Monday, January 23, 2017

Sneak Peek at Sacred & Profane: Priest Erotic Romance (#giveaway #anthology #priest)

Sacred and Profane cover
Sacred & Profane: Priest Erotic Romance
edited by Torrance Sené

Ten stories of temptation, romance, and blasphemy featuring Sonni de Soto, Piper Denna, Torrance Sené, Charlotte French, Bronwyn Green, Leandra Vane, Mira Stanley, Jordan Monroe, H K Carlton, and Jillian Boyd.

Not even men of the cloth are exempt from God’s greatest gift: Love. In Sacred and Profane: Priest Erotic Romance, you’ll find stories of clergymen stepping outside their vows, pastors weaving divinity into their seductions, nuns and parishioners confessing to their body’s every earthly desire, and more.

Are you aroused by the blasphemous dance of sex and religion? The dangerous edge of eroticism contained within submission to something beyond oneself? The taboo juxtaposition of holy and sensual? Then Sacred and Profane welcomes you.

Release Date: 17 January 2017
Length: 60,220 words / 186 pages
Available in Print and Digital
Publisher: Sexy Little Pages

Request a free Review Copy here. (Please see Review note on the last page below)

Genuflect by Sonni de Soto

Father Nicholas has a secret, one he must keep protected. The solace and beauty he finds in the heresy of Donovan’s, a BDSM club that perverts his faith, fills a space in his soul that nothing else can.

His Undoing by Piper Denna

Shasta has a face Pastor Luke cannot resist. Out of all the parishioners, he spends the most time thinking of her. One night, the virgin preacher finds himself unable to escape the temptation that is her, and it turns out she too needs to be alone with him.

Temptation Follows by Torrance Sené

Father Yorke never expected his faith would be tested in the form of Good Samaritan Abby Lewison. But when she comes to him in need of guidance, her desires become his own and blasphemy is embraced.

Absolution by Charlotte French

Burdened with the sins of his parishioners, Father Granger’s spirit and soul are heavy and listless. His salvation lies in an old skeleton key left to him by Father Brennan. Through an otherworldly and taboo encounter, Granger discovers even priests deserve absolution.

Father What-a-Waste by Bronwyn Green

Against her better judgement, Prudence bares her soul in the confessional. But when past and present collide in the form of Father Thomas, she finds herself completely exposed and longing for for more than a few Hail Marys as penance.

Shelter by Leandra Vane

Morgan only goes to church to occasionally placate her mother. On her latest visit, she meets Pastor Buchanan can’t resist pushing his boundaries—and those of his parishioners—with her sex-positive attitude. Through Morgan’s mischief, the pastor soon learns more about his own body’s wants and needs.

Taking Mary Beth by Mira Stanley

After learning about Mary Beth from an inmate he ministered to, former Russian criminal-turned-priest, Father Aleksei discovers his true calling in life: protecting her. Forsaking the priesthood, he comes to her rescue and shows the young woman how all-encompassing love can be.

Succumb to Temptation by Jordan Monroe

After stepping away from his former life as a Dominant, Father Michael joined the priesthood to find solace and meaning. Instead, he is drawn to Claire and her enchanting soprano voice. She stirs a yearning in him he thought he’d left behind. 

Sin Bin by H K Carlton

Father Daunté Bennifetto never expected to find the one who got away, but there she was, dancing at a strip club. The Sin Bin. He was sent to bring her back to righteousness, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Down on My Knees by Jillian Boyd

Opened and awakened to the earthly lust that lie within her, Sister Josephine is unable to move on from her desires and the priest who stirred them in her one night. When they meet again, will either be strong enough to escape their attraction?

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Amazon has now begun to delete reviews they believe have come from friends and family of the author(s). The problem seems to lie in the wording used by reviewers. Rather than saying you received a free copy in exchange for a review, merely say you received a copy at no cost to the author. It’s the word exchange that Amazon is keeping an eye on as they believe that influences the quality/veracity of review. Saying you received a copy at no cost to the author makes it less likely that Amazon will delete your review. Thanks!

