Giselle Renarde's Blog, page 166
December 20, 2010
Festive Frenzy: A Succubus for Christmas by M.E. Hydra
Title of Work: A Succubus for Christmas and other tales of Devilish Delights
Author Name: M.E. Hydra
Buy Link: (excessica): http://excessica.com/store/catalog/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=128&products_id=467&osCsid=8231fcc410768f6edb2cfdd40c309de8
(amazon kindle): http://www.amazon.com/Succubus-Christmas-Devilish-Delights-ebook/dp/B00486UEHG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=A321OV6JEUYEN5&s=digital-text&qid=1287799461&sr=1-1
Blurb:
Beautiful, seductive, enthralling, sensual, irresistible...deadly.
The succubus is an enduring icon of myth, a demon that seduces and sleeps with her prey before taking their life and soul. In this collection M. E. Hydra brings you thirteen erotically charged tales of sexy succubi and other exotic creatures.
In A Succubus for Christmas a man discovers his surprise sexy gift also possesses a dark side...The Masterton Covenant asks how much would you risk for one night of perfect pleasure...Four men are taken to a very special place in Flesh Pitchers of Prague...A tough demon slayer discovers why 'Men can't fight them' in Slayer vs. Succubus...A man gets his Happy Ending in a sensual massage that touches him right to his soul...A former soldier tries to resist the wiles of an exotic alien queen in The Coils of Aenictia.
Prepared to be enthralled, aroused and terrified by these and other tales of dark, seductive beauties. They'll give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams, and terrors beyond your darkest nightmares...
Excerpt:
Ennis grabbed a beer from the fridge, walked into his bedroom and switched on the light.
He was shocked to find a girl sitting on his bed.
No, not quite a girl. Something else.
She looked like a petite young woman, but her eyes gave her away as something not human. They were pure black. No whites, iris or pupil, just an abyssal black all the way through. Her face was delicately elegant, almost elfin, apart from a pair of full, sensual lips. Incongruously, a Santa hat was sitting on top of her head between two pointed ears. Wavy red hair spilled out from beneath the hat to cascade like flames onto her pale shoulders.
When she saw Ennis her face split in a broad smile.
"Master, I waited for you," she said in a voice that chimed like silver bells.
Her slender, pale body was naked apart from a couple of strategically placed pink ribbons. Smiling and jiggling she reached behind her back and the ribbon around her chest fell away to reveal a pair of full, milky-white breasts. They were much larger than would be expected for such a slender body. The girl coquettishly folded her arms around them, more to bring them to Ennis's notice than hide them. Not that she needed to; Ennis couldn't take his eyes off her. She had the most beautiful body he'd ever seen.
"Does master like his present?" the girl asked.
"You're a succubus," Ennis said, still stunned that such a thing could be real. He cast his mind back through all the wild parties he'd ever been to in an attempt to remember if he'd ever taken enough LSD to put this down to a flashback.
The girl demurely looked over her shoulder. Two small folded black bat wings rose into view. She extended them a little to prove they were real before folding them back again. A long slender red tail with an arrow-tip point curved round from behind her back. The point playfully brushed the second ribbon at the point where it lay over her sex.
"I'm yours, to give you pleasure in any way you desire," she said.
Buy Link: (excessica): http://excessica.com/store/catalog/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=128&products_id=467&osCsid=8231fcc410768f6edb2cfdd40c309de8
(amazon kindle): http://www.amazon.com/Succubus-Christmas-Devilish-Delights-ebook/dp/B00486UEHG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=A321OV6JEUYEN5&s=digital-text&qid=1287799461&sr=1-1
Canada just got hotter!
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December 19, 2010
Festive Frenzy: Sugarplum: Just Wink by Bryl R. Tyne
Something Naughty for Christmas
Title of Work Sugarplum: Just Wink
Author Name Bryl R. Tyne
Buy Link http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1504
Blurb "What haven't I made clear? Desire. Ecstasy. Satisfaction. In that order!"
How hard could donning a Christmassy green Speedo and pretending for thirty seconds to savor a giant candy cane be, anyway? Granted, Parker abhors candy canes and his co-actor is a lecherous Santa wannabe with grubby paws, but can't the man just call the commercial a wrap, take his money, and go home to his husband for the holidays?
Is that too much to ask?
Is it too much to ask Parker to be home on time when it's his night to cook? Never fear, his husband Jeremy's got the solution. A new bedroom technique designed to encourage creativity may bring about the visualization skills Parker needs to save his acting career and his marriage.
ExcerptAll rights reserved.
Copyright ©2010 Bryl R. Tyne
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
"Slacking off isn't going to pay the fucking bills and you know it."
"Don't take that tone with me," he said, propped against the counter, arms crossed in front of his chest.
He may have moved toward me even, but I ignored everything except the heat surging through my head that screamed, How dare he!
