hand down. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like some hot and heavy lesbian session. Things just…happened.”
“Things don’t just happen. So do you think you’re bi?”
I didn’t know how to answer, which was an answer in itself.
“Do you want to do something about it?” he asked.
I slowly got his meaning. “You mean…no! I’m with you now! We were just talking fantasies.”
“But if you wanted to—“
“I don’t want to.”
“But if you wanted to,” he said, “that would be okay.”
It went quiet as we both sipped our wine. I refilled my glass, even though I was already more than tipsy. More wine, I decided. This conversation definitely needs more wine.
“You mean if you could watch?” I asked carefully.
“Yeah. If I could watch.”
“You’d be okay with me…fucking another woman? As long as you could watch?”
I shook my head. “This is insane.”
When he’d jumped up to take off his shirt, I’d been cruelly shifted from my lying position and forced to sit up. Now, Mike climbed around behind me and sat down with his powerful legs either side of me, his chest against my back. He started to kiss my ear. “It turns me on,” he said.
I did a kind of half shrug. “Anything turns you on. You’re a guy. You get turned on looking at a tree with a knothole.”
“This really does, though.” He started to lay kisses down my neck, talking between each one. “You kissing another woman. Clothes coming off. Your boobs rubbing together.”
“I don’t think lesbians do that,” I said, while thinking do they?!
“Her using her fingers on you. Her going down on you.”
This time my shrug was more of a squirm. His hands came around to capture my breasts.
“You going down on her.” His firm fingers were kneading my breasts through my tank top and I knew it was only a matter of time before it came off. “Tongues licking at each other.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said weakly. I was starting to grind my hips a little. Damn him, he always knew exactly how to turn me on.
His teeth bit gently on my earlobe and I moaned. His hands came up under my tank top and drew it up over my arms and off. With my back to him, it was easy for him to unhook my bra, and then that was off too, my breasts bouncing free. His palms covered them and the glorious feeling of my nipples against his warm skin was almost too much to bear.
I’d been so focused on talking him down from the whole lesbian thing that I hadn’t allowed myself to notice how much the memories had turned me on. He kept kissing me, pulling me back against him until I was sitting on his lap, the hard bulge in his groin right under me. His hands spread my legs and two fingers started to rub me through my jeans. I’ve always loved his hands—so skillful, despite their huge size.
“Ah!” I let out. “God!”
He whispered in my ear as he rubbed me. “You want to do it again, don’t you? A nice soft female mouth on you? Your naked boobs rubbing against another woman’s—”
He’s obsessed with that part.
“Fingers inside you…maybe a toy. Would you like that, Renee? Would you like some woman to shove a toy up you?”
I gasped and suddenly clenched and bucked against him as his words sent me over the edge. I’ve always liked a bit of dirty talk, and Mike’s very, very good at it. I lay back against him, breathing hard.
“It’s just a fantasy,” I told him, not very convincingly.
Want to discover some new authors and get in on a giveaway at the same time? Check this out. I’ve teamed up with 24 others to bring you a huuuge giveaway!
Pat Powers has posted a very thoughtful review about His Slave, His Princess, which covers consent in BDSM erotic romance, Gor and lots of other interesting stuff. It makes for a great read, but be warned that the site is not safe for work (NSFW).
I’ve always liked Jordan Bell’s work, but I was blown away by this extract from her new book, The Submissive Behind the Mask: Bondage & Discipline. Jordan writes the way I’d like to write and if you like my stuff, there’s a good chance you’ll like hers. It’s what I’d call realistic BDSM erotic romance, with a lovely eye for detail in the locations and the incidentals (the bit about the cocktails named after the faults of past lovers is fantastic). Like all the best extracts, it leaves you hungry for more. If Amazon let us indies do pre-orders, I’d be pre-ordering this.
Over at the wonderful Kharisma Rhayne’s blog, I’m talking about being disciplined, by way of Rhett Butler and the Prince of Asteria.
When I came to plot out Asteria, there was a reason why I wanted to write about a royal instead of the more usual billionaire CEO. There’s some of me musing on this, royal families in general, the press, and another chance to win a Kindle Paperwhite, over at Deep in the Heart of Romance blog today.
The lovely Anna Dase over at Reading Between the Lines has interviewed me, covering Asteria, writing and life in general. We both agree that the world needs more vodka bars. There’s an exclusive giveaway over there, where you can win one of five bundles, each bundle containing a copy ‘The Elf Princess’s Lover’ and a copy of ‘Music’.