Smut: Restrained Blog Hop! (#bondage #prizes #femdom)

smut restrained banner

Today I’m joining Victoria Blisse and her other friends in a blog hop celebrating restraint in all its forms. I’ve got a juicy excerpt from the story “Wired”, part of my fun collection Hearts &Handcuffs.

Liz has had her eye on her fellow geek Krishna for a long time, but the shy sysadmin has always seemed impervious to her charms. Then one day, she discovers his secret.

Read my excerpt, then leave me a comment (with your email address, please!) telling me what kind of restraint stories you like (or don’t). I’ll randomly choose one person who comments to receive a $5 bookstore gift certificate, and another person to win a copy of the book.

Once you’re done here, head over to the Smut Restrained control center (!) for lots more sexy bondage excerpts! Most of the other participants have prizes, too!

I slipped through the fire doors that led to my group's space. The glassed-in server room was lit, plus the ceiling fluorescents above Krishna's office. The floor was carpeted in this area. I moved without a sound.

Krishna sat with back to me, focused on his screen. From where I stood, outside his cubicle, I couldn't see what he was gazing at so intently. But I could guess.

Krishna,” I murmured.

He swiveled around, simultaneously flicking the off switch on his monitor. I could tell that the move was well-practiced.

Liz! What are you doing here?” As I entered the cubicle, he backed the chair towards the desk, apparently trying to put more distance between us.

I came to visit you. I thought you might be lonely.” I took another step forward. He had nowhere to go. An embarrassed grin stretched his lush lips.

His shirt was open to the middle button. A gold chain nestled in the black curls on his breast. He was breathing hard; the rise and fall of his chest made the necklace glitter. I dropped my gaze to his lap. As I expected, I found a significant bulge.

Um―no―I'm fine―just making sure the backups are all right. I was going to leave in a few minutes...”

I brushed a fingertip across the lump in his groin. He shivered. His nervous smile evaporated. “Don't go yet,” I crooned. “I just got here.”

I had changed out of my work clothes. I now wore a tight purple jersey with a V neck that flattered my modest breasts and a short denim skirt. I trailed a finger down my throat to my cleavage. Krishna's eyes followed in fascination. I retraced my path to my throat, the feathery touch making my nipples pebble, and removed the scarf I'd draped around my neck.

He gripped the curved arms of his desk chair, as though he were afraid he was going to faint. I slipped the scarf under the chair arm and wrapped it twice around his wrist, then tied a firm knot. He didn't move. The lavender silk was lovely against his brown skin.

Is that too tight?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper. Krishna shook his head. His eyes were black pools of lust. I pulled a second scarf from my back pocket, this one turquoise, and secured his other arm. He trembled when I touched him.

I seated myself on his lap. His erection poked deliciously at my bottom, even through the heavy denim of my skirt. He must be huge, I thought. I'd know before long.

His beautiful face hovered inches from mine. He dropped his eyes, focusing on his bound wrist.

No,” I protested, lifting his chin so that he could not look away. “Look at me, for once. I've been trying to get your attention for months. You're not getting away from me this time.”

Krishna's lips parted, as though he was about to speak. I stopped him with a fierce kiss. At first he resisted, struggling against the scarves, his lips pressed tightly together to keep me out. I braced my palms against his chest and bore down on him, prying those lips apart with my tongue.

All at once he let go. His mouth was as lush and hot as it looked, tasting of coffee and anise. I fed on him, nibbling and sucking, pouring out my long-denied lust. He opened to me, not exactly passive, but giving me control.

My bare thighs grew damp with the heat of that kiss. My nipples peaked into aching knots. His smell surrounded me, soap and sweat and the coconut oil he used on his hair. His rod prodded the crack between my legs. I burrowed deeper into his mouth, kissing him harder.