"Whatever." I took a huge bite of my dinner and left the kitchen.
If he thought for one second I was going to sit idly by and listen to his bullshit-disguised-as-encouragement again, he -- I'd plopped into my favorite chair, before I realized -- Jeremy was neither an idiot nor a part of my anatomy I chose rarely to speak of.
Tucked in the far corner of the living room next to the den was a tree no taller than my chest. A scant dusting of lights blinked, reflections sparkling off a handful of keepsake ornaments hanging here and there. I had trouble swallowing my one bite of apple.
Getting up and out of that chair took an exorbitant amount of effort. Energy my body seemed unable to conjure, for from the back of my neck to the tips of my hands and feet, I felt numb. Asleep? Sick? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I registered Jeremy's footsteps behind me before I felt his touch on my arm.
"I don't want to fight," was all he said as he pulled me against him. "Tough day? Hmm?"
Strange, how resting his chin atop my shoulder as he smothered me with another body hug didn't feel like any weight at all. I struggled not to let his words egg on the part of me that itched to fight. Take me anywhere but back to today, and I wouldn't have a problem.
"If you don't --"
"I don't." I closed my eyes and let myself relax into his touch, sure I'd have as much trouble talking about today as I had thinking about it. Jeremy smelled good; he felt good pressed against my back. His lips worked magic along one side of my neck. I didn't want to think about jobs or money or -- his stomach rumbled -- or dinner...
"Ignore that." He breathed the words against my skin.
"I brought Chinese..."
His chuckle tickled my neck. "Follow me," he said, removing the half-eaten apple from my hand and setting it on the end table.
Buy Link http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1504
Giselle RenardeCanada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
Festive Frenzy: Eight Nights by Keira Andrews
Title of Work: Eight Nights
Author Name: Keira Andrews
Buy Link: http://www.loose-id.com/Eight-Nights.aspx
Blurb:
Lucas McKenzie figures spending the holidays with his annoying roommate's family is better than being alone on campus. The last thing he expects is to lust over Sam's brother -- or for Nate to actually want him back.
They hide their attraction during Hanukkah celebrations, but behind closed doors, Lucas and Nate can't keep their hands (or mouths) off each other. Nate's only looking for a bit of holiday fun, and amazing sex with a hot virgin definitely fits the bill.
Yet as the candles burn, Nate and Lucas begin to realize eight nights will never be enough.
Excerpt:
As Nate went through the steps, Lucas tried to pay attention. At one point, Nate handed him a pair of rubber-tipped tongs, and Lucas dutifully plucked out a developed photo and hung it on the line. They worked in companionable silence, and Lucas found he enjoyed watching the photographs come to life. They were all black-and-white cityscapes, and he felt a frisson of excitement, knowing he'd get a chance to finally see New York for himself in the days to come. "You took all of these?" Lucas admired the clean lines and unique angles of the photos.
Nate waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I'm just messing around."
"I'd like to see what you can do when you're taking it seriously because these are amazing."
"It's nice of you to say so." Nate wiped his hands on a towel and plucked a doughnut from the plate Lucas had left on the counter. "We just need to wait now before we open the door."
Nate didn't seem comfortable with praise, so Lucas stopped talking and took his own doughnut, relishing the sweet, fruity flavor. He couldn't understand why Nate trivialized his talent. Lucas was no expert, but he found the photographs beautiful.
They ate in silence, and Lucas noticed a blob of jelly filling on the corner of Nate's mouth. Before he could think, he reached out, swiping at it with his finger. Their eyes locked, and Lucas froze, his hand still at Nate's mouth.
Oh God, what was he doing?
He stayed in place, not breathing as he and Nate stared at each other in the muted red light. Before Lucas could process what was happening, Nate's tongue curled out and licked the jelly from his finger. A jolt of desire ran though Lucas, and he swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry.
Nate turned his head just a bit and sucked Lucas's finger into his mouth.
As Lucas moaned low in his throat, Nate yanked him close, and they were kissing. Lucas's head swam from the explosion of sensations he felt.
He was actually kissing another man.
He opened his mouth and Nate's tongue dived in, probing and stroking as his hands ran over Lucas's back, down to his ass.
Quiet, mild-mannered Nathaniel Kramer was grabbing his ass.
His head swimming, Lucas kissed Nate back, his body alive in a way it never had been while kissing a girl. The scratch of Nate's stubble, his musky scent -- every thing about him was so male, and any lingering doubts Lucas had about being gay melted away as he explored Nate's mouth.
They both gasped for air, and Lucas realized that his jeans were undone as Nate sank to his knees. "What are you…?"
