Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 517

ENSLAVED BY A VIKING is here!

Today's the last time to enter the contest to win the grab bag of promo stuff, much of it signed, that I picked up at Romanticon! Post a comment to win!

I'm back at home now—but just for a couple of days. Thursday, I'll head off to north Arkansas for the Ozark Writers Conference. I have sooooo much work to do before I go, including getting the word out about this book. If you have time, please click on the cover and head to Amazon. "Tag" it and "like" it—those things don't cost a thing to do and you'd be helping other readers find the book. Thanks for all your support and good luck in the drawing!

His suffering….

Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios's elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…

Her satisfaction….

Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister's papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.

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1 Day to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

Today, I'll be flying back to Arkansas. Romanticon is over. I had a great time hanging out with my sister, daughter and friends. But I'm ready to be home.

Yesterday was more restful than I expected. For whatever reason, the powers that be didn't think I'd be there for the big booksigning event, so there wasn't a place for me. That's the third time this has happened to me this year. I can't figure out where I earned that kind of karma, but a couple of you will benefit from my bad luck. I went up and down the line of authors there—and I think there were around 60 of them—to get signatures on cover flats and the conference book bag. I have tons of things to fill two bags actually. I'll give the first one the day after tomorrow—keep posting!!

I also picked up some interesting jewelry for giveaways. So stay tuned. In the meantime, I have one more little excerpt. A nasty one, since I don't think you'll believe me that it's sexy. If you're not over 18, don't read another word! Our hero and heroine are still in the brothel, being forced into "entertaining" the guests.

* * * * *

The whore-mistress stepped between them, her face red and her eyes glittering. "Finish it." She dug a finger under his chin to lift his glance. "You really don't have a choice."

Shaking now with fury, he ground out, "I am not an animal."

"Don't pretend you're anything but what you are. A barbarian. The women you will serve want nothing less than every bit of your strength."

"Do they wish to be raped?"

She gave a feminine snort. "It's not rape. They want to be overcome. To be forced, yes. But they surrender to your mastery of their own free will. Do not disappoint us. There are far worse things that can befall you if you're stubborn."

Her gaze whipped to Fatin. "You wish an agreement. I won't even consider it unless you prove the men you brought me are every bit as feral and savage as you promised."



Fatin's gaze held his for a long, tense moment before falling away. With slow moves, she opened the buckle of the belt at her waist, then peeled down the slide to loosen her trousers again.

Standing, she toed off her boots, pushed down her trousers, and slid off her socks off until her lower half was nude. Then she slowly eased down the torn shirt still hanging from her shoulders, baring the rest of her body.

Arousal crept across his skin. She was every bit as lovely as the day she'd knelt beside the fire pit in the mining camp. Bronze skin. Large brown nipples on her small, rounded breasts. Her nude pussy shone with dampness.

And this time, Eirik didn't need a burst of electrical current to cause his cock to swell.

Fatin took a seat on the chaise and turned, lying lengthwise on the wide, bench-like bed.

The loin skirt loosened at his side, and he glanced down at a plump Helio woman who gave him a shy grin and swept away the linen garment.

"Let me serve you, Viking."

He grunted, bemused at the woman's eagerness to assist a slave, but he shook himself and dropped a knee onto the bench, flattened his hands on the mattress on either side of Fatin's shoulders, and climbed over her.

The crowd shuffled, whispers sliding around them, but all his attention remained on the woman trapped beneath him.

He thrust a knee between her legs, and she resisted for a moment, clamping them together tightly, her chin beginning to wobble.

When her eyes filled, he wondered if she cried from embarrassment or regret. He hoped she regretted every moment and every action that had brought her to this. She deserved to never feel a moment's peace for her crimes.

And yet, when he lowered his body over hers, the softness of her skin and her feminine frame eased some of the anger flowing through him. Again, he found himself wanting to go gently. He lowered his face toward hers, focusing on her mouth.

Fatin's dark eyes held his gaze. "You can pretend," she whispered. "Let them think you will woo them. You will earn their adoration."

"I don't want your adoration. I don't want theirs."

"Think, Viking." With shaking fingers, she loosened the band that held his hair and spread it over his shoulders. Low murmurs of appreciation echoed in the chamber. "I know you want your freedom. Do whatever you must to earn it."

He didn't want to hear her advice, didn't want to think about the way her voice thickened as he gave her more of his weight, the way her soft body yielded. "What acts would interest them?" he asked, pretending to play along while he tried to master the desire raging through him.

"A man who finds pleasure in tasting every corner of a woman's body will be coveted above all."

Eirik slid his lips over her cheek, inhaling her spicy scent, and then roamed lower, gliding over the delicate collarbone to the tops of her small breasts. "Like this?" he asked, pretense quickly becoming true desire as his tongue stroked her warm skin.

Her fingers dug into his scalp, and she tried to center his mouth over one straining breast.

But he nipped the tender underside and nuzzled into the fragrant crease.

Her nipples were erect, the tips quivering with her ragged breaths. "Don't be too gentle or tease too long."

"Do you want the savage again? Is that what will fire your blood?"

She yanked his hair and pulled his head closer. As she locked her gaze with his, her eyes narrowed to furious slits. "I did what I had to do," she whispered harshly. "You don't understand."

He felt her hands soften in his hair, her fingers tunnel through the strands. "Soon, you will tell me what drove you to this. But, sweet Fatin, for now, you will serve my pleasure." He grabbed her hand and forced it between their bodies, pushing it down toward his cock. "I want your mouth on me, working me like a whore."

He jerked back and knelt in the center of the chaise, then grabbed her braid and wound it around his fist.

Her face tightened, her lips lifting in a snarl, but there was no one willing to rush to her aid as he forced her down. "Use your teeth on me, and I will beat you."

Knowing the scene he must create, he pushed her face against his cock, pinched her chin to open her mouth, then shoved the tip between her lips.

Her body quivered; her teeth clamped around him.

At the sensation, he held his breath, cupped her jaw, and feathered a thumb along her lower lip.

She was tempted to deliver a bite—he could read her intent in the flare of anger in her dark eyes. Instead, her tongue touched him, then swept over the plush cap. A thin moan vibrated around him.

He slowly stroked forward, testing her, ready to pull free if she tried to harm him, but her lips wrapped around the sharp edges of her teeth and began to suction, her eyes closing as she pulled and sucked.

Eirik's head fell back, his eyes wide wide-open and trained on the ceiling above them. On the gilt-covered plaster, on the whirling wooden blades of the fan.

She was skilled, the suctioning strong and rhythmic, tugging his arousal into a blazing heat that had him thrusting into her mouth, past her wicked tongue, to butt against the back of her throat.

Again, he looked down to watch her mouth consume him.

Her eyes opened, glancing up. Something sparkled, a hint of challenge, and she swallowed around him, the deep, intimate kiss massaging the crown;, then her throat eased open for him to slide even deeper.

A whore's trick. He'd do well to remember Fatin had secrets. If she pleasured him, the act was to fulfill her own agenda. Nothing more, he reminded himself.

Watching the billow and hollow of her cheeks as she worked him, his focus narrowed on the sensations, on the tension building in his balls.

Her teeth strafed him, and he pulled her hair, pushing her off his cock.

Eyes flashing, she straightened, wiping the back of her hand across her swollen mouth.

Eirik breathed slowly, taking in the restlessness of the crowd around them, the breathless silence of the women. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the faces of the men—hard, savagely tense. They wanted him to punish her.

And punish her he would, but not in any way that would leave him feeling empty at the end. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her toward him, over his lap.

"Viking!"

With one arm anchoring her over his knees, he raised his hand and slapped her bare bottom, the sound loud and shocking in the quiet.

A giggle erupted, followed by murmurs rising, blending. The sounds of deeper rumbles from the men, hard chuckles at his manner of domination, fueled his anger. He spanked her soft, rounded bottom until his palm burned and her bronze skin grew pink. Realizing how aroused he was becoming as he spanked her, disgust twisted inside and he shoved her off his lap.

Tumbling onto her knees, she looked upward, glaring, her chest quivering on choked gasps.

Yet when he reached for her again, she melted against him. He took her down to the chaise, climbing over her, and slid his legs between hers, angling his cock to thrust against her wet folds.

He slid as smooth as a knife through butter into her body, lost in the wet heat, in the womanly warmth that surrounded him. Wet lips trailed along his cheek, and he turned to rub his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue inside for a deeper taste.

But she welcomed him there, stroking her tongue over his, then sucking it as she began to undulate beneath him, encouraging him to drive deeper into her body.