Krishna arched up, grinding himself against my ass. I broke the kiss and hopped off his lap. “Oh no you don't! Your orgasm belongs to me.”

Please, Liz!” Krishna looked miserable and needy.

Oh, now you're begging!” I strutted back and forth in front of him on my high-heeled boots, giving him an eyeful of my slutty outfit. “Maybe I should just leave you here, tied up and frustrated. After all, you've frustrated me for an awfully long time.”

No, please...”

What will Steve and Rob think when they come in tomorrow and find you tied to your chair? And when they turn on your monitor?”

I reached over his shoulder to click the switch. As I'd expected, the screen was full of kinky images, men hogtied and suspended, secured in a hundred uncomfortable positions, all with huge, hungry erections. 

Don't forget to leave a comment!
And be sure to visit the blog hop home page for more chances to win! 

Get your copy of Hearts & Handcuffs here:


Sunday, January 22, 2017

Sunday Snog 263: Spank Me Again, Stranger (#kink #kiss #bdsm)

hearts and handcuffs cover

It’s Sunday already! That means it’s time for another Sunday Snog.

My kiss excerpt today comes from “Spank Me Again, Stranger”, one of the stories in my romantic kink collection Hearts & Handcuffs. I’ve cut this excerpt to remove most of the kink and focus on the kiss, but I think you’ll be able to tell what’s been going on earlier in the story.

When you’re done with my snog, head back to Victoria’s Sunday Snogpage for more delicious kisses!

Forty nine. Fifty.” He pulled her panties back up, snapping the elastic against her lacerated skin and making her gasp. “There you go! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He flipped her back into a standing position as deftly as he'd splayed her across his thighs. She stood there blinking in the spotlight, wearing a single shoe, her ass and her clit both burning. She didn't dare meet his eyes.

Jake retrieved her shoe. She remained there, unresisting, while he slipped her foot back into the sandal and tightened the strap. “Happy Birthday, Audra! You took that like a trouper.” His lips brushed hers for a moment, but were gone so swiftly she thought she might have imagined the gesture. “Everyone, let's give our birthday girl a big hand...”

Audra stumbled off the stage and pushed her way through the cheering crowd. The pressure in her swollen pussy and the ache in her punished ass were her only realities. She had to get away, find some privacy, give herself some relief.

The ladies' room was outside, behind the building. Audra followed the signs. She practically burst into tears when she found the one-person facility was occupied.

She couldn't wait. Slipping into the shadows, she crumpled her skirt to her waist and yanked her panties down to her knees. The fabric scraped over her pummeled ass. Damn him! She wouldn't be able to sit down for days. The perverse thought just made her hornier.

Spreading her thighs wide, she plunged two fingers into her slick hole while settling her thumb against her clit. Pleasure arced up her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes...” she hissed. “Oh, yeah...”

She was on the brink already—right where that bastard had left her. Her clit spiked up, engorged and hungry. She worried it back and forth, rubbing furiously. No time for teasing. She needed to come, right now.

Her climax gathered, winding tighter, drawing closer but still out of reach. The wail of a bass guitar leaked into the night as someone opened the door of bar. He was in there, playing his music as if nothing had happened, while she pinched her clit and ground her fist into her cunt like a maniac. Damn him, she'd make him pay, she'd make him...

Let me do that.” A massive man-shaped silhouette blocked out the stars. Giant hands gripped her shoulders while full lips settled on hers with a decisiveness that both enraged and excited her. She tried to resist but it was like fighting a hurricane. His tongue teased her mouth open despite her determination to keep it closed. He nibbled her lip then nuzzled her throat, his whiskers far softer than they looked.

He smelled of cheap bourbon and clean sweat, with hints of sagebrush and thyme. While her conscious mind continued to seethe with anger, her body surrendered completely. His big fingers replaced her desperate ones, delving into her juicy pussy and driving her up the slope to orgasm. He seemed to know what she needed—just as he'd known how she'd react to his blows on her ass. 