Buy Link: http://www.loose-id.com/Eight-Nights.aspxGiselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
December 18, 2010
Meet the Giant Pooping Christmas Elf
If you live anywhere near Catalonia, Spain, you might already be familiar with this happy fellow. He's Caganer, one of the region's traditional Christmas statues. And no, you're not seeing things. He really is taking a giant crap in the middle of the mall. Too many candy canes, I guess, or...what are those, apples?
Why build a giant pooping elf in the middle of your shopping mall? Well...if Wikipedia doesn't know, then neither do I. But, according to Wiki:
In Catalonia, as well as in Spain and in most of Italy and Southern France, traditional Christmas decorations consist of a large model of the city of Bethlehem, similar to the Nativity scenes of the English-speaking world but encompassing the entire city rather than just the typical manger scene. The caganer ... is often tucked away in a corner of the model, typically nowhere near the manger scene.
Possible reasons for placing a man who is in the act of excreting waste in a scene which is widely considered holy include:
Tradition. Perceived humor. A fun spectacle, especially for children. The Caganer, by creating feces, is fertilizing the Earth. However, this is probably an a posteriori explanation, and few cite this reason for including the Caganer in the Nativity scene. The Caganer represents the equality of all people: regardless of status, race, or gender, everyone shits. Increased naturalism of an otherwise archetypal (thus idealised) story, so that it is more believable, taken literally and seriously. The idea that God will manifest himself when he is ready, without regard for whether we human beings are ready or not. The caganer reinforces that the infant Jesus is God in human form, with all that being human implies.The exact origin of the Caganer is lost, but the tradition has existed since the 17th century.
So, there we go. We've all (sort of?) learned something new and can consider ourselves that much smarter. Not as smart as Einstein, of course, and if you shop at http://www.caganer.com you already know that he poops too. Hey, everybody does it!
Giselle RenardeCanada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
Festive Frenzy: Butterfly's Child by Alan Chin
Title of Work: Butterfly's Child
Author Name: Alan Chin
Buy Link: http://tinyurl.com/22jzvve
Blurb:
While back in the West to attend his grandmother's funeral, Cord Bridger uncovers two shocking revelations: his grandmother had a lesbian lover named Juanita, and he has a teenaged son named Kalin. Fate brings all three together, but to preserve his new family, Cord must leave his safe life in New York City behind to carve a living from the harsh ranch lands of Nevada.
To forge a life with Juanita and Kalin, Cord must first discover the dark secret burning a hole in Kalin's heart. With the help of Tomeo, a handsome Japanese veterinarian, Cord travels a gut-wrenching road of triumphs and tragedies to insure his son will survive the sinister violence of his past. But as Tomeo becomes more than just a helpful friend to Cord, a new set of problems arise between Cord and Kalin that may threaten the happiness of them all.
Excerpt:The musicians tuned their instruments for a Thursday night performance. A mishmash of sounds ascended from the pit, underscoring the audience's expectant banter.
Cord Bridger settled into his usual seat, a mahogany desk and chair known as a libretto table. There were only six in the Metropolitan Opera House. They had no view of the stage, but rather crouched along the balcony walls, three to the stage's right and three to the left. Each desk supported a low-watt lamp so the patron could read the opera's score as the performance played out.
Cord wore his usual evening attire: black Brioni suit, black silk shirt, black tie, and his short black hair stuck out at rakish angles. Only his pale face, thin fingers, and fatally blue eyes stood out in the shadows.
He spread Madame Butterfly's score before him, studied the tiny ink strokes that formed the musical phrases. The air felt cool, but both his hands and upper lip were damp with perspiration. Butterfly was the only opera he had never sat completely through, though he thought the music sublime. The storyline drove him away every time. Butterfly's heartbreak and eventual suicide always proved too painful.
Sounds washed over him—musicians tuning instruments, footsteps along the aisles, groaning seats, excited whispers. He focused on the musicians, discerning each instrument, verifying whether it was tuned or needed further adjustment.
A click of the lamp at the table behind him turned his head. A familiar face smiled, another aficionado he'd noticed before but had never spoken to. She wore an industrial-gray pantsuit with a white pigeon-breasted shirtfront. Two chopsticks held her ginger-colored hair in a bun on the back of her head.
He nodded.
Turning back to his score, he heard approaching footsteps and felt a pressure on his shoulder. The Metropolitan Opera's art director, Tom Phillips, stood beside him like a pallbearer in his gray suit, crisp moustache, and large eyes seen predominantly on nocturnal animals.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bridger. They told me you were in the house. I wanted to inform you that Logan Evans will not perform tonight, head cold I'm afraid. Mr. Brooks will sing the tenor role. I thought you should know in case you would prefer to attend next week's performance."
Cord always felt annoyed when people called him "Mr. Bridger." His thirty-fourth birthday had recently past, but he felt younger, still a colt and not quite deserving the mature title of Mister. He swallowed his irritation, then considered leaving. After the first act, the tenor was superfluous. He had come to hear Ruth Ann Swensen sing the title role. Cord thanked the art director for his thoughtfulness and told him that he would stay.