Pushing off the sofa, he braced his weight on his arms and gave her long strokes that exposed the length of his cock to the watchers. Again, and again he drove deep, his movements languid but strong. Her channel warmed around him, melting, moisture easing his way through the tight confines.

Her vagina was a perfect glove. Hot, moist, rippling along his shaft.

He shifted, bringing in his knees. He thrust a hand beneath her and lifted her as he sat back on his haunches and kept her impaled there, their bodies facing each other.

Her expression was questioning, her eyes wide and searching. Eirik didn't know what she saw, but her chin firmed; her fingers dug into his shoulders. She lifted herself, then slammed down his cock, the shock of her violence spurring his own as he pounded upward to meet her rough strokes.

The crowd around them grew silent, seemed to breathe as one, but Eirik pushed aside the thought of them watching, judging. He didn't care anymore, couldn't think beyond the moment of enjoying her sweet body.

Fucking Fatin with an audience wasn't any different from the hundreds of other public sessions he'd reveled in at home. All that was missing was the sound of familiar voices calling out lewd suggestions, spurring him on by inciting his competitive nature to be the best, the strongest, last the longest, drive the hardest. Sex was often just another sport, another way for men to prove their prowess.

He thrust and burrowed, screwed in circles, then thrust hard toward her core again, gauging by her breaths and the convulsions rippling up and down her channel just how far along she was.

In this circumstance, he shouldn't care whether she came, but he was hard-wired to succeed. Always standing in the shadow of his brother, he'd had a tough standard to meet—in warfare, in governance, and in lovemaking.

He slammed upward, forcing a hiss from Fatin, which pulled him back to the present.

Angry color flooded her cheeks. "Just finish it," she whispered.

2 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

Don't forget to comment for a chance to win a grab bag of prizes from Romanticon!

Romanticon has been a blast—especially seeing all the little dramas and debaucheries through my daughter's eyes. Sis was her dance partner, which saved my feet—thanks, Myla! Today's the booksigning. I hope to see some of you there. You don't have to buy a book to say hello!

Here's another excerpt from Enslaved by a Viking. Forgive Eirik for being a little rough when he first gets his hands on Fatin. A man's dignity can only stand so much. Click on the cover to order it now! Oh, and I changed the countdown number. I really don't know what day it is.

* * * * *

"Have you ever seen the like, Calliope?"

The awe-filled tone of the woman beside her made Fatin pause.

"I must have the dark one. Did you see him at the auction? His cock is twice the size of my husband's."

The women giggled and moved away, seeking a word with Aliyah while they pointed toward the dark one, Eirik.

Fatin didn't want to care that the man they bargained to have had been the one she'd been most reluctant to steal.

From the first moment she'd heard his name spoken by the mining camp supervisor on New Iceland, she'd fixed her sights on the Ulfhednar heir, even knowing that kidnapping one of the ruling class was a capital offense. The temptation had been too great. A chance to exploit his plight and the unsavory practice of sexual slavery was more than she'd hoped for.

Why had he kept his identity a secret for so long? Did he fear he'd be killed the moment he did expose the crime? The excuse was plausible. Still, she didn't think much frightened the man who'd surprised and enthralled her at every turn. Perhaps he hoped to escape and avoid the humiliation of having been bested by a woman, a situation made all the worse by his gentle treatment of her.

She'd posed as a contracted sex-thrall at the remote mining camp. As soon as he'd entered the small, curtained sleep chamber she'd been assigned to await his pleasure, he'd been eager to take her. Moments after yanking closed the curtain, he'd slid away the blanket she'd used to hide her naked form. As any man presented with a whore for his use, he'd begun without any thought except for his own pleasure.

However, once he'd plunged inside her, and she'd gasped, shocked by the fierceness of his invasion and the size of his sex, he'd gentled his assault, taking the time and care to pull her into an arousal so strong, she'd felt a moment's regret about causing him harm.

"What is your name?" he'd murmured against her lips as she'd straddled him while he sat at the edge of his sleeping bench.

"Fatin," she'd whispered, meeting his gaze, liking the heat banked in his blue eyes.

His chest had expanded, pressing against her swollen nipples. "You please me," he'd said, in his deep, rumbling baritone.

She'd felt a twinge of conscience, knowing what she would do.



Then, he'd said, "I'll see you're well compensated."

She'd bitten her lower lip to still her disappointment. For just a moment, she'd thought he'd seen her as more than just a whore. Her glance fell away to hide the anger welling up inside her.

With a callused finger, he'd nudged up her face. She'd tilted it, meeting his kiss, her eyes never closing.

He'd gently suckled her lower lip, seducing rather than forcing her cooperation.

So many thoughts had swirled inside her head. Regrets that she hadn't met him under other circumstances because she would have liked to know whether he would have treated her any differently. Fear, because he was brawnier than any of the others she'd captured and could easily overcome her if she didn't catch him unawares. And gods, how he filled her.

With her channel stretching to accommodate his girth, her breath had seeped into his mouth. She'd loosed a sigh and then a delicate moan that seemed to increase the tension in his body.

He'd pushed back her hair, cupped her head in one large palm, and tipped her face higher still to deepen the kiss.

As she rose and sank on his cock, she'd panted and shivered.

Eirik had growled deep inside his chest, sounding every inch the barbarian he was. She'd given him a little half-smile while her womb quickened, then shook back her hair.

He'd gripped her hips hard, urging her to rise and fall faster.

Her orgasm had caught her by surprise, flaring outward from her pussy, causing her belly to tremble, her hips to buck. Ripples had slid along her channel to caress his thick length.

"How you please me, darkling," he'd whispered.

She'd been impaled on his cock, a powerful orgasm unlike anything she'd ever experienced before rippling through her, when she'd plunged the needle into his neck and activated the locator for her men to find and transport her from the planet's surface to the ship's hold.

How embarrassing that had been—their molecules reassembling on the cargo floor, their groins still intimately connected. His cock had slid from inside her, and she'd had to force steel into a body gone liquid and pliant. In that moment, she'd hated him for making her doubt herself, for making her feel as though she'd committed a great sin.

He was just a man. Led by his bollocks. Like all the other captives she'd ensnared.

And yet, she'd visited his cage often to ensure he'd survived and to ogle and admire his large frame. His fury with her hadn't lessened her interest even a little bit.

Only to herself, and reluctantly, would she admit that she was obsessed with the fierce giant, although he was likely angry enough to kill her if she came within reach. Even now, she sought glimpses of him through the crowd, her gaze eating up every inch of his tall, muscled physique.

"There you are," came a soft, drawling voice.

Fatin jerked toward Aliyah, who watched her with her avid black gaze.

A dark brow rose. "The women already clamor for first rights. But I think you've earned your choice. Would you like to start the games?"

Heat filling her cheeks, Fatin shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be the center of the spectacle soon to occur.

"Come," Aliyah said, her long-fingered hand wrapping around Fatin's wrist to pull her through the crowd. "You don't have to pay. Consider this a bonus for your hard work."

"You've already been very generous, mistress," Fatin gritted out between her teeth, dragging her feet.

"I saw the way you looked at that dark-haired barbarian. Your eyes ate him up. And the way he looked at you during the auction—" Aliyah broke off and laughed, fanning herself with her free hand. "His 'attention' was all for you, my dear."

The crowd parted, making a path that led straight to the Vikings lined up at the front of the room. Every hard, male gaze homed in on her approach.

Panic surging through her body, Fatin dug in her heels and tried to break free of Aliyah's grip, but the whore-mistress was surprisingly strong. Fatin was unwilling to use any fighting moves she'd learned to harm the woman. Too much rode on Aliyah's continued goodwill.

"Really, mistress," Fatin said breathlessly as they neared the edge of the crowd, "I'm very happy to stand back and let another have the first taste."

"I wouldn't hear of it." Aliyah drew back her arm and flung Fatin forward.

Fatin spun toward the Vikings. The one standing next to Eirik opened his arms, and she landed against his naked chest.

Laughter surrounded them—high-pitched gales from the women, low, edgy chuckles from the men—but not a hint of humor softened the tall blond Viking's taut features. His hazel eyes narrowed, and those tree-trunk arms of his banded around her ribs to give her a crushing embrace.

She remembered how Hakon had insisted that she strip in a cold, narrow passage inside the Berserkirs' keep, shortly after she'd "accidently" bumped into him. His gaze had hungrily raked her frame, his features growing frighteningly intense as she'd peeled away the layers of her clothing.

Again, as before, she shivered at the way his features sharpened with deadly intent.