Saturday, January 21, 2017

Love should never be a bed of roses…( @JamiGrayAuthor #flawedcharacters #suspense #pnr )

Marked by Obsession cover

By Jami Gray (Guest Blogger)

Do you carry a teeny tiny bit of conspiracy theorist in your tucked away psyche? Love a good romance with flawed couples? Are you addicted to the heart-pounding ride of unexpected twists?

Yeah, me too.

I started my PSY-IV Teams series because I wanted to combine my fascination with psychic phenomena, suspense, and romance. As an avid reader, I tend to read a great deal outside of my chosen fiction genres. One particular book, The Search for the Manchurian Candidate by John D. Marks, followed the history of behavioral science and the CIA, and helped sparked the idea. After finishing that book, I moved on to The Psychopath Next Door and a few others (which now that I’m reading this I’ll refrain from listing since…um, yeah, my research library of non-fiction titles would be scary to an outsider).

Marked by Obsession is the third book in my Paranormal Romantic Suspense series. The PSY-IV Teams was unlike my Urban Fantasy series (The Kyn Kronicles) and proved a bit more of a challenge when I first started it. Although the series centers around ex-military psychics, no demons (real, physical ones), werewolves or other creatures who go bump in the night, exist in this world, my characters have to face the demons of their past, the nightmares they’ve survived, and navigate the ravages of life. It makes for a rather bumpy ride.

I was adopted at 14, so I find my main characters tend to bring their own baggage. Since I firmly believe that you have two choices when life starts putting you through the wringer, stand up or fall down, my women (and men) tend to stand up, even if they’re weaving on their feet, faces bruised and battered.

Without further ado, I give you Wolf and Meli from Marked by Obsession…

Some betrayals hide behind love, others obsession...

The loss of her beloved brother and a series of unexplained events plunges Meli Dwyer into a dangerously unfamiliar reality. Alone and floundering, she turns to the sexy and unsettling Wolf Kincaid, PSY-IV Team’s skilled telepath, for help even as her battered heart whispers to steer clear of a man more dangerous than what hunts her.
Will Meli find the answers to her personal nightmare before one man’s obsession costs her the heart of another?

Want a quick tease?

A flash of something came and went in those sea-glass eyes. “You don’t like accepting help, do you?”

What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m not talking in tongues, here. It means exactly what I said.” He cocked his head, his face unreadable. “Why are you picking a fight with me, Meli?”

His question made me pause, and I sat back. Why was I picking a fight? Wolf and Bishop were only trying to help, and getting Rabbit to uncover the details behind Eric’s death might give us a clue as to what waited in the safety deposit box. Or maybe, it would just raise more questions. And there it was, “I think I’m scared of what you’ll find.” Saying it out loud didn’t do a darn thing to diminish the dread lodged like a weight in my gut.

Wolf leaned forward, one arm stretching across the table until he could cover my hand fisted next to my plate. “Why?”

Such a soft question to land so hard. The fears chasing themselves in my head were so disloyal, but there was no escaping the logic. Whatever Eric was involved in was at my front door, and there was no outrunning it now. I raised my head and met him head on, even though the words choked me. “During the last year, Eric changed. He was darker, harder than before, and worried. If this is tied to him, or what was haunting him, and it killed him, how do I fight it?”

His grip tightened. “You’re not doing it alone, angel. I won’t let you.”

The solemn depth to his words triggered another fear, even as shame scrambled underneath. As much as I’d love to stand alone, keeping everyone else safe, I couldn’t, I didn’t have the necessary skills to navigate this dangerous new road. But I couldn’t bear it if this man was hurt because of me, because of the trouble I brought. “Don’t stand in front of me, Wolf.”

His thumb brushed back and forth along my wrist, his gaze never wavering. “I can’t walk away. I won’t, so don’t ask.”

I shook my head vehemently because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I wouldn’t survive whatever was coming without him. “Beside me, stand beside me.” It came out rough and aching.