Ten minutes passed before Mr. Phillips walked on stage and made a similar announcement to the entire house. A rumble of disappointment rolled over the audience, followed by clapping as a rotund man in white tie and tails stepped onto the conductor's platform. The applause diminished until a hush held the audience still, with only sporadic coughs to punctuate the silence.
The lights dimmed. The musicians prepared. Then immaculate sound rifled through Cord, vibrating every cell with delicious harmony.
Madame Butterfly is a journey bridging extremes, from a bride's wedding-day bliss to her suicide. Knowing this, Cord focused on the music and tried to ignore the unfolding story. But as the tenor began to sing, bitterness choked Cord's heart.
The tenor had a passable voice, albeit a small instrument for this opera house. But the character he played, Lieutenant Pinkerton, disgusted Cord. Pinkerton marries Butterfly without loving her, leaves her without a thought, and becomes a blubbering coward when he returns years later to find she has given birth to his son. His pusillanimous actions drive Butterfly to suicide.
Cord could not see the character strutting about the stage, but Pinkerton's voice broadcasted a vast arrogance. The music was exquisite, yet Cord grew impatient for Pinkerton to exit and the first act to end. He sat with his shoulders hunched, watching the notes on the page dance by. The brass blared, violins sang, the wedding turned triumphant.
Cord trembled as Butterfly sang out her prayer for happiness. His eyes watered, blurring the notes on the page. Apprehension seized him until the curtain fell on Act One and the applause diminished.
The woman behind him rose to join the others during intermission.
Cord drew a white handkerchief across his forehead as the audience disappeared into the corridor. Irritation swelled his heart, knowing Butterfly's child would make his appearance at the end of Act Two.
As the second act unfolded, his anger grew intense. He listened with a mixture of rapture and rage, hearing the desperation in Butterfly's voice yet knowing what lay ahead. He could not see the child take the stage, thankfully, but the ache he carried in his heart spread upward to stiffen his shoulders and neck, then solidified down his spine. Everything in him congealed—guts, glands, blood vessels, organs, bones. He laid a hand on his heart, but it failed to soothe.
In his mind's eye, Cord saw the child, and he yearned to sweep the boy into his arms, whisk him away, and comfort him. In the midst of his petrification, his loathing of Pinkerton swelled until it threatened to overwhelm him.
In the third act, Pinkerton's spineless crooning enraged him. He became aware of his weakness, realizing he had failed again. He thought he had buried these feelings long ago, but he sat as rigid and emotional as ever, caught in a whirlwind of memories.
By the time Butterfly took the stage for her death scene, Cord could barely breathe. It felt as though he sucked air through a straw, which couldn't begin to fill his hardening lungs. He closed his score and stood. He felt the ginger-haired lady scrutinizing him as he tucked his score under his arm, and he raised his head until their eyes met.
"Can't imagine how you can leave before the finale."
He felt himself blush; his eyes lowered. "I have an overpowering phobia of stabbings—especially the self-inflicted kind."
He shuffled to an exit door and slipped into the brightly lit corridor.
Butterfly's outcry followed him down the stairs. He couldn't keep himself from imagining the stage. She sat on a yellow cushion beside a low table. Her posture reflected elegance, her face displayed consummate dignity. Folded around her body was the most brilliant long-sleeve kimono possible. Embroidered onto the gold-colored fabric was an exquisite maroon phoenix.
Light radiated off the golden material. She shimmered, dreamlike, as if his imagination had painted a silkscreen masterpiece to represent the tragic soul of all discarded lovers.
She turned her head, studied him for a half-second, and bowed. Lifting her head, their eyes met. Deep within her gaze, her suffering revealed itself. Those shattered eyes drew Cord into his own grief. Crushed, he wanted to flee from this woman who shrouded herself in heartache, but running away was futile—she lived in his mind.
The blade reflected the spotlight as she lifted it to shoulder height. Her sleeve swayed beautifully as her arm arched toward her body. A plum-colored stain spread across her kimono, blurring the phoenix. The agony in her face softened.
As Cord retrieved his overcoat, the hatcheck woman shot him a queer look. Only then did he notice the tears streaming down his cheeks. He darted between the Chagall unicorns and out the doors into Lincoln Center Plaza.
Overcast blanketed the city, and the temperature had dropped into single digits. The air smelled of snow as it bit into his lungs.
A handful of people meandered through the plaza—a lesbian couple strolled with their arms entwined, two children pulled at the sleeves of an old man while begging him to hurry, and a dozen Asian tourists took pictures by the fountain. All the Asians wore dark, muted clothing except one lady dressed in a white fake-fur coat and holding a crimson umbrella.