Unable to catch her breath, she felt her face heat, her lungs burn. Pressed so close, his hardening ridge digging into her belly, she wondered if he'd simply keep squeezing until he snapped her back or smothered her. Was the thought of killing her really so arousing? "Bastard!"

"Hakon . . ." Eirik's voice cut through the tension with a note of warning.

The tall barbarian grunted, and then abruptly opened his arms.

She stumbled backward, catching herself before she fell in a heap at his feet.

Eirik's hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, tightening like a manacle. The crowd around them grew silent. Perhaps they'd already heard the tale of the men's capture and knew she was the one responsible. Like the ruthless, bloody games they enjoyed watching in the arena, did they hope to see her pulled apart?

The moment stretched. Fatin swallowed hard; her gaze locked with Eirik's icy stare.

His grip didn't tighten, but it didn't ease either. With his fierce, glittering stare drilling into hers, he dragged down his arm, forcing her closer.

And even though she resisted, stiffening her body in rejection and scuffing her boots on the marble, he pulled her inexorably closer.

When her breasts touched his chest, his strong arms clamped around her. Again, she fought for breath, but this time her inability to draw air into her lungs wasn't entirely due to how hard his arms constricted.

Eirik's cold blue gaze swept her face. A tight, cruel smile curved his lips. "Fatin," he growled, "at last . . ."

She tossed back her hair. "At last? You sound so satisfied," she whispered harshly, pretending she wasn't nearly fainting from lack of oxygen and because he was the one holding her so tightly. "You seem so eager to hold me close. I thought you would have felt well rid of me. Yet, here we are."

"You underestimate my desire," he said, his voice grinding as deliciously as his cock did against her belly.

His head bent over hers, forcing hers back. To anyone watching, theirs would appear to be a lover's eager embrace.

"You may have him, Fatin," Aliyah said, her lilting voice sounding distant. "A demonstration of your acquisition's prowess is in order."

A demonstration. Her throat closed as burning panic burbled up. Something of her fear must have entered her expression.

The corners of his lips curled higher. "You may have me," he whispered. "Here? Now? Do you tremble because they will see or because I am the one who will thunder inside you?"

He couldn't have used coarser words and made her feel any more uneasy. The picture he painted in her mind, of a storm unleashed, made her knees weaken.

The arm banding her back caught her before she slid downward. His eyelids drifted down to narrowed slits while his gaze remained locked with hers. "We have unfinished business, sweet Fatin."

3 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

OMGah!—yes, I'm channeling Jessica Simpson—I have Internet! And it's fast! It's only because EVERYONE's downstairs dancing with the Cavemen. Yeah, it's actually Friday night right now, but since I had connection, for once, I'm not wasting it.

I'm having a wonderful time. My daughter's downstairs, pretty, and you know the guys are enjoying that—I don't expect to see her until much later. My sister's probably right up there on the dance floor with her, grinding on a Caveman. However, I shall remain virtuous. I have work to do. Copyedits are due for Five Ways to Sunday.

I'm here with another excerpt, trying to whet your appetite for the book coming October 4th. One click on the cover will take you to Amazon.com where you can purchase your copy while it's still being offered at a reduced price. And yes, it's print and full length, and the sexiest thing you're gonna read this Fall.

* * * * *

It was a long-standing joke among Ulfhednar warriors that when they perished on a battlefield, they would tell the Valkyries who came to deliver them to Odin's hall that they'd prefer the fiery underworld of Muspellheim. For Icelanders had lived so long on their frozen world that searing heat seemed a more fitting paradise.

However, Eirik Ulfhednar knew the truth. The realm of fire wasn't a mythical land. Due to one fateful error, he'd landed there, and the sultry heat of this godless place wasn't anything to be envied.

Despite the fans circling high above the garishly appointed salon, the temperature of the room where he stood was sweltering, the air stifling and thick in his lungs. Sweat gathered on his forehead and glazed his bare chest.

For the first time, he was thankful for the inadequate and embarrassing clothing he'd been given. The linen garment draping his hips allowed air to cool his nether regions.

However, the fabric was so thin he might as well have stood naked before those gathered to examine the new arrivals—or "offerings," as the whore-mistress called them. A term that somehow made him and the men standing in a straight rank behind him seem less human, more like a feast spread out on a banquet table to be devoured. A feast of twenty rugged Icelanders—all with their long hair slicked back in queues behind their heads, their muscular bodies oiled and perfumed like women, and wearing the same transparent swath of fabric about their hips and silver cuffs around their wrists that proclaimed them the lowest order of slaves—sex-thralls.

Every trace of their proud heritage had been erased except for their large, rugged builds—the very qualities that had precipitated their capture and enslavement.

"I count only two guards inside this room," Hakon murmured beside him, lifting his chin to point toward the tall wooden doors at the entrance of to the salon.

Called Hakon the Bold on their former world, Eirik's new comrade was just another of the captives being paraded to satisfy the lusty appetites of the Heliopolite elite. All female, thank the stars.

Eirik gave an equally subtle nod toward the windows overlooking the landscaped grounds. Lush green grass, oases of tall flowers and leafy trees, couldn't hide the armed guards patrolling openly around the facility's perimeter. "I've counted six soldiers so far. Armed with stunners. We haven't shields to protect us should we try to make a break. They could take us all."

Hakon grunted. "But we have hostages. Or are you too squeamish to harm women?"

Eirik gave him a narrowed glare. "I wouldn't hesitate, not for a second, to do what I must to secure our freedom."

His companion's casual shrug belied his sharp scrutiny. "I thought I should ask, given how eagerly your body reacts to the vicious bitch that brought us here."

Not accustomed to having his motives questioned, Eirik bristled. "If I grow hard in Fatin's presence," he bit out, "it's because I envision all the ways I will make her suffer."

Hakon chuckled. Suspicion cleared from his face. "Good to know you will not shed a tear over her death."

However, as furious as Eirik was with the woman they discussed, the thought of standing over her lifeless body gave him a moment's pause. His chest tightened uncomfortably.



Perhaps he felt a connection to her because of the way they'd met. She'd been a gift from the men operating his family mine, a companion to warm his bed while he visited. Due to the hesitant way she'd mounted his body, he'd thought her young and untried. That first impression had been obliterated by what had happened next. He'd felt the prick of the needle she'd used to subdue him, experienced his body disintegrating into molecules as he'd been transported to a ship orbiting his planet. When he'd next awoken, he found himself caged inside the hold of a cargo ship bound for Helios, the Outlanders' home planet.

Even enduring the humiliating auction had done little to blunt his desire for the woman. He just wanted to punish her, he told himself. To visit untold demeaning acts upon her supple body. Only then would his thirst for revenge be quenched. His hesitation to end her life existed only because he didn't want her suffering to end too quickly.

"I think I could take the first thirty or so," Hakon murmured dryly beside him, eyeing the throng entering the room.

"But will you fuck them or beat them to death?" Eirik muttered, watching eyeing the scores of wide-eyed, feverishly animated women streaming inside like water breaking through a dam. The doors had just been opened, admitting the first customers.

Hakon snorted, his chin jutting upward. "I've never struck a female, but I am sorely tempted now," he said, his tone filled with disgust. "I'm a Berserkir, not a sex-thrall."

Not for the first time, Eirik reflected on the fact that he'd grown close in a very short time to the cousin of the enemy king. They'd raised swords against each other in "friendly" skirmishes back on their home world. Neighbors, Berserkir and Ulfhednar had warred for centuries, but now they were bound by their shared plight. And although he Eirik was the only Ulfhednar in their midst, all the assembled Icelanders turned to him for leadership. He was, after all, a Wolfskin prince, the fiercest clan among the Icelanders and brother to the legendary Black Wolf.

Too restless to stand still, Hakon rubbed his chest and grimaced. "Do you think it is true?"

"What?" Eirik ground out, only part of his attention on the conversation as he studied the curvaceous crowd filling the large room, wondering how many he would be expected to pleasure.

"Do you think our hair will never grow back? I'm as smooth as a woman."

Eirik grunted. He'd been every bit as dismayed as Hakon to awaken and discover his current smooth-skinned state. "My friend, I think that's the least of the indignities we will suffer."

The Norsemen were lined up in the center of the salon. Because they were close in stature and musculature, Hakon and he had been placed just in front of the line of new offerings. The most valuable prizes among the men who'd been procured for this event.

"Hymir's bollocks!" Hakon whispered furiously.

Eirik glanced down to where Hakon stared and noted that his companion's cock tented the linen, a fact that had the women strolling by to examine them tittering.