His smile was brilliant and fierce. “That I can do.”

Pick up your copy at:

About Jami

Jami Gray is the award winning, multi-published author of the Urban Fantasy series, The Kyn Kronicles, and the Paranormal Romantic Suspense series, PSY-IV Teams. She can be soothed with coffee and chocolate. Surrounded by Star Wars obsessed males and two female labs moonlighting as the Fur Minxes, she escapes by playing with the voices in her head.

Hunt her down at:

Amazon Author Page:

Friday, January 20, 2017

Protesting the New Normal (#newrelease #antitrump #erotica @MoveOn)

This is a political post.

Normally I try to avoid politics and controversial religion on my blog. I am a strong believer in every individual’s right to his or her own opinion, as long as no one tries to foist that opinion on me. Live and let live has always been my motto. Plus I recognize that despite the appeal of painting the world in black and white, almost every issue actually involves shades of gray.

Normally, I’d just title this post “New Release”.

However, things these days are not normal.

The United States is about to swear in a president whose main claim to fame is his ability to insult other people in 140 characters. I’m not going to bore you by listing all his objectionable traits. If you share my views, you are already far too familiar with his vile behavior. If you’re one of the people responsible for today’s historic and, to me, horrifying event—well, you’ve probably given up reading already. Unless of course you’re preparing to leave me some comment full of invective, in the manner approved by your candidate.

Anyway, the day after the election results were announced, Alessia Brio, the founder and guiding light of the charitable erotica imprint Coming Together, sent out a call for submissions. Coming Together: Moving On is an anthology of fiction and poetry on themes made painfully salient by the presidential campaign and its aftermath: civil rights, equality, LGBTQ rights, tolerance, charity, sexual assault, politics, voting rights, immigration... You get the idea.

It's out today...Inauguration Day.

All proceeds from the book benefit , a civic and political action group which has been at the forefront of efforts to resist the president-elect’s dangerous agenda and nominees, and his un-presidential behavior.

I’ve got a story in the book. I know many of the contributors. We’re donating our work for free, fighting our despair, because we want to do something to improve the situation.

It might not be much. But each of us can make a small difference, writing, and then living, our principles


Here’s the table of contents:

Introduction by Alessia Brio
Passion's Pull by Corbin A Grace
Hypocrites by Alyssa Turner
When There Are No Words by Sonni De Soto
The Help by Sonni De Soto
Kayla's Birthday Present by Ashlyn Chase
The Stoning by Michael Swanson
Checklist by B.K. Bilicki
Divided We Fall by Lisabet Sarai
For Their Own Good by Lola White
We Desire Many Things by Skilja Peregrinarius
The Aisle Of Lesbos by Allison Wonderland
A Healthy Passion by Mary Winter
Moving On by Kally Jo Surbeck

My story, “Divided We Fall”, is set in a near-future Los Angeles in which different ethnic groups have been confined to their ghettos and encouraged to wage war on one another.

Here’s a bit to give you the flavor.


There are no walls. Just IEDs, trip-wire bombs and snipers. We've learned a few things from the jihadis.

The Santa Anas whip at the white rag attached to my broom handle as I cross Vermont. No-man's land. Black hair tangles in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I should chop it all off, maybe even shave my head. That would be safer. Would look scarier, too. Pathetic how vanity survives, even in the most desperate situations.

Afternoon shadows stripe the broken pavement. The only vehicles visible are burned-out skeletons, picked clean by scavengers from both barrios. I dart from one to the next, keeping a good distance away from the blackened hulks while still trying to use them for cover as I approach the Niggertown gate. Any one of them could be booby-trapped, though that would break the unwritten rules that have allowed us Viets to co-exist with the niggers. So far at least.

I don't want to be here. I've got no confidence my truce flag will buy me any kind of safety. But what can I do? My little brother's disappeared, last seen headed toward the black ghetto. We searched every corner of Viet Village. Unless he's deliberately hiding―not likely given his age and his usual good behavior― he must have wandered outside the bounds.

