Ashe Barker, one of our authors, has kindly set it up and we need 100 likes! (Never done a thunderclap before!)
Monday, 31 October 2016
Friday, 28 October 2016
Today’s Wicked Weekends is all about Silver Desire anthology, edited by Zak Jane Keir, it focuses on the erotic possibiities and passions of older women. Each of the ten stories in this anthology centres on a woman over 50 experiencing lust, love, or both. It has M/F, mostly vanilla, and a little kink
Buy link https://www. sexylittleauthors.com/book/ silver-desire
Buy link https://www. sexylittleauthors.com/book/ silver-desire
Age Appropriate, by Elizabeth Coldwell
Newly-widowed Molly takes a trip to Italy and finds that, though the younger men may look at her admiringly, it’s the handsome stranger of her own age who can help her recover from her loss and feel truly desirable again.
Lotus Pose by Jillian Boyd
The newest member of Gabe’s yoga class is gorgeous 50+ Vanessa. The attraction between them is instant and mutual, though both are recovering from previous hurts. Can teacher and student learn from one another?
The Checkout Line by Spencer Dryden
When a retired handyman discovers that his latest client is the former pin-up girl who fuelled his youthful fantasies, the pair spend one unforgettable, joyful afternoon together and reaffirm that there is still happiness to be found, even late in life.
Dorothy and the Scarecrow by Pepper Valentine
A chance meeting in a nightclub leads to a passionate one-night stand for a divorcee and a much younger man. Warm, witty, sensual and honest, this is a lovely story from a relatively new author.
Gloss by Charlie Powell
Sophie isn’t impressed by the mainstream media’s attitude towards a woman of her age. Is online dating really worth all the effort of trying to conform to others’ expectations? When she shows her new date something of who she really is, the results are far more exciting.
Daao Sawang (Shining Stars) by Madeleine Moore
Carl made her come for the first time back in 1969, in Thailand. Years later, Rosemary meets him again, at a party to launch her latest book, and both of them are only too eager to finish what they started the last time they saw one another.
In Beta by F. Leonora Solomon
A new dating app helps a busy executive connect with others who may share her interest in BDSM. The first time she uses it, she encounters a Dominant who gives her exactly what she wants and needs.
Soturi by Jordan Monroe
Going for a romantic break with her husband is the perfect treat for a woman recovering after cancer treatment. Alone together, they reconnect sexually and emotionally and renew their bond with one another.
Stella by Hannah Lockhardt
Former model girl Stella is still notoriously naughty, even at the age of 66. When her neighbour, Brian, who is trapped in a miserable marriage, accepts her invitation to a barbecue, the sparks are certainly going to fly.
The Boys In The Band by Zak Jane Keir
Back in the 80s, Martha was obsessed with minor rock star Darren, but she had to leave the music scene behind due to family problems. Now Darren’s playing a low-key reunion gig – what might happen when she sees him again?
Wednesday, 26 October 2016
I am delighted to welcome the fabulous KD Grace talking about her latest book.
It’s not Always a bad thing when Sex goes pear-shaped
Thanks so much for inviting me over, Jennifer, to celebrate my new release, The Tutor. It’s such a pleasure to be here. Have you had your five-a-day? While fruit and sex can be linked in a kinky sort of way, let’s face it, most of us aren’t thinking nutrition when we’re about to get some – sex, I mean, not fruit. In fact I’d go so far as to say that most of us who write erotica and romance aren’t thinking about fruit at all when we pen our sexy stories. But inspiration is a strange and wonderful thing, and what inspired The Tutor was not only strange and wonderful, but very fast acting.
The Tutor has a very special place in my heart because of its whirlwind beginnings. It all happened last October at Smut Manchester during Kay Jaybee’s wonderfully wicked “trip to the supermarket” workshop on inspiration. In said workshop, Kay assigned each of us an item from the supermarket shelf and then told us we’d just been called over the loudspeaker to go to the stockroom. From those two prompts we were to write the beginnings of a story about what we’d find in the stockroom and what we’d do with our item once we got there. I still remember the little smirk on Ms. Jaybee’s face when she handed me the slip of paper that read ‘ tin of pears in heavy syrup.’ I don’t even like pears, though I’ll admit I have made an effort to learn to like them. But while I may not enjoy the taste or the texture I most certainly can’t fault pears on their ability to inspire – especially not when they are liberally coated with heavy, sticky, sweet syrup.