Hakon shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. "I can't help it. I haven't enjoyed a release since that white-coated witch Miriam milked me like a dairy cow aboard the frigate before we arrived on this frigging planet. After she finished, I thought my manhood would remain shriveled forever."

The scientist hadn't come near Eirik, but only because another cold bitch had seen to stealing his semen to test its potency. Eirik searched the throng of robed women, wondering if the heartless bounty hunter would dare show herself today.

Still, as furious as he was with Fatin, Eirik's own man-staff thickened at the memory of her mouth tugging at his sex to coax him into spilling his precious seed.

The last time he'd seen her had been two days ago when she'd stood beside him on the stage erected in the arena and whipped away his clothing to display his attributes to the bidders gathered there.

Dark eyes flashing with triumph, she'd been beautiful.

He'd been furious, blood pounding at his temples and racing south to harden his cock. He'd glared daggers her way, promising her silently that one day she would know the same humiliation. That one day she would be at his mercy, and he'd show just as much of that tender emotion as she'd spared him.

"Do you think they did more than remove our hair?" Hakon whispered.

Rage made Eirik tremble anew at the thought of how he'd awoken that morning, feeling sluggish from the remnants of the drug that had been slipped into his food, his entire body denuded of his its manly fur, his arse sore. He'd wondered if he'd been taken in his sleep, raped by some unknown person, and for those first waking moments, he'd felt a searing despair.

Everything else he possessed had been stolen—his clothing, his rank, his standing among his people. Had they also taken his pride?

But he'd been assured by the female technician who'd loosened the bindings around his wrists and feet securing him to a gurney that he'd only been examined to assure his health. Had the pink-cheeked woman read his dismay? He was accustomed to hiding his emotions. The shame of her recognizing his weakness had hardened his resolve.

He was Eirik, heir to the Wolfskin kingdom of Thorshavn, and he'd not remain a slave for long.

"We could take them," Hakon repeated in a whisper. "There are only the two guards, and we could use the women as a shield when we rush the gates. You only have to say the word and the men will follow your lead."

Eirik nodded, his gaze sweeping the room again, looking for clues as to how their Helio captors intended to keep the Vikings subdued. The room was large and airy with rich red- and brown- upholstered sofas and thick carpets strewn on top of smooth gold marble floors. The large windows were unbarred and opened to display the grassy lawn surrounding the facility. Cool air spilled from vents in the ceiling and was pushed downward by the whirring blades of the fans.

Cool enough to suit the Heliopolites who were accustomed to the heat of their planet. Not for the Vikings who were fresh from New Iceland, a cold, ice-bound world.

Hakon was right. There were only two armed guards. How did they intend to force the Norsemen to do their will? "We wait," he whispered. "Something isn't right."

Hakon growled beside him, but nodded. "Do we cooperate? Do we let them command us like thralls?"

"For now. Use them as they intend to use us. Find your pleasure, but keep your eyes and ears open. We must discover how they intend to keep us confined."

"Yes, milord," Hakon gritted out, clearly unhappy at having to wait.

Eirik gave him a sharp glare. "I've said it before. Don't call me that. And don't use my name. I do not want them discovering too soon who I am."

"Do you think they would kill you rather than letting anyone know they kidnapped a noble?"

"I don't know, but it's possible. The offense is punishable by death among the Consortium worlds. To be safe, for now, simply call me Wolf."

Hakon chuckled. "A slur the men will have no trouble remembering."

"Ugly Bearshirt," Eirik rumbled, suppressing a grin. He panned the room again, and then caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar slender figure. His entire body tensed. His fists curled at his sides.

That his cock stirred right along with the rest of him reflected only his zeal to exact revenge.

The crowd of painted and perfumed women swelled, drawing closer, and then parted. Now he saw her clearly.

Fatin, the bounty hunter. Fatin, the procurer. An enigma he hoped was more than the sum of her beautiful parts. He wanted a worthy adversary upon which to concentrate his anger.

4 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

OMGah!—yes, I'm channeling Jessica Simpson—I have Internet! And it's fast! It's only because EVERYONE's downstairs dancing with the Cavemen. Yeah, it's actually Friday night right now, but since I had connection, for once, I'm not wasting it.

I'm having a wonderful time. My daughter's downstairs, pretty, and you know the guys are enjoying that—I don't expect to see her until much later. My sister's probably right up there on the dance floor with her, grinding on a Caveman. However, I shall remain virtuous. I have work to do. Copyedits are due for Five Ways to Sunday.

I'm here with another excerpt, trying to whet your appetite for the book coming October 4th. One click on the cover will take you to Amazon.com where you can purchase your copy while it's still being offered at a reduced price. And yes, it's print and full length, and the sexiest thing you're gonna read this Fall.

* * * * *

It was a long-standing joke among Ulfhednar warriors that when they perished on a battlefield, they would tell the Valkyries who came to deliver them to Odin's hall that they'd prefer the fiery underworld of Muspellheim. For Icelanders had lived so long on their frozen world that searing heat seemed a more fitting paradise.

However, Eirik Ulfhednar knew the truth. The realm of fire wasn't a mythical land. Due to one fateful error, he'd landed there, and the sultry heat of this godless place wasn't anything to be envied.

Despite the fans circling high above the garishly appointed salon, the temperature of the room where he stood was sweltering, the air stifling and thick in his lungs. Sweat gathered on his forehead and glazed his bare chest.

For the first time, he was thankful for the inadequate and embarrassing clothing he'd been given. The linen garment draping his hips allowed air to cool his nether regions.

However, the fabric was so thin he might as well have stood naked before those gathered to examine the new arrivals—or "offerings," as the whore-mistress called them. A term that somehow made him and the men standing in a straight rank behind him seem less human, more like a feast spread out on a banquet table to be devoured. A feast of twenty rugged Icelanders—all with their long hair slicked back in queues behind their heads, their muscular bodies oiled and perfumed like women, and wearing the same transparent swath of fabric about their hips and silver cuffs around their wrists that proclaimed them the lowest order of slaves—sex-thralls.

Every trace of their proud heritage had been erased except for their large, rugged builds—the very qualities that had precipitated their capture and enslavement.

"I count only two guards inside this room," Hakon murmured beside him, lifting his chin to point toward the tall wooden doors at the entrance of to the salon.

Called Hakon the Bold on their former world, Eirik's new comrade was just another of the captives being paraded to satisfy the lusty appetites of the Heliopolite elite. All female, thank the stars.

Eirik gave an equally subtle nod toward the windows overlooking the landscaped grounds. Lush green grass, oases of tall flowers and leafy trees, couldn't hide the armed guards patrolling openly around the facility's perimeter. "I've counted six soldiers so far. Armed with stunners. We haven't shields to protect us should we try to make a break. They could take us all."

Hakon grunted. "But we have hostages. Or are you too squeamish to harm women?"

Eirik gave him a narrowed glare. "I wouldn't hesitate, not for a second, to do what I must to secure our freedom."

His companion's casual shrug belied his sharp scrutiny. "I thought I should ask, given how eagerly your body reacts to the vicious bitch that brought us here."

Not accustomed to having his motives questioned, Eirik bristled. "If I grow hard in Fatin's presence," he bit out, "it's because I envision all the ways I will make her suffer."

Hakon chuckled. Suspicion cleared from his face. "Good to know you will not shed a tear over her death."

However, as furious as Eirik was with the woman they discussed, the thought of standing over her lifeless body gave him a moment's pause. His chest tightened uncomfortably.

Perhaps he felt a connection to her because of the way they'd met. She'd been a gift from the men operating his family mine, a companion to warm his bed while he visited. Due to the hesitant way she'd mounted his body, he'd thought her young and untried. That first impression had been obliterated by what had happened next. He'd felt the prick of the needle she'd used to subdue him, experienced his body disintegrating into molecules as he'd been transported to a ship orbiting his planet. When he'd next awoken, he found himself caged inside the hold of a cargo ship bound for Helios, the Outlanders' home planet.

Even enduring the humiliating auction had done little to blunt his desire for the woman. He just wanted to punish her, he told himself. To visit untold demeaning acts upon her supple body. Only then would his thirst for revenge be quenched. His hesitation to end her life existed only because he didn't want her suffering to end too quickly.

"I think I could take the first thirty or so," Hakon murmured dryly beside him, eyeing the throng entering the room.

"But will you fuck them or beat them to death?" Eirik muttered, watching eyeing the scores of wide-eyed, feverishly animated women streaming inside like water breaking through a dam. The doors had just been opened, admitting the first customers.