The many kinds of harm he might meet scroll through my mind like credits for some old movie. I force myself to slow down as I approach the West Century intersection, the only un-mined street leading east into Niggertown. Gripping my flag in one hand, I raise the other high to show I'm unarmed. It's true, aside from the switchblade hidden my boot. I don't step out of the abandoned grocery my family calls home without that knife.

When I sleep, it hangs from cord around my neck, nestled between my breasts. Older Brother calls me Blade-Heart. He thinks it's a joke, but his nickname suits me. I might ask Uncle Pham to tattoo it on my bicep.

"Freeze, bitch."

I'm expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall, lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like it's another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how there's never enough food, but no problem getting guns.

"What you doin' here? This ain't your territory. You get your gook ass back 'cross the street before I kick it back!"

Though the guard talks tough, I can see he's young, maybe younger than I am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon like he'd just as soon shoot me as not, but there's a softness to his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.

He wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to fatal. He might be young, but he's no stranger to battle. None of us is, these days.

"You hear me, bitch?" he growls and jabs at me with his knife.

Instinct taking over, I shrink backward, then recover. He mustn't think I'm afraid. Straightening my spine, I raise my flag a bit higher.

"I claim the right of truce." I make my voice low, even, and respectful. But not subservient. "I'm looking for my three-year old brother. He wandered out of our territory earlier today. Someone said he might be in Niggertown."

"You better hope he's not." The guard gives me an evil grin. "Me and my boys just love a bit of barbecue."

I ignore his jibe. He's just trying to pull my chain. I hope. "Can I have a look around? Please?"

"Any gooks enterin' Niggertown got to pay the toll." His leer widens, his white teeth a shocking contrast to his soot-dark complexion.


If today’s events make you as sick as they make me, consider buying a copy of Coming Together: Moving On. Take a stand against the new normal. (And enjoy some great fiction, too.)

Available at other booksellers soon.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

Fear of Flying (#steampunk #bdsm #mashup)


It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

Thus begins my novel Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it's a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won't tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I break rules right and left with this novel. Would the market embrace my mash-up? Or would readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon is like nothing else I've written. Well, that's not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I've never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I'm pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won't worry. That's out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually:


The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

Totally Bound (TB can send books directly to your ereader)


Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Oops. Did I really write that? (@ShariElderBooks #scifi #eroticromance #amwriting )

Race to Redemption cover

By Shari Elder (Guest Blogger)

Thanks for welcoming me to your blog, Lisabet. I write paranormal and science fiction romance because I enjoy building new worlds, almost as much as I love writing the love story. The logical structure, rules and culture of the society run in parallel to the romance arc. Both must make sense. At the broad outline level, this is not too hard to balance. But when the writer drills into the details, it can get tricky sometimes.

Using deleted snippets from latest release, I thought it would be fun to share what happens when a writer gets that wrong. It’s a small example, but a telling one.

Race to Redemption takes place on a desert world. The sand retains minerals and biogenetic materials that allow the inhabitants, who are nomadic, to build and take them down their homes quickly. Like sand igloos. The land is also subject to frequent and often severe dust storms, so the indigenous populations connect their houses to each other with sand corridors, which also link their living quarters to communal places –bath, prayer hall, governance circle and supply hut.

In the first draft, I put doors with locks on these homes. Which allowed for a fun exchange between my hero and heroine.

Erik knocked again when no one came to the door, then a third time.

I can pick the lock.” 
Any other skills of yours I should know about that could land us in prison somewhere?”

She gave him a shrug. “Basic Zoner survival skills—better to pick a lock then be left outside in a storm.”

A later scene referenced this snippet.

Erik always had a pocketknife with him. He used it to pick the lock.

“Well, well, it looks like I’m not the only with breaking an entry on my resume.”