I never imagined in my wildest dreams that before the weekend was out, I’d have the seeds for an entire novel about a reclusive and severely haphephobic sculptor, a writer who moonlights as a sex tutor and the tin of pears that brings them together. What can I say? This was one of those spot-on inspiring experiences from which the novel absolutely demanded to be written and written immediately. In fact, the need to get it down was so urgent that I signed up for NaNoWriMo — National Novel Writing Month, which happens every November. The goal is to write a novel in one month. Not only did I write the 95K word first draft of The Tutor during NaNoWriMo, but I finished it with three days to spare!
By the New Year, I had the final draft polished and ready to submit, and I sent it off to the fabulous folks at Totally Bound, who snapped it up, with a print date of October 11, 2016 – almost exactly a year to the day from that fabulous workshop of Kay’s and the amazing weekend at Smut Manchester. This year on the 15th of October, Smut Manchester 2015, I had a launch party, which felt a little bit like a christening party with so many people present who had been there at The Tutor’s conception and had laughed and joked and shared all of the inspirational moments from that workshop and from that weekend. If ever there was a novel that was a group effort, it was this one. While Kay Jaybee’s workshop and the input of the other writers there played a major role in the birth of The Tutor, the whole weekend was full of the kind of inspiration that opens a writer to her creative self, and it really was like coming home to be able to stand in front of the lovely folks at Smut Manchester 2016 and read a sexy excerpt involving a tin of pears in heavy syrup. Oh, and the excerpt, well check out for yourself how pears can be sexy.
The Tutor Blurb:
Struggling writer, Kelly Blake has a secret life as a sex tutor. Celebrated sculptor and recluse, Alexander ‘Lex’ Valentine’s, can’t stand to be touched. When he seeks out Kelly’s advice incognito, the results are too hot to handle. When Kelly terminates their sessions due to her unprofessional behavior, Lex takes a huge risk, revealing his identity to her at a gala exhibition, his first ever public appearance. When Kelly helps the severely haphephobic Lex escape the grope of reporters and paparazzi, rumors fly that the two are engaged, rumors encouraged by well-meaning friends and colleagues. The press feeding frenzy forces Kelly into hiding at Lex’s mansion where he convinces her to be his private tutor. They discover quickly that touch is not essential for sizzling, pulse-pounding intimacy. But intimacy must survive the secrets uncovered as their sessions become more and more personal.
AAAAAND! Here it is, lessons in Pears:
“Was this your idea or Dillon’s? Kelly asked, hoping to relax him.
“It was mine, after Andy told Dillon and he told me. I thought it was something that I …” The muscles along Lex’s jaw looked as though they were made out of iron, and a fine blush crawled up his neck tinting his ears bright pink. “I’ve never touched a woman … in that way.” He forced a laugh. “Obviously. I’ve …” the blush deepened and he avoided her gaze. “I’ve put lube on some of the sculptures – you know — down there, but I … well it isn’t the same.”
“The pears won’t be either,” she said, her heart suddenly aching at the physical isolation this man endured on a daily basis, and it wasn’t just her heart that ached, she felt his lack deep in her core. It had been easier with Andy. She had been almost flippant with him. She was sorry for that now. She spread one of the towels on the Queen Anne chair across from him and settled herself onto it so they were facing each other. “The texture will be different and with the pear there’ll be less give.” She dipped her fingers in the bowl and rubbed the heavy juice between her index finger and her thumb. “If you touch a woman, she’ll be much warmer.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You’ll be amazed at how warm and how soft she’ll be down there when she’s ready to be touched. With Andy, this,” she nodded down to the pears, “was improvisation, this was the best I could do under the circumstances, but a woman, well a woman feels like nothing you’ve ever touched before.”
He was no longer avoiding her gaze. His eyes were locked on her, and he was struggling to keep them on her face, she knew that; she understood the urge for him to drop his eyes to the place of which she spoke, the place with which she was so intimate, the place that couldn’t help but respond to the topic, to the situation, to the strange intimacy they had shared almost since the moment they’d met. “You can look, if you want,” she opened her legs so that he could see the place in between clothed in black denim, completely disguised and yet so very obvious. “And I’ll look at you too,” she nodded down to his own jeans straining to contain him already. “It’s what men and woman are naturally inclined to do when there’s a sexual attraction.”