Hakon snorted, his chin jutting upward. "I've never struck a female, but I am sorely tempted now," he said, his tone filled with disgust. "I'm a Berserkir, not a sex-thrall."

Not for the first time, Eirik reflected on the fact that he'd grown close in a very short time to the cousin of the enemy king. They'd raised swords against each other in "friendly" skirmishes back on their home world. Neighbors, Berserkir and Ulfhednar had warred for centuries, but now they were bound by their shared plight. And although he Eirik was the only Ulfhednar in their midst, all the assembled Icelanders turned to him for leadership. He was, after all, a Wolfskin prince, the fiercest clan among the Icelanders and brother to the legendary Black Wolf.

Too restless to stand still, Hakon rubbed his chest and grimaced. "Do you think it is true?"

"What?" Eirik ground out, only part of his attention on the conversation as he studied the curvaceous crowd filling the large room, wondering how many he would be expected to pleasure.

"Do you think our hair will never grow back? I'm as smooth as a woman."

Eirik grunted. He'd been every bit as dismayed as Hakon to awaken and discover his current smooth-skinned state. "My friend, I think that's the least of the indignities we will suffer."

The Norsemen were lined up in the center of the salon. Because they were close in stature and musculature, Hakon and he had been placed just in front of the line of new offerings. The most valuable prizes among the men who'd been procured for this event.

"Hymir's bollocks!" Hakon whispered furiously.

Eirik glanced down to where Hakon stared and noted that his companion's cock tented the linen, a fact that had the women strolling by to examine them tittering.

Hakon shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. "I can't help it. I haven't enjoyed a release since that white-coated witch Miriam milked me like a dairy cow aboard the frigate before we arrived on this frigging planet. After she finished, I thought my manhood would remain shriveled forever."

The scientist hadn't come near Eirik, but only because another cold bitch had seen to stealing his semen to test its potency. Eirik searched the throng of robed women, wondering if the heartless bounty hunter would dare show herself today.

Still, as furious as he was with Fatin, Eirik's own man-staff thickened at the memory of her mouth tugging at his sex to coax him into spilling his precious seed.

The last time he'd seen her had been two days ago when she'd stood beside him on the stage erected in the arena and whipped away his clothing to display his attributes to the bidders gathered there.

Dark eyes flashing with triumph, she'd been beautiful.

He'd been furious, blood pounding at his temples and racing south to harden his cock. He'd glared daggers her way, promising her silently that one day she would know the same humiliation. That one day she would be at his mercy, and he'd show just as much of that tender emotion as she'd spared him.

"Do you think they did more than remove our hair?" Hakon whispered.

Rage made Eirik tremble anew at the thought of how he'd awoken that morning, feeling sluggish from the remnants of the drug that had been slipped into his food, his entire body denuded of his its manly fur, his arse sore. He'd wondered if he'd been taken in his sleep, raped by some unknown person, and for those first waking moments, he'd felt a searing despair.

Everything else he possessed had been stolen—his clothing, his rank, his standing among his people. Had they also taken his pride?

But he'd been assured by the female technician who'd loosened the bindings around his wrists and feet securing him to a gurney that he'd only been examined to assure his health. Had the pink-cheeked woman read his dismay? He was accustomed to hiding his emotions. The shame of her recognizing his weakness had hardened his resolve.

He was Eirik, heir to the Wolfskin kingdom of Thorshavn, and he'd not remain a slave for long.

"We could take them," Hakon repeated in a whisper. "There are only the two guards, and we could use the women as a shield when we rush the gates. You only have to say the word and the men will follow your lead."

Eirik nodded, his gaze sweeping the room again, looking for clues as to how their Helio captors intended to keep the Vikings subdued. The room was large and airy with rich red- and brown- upholstered sofas and thick carpets strewn on top of smooth gold marble floors. The large windows were unbarred and opened to display the grassy lawn surrounding the facility. Cool air spilled from vents in the ceiling and was pushed downward by the whirring blades of the fans.

Cool enough to suit the Heliopolites who were accustomed to the heat of their planet. Not for the Vikings who were fresh from New Iceland, a cold, ice-bound world.

Hakon was right. There were only two armed guards. How did they intend to force the Norsemen to do their will? "We wait," he whispered. "Something isn't right."

Hakon growled beside him, but nodded. "Do we cooperate? Do we let them command us like thralls?"

"For now. Use them as they intend to use us. Find your pleasure, but keep your eyes and ears open. We must discover how they intend to keep us confined."

"Yes, milord," Hakon gritted out, clearly unhappy at having to wait.

Eirik gave him a sharp glare. "I've said it before. Don't call me that. And don't use my name. I do not want them discovering too soon who I am."

"Do you think they would kill you rather than letting anyone know they kidnapped a noble?"

"I don't know, but it's possible. The offense is punishable by death among the Consortium worlds. To be safe, for now, simply call me Wolf."

Hakon chuckled. "A slur the men will have no trouble remembering."

"Ugly Bearshirt," Eirik rumbled, suppressing a grin. He panned the room again, and then caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar slender figure. His entire body tensed. His fists curled at his sides.

That his cock stirred right along with the rest of him reflected only his zeal to exact revenge.

The crowd of painted and perfumed women swelled, drawing closer, and then parted. Now he saw her clearly.

Fatin, the bounty hunter. Fatin, the procurer. An enigma he hoped was more than the sum of her beautiful parts. He wanted a worthy adversary upon which to concentrate his anger.

4 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

I'm in Akron, sitting in the business office of the hotel because the promised Wi-Fi connection doesn't work. I missed blogging yesterday due to travel. By the time we all (sis and daughter) arrived here, I was too tired to care.

Anyway, I'm here at Romanticon, hangin' with the supermodels, seeing old friends (writers and readers), and enjoying watching my daughter's reactions to everything around us. She's heard me talking about conferences for years, but this is the one she's breaking her cherry on.

To celebrate the release of my latest "Vikings in Space" story, I'm going to give you juicy excerpts for the next few days. Comment and you'll be eligible for a fun grab bag of swag from Romanticon! I've already been gathering trading cards, pens, bookmarks, and assorted "stuff". I hope to get some autographed books along the way too!

His suffering…

Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios's elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…

Her satisfaction…

Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister's papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.

Eirik tried not to breathe too deeply. The rotten, sour smells of his dark, dank prison already made his skin stink. He didn't want the awful stench inside his lungs or belly.

He hadn't seen the other prisoners, not after they'd been herded like cattle through a chute once the hatch had been opened at the side of the ship and his keepers applied prods to their backsides to move them out in single file.

With only brief impressions of his new home, of searing heat and blinding, harsh sunlight, he'd shielded his arm over his eyes and stumbled down the gangway, through the iron-barred alley that disallowed any thoughts of escape.

He'd been led to this cell, deep inside an enormous stone building. A brief glimpse of an open arena, and then he'd been shoved down two flights of narrow stone steps.

Once they'd slammed the solid door and slid the eye-level window closed, he'd been left alone, no sounds penetrating his prison other than the hum of the light above him, and the sounds his own body made.

His thoughts drowned it all out, screaming inside him. He'd wanted to beat his fists against the door, rail at his captors, but he didn't know if anyone watched him, and wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how close to abject despair he was coming.

Hel, he'd even suffer Fatin's derision, her cold, calculating touch, just to feel or hear another human being.



He didn't know how long he'd been here, there being no window, and no way for him to know how the natural passage of time was counted on this planet, but he knew it was long enough that he'd stopped believing anyone would come to his rescue.

They must think me dead, he thought. Like Father, lost on the ice. One day waving as he skimmed away across the frozen blue water, never to return. Only Eirik wasn't lost. He wasn't dead.

A key grated in the lock at his door, pulling his glance. The heavy door swung open, and two sweet-smelling women strode inside, dressed in short, white skirts. Their breasts were bare. Leather sandals with straps laced up to their ankles. Both were dark-haired and ombré-skinned. Like the witch Fatin. They carried linens and an urn of water.

He pressed a hand against the wall of his cell and pushed up from the floor.

"There's a guard outside the door," the one nearest him said. Her dark, sloe eyes glittered as they raked his body. "We're here to bathe and dress you."

Pushing past them would earn him nothing. He clenched his fists at his sides and held himself still as they brought their clean, sweetly fragrant bodies close enough to strip away his clothing and bathe him like a mother might a child. Only their hands lingered over his sex, and although he might have wished otherwise, his cock unfurled, coaxed by their hands and then their lips to deliver his body's nectar. Or so they called it.