He felt his tears freeze on his cheeks. His teeth chattered. As he rushed by the umbrella lady, a camera flash momentarily blinded him. He stumbled toward Times Square, seeing nothing but maroon wings stretched on a golden fabric.
Alan Chin
Novels: Island Song, The Lonely War, Match Maker, Butterfly's ChildScreenplays: Daddy's Money, Simple Treasures
http://tinyurl.com/d54rtd (Examiner.com articles)
http://AlanChinWriter.blogspot.com
Giselle RenardeCanada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
Festive Frenzy: The Glass Minstrel by Hayden Thorne
Title: The Glass Minstrel
Author: Hayden Thorne
Buy link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0982826710
Publisher links: (print) http://cheyennepublishing.com/books/minstrel.html
(eBook) http://bcpinepress.com/catalogDetail.php?bookCode=0038
Blurb:
The Christmas season in mid-19th century Bavaria is brought to life in the The Glass Minstrel, a new, original historical novel from acclaimed author Hayden Thorne.
Two fathers, Abelard Bauer and Andreas Schifffer, are brought together through the tragic deaths of their eldest sons. Bauer, a brilliant toymaker, fashions glass Christmas ornaments and his latest creation is a minstrel with a secret molded into its features. When Schiffer sees Bauer's minstrel ornament in the toy shop, he realizes that Bauer is struggling to keep his son's memory alive through his craft. At first he tries to fault him for this, but then recognizes that he, too, is seeking solace and healing by reading his son's diary, a journal that reveals, in both painful as well as beautiful detail, the true nature of his relationship with the artisan's son.
In addition to the story of the two fathers, a third character is central to the plot: fifteen-year-old Jakob Diederich. The young man is burdened with his own secret; he develops an obsession with a traveling Englishman who stays at the inn where Jakob works. The lives of all three men intersect during the holiday as Schiffer tries to focus on his family in the present; Bauer struggles to reconcile his past and Jakob copes with an uncertain future. The lyrical prose and rich period detail will keep the reader engrossed from the very first page in this tale of redemption, hope, and haunting, but timeless, themes.
Excerpt:
The shop door's bell rang loudly throughout the morning hours, and it was expected to ring some more until the end of the day. Visitors, momentarily escaping Zirndorf's winter cold, marveled at the current offerings that filled a much-respected craftsman's shelves to capacity. Cheeks reddened by the chill air, eyes brightened by the prospect of a wonderful celebration, thickly bundled men, women, and children lost themselves in a world of intricately-shaped and exquisitely-painted glass as they inspected the merchandise.
It was one of the annual draws for the locals of the small town known for its toy making industry—Abelard Bauer's shop offering glass ornaments alongside the toys and clocks that filled the shelves throughout the year. Bauer was well-known for his skill in remarkably detailed woodcraft as well as his skill for acquiring magnificent clocks and larger toys from artisans up and down the Bavarian Alps region, but for Christmas, he was legendary for his little glass creations. He'd admitted to making a relatively small number all year long, for it was a tedious process for him with his eye for precision and perfection, and he needed all of the twelve months he could have. That he also worked on his regular offerings of equally beautiful toys made his schedule more demanding. In the end, however, it was all worth the sweat and tears.
"Incredible!" some visitors cried as they held up an ornament or two.
"Absolutely darling!" others said as they turned the little figurines carefully, watching the way the details captured and reflected the golden glow of candlelight.
"Exquisite! Perfect!" was the consensus, and princesses, nightingales, soldiers, and countless others were whisked quickly to the young assistant. At the counter they were assessed, priced, and carefully wrapped up in delicate paper before vanishing out the door and into the snow that peppered the air beyond with so much seasonal cheer.
"You've outdone yourself this time, Bauer," exclaimed a tall, broad gentleman with a most impressive set of curly red whiskers, which were also dusted with snow. He squinted through his spectacles at an exquisite saint, his thick fingers gentle in their handling. "By God, what remarkable skill!"
The little shop's proprietor smiled and bowed. Standing next to the impressive-looking fellow, Abelard Bauer appeared to be no less like his own glass creations—small, thin, delicate, as though he were to shatter into a thousand fragments at the slightest touch. He clasped his hands behind him as he sought to answer his customer's questions and entice him further with this year's crop of designs.
"You're most kind, Herr Professor," he said, his voice its usual calming hum. He wrung his hands as they rested against his back till they felt a little raw.
"My daughters will love these," the gentleman said as he moved from one shelf to another and from one container to another, pulling figurines from where they rested as he went, peering through his spectacles and inspecting each piece with the care and fastidiousness of a supreme connoisseur.
Bauer shadowed him at a discreet distance, taking the chosen pieces, hurrying to the counter where he set them down, and then hurrying back to the gentleman's side. He gave other customers a welcoming smile and directed them to his assistant, who looked after their needs while he paid all his attention to the red-whiskered Dr. Naumann, his oldest, most loyal, and most generous customer.