With her heart hammering in her throat, she took one of the pear halves into the cupped palm of her left hand, then she brought it down between her spread thighs, feeling the juice of it run over her fingers and drip onto the towel as she spread her legs a little farther and held her pam to mimic the position of her vulva. “Touch it like a woman would touch it, and you’ll always get it right.” She drug her index and middle finger up from the bottom of the pear to the center and felt her own body respond in empathy. “The pear has no folds, no secret valleys, no swollen flesh to be teased open, so you’ll have to use your imagination with that.”
Lex gave a little moan soft and deep in his chest as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. “I know the anatomy,” he said. “I’ve watched porn and I’ve studied drawings. I know how it looks like it might feel. I know the response it elicits.” His tongue flicked nervously over his upper lip. “Of course that’s just acting, isn’t it?”
“Porn is about fantasy, about voyeurism, and it doesn’t matter if it’s real if it gets you off. But when it is real,” she spread her index and middle finger up the sides of the pear’s central opening, “if you’re good, if your sensitive, you’ll feel the spasms of your lover’s orgasm, even see them if you’re using your tongue; and you can feel them gripping at your cock when your inside her. If you’re paying attention.
“The clitoris,” she laughed softly, “Well with Andy I used a Ticktack, but he’s a chemistry major. He likes charts and graphs and periodic tables. You’re an artist, you live in your imagination, so you don’t need a Ticktack. Some women like the thumb stroking and circling while the other fingers work inside. Some women like to use their fingers.” She demonstrated on the pear, and Lex groaned. “It’s always best to ask and be sure.”
“What do you like?” His words were a labored rasp against the back of his throat, and Kelly found herself stunned by the question, and way more aroused than she wanted to be. He shouldn’t have asked. She should have answered. But she did.
“I like it this way.” She shifted her hips and opened a little further so he could see her thrust and scissor, circle and probe technique, and her body responded with the tight grip and release of muscle memory.
“Jesus,” he whispered moving forward on the sofa and leaning closer for a better look. “And when someone uses their tongue?”
She caught her breath in a giddy laugh. “Afraid I can’t tell you what I do since, sadly I’m not that flexible.”
“But you can tell me what you like.” His voice had gone rough.
“I like the flat of the tongue to part me and then probe me, circle my clit and then kiss and suck.” She closed her eyes, finding it difficult to meet his gaze when she spoke about something so intimate, so secret. Come to think of it, she’d never had a man actually ask her how she liked it. The few who had given a rat’s ass about her pleasure had been happy enough to let her order them about, but never quite got the hang of it.
It was the loud schussing sound that caused her to open her eyes. Lex had moved the coffee table out of the way paying no attention to the slosh of pear juice all over the towel V had spread. His eyes were locked on Kelly as he fished out his own pear half and fell to his knees in front of her. When she realized what the man was about to do she dropped the pear she’d been holding with a little gasp of surprise and scooted as far back in the chair as she could. He knelt low, holding the pear in the cup of his hand, as she had, placing it against the edge of the chair between her legs! She gave a little yelp and scrambled back in the chair still further, spreading her thighs over the rise of the chair arms to keep from touching him. He moved forward, the back of his hand so close to her crotch that she could feel the heat of it, and he lowered himself still further until his hair nearly brushed the insides of her thighs. Then, still looking up at her from his position on the floor, he began at the bottom of the open pear half and ran his tongue flat and undulating all the way up, flicking in just slightly in a little circle at the top end before he closed his lips around the apex and she could hear the slurp and suck of the sweet syrup.
“Oh! Lex! Ah!” And then she went non-verbal, holding her breath, tightening muscles deep inside her body, the only muscles she dared to move if she were to keep from touching him. She raised both arms and fisted her hands in a suicide grip around the back of the chair to keep from curling them in his hair. Her thighs trembled from her efforts to keep her legs on the chair arms and not throw them over his shoulders for leverage. She didn’t move. She didn’t breath as he licked and nuzzled and suckled until pear juice ran down his chin and onto his tee-shirt, until his face was damp and sticky, until his forehead was sheened with perspiration, and still he held her gaze as though they were locked together in each other’s orbit neither able to move without the other’s consent.
“Oh God, I’m gonna come.” She barely managed a warning when his own convulsion brought him dangerously near her body. He had stopped breathing, she was sure of it. She practically climbed the back of the chair to keep from touching him as he lost control.
Then with a tremendous gasp of oxygen, he straightened, let the pear fall from his hand onto the Aubusson carpet and looked up at her.