Dressed now, and more relaxed, he allowed another woman just outside his cell to lead him through a winding warren of corridors until they climbed a final set of steps and she pushed open the door, letting sunlight drench them.

Eirik closed his eyes, lifting his face to the light. But he wasn't allowed to savor the sensation. A prod behind him reminded him not to dally. He stepped out onto a platform in the center of the arena. A stage surrounded by thousands of men and women dressed in long robes and jewels.

A blended roar of voices greeted him. Women's excited chatter, men's laughter. He emptied his mind of the indignity, of standing in the center of the stage, hands rising, voices shouting. Then one voice separated from the throng, for it was nearer and familiar. His head swiveled toward the sound, caught the triumph glittering in Fatin's eyes as she met his gaze for a moment, then turned back to the crowd, accepting rapidly escalating bids.

A woman near the front of the stage shouted something that sent the crowd into gales of laughter.

Fatin turned toward him, warning him to behave with her cold, black gaze. When she was within arm's reach, she pulled at the tie on his hip and unlaced it, letting the short, skirtlike garment the women had dressed him in fall away.

He stood nude, his body exposed to the air and the rapacious gazes of the crowd. His head cleared of the numbing despair, all focus homing on Fatin's slender frame. No matter the outcome of today's shameful events, he vowed to have his revenge. One day, Fatin would be the slave; one day she would know the shame he felt.

Something of what he thought must have transmitted. Fatin's look of triumph faded, and her eyes became dark mirrors of doubt.

Slowly, his body warmed; his cock expanded. The things he would do to her, the many ways he would take her, filled his mind. No woman would ever know the depths of depravity he would visit on her body.

Frozen, her gaze locked with his. Eirik let the smile tugging at his mouth expand.

Be frightened, sweet Fatin. Be waiting for me.

5 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)

I'm in Akron, sitting in the business office of the hotel because the promised Wi-Fi connection doesn't work. I missed blogging yesterday due to travel. By the time we all (sis and daughter) arrived here, I was too tired to care.

Anyway, I'm here at Romanticon, hangin' with the supermodels, seeing old friends (writers and readers), and enjoying watching my daughter's reactions to everything around us. She's heard me talking about conferences for years, but this is the one she's breaking her cherry on.

To celebrate the release of my latest "Vikings in Space" story, I'm going to give you juicy excerpts for the next few days. Comment and you'll be eligible for a fun grab bag of swag from Romanticon! I've already been gathering trading cards, pens, bookmarks, and assorted "stuff". I hope to get some autographed books along the way too!

His suffering…

Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios's elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…

Her satisfaction…

Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister's papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.

Eirik tried not to breathe too deeply. The rotten, sour smells of his dark, dank prison already made his skin stink. He didn't want the awful stench inside his lungs or belly.

He hadn't seen the other prisoners, not after they'd been herded like cattle through a chute once the hatch had been opened at the side of the ship and his keepers applied prods to their backsides to move them out in single file.

With only brief impressions of his new home, of searing heat and blinding, harsh sunlight, he'd shielded his arm over his eyes and stumbled down the gangway, through the iron-barred alley that disallowed any thoughts of escape.

He'd been led to this cell, deep inside an enormous stone building. A brief glimpse of an open arena, and then he'd been shoved down two flights of narrow stone steps.

Once they'd slammed the solid door and slid the eye-level window closed, he'd been left alone, no sounds penetrating his prison other than the hum of the light above him, and the sounds his own body made.

His thoughts drowned it all out, screaming inside him. He'd wanted to beat his fists against the door, rail at his captors, but he didn't know if anyone watched him, and wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how close to abject despair he was coming.

Hel, he'd even suffer Fatin's derision, her cold, calculating touch, just to feel or hear another human being.



He didn't know how long he'd been here, there being no window, and no way for him to know how the natural passage of time was counted on this planet, but he knew it was long enough that he'd stopped believing anyone would come to his rescue.

They must think me dead, he thought. Like Father, lost on the ice. One day waving as he skimmed away across the frozen blue water, never to return. Only Eirik wasn't lost. He wasn't dead.

A key grated in the lock at his door, pulling his glance. The heavy door swung open, and two sweet-smelling women strode inside, dressed in short, white skirts. Their breasts were bare. Leather sandals with straps laced up to their ankles. Both were dark-haired and ombré-skinned. Like the witch Fatin. They carried linens and an urn of water.

He pressed a hand against the wall of his cell and pushed up from the floor.

"There's a guard outside the door," the one nearest him said. Her dark, sloe eyes glittered as they raked his body. "We're here to bathe and dress you."

Pushing past them would earn him nothing. He clenched his fists at his sides and held himself still as they brought their clean, sweetly fragrant bodies close enough to strip away his clothing and bathe him like a mother might a child. Only their hands lingered over his sex, and although he might have wished otherwise, his cock unfurled, coaxed by their hands and then their lips to deliver his body's nectar. Or so they called it.

Dressed now, and more relaxed, he allowed another woman just outside his cell to lead him through a winding warren of corridors until they climbed a final set of steps and she pushed open the door, letting sunlight drench them.

Eirik closed his eyes, lifting his face to the light. But he wasn't allowed to savor the sensation. A prod behind him reminded him not to dally. He stepped out onto a platform in the center of the arena. A stage surrounded by thousands of men and women dressed in long robes and jewels.

A blended roar of voices greeted him. Women's excited chatter, men's laughter. He emptied his mind of the indignity, of standing in the center of the stage, hands rising, voices shouting. Then one voice separated from the throng, for it was nearer and familiar. His head swiveled toward the sound, caught the triumph glittering in Fatin's eyes as she met his gaze for a moment, then turned back to the crowd, accepting rapidly escalating bids.

A woman near the front of the stage shouted something that sent the crowd into gales of laughter.

Fatin turned toward him, warning him to behave with her cold, black gaze. When she was within arm's reach, she pulled at the tie on his hip and unlaced it, letting the short, skirtlike garment the women had dressed him in fall away.

He stood nude, his body exposed to the air and the rapacious gazes of the crowd. His head cleared of the numbing despair, all focus homing on Fatin's slender frame. No matter the outcome of today's shameful events, he vowed to have his revenge. One day, Fatin would be the slave; one day she would know the shame he felt.

Something of what he thought must have transmitted. Fatin's look of triumph faded, and her eyes became dark mirrors of doubt.

Slowly, his body warmed; his cock expanded. The things he would do to her, the many ways he would take her, filled his mind. No woman would ever know the depths of depravity he would visit on her body.

Frozen, her gaze locked with his. Eirik let the smile tugging at his mouth expand.

Be frightened, sweet Fatin. Be waiting for me.

Guest Blogger: Mari Carr

The winner of this week's contest is named at the bottom of this post!

Hiya! I wanted to start with a quick word of thanks to Delilah for letting me come hang out on her blog today. She is one of my favorite authors, so it's a big treat for me to be here. Damn, that gal can write!

I'm a huge fan of top ten lists, so today I thought it might be fun to share the top ten reasons why ebooks ROCK!

10 – Space in my House. Ebooks don't call for real bookshelves, don't need to be stored or given away once read, and they don't need to be dusted.

9 – Novel vs. Novellas. Ebooks come in many lengths. Sometimes I'm in the mood for a quick fix, a short story to pass a few hours. Other times, I want a full-length novel, one that I can get lost in for an entire weekend. Ebooks offer both options…plus lots of sizes in between.

8 – Instant Gratification. I started reading the Twilight series late in the game. I finished New Moon at midnight one night and was chomping at the bit for Eclipse. Problem was the bookstore was closed. If I'd owned my Kindle back then, Eclipse could have been delivered to me wirelessly in less than thirty seconds and you better believe…I would have been pulling an all-nighter. Team Edward!

7 – Go Green. Ebooks don't require that a rainforest be destroyed to make the paper to print them.

6 – The Ebook Community. Because they are tech savvy, I find ebook readers hang out online quite a bit. I've made some wonderful friends who share my love of erotic romance books through yahoo groups. Social networking through common interests. Love it!

5 – The Fabio Cover Factor. I'll admit it. There were times when I was embarrassed to take a certain book to the checkout counter of the bookstore. I was one of those people would put the book upside down in front of the clerk and then blush when he flipped it over. There were even times when I didn't buy a book I really, really wanted to read, opting to come back later. This usually occurred when the clerk was a student from my school. The beauty of ebooks is no one sees what I'm buying! Not even my husband. Go personal credit card!