The smile he gave her melted every bone in her body. If it wasn’t so sweltering …

Doors and locks in a sand igloo? Among people who bath together and pool supplies? Did I really write that?

I did, and I resisted changing it. I loved these short snippets. They revealed a common hidden talent and disregard for convention my hero and heroine shared and showed their bond evolving. I didn’t want to lose them.

Sometimes you have to kill your darlings, as they say. Reluctantly, I deleted or rewrote a few scenes, removing doors, locks, and Elaina’s lock picking. Here’s the final result.

That’s definitely something.” Erik knelt to her right and used his pocket knife to lever it out of the ground, then pick the lock.

So, I’m not the only one with illicit skills on my résumé.”
The smile he flashed liquefied every bone in her body. If it wasn’t sweltering…

Thanks for stopping by and letting me share a segment of my writing journey. It’s my pleasure to invite you to visit my world—with sand igloos, defiant protagonists, alien sex toys, complex villains, intergalactic race championships and a rebellion simmering underneath it all.

Race to Redemption Blurb

A woman who lost everything

Intergalactic storm racing champion Elaina Carteret had it all – fame, wealth, men – until a horrific accident took it away. To get it back, she agrees to pose as Lainie Carter, medical transport pilot and corporate spy. Her risk-taking attitude infuriates Dr. Erik Johansen, who runs the outpost with an iron hand, a permanent scowl and the tightest bod on the planet.

A man desperate for redemption.

Unable to forgive himself for a past tragedy, Erik works himself into an early grave. He has no patience for the insubordinate Lainie Carter, who can’t take an order, disrupts routine and flames his body to ash.

A planet at risk.

When the outpost is attached, they’re thrown together in a race across the desert to stop a deadly biogenetic weapon As a fragile trust blossoms between two damaged hearts, their pasts resurface and threaten their growing bond.

Be warned: Erotic romance, level five heat designation, gender neutral characters.


Erik tilted his head. Speech didn’t seem to be in him. She followed him to the bathing room at the back of the building. The small lump in the bath couldn’t be Sen. Whatever it was had gill-slits and grayish-green skin, no remaining golden hue of the Ranharran air breathers. No, definitely not Sen.

I don’t understand.”

Biogenetic tampering that forced his DNA to rewrite itself into Den Vedran but it was only partial. His gills are not fully formed, but the Ranharran lungs collapsed. I believe the Den Vedran lungs would have grown over them but not in time. The changes left him unable to take in oxygen from any source.”

She couldn’t get her head around what Erik was saying. Every cell in her body froze into numbness. Her blood stopped flowing. That just couldn’t be Sen.

We should return him to the dust. Sen had a soft spot for Ranharran ceremonies.” How she coughed up those words she’d never know, but it was what Sen would want. If that lump were Sen, which it wasn’t.

Erik shook his head. “He’s not dead. I injected him with a stasis drug. It only lasts about two months. I’ll need to do so some tests on him.” His low growl told her the idea appalled him as much as it did her. She swallowed back an instinctive retort. He didn’t need her crap on top of the pile he already carried.

For Qirta,” she said instead.

Gratitude flickered in those ancient eyes. She took his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder, desperate for touch. He let her without balking. A heart did beat underneath Erik’s scowl.

They stood together without moving for what seemed like a century. Fintarl brought in an air gurney at some point to move the body that wasn’t Sen to the lab. Everyone in the camp stumbled like the walking dead to get through the next hours. Ranharrans did not have tear ducts because their bodies were built to retain every ounce of water. They hummed in grief and the camp was awash in a low, melancholy drone.

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About Shari

I'm Shari. By day, I crawl out of bed, mainline coffee, get my kid off to school, walk the dog, then save cities within the four walls of my office. Usually by email.

At night, I take off the suit, curl up with my computer and save cities on a jet-powered skateboard, make six-toed footprints on the sixth planet in the Andromeda galaxy and bring men and women, who had given up on romance, another chance to find it.

Join me on this journey.

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