They presently stopped at the farthest wall of the shop. The professor paused in his endless praise as he regarded a basket that sat on a corner table. Bauer watched him, his fingers knotting around each other at his back. They ached now, the rawness and heat from his nervous wringing taking their toll. A slight, sinking feeling overcame him until it seemed as though his stomach had completely fallen. It was a familiar sensation, in truth, and he hoped that it would vanish soon, for he'd grown quite sick of it.
Dr. Naumann reached into the basket and gently moved some glass figurines aside. An air of gravity descended on him as he paused, his head bent as though he were shocked speechless.
"Bauer," he said, his voice dropping, and he pulled out a glass ornament. "Why did you do this?"
"I have my reasons," Bauer replied, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice. "Forgive me, Herr Professor, if I don't satisfy you with a defense."
"It's unnatural. I see no reason why a man of your genius would stoop to—this." The professor's voice grew hard, but he didn't spare Bauer a glance. All his attention was firmly fixed on the figurine that he was inspecting, and he didn't see the way Bauer's face twisted in a bitter grimace. It lasted a mere half-second, no more, but the pain that spawned it was deep.
"I beg your pardon? Unnatural?"
"Very well. I chose the wrong words," Dr. Naumann sighed, his voice softening. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you. It's your health I'm thinking of. God knows, sir—you've suffered enough." He paused, hesitating. "You forgot about your illness already? When people talked about you, how you—you failed—as a father? How your son—"
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm not some fragile little thing that will break at the smallest criticism or judgment thrown at me by those who know nothing. And no—no one, not even you, Herr Professor, knows anything about me or my family."
That impatient return earned Bauer a derisive little snort, but Dr. Naumann continued to avoid looking at him. "There are certain things that are best kept secret, my friend. Even if you created this—this thing—out of love and respect for your son, you're better served destroying it, if you don't mind my saying. As it stands, you're merely breaking old wounds open and subjecting yourself to humiliation all over again, even if only in memory." Dr. Naumann met Bauer's gaze, finally. "You can't bring the boy back with this."
"It's well that I choose to sell it, then," Bauer retorted.
"Oh? Why? So the taint of a scandal would remain alive in a stranger's tree?"
Bauer, losing even more patience, sighed and stepped forward, snatching the ornament from Dr. Naumann's hand. "I thank you again for your interest and your concern, Herr Professor, but as I've said, I've my own reasons, which I choose to keep to myself. It's not my intention to disgrace anyone's tree with my past." His breathing had grown a little ragged. "And I'm not openly soliciting sermons about my son's nature. Yes, nature, Herr Professor, for that was what made the boy behave the way he did. Nature." Bauer paused to draw a hand across his brows, wiping the thin cover of sweat that had dampened his forehead. "He was neither taught nor corrupted—"
Dr. Naumann, whose complexion had turned as red as his whiskers, raised a hand, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area as he let out an awkward little chuckle. "Now, now, friend," he said, "there's no need to be so excited. I was merely wondering—"
"You, sir, were casting judgments on a situation you know nothing about." Bauer swallowed. "Casting judgments on the character of my son, whom you don't understand. I won't have you blacken his memory. This is a shop, Herr Professor, and I'm here to help you find what you need for your children. That's all."
Dr. Naumann turned around at last and leveled Bauer with a look of concern, irritation, and sympathy. "As you say, my good man. I won't press you any longer, but know that I give you my opinions out of respect for you and your good name."
"Thank you, but I'd prefer it if you didn't give your opinions at my son's expense."
The professor's complexion turned even redder, but he refrained from arguing and merely inclined his head. "Of course. Forgive me," he said, his voice brittle. "As I said, I simply speak as your friend."
Buy link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0982826710
Publisher links: (print) http://cheyennepublishing.com/books/minstrel.html
(eBook) http://bcpinepress.com/catalogDetail.php?bookCode=0038Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
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December 17, 2010
New Website for Giselle Renarde Erotica
Well...yeah. I can't argue with that. I write "adult content" for a living. No escaping that fact. And, what's more, it's Christmas time and I just don't have the energy to waste on an argument I'm bound to lose anyway.
So I've spent the past two and a half days creating a gorgeous new site I'm sure you'll all love. Here's a screen capture of my NEW homepage:
It's quirky and cool and very "me" (hmm...did I just call myself quirky and cool?) and I hope you'll all love it to pieces.
Now, the new site is far from complete. If you find something that's not working yet (like, yes, the "free reads" and "links" links) don't worry, I'm getting there. There are some parts even I find difficult to navigate and I will get around to work on ease of use at some point, but if you have any suggestions please don't feel shy about commenting.