4 – Travel Ease. In the past, I had to allow quite a bit of space in my suitcase for books, especially if it was a long trip. Added to that dilemma was the dreaded "You're over the weight limit" line from the airline. With ebooks? I can take literally thousands of books with me on vacation and only add a few ounces to my luggage.

3 – Free Reads. There are lots of free read offers through ebook vendors. I've never seen this same deal with print books. I've discovered several really amazing writers through the free read program at Amazon. Since then, I've added some auto-buy authors, including Dominique Adair, Jess Dee, Anne Stuart, Lila Dubois and Jenna Bailey-Burke, to my reading lists, simply because I picked up one of their books for free. Would I have found them without the free read? Maybe. Maybe not.

2 – Cheaper. Ebooks are cheaper than print. In some cases, they are much cheaper. Because of the varying lengths, I can pick up ebooks anywhere from a couple dollars to around ten bucks. Considering I have shelled out as much as thirteen dollars for trade paperbacks and even more than that for hardback, I enjoy the cheaper cost of ebooks.

1 – Variety. There is a wide-range of ebooks out there. Erotic romance novels aren't that prevalent in print, but in ebook format, the world is my oyster. I can find novels on a variety of the more taboo subjects. Ménages, BDSM, and m/m stories are but a single click away.

And…while we're on the subject of ebooks, I thought I'd take a moment to share a bit of my latest release, Slam Dunk.

Who says you can only score on the court?

A story from the Black & White Collection.

Trey Donovan is mourning the end of summer with fellow teachers when Ellie Hunter walks into Tully's Bar. Better yet, she's now a former rival basketball coach and the newest science teacher at his high school. He can't think of anyone better to fill the vacant assistant coach job. In fact, if he plays his cards right, she might end up his perfect match off the court, too.

If she stops holding him at arm's length long enough to give him a chance.

Coming off a year of bad decisions that not only broke her heart, but cost her a job, Ellie has good reason to swear off workplace romances. Her undeniable—and undeniably mutual—attraction to Trey is a serious threat to her resolve. Especially since Trey's too-easy capitulation to her boundaries stings just a little too much.

Funny thing, though. When she sees Trey dancing with someone else, the edges of her vision turn decidedly green. And when another man tries to kiss Ellie, Trey sees red.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to fudge the rules. Just a little. After all, casual sex doesn't count. Right?

________________________________________

Product Warnings

Lots of red-hot, half-dressed court presses complete with sex toys, food, bubble baths, strip poker and, oh yeah, balls.

"Hey guys," Cheryl called out as she walked into Tully's. "Look who I found in the parking lot."

Trey glanced up and, for a moment, he felt as if he'd been sucker punched. Ellie Hunter followed Cheryl and Lucas to the table.

Then Trey's grin grew and he stood. "Take a wrong turn, Coach Hunter? Harper's Ridge is on the other side of town."

Ellie smiled, but before she could speak, Grace answered. "I invited her. We ran into each other at school today."

Trey frowned, looking at Ellie. "Why were you at Preston?"

"I had a new teacher meeting to attend. I was checking out my classroom when I ran into Grace."

Jamie looked at Grace. "Why the hell would you go to school on the last day of summer?"

Grace blushed slightly. "I wanted to work on my bulletin board."

Lucas laughed. "Nerd."

Grace threw a pretzel at Lucas's head while the others laughed. Ordinarily Trey would have been amused by their antics, but he was too busy trying to wrap his head around the idea that Ellie "Hottie" Hunter was now his colleague rather than his competition. She looked smokin' hot in short shorts and a T-shirt that showcased her perfect curves. Trey felt his cock stir.

"Here," Trey said, grabbing a chair from an empty table nearby and placing it next to his. He suddenly felt the need to have Ellie in his space, close to him. "Have a seat."



Ellie acknowledged his friendly gesture with a quick nod of thanks and sexy smile as they sat down.

Lucas grabbed an empty glass and filled it, passing it over to Ellie. "So you left Harper's Ridge, huh? Finally decide you wanted to teach at a good school with a winning athletics program?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "You must be Lucas. Grace warned me about you."

Lucas wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? You like bad boys?"

Trey narrowed his eyes at his friend, annoyed. While they were both known as being flirts—and players—Trey didn't like the idea of Lucas hitting on Ellie.

"Bad boy?" Trey scoffed. "Jesus, Lucas. You're as much a bad boy as Justin Bieber."

They all laughed as Lucas playfully punched Trey on the arm.

Ellie took a sip of the beer. "I needed a change of scenery," she replied in response to Lucas's earlier question. "Preston had an opening in the science department, so I took it."

"What about coaching?" Trey asked, surprised she would give up something she'd so obviously loved.

She shrugged. "There wasn't an opening to coach basketball at Preston. I mean, that is unless you wanna quit and hand the reins over to someone who actually knows a bit about the sport."

He grinned. Oh yeah, suddenly Trey wasn't dreading the end of summer. This school year was looking to be his best yet. It wouldn't be hard going to work if Ellie was there providing the eye candy. "Not likely. Besides, considering the fact I took my girls' team to the state championship a couple of years ago, I'd say I know plenty about the game."

Ellie wasn't daunted. She leaned closer and Trey caught the light scent of her perfume. Damn, she smelled good. "Word on the street is you're not going to see that much success this year. Four of your starters graduated in June, which leaves you with a young bench. Anybody can coach naturally talented players. You think you're up for teaching a bunch of newbies?"

This was what Trey had missed at the basketball conference. Nobody kept both his feet firmly planted on the ground like Ellie Hunter. "Oh, I'm up for it, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about that."

Actually, at the moment, he was up for quite a bit. He hoped Ellie didn't look down or she'd see exactly how much he enjoyed sparring with her. His cock was rock hard and threatening to bust a few seams in his pants.

"Where the hell did that summer go?" Cheryl said, waving to the waitress to set them up with another pitcher. "I'm warning y'all now. I'm drinking and dancing my ass off tonight. I'm fucking depressed."

Trey topped up Cheryl's glass. "You say the same thing every year at this happy hour."

Cheryl shrugged. "Why do you think I had Lucas pick me up? I came prepared. DD and all."

"Speaking of dancing," Trey said, when the sound of Usher filled the room, "I lined up a few classics in the jukebox for us."

Jamie groaned. "Christ, man. You picked all black music, didn't you? Bet you didn't fire up one single country song."

Trey stood up and gave Jamie a shit-eating grin. They constantly waged this friendly battle over music. "My dollar, my picks."

He was surprised when Ellie rose quickly. "I love this song." She grabbed Trey's hand and led him to the bar's tiny dance floor. Cheryl and Lucas were hot on their heels and Trey noticed Grace leading an only somewhat reluctant Jamie as well.

He started to move to the music, watching as Ellie lost herself to the song. Holy fuck. She could dance.

After years of Grace and Cheryl's hilarious attempts at keeping up with him on the dance floor, he was blown away by Ellie's natural grace and rhythm. She had some sexy-as-hell moves for a white girl. On top of that, she knew all the words to the song. When she mouthed along with Ludacris about wanting "a freak in the bed", he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to make it through this night without jerking off to relieve his hard-on.

Ellie turned around and moved against him. For a second, he tried to hold her away, knowing there was no way she wouldn't be able to feel his erection. Then, he figured what the hell. There was nothing he wanted more than to feel her tight ass rubbing against him. He reached for her waist and pressed her closer. If she was surprised by his actions—as well as his cock rubbing against her lower back—she didn't show it. In fact, she moved slower, more sinuously.

Trey gritted his teeth and tried to ignore how good her body felt against his. Her long brown hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail and he wondered what her hair would look like down, loose around her shoulders. Or better yet, he could wrap that ponytail around his hand and use it to direct her mouth to his cock as she sucked him off. A myriad of red-hot images passed by his eyes as he danced with her. No other woman had ever inspired this much lust in him, but a few minutes with Ellie never failed to drive his thoughts straight to the bedroom.

He moved his hands higher on her waist, his hands slipping beneath her T-shirt as she continued to gyrate in time with the music.

He'd never danced with Ellie, never had more than short conversations with her at conferences and before games, but he'd always watched her. Always been aware that whenever she was around, the rest of his surroundings went a bit blurry, all his focus directed at her.

He was attracted to her. He'd never denied that to himself, though he'd certainly worked hard to hide the fact from his friends. Grace and Cheryl would take a great deal of pleasure knowing he had a crush on Ellie Hunter and knowing them, they'd work overtime to try to hook them up. Grace was always trying to set him up, telling him he needed to settle down.

Ellie turned around to face him, but he didn't release his grip on her waist. Instead he let his fingers slide over the smooth, soft skin of her tiny waist.