“I’m going to pass out.” And he did.
Buy The Tutor Here:
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology. She enjoys spending time in the gym – right now she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. She loves to read, watch birds and do anything that gets her outdoors.
KD has erotica published with Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, To Rome with Lust, and The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition, Interviewing Wade are all available.
Find K D Here:
Monday, 24 October 2016
Love & Lust in Space in NOW available for pre-order! This link will take you through to the correct Amazon for your country! https://mybk.li/llis
They say your screams can’t be heard in space… Unless you have a partner or two! Eleven authors take you on a trip where any pairings are acceptable, locations vary from spaceships to strange and futuristic worlds, and interesting and exciting objects can be used in sex play.
If randy astronauts, virtual reality lovers, sex in near-death situations, a commitment-phobe human and her alien lover, and reproduction in space experiments don’t do anything for you, you are clearly not human!
So try the stories in the alien worlds half of the anthology, instead. Here you’ll find alien Doms, a mysterious gladiator saving a stricken princess, an exotic dancer, a paid assassin on the run, an illegal sonic dilda’tor, and a pleasure booth. Space has never been so exciting!
Friday, 21 October 2016
Today’s Wicked Weekends is all about an anthology edited by Harley Eason for Sexy Little Pages entitled ‘For the Love of the Game’
Title: Love of the Game
Edited by: Harley Easton
Publisher: Sexy Little Pages (https://www.sexylittlepages. com/)
Genre: Erotic Romance (primarily M/F but there are a sprinkling of M/M and F/F stories)
Love of the Game will knock you out with a one, two, punch of super sexy. From rugby players who can’t leave their passion on the pitch to Paralympians with everything to prove, these athletes are certainly playing for keeps. Warm yourself up with stories of:
• Football: Where both college stars and former NFL hopefuls are ready to go long
• MMA Fights: Where participants get rough and tumble inside the ring and out
• Baseball: Where the boys of summer can score by making it big or completely striking out
• Swimming: Where diving into bed with teammates or rivals is taboo, but oh so tempting
And so much more. Whatever sport you’re a fan of, Love of the Game is certain to make you sweat.
Release Date: October 18, 2016
Word Count: 45,000
A MAJOR LEAGUE WIFE by Gregory L. Norris
Mel tipped her sunglasses up. Jason was hunched down, tensed, halfway between the second base bag and third. Her husband’s home white uniform complimented the shortstop’s lean mass of muscles with similar affection: double-breasted button-down accented by the classic black and red team colors of the Canton Cardinals Triple-A minor league affiliate of the Top Socks club, cap and shades, and those clean, tight pants. Even the red uniform stirrups rising up from well- worn cleats on big feet added to his magnificence. Jason Collins was a classic boy of summer, and all man.
A thunderclap shook the stadium, shocking Mel out of her thoughts, which were growing dirtier over Jason and all that she planned to do to him once they were back at their summer rental following the game. He’d have showered by that point, and stripped out of his uniform, which would be stained from hard-won sweat, infield dirt, and grass. Maybe she would get him to put on a clean one and don his shades. He hadn’t shaved that morning—an old tradition among baseball players meant to intimidate the visiting team. A day’s worth of stubble had transformed him into a bad boy, a pirate. The day’s building heat unleashed scintillating pinpricks over her bare arms, and deeper. Oh yes, in his baseball uniform. And out of it. A smile tempted her lips.
FAST PITCHER by Annabeth Leong
Margie didn't know which way to go now that everyone was staring at her, so she headed in the direction of the nearest friendly face. He leaned in to speak only for her hearing.
"Stick around after the game," Pete said. "I want to see if I can score off you."
Baseball language always sounded so dirty, and Margie's cheeks heated even though she knew what he meant. She cleared her throat and tried to make her expression innocent and blank.
"I'd love to."
Phillips had stayed late too, eschewing the team's after party in order to participate in Margie's tête-à-tête with Pete Muñoz. She knew she needed a catcher, but part of her wished it could have been just the two of them.
She braced herself for more nonsense from Phillips as she stepped onto the field, but her pitch earlier that evening seemed to have made him a convert.
"I've got two bills down that you strike Muñoz out. He's lucky this isn't official, or you'd be messing up his precious over-.300 batting average," he said.