Have a look! The new site is http://www.wix.com/gisellerenarde/erotica
It's my (VERY unplanned) gift to you all! LOL
Hugs,Giselle Renarde,Canada just got hotter!http://www.wix.com/gisellerenarde/eroticaGiselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
December 16, 2010
Festive Frenzy: Holiday Auction by Vivian Vincent
Title: Holiday Auction Author: Vivian Vincent Buy Link: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-holidayauction-482208-144.html
Blurb:
Jackie is a tough as nails PR Director who's had a less than stellar reputation with men. When she's ordered by her boss to organize a holiday fund raising auction for charity, she finds herself an integral part of the auction.
The one man who brings out a different side of her turns the tables and ends up placing the winning bid. Can he win her heart? Will she realize he's exactly who she wants under her tree for Christmas this year?
Excerpt:
Jackie was ready to give up the fight. She knew she had to conduct herself professionally in front of everyone, so she decided a more private setting would be best. Before she pulled away from Dean, she whispered in his ear, "My office, ten minutes."
She walked away and left him standing there, a look of total shock on his face. He watched as she walked to the entrance then disappeared around the corner. He took a few steps to the nearest chair and slumped down into it, still staring in wonder at the entrance.
Jackie made her way back to her office quickly. The feeling of Dean's body pressed against hers sent her libido into overdrive. Even though the temperature throughout the building was comfortable, Jackie felt her nipples harden and felt the coolness of her damp panties between her legs.
There was no question in her mind what would happen once Dean showed up in her office. She needed to get laid, plain and simple. She figured since Dean seemed so willing, he'd be the best candidate.
She reached her office and tossed her small clutch purse on the desk. She wiggled out of her pantyhose and panties then pulled her dress over her head to remove her strapless bra. She pulled her dress back on and tossed all the clothes onto the floor next to the sofa. She knew Dean would get the message as to what she wanted.
Jackie sat seductively on the corner of her desk with one leg crossed over the other, facing the door, waiting for Dean. She glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing more than ten minutes had passed and she briefly wondered if he would show up.
Buy Link: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-holidayauction-482208-144.html
Giselle RenardeCanada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
Festive Frenzy: Goodbye Scrooge by Jaime Samms
by Jaime SammsGoodbye Scrooge
http://pinkpetalbooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=26&products_id=143&zenid=d87e52afd0852b0aa0525c2f482f2fa8
Blurb:
When beautiful, perfect basket ball hero Eric hits on grad student Marcus, it's more than just another flirtation. Marcus realizes it's time to take a good look at the difficult relationship he's had with his unpredictable and bitter professor Julian for the past four years. He has to make a decision. Sure he's ready to move on, he plans to give Julian one last Christmas gift; an unforgettable night, before he leaves.
He never expected to be the person who can't get the passion they find on that last go round out of his head. His decision isn't going to be as simple as he'd hoped. Maybe perfect isn't everything after all.
Excerpt:
"Kiss me."
"No." But he didn't pull away. His lips remained parted and he breathed in soft, excited pants.
"Yes."
"You can't make–"
I did make him, taking the kiss, taking Julian's mouth, gently moving the dog off his lap and forcing Julian back into the arm of the couch.
His hand against my chest became a fist, curled into the folds of my shirt, and his panted breath turned desperate. His mouth opened, I delved my tongue deeper, and a soft, mewling pant from Julian rewarded me. I pushed harder, not physically, but by spreading a hand on Julian's bare stomach under his shirt, soaking up the warmth and pouring my own heat back.
Julian finally yanked himself free of the demanding kiss. "Stop."
"Nope." I just trailed my attentions down Julian's throat, smiling when my little professor went limp against the couch and moaned his pleasure. I continued my downward progress, pushing his t-shirt out of the way, licking and nipping across the flat, pale abs, kissing my way down the treasure trail of hair until his waistband impeded my progress.
Julian's fingers sank into my hair, and he pulled.
Left without a choice, I stopped the sweet torture and rested my chin on Julian's hip. "What?"
"How is this supposed to go?"
"I told you yesterday, there's fucking, and there's everything else. All the things you're missing. I want those things, and if you just let me show you, you'll see they're worth finding someone who can give them to you."
"Not you."
I wended my way back up until we were face to face again. "After everything, Julian, do you really think we're couple material? You have to admit, we didn't exactly start out on equal footing."
"You saying I took advantage of you?"
I sighed. "You going to try and deny you used your authority to seduce me?"
"It wasn't very hard, and if I remember, you're the one who came to my office. You're the one who dared me to say it out loud."
I couldn't deny I'd been bold enough to come on to the handsome professor first year. That much was true. "A proper prof would have kicked my ass out of there."
"Have you seen your ass?" Julian reached and slapped my behind. Hard. "Not so easy to turn down when it's bare and ready to be fucked."