Suddenly it dawned on him exactly how small she was. Looking down, he noticed the top of her head only came to his shoulders. Her powerful personality had always made her seem taller to him.

She continued to dance and her new position gave him a bird's eye view of her breasts. She wasn't overly endowed, though she certainly had plenty to fill his palm. She sported an athletic build, trim and firm and fit. He considered all the ways she could use her physical strength in the bedroom and his cock twitched. Jesus. This wasn't good.

The winner of the Coffin Clutch & Third Eye Hair Clip is…Shadow! Shadow, send me an email to coordinate delivery of your prize!

Guest Blogger: Renee Wildes

Conquering Fear

by Renee Wildes

I am a true April Taurus—earthbound, practical, stubborn and temperamental. My life is ruled by fear. In true "bull" fashion, I tend to meet it head-on. It's what drives me, not a weakness but a motivator.

I've always been a tomboy, preferring horses to boys growing up. I belonged to the Wilderness Challenge Club in high school (Wisconsin Academy in Columbus, WI). Whitewater rafting, caving, rappelling, canoeing. If it meant sunburn, mosquitoes and getting dirty—that was where you'd find me. Very glamorous stuff. Now, I've always been afraid of heights. Like—freeze atop a 6-ft ladder scared of heights. We won't even mention airplanes. Sedatives. LOTS of sedatives…

So, the first time I went rappelling was at Devil's Lake, from atop Devil's Rock. Guarded by all manner of…rattlesnakes. Saw two, sunning on the rocks. So there I was on a snake-infested rock atop the world. Beautiful view. Wasted on a sixteen-year-old in a cold sweat. See, the secret to rappelling is to WALK down the rock face. Anyone who's walked across a floor knows the easiest way to do that is to be perpendicular to the floor surface. So if the floor surface is almost entirely vertical, that means the walker gets to be the one who's…horizontal. And that translates into standing backwards at the edge of a cliff, the true ground several hundred feet below, and LEANING back against a rope-and-nylon-harness-affair into thin air until you're lying down on NOTHING—and then walk down the wall.

Sure. Uh huh. (Never said I was a BRIGHT kid. Well, okay, I was. Straight A nerd.) And Mr. Snyder was right there like some hairy bearded cheerleader from Buffy saying stupid things like, "It's easy. You can do this. Nothing stops you. Just leeeeeean back and walk down."

But it was my best friend stating "Don't be such a chicken shit" that got me going. Okay, it took me 20 minutes of whimpering like a toy poodle in a thunderstorm before I leaned back enough to start walking. Reaching the bottom to more Buffy reject cheering felt like conquering Mount Everest.

That's how I tackle life. I let fear motivate me into moving, defeating, conquering. It can either stop you or get you going. Being a Taurus, stubbornness gets me a long way through life. As a writer I try to let the quality bleed off into my characters. Set them up against a bad situation some would consider impossible, but the character just takes a deep breath, says "Who if not me?" and forges on to start, to try. And so the stories go.

In RIEVER'S HEART, the heroine Verdeen goes to the Icelandic-esque kingdom of Isadorykja with the hero, Daq Aryk. They have to climb a mountain and cross a glacier, and when a crevasse breaks open and an avalanche starts, she has to face her own fears:

They continued on. Rounding a clump of boulders like scattered marbles, Aryk paused and frowned as he eyed the path ahead. A fine latticework of ice crystals covered the surface, as if it had melted and refrozen. He crouched down, pointed to a jagged line transecting the snow. Valkyn studied it as well and nodded.

"What?" Verdeen whispered.

"Partial thaw," Aryk replied. "Might've weakened this area. We cross above that line."

"Spread out," Valkyn advised.

They proceeded with caution. Verdeen watched Fiske. The dog's fur stood on end as he sniffed the air and paced back and forth, stayed close to Aryk. Snow creaked and crunched underfoot, as if the Horn groaned at their intrusion. Verdeen shuddered. Ominous clouds crept across the sky. The dim light pressed like a physical weight against her. She tried to convince herself 'twas just her imagination, but the Horn no longer felt benign. It felt like 'twas waiting…

A sharp crack and Fiske's startled yelp were the sole warnings as the snow collapsed beneath the dog's paws, and he dropped. Verdeen choked down a scream as he disappeared into the ground. Aryk hurled himself to the snow, clutching the line. Slowly, he wound the line around his hands, drawing the dog back up with every coil. Verdeen didn't dare move, scarce dared breathe, as Valkyn crept forward on his belly to the edge of the newly opened crevasse and grabbed Fiske's harness when the dog came within range, hauling him back onto solid ground. The shaking, whimpering dog tottered over to Aryk, who wasted no time in yanking off his gloves and pulling the dog close enough to bury his face in Fiske's red fur.

Verdeen's heart thundered as Valkyn eased away from the treacherous opening. They'd almost lost Fiske. She'd gotten attached in just a few days. How much worse for Aryk, who'd raised him from a pup?

The sharp cracking continued. With a monstrous roar, everything on the lower side of the opening fell away, thundering down the slope in a wall of frozen white. They flung themselves to the ground as the slide fell away, shaking the Horn.

Aryk and Valkyn crawled over to her as the shaking stopped. Aryk reached across the snow to lay a reassuring hand over hers. She was grateful for the comfort as she clambered to her feet and looked down in dismay. Their way was blocked; too unstable to risk it.

BIO:

Fantasy Romance Author Renee Wildes writes the "Guardians of Light" series for Samhain Publishing. She lives in central WI with hubby, 2 kids, a calico cat, a black Chow, and 2 gray half-Arab mares. She still considers herself a tomboy, although she hasn't hoofed it down Devil's Rock in years. Nowadays, writing, reading and scrapbooking occupy her time—when she's not prying her kids out of a tree or off the roof…

Riever's Heart is out in ebook TODAY Sept. 27, 2011, from Samhain Publishing. Click on the cover to purchase.

Guest Blogger: Myla Jackson

Riverboats & Gamblers

by Myla Jackson

I admit to a fascination with riverboats and riverboat gamblers of the past. Taking a riverboat cruise on the mighty Mississippi is on my bucket list of things to do before I die.

There's something romantic about riverboats, lazily steaming up and down the rivers of our country. Tales by Mark Twain and movies like Show Boat helped nurture my attraction. When I needed a setting for my third book in the Bound and Tied series of 1860 Historical Erotic novellas, I couldn't think of anything more exciting and romantic than the riverboats along the Mississippi. I can still hear the echoes of Ol' Man River in a deep baritone and Lovin' Dat Man O' Mine.

Like the song, Rosalyn can't help lovin' that man and has returned to the Mississippi looking for him in RIVER BOUND.

RIVER BOUND

What do a madame and a bounty hunter have in common? They want the same man.

Bound and Tied, Book 3

When Rosalyn Smythe, aka Madame Rosie, steps aboard the Marie-Dearie, she hopes it's the end of a year-long search for her runaway fiancé, Dalton Black. Her cabin holds a surprise: James McKendrick. Notorious bounty hunter, old lover…a man only too happy to help her clear the air—and her heart—of her murdering, thieving bastard fiancé once and for all.

In disguise as a riverboat gambler, Dalton is determined to find who framed him for killing two U.S. Army soldiers and who stole the gold they were carrying. He wants his life back—and his woman, who just happens to be on board and on the arm of his former best friend.

Convincing James he's innocent is easier than winning back Rosalyn's heart. Especially since Rosalyn seems to be enjoying their competition for her affections a little too much. There's only one place to work out his dilemma. In bed.

As the sheets become unbearably hot, threads of evidence leading to the real killer are unraveling, leading toward one fateful card game—and one man who's hell-bent on making sure Dalton has nothing left to lose.

Warning: This title contains hot ménage a trois scenes, bondage, and two men loving, sharing and fighting for the love of one woman with very specific bedroom desires and a a bordello full of experience to tempt any man beyond redemption.

Samhain Publishing

Amazon

Barnes and Nobles Nook

About the Author

Twenty years of livin' and lovin' on a South Texas ranch raising horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus left an indelible impression on Myla Jackson, one she likes to instill in her red-hot stories. Myla pens wildly sexy, fun adventures of all genres including historical westerns, medieval tales, romantic suspense, contemporary romance and paranormal beasties of all shapes and sexy sizes. She lives in the tree-covered hills of Northwest Arkansas with her husband of 20+ years and her muses—the human-wanna-be canines—Chewy and Sweetpea.

To learn more about Myla Jackson visit her website at http://www.mylajackson.com