"Nah, man. Margie's good, but she's about to give it up to me. I think she's going to let me take her deep." Muñoz spat in the dirt at his feet, then squinted out at the empty park.
Margie squared her shoulders. She recognized Muñoz's trash talk for what it was — challenging, not sexist. He was chirping at her the way he would have with any hot pitcher. Telling her that she wouldn't be able to keep him from hitting long and hard, far out into the outfield or maybe even over the fences. When he hefted his bat, however, he glanced at her with meaning in his eyes. Margie's mouth went dry. It wasn't just the language that seemed sexual. Muñoz obviously planned to take her deep off the field even if he didn't manage the feat on the diamond.
CLOVERLEAF by Megan McFerren
Taking her in, Cassidy couldn't keep down her own smile. It always went like this, pressure building until cracks formed, followed by a sudden burst and then repairs to make her stronger the next time around. And always, always it came with the same offer: I can teach you some things, if you want to know them. They were the first words Ruth ever said to her, when Cassidy asked if she'd ever considered coaching rodeo. They were the words that Cassidy had whispered to herself again and again late at night, fingers slick between her legs.
She wanted to know everything Ruth could teach her about riding.
“Of course I do,” Cassidy answered, unhooking her other boot from the stirrup.
Slinging both legs to the same side, she slipped to the earth with a grunt. Her face pulled taut into a grimace, thighs screaming like a kettle left boiling too long, and she doubled over to rub them, fingers spreading over snug denim to work the cramps out. Ruth stepped forward to take Palisander's reins, but Cassidy could feel her teacher's eyes on her, on the way her hands pressed from the inside of her knees to the crevice of her groin, long strokes to pull shortened muscles long again. Cassidy was grateful for the singe of sun across her cheeks that concealed the blush welling from within, heating from the strain in her legs and up through her center into a tight, warm coil low in her belly.
“Wash him down and get him back for dinner,” Ruth said, holding out the reins to Cassidy. She couldn't be certain if the roughness in Ruth's voice was imagined or real, whether it came from annoyance for dallying or from something else entirely. It wasn't like Cassidy to display herself so shamelessly, and she let herself believe her own lie that it was only a stretch, only tired thighs after hours of riding. She licked the dust from her lips and took the strap of leather from Ruth. Her heart sank a little as she turned towards the barn, shoulders weighted low by the high numbers she'd raced and by the dismissal.
“Cass,” Ruth called out as she made her way across the arena. Cassidy glanced back across her shoulder to her teacher. “Meet me in the equipment room when you're done.”
OUT OF BREATH by Jordan Monroe
I’d noticed him on the first day of practice. He’d come in a little late, his long, lean body wrapped in low-hanging black sweatpants and a tight grey tee shirt. After waving hello to our coach, he dropped his Speedo backpack on the bleachers. I’d put my goggles over my eyes, grateful for their reflective lenses. Everyone else was jumping in the water to begin the 1000- meter warmup, but I stood on the side of the pool transfixed. It took every amount of mental energy for me to not drop my jaw.
Travis’s hair was thick and wavy, the style of every guy in a surfer movie, with that sun- bleached hue. I watched him peel off his shirt almost in slow-motion, revealing tanned skin and a well-muscled torso; I swallowed the drool that was pooling in my cheeks. He kicked off his Adidas flip flops, hooked his fingers around the elastic waistband of his pants, and pulled them down his sculpted legs. When he stood up straight to exchange his pants for his cap and goggles, I shamelessly raked my eyes over his lower body: his black briefs and orange mesh drag suit revealed his solid thighs and clung to his hips, his butt taut, and the delicious angled lines of his lower abs pointing to the bulge between his legs.
“Let’s get in, Wile!” I jumped when the coach’s voice shook me out of my lustful reverie. Hopping in the cool water and easing into freestyle was enough to push Travis’s image from my mind, at least temporarily.
As I was down underwater, I looked up to see Travis come in to the wall in the next lane. He moved his body with graceful, exacting strokes, like an aquatic machine. As he flipped over to turn, he coiled his long body into a tight ball, then unfurled magnificently. This time, I did drop my jaw as he kicked off the wall in deliberate body rolls: his hands clasped above his head, arms smashed together in the tightest of streamlines, his chest lowering while the rest of his body followed. Like an animal, my eyes went straight to his hips thrusting in ways that suggested not only forward momentum but exquisite pleasure. It wasn’t until he came up to continue swimming that I remembered my need to breathe and resume practice.