"Fine. So we both behaved badly. For a long time. Now it's time to end it well, wouldn't you say?"
"And you think one last fuck is the way to go?"
"One night. Give me a chance to change your mind about what it can mean to stick your dick inside another person. You might be surprised."
"Why should I?"
"What have you got to lose? You're already done with me anyway. I saw it in your eyes yesterday. We're already over, so what's one last night? Can't hurt."
"Says you."
But when I moved in for another kiss, he didn't stop me, nor did he halt the touches and caresses that methodically eased his clothes from his body. I leaned back to admire my handiwork, seeing Julian splayed out and flushed, his long, pale limbs languidly draped over the couch, I had to palm my cock to relieve some of the aching pressure.
"Where's your bed?" My voice sounded gruff, gravelly with lust, but the deep heat in Julian's brown eyes reflected how I felt, and his answer confirmed it.
"End of the hall."
"Come on."
I pulled on Julian's hand until the man flowed to his feet, then led him down the hall to his bedroom.
The space was austere. A big, perfectly made bed stood just to one side, the foot facing the door, and dark wood furniture with clean lines surrounded a spacious open area beside it. A comfortable looking chair with a reading lamp and a footstool graced one corner.
"This is you all over," I observed, not bothering to be neat as I shed my own clothing. I put a hand on his back and pressured him toward the bed. "Lie down."
"Make–"
I gave him a tiny shove, and the surprise was enough to send him stumbling forward, hands out to catch his tumble onto the bed. I had no intention of letting him get up again, and hurried after him, straddling his ass and moving longish hair off his nape to apply lips and tongue.
Under me, Julian struggled feebly, his protests getting lost in softer gasps and moans, soaking into the bed clothes.
"Don't worry, Jules. No one can hear us if you make some noise."
"Get off," his voice, as limp as his limbs, didn't inspire me to obey. Goose bumps chased down his arms, and I smoothed them away with soft touches. Gradually, I moved my kisses down Julian's spine, trusting the languid effect of tongue and lightly applied teeth to keep him in his place. By the time I reached his ass, my professor was trembling slightly, his moans taking on a needy depth. When I plied his cheeks apart, I got a sharp gasp accompanying the first touch of tongue to hole. After that, I had Julian twitching and gasping, each protest cut off by his own body's responses.
"You can't–"
"Can," I muttered, shoving to get his hips a little higher.
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
December 15, 2010
Quick Six TNG with Lydia Nyx
Quick Six TNG with Lydia Nyx
1. What does "vanilla" mean to you?
LN: It's the scent I wear all the time! I really like the smell of vanilla. If you're talking from a writing or sexual perspective, I can never think 'vanilla' so I would say having sex with ice cream involved?
2. Is there any moment from your life that you remember in slow motion?
LN: Yes, when I came home from work to discover I'd been burglarized. The first thing I saw was the light on through the window and I knew instantly something wasn't right. Having to creep into my own apartment, hoping the thieves weren't still there, was the most chilling feeling. They took my laptop too, which meant I lost some of my writing.
3. What's the most unsettling movie you've ever seen?
LN: Precious. Incredible acting and the story will leave you feeling like you've been punched in the gut. It's a really, really harrowing movie and you need a strong stomach to get through it.
4. If you had to get a tattoo on your face, what would you want it to look like?
LN: A woman I know, her husband is a tattoo artist and he tattoos permanent makeup on people. I think that would make my life so much easier, especially when I have to work in the morning.
5. How many monkeys jumping on the bed?
LN: The REAL question in my life is: how many pesky cats jumping in my bed and waking me up in the morning because they're awake and everyone else should be too?
6. Which of the books or stories you've written is your favourite?
LN: Probably Fire in the Desert. It can be expanded into a much bigger, even novel-length story, which many people have told me. I plan to get around to that one of these days when I don't have a million other projects on my plate!
Blurb:
Garrett Thomas is one of the world's leading cryptozoologists. When he gets a tip a dragon—the holy grail of his field—has been spotted in the Sahara desert, he jumps at the chance to locate and document this elusive creature. As further incentive, his old college friend—and lover—Keegan Richards is currently on an archeological dig in Egypt. Keegan possesses a powerful supernatural ability called the Mystic. When Garrett sees his old flame after a year of separation, he finds not only has Keegan's power increased so he has full command of the element of fire but he's grown a thousand times more beautiful and exotic. After Garrett has a strange and erotic dream about him, Keegan inexplicably grows cold and tries to send Garrett home with his mission unfulfilled. Garrett stays in Egypt, however, and when he finally enters the dragon's lair, he finds what he's looking for—but not the way he expected.
Buy link:
https://www.nobleromance.com/ItemDisplay.aspx?i=175
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
http://freewebs.com/gisellerenarde/
