Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 521

Guest Blogger: Amy Ruttan

I'm thrilled to be a part of Delilah's Blog. I've been a long-time admirer, but I have to admit I had a bit of brain fart about what to talk about. I'm usually quite chatty with people I know and with new people I'm a little bit quiet … unless you get a couple drinks in me.

Most people at RWA in 2008 can attest to this. Can anyone else say they've walked through the hotel barefoot, dressed to the nines and carrying an armful of vibrators? *Ahem* I thought not.

Well, that year was my first convention and I thought I'd talk about some firsts.

This year I had a lot of firsts in my writing career this year.

I had my first urban fantasy, Incarnate (written under a new name), release from Samhain Publishing. It was also my first with that publisher.

I wrote my first inter-racial for Ellora's Cave titled Male Order.

I also wrote my first ever ménage with a male/male scene, which is my third gladiator book, Gladiator's Seduction coming soon from Ellora's Cave.

It's been a lot of year of firsts and a few more, but I can't divulge any of that information…yet. I know I'm a tease.

One first I can divulge, the one I'm looking forward the most, is my first Romanticon! Woot!

I am super excited to be heading to Ohio (also my first time there) for Romanticon.

I'm super stoked about it. I'm going down with a couple author friends and I'm going to be kicking it with all my favorite peeps, writers and readers alike—also the Cavemen. Can't forget the Cavemen.

I have been so excited about this trip because I get to meet some more awesome staff at EC. I've met Val, Jeannie and Raelene already, but I haven't met my editor, so I'm stoked about that. Also because when I go to the States and say I write for Ellora's Cave people actually know the publisher, more than they do up here in Canada. So for me that's an absolute thrill.

Ellora's Cave is also my first publisher. They took a chance on me back in 2007 and made my dream come true and I've had a lot of firsts with them. First publisher, first editor, first book, first royalty cheque, first book signing, and first book signing at a Sex Show. Yeah, I did say that.

And believe me that sex show was a real eye-opener! It was the first time I signed books for Klingons.

Yes, honest to God Klingons and they were surprisingly delightful.

Okay, so maybe not real Klingons, but they let me sign their books in their human names and tried to recruit me to join the Klingon side. I told them I was strictly Federation.

Anyways, I am super excited to be attending my first Romanticon and to be visiting the Akron area for the first time.

Last week also I had my first bad panic dream about Romanticon. I was there and I brought nothing and I was super MAD.

I have an amazing dress for the Prehistoric night with matching shoes (I'm quite excited about it) and I have an amazing Steampunk outfit for the Futuristic night. I even made my own fascinator for it, but in my dream I forgot it all.

So I've started to make my first lists, so I don't forget anything. I'm pretty anal about that.

The nightmare won't be my last of the panic Romanticon dreams.

As you can see I've had a lot of firsts this year. Granted nothing exciting as the first time (though one of my heroines is going through that right now with a very hunky hero in my current WIP) or first kiss (which I always LOVE to write), but still a lot of fun stuff to look forward to.

So do you have any memorable firsts? If so I'd love to hear from you.

Amy Ruttan started writing at a very young age. Life and responsibility got in the way and writing was put on hold. It wasn't until the birth of her second child and spending countless hours in a NICU she realized that life is precious and it shouldn't be wasted.

Now years later–and a healthy baby later–Amy has realized her dreams. She was first published in 2007 and she hasn't looked back.

Amy loves to hear from readers. You can learn more about Amy at her website www.amyruttan.com or her darker alter ego www.acruttan.com, or Twitter.

Guest Blogger: Juniper Bell (Contest!)

The oddest, most random things can inspire a story. In the case of my upcoming release, Go Deep, the spark came from a rejected cover for an earlier book. The cover was absolutely stunning, but wrong for the book—it suggested BDSM, which would have been misleading. We went with a different, equally stunning cover, but the first one kept haunting me. It was based on a striking black and white photo of a woman, her hands cuffed behind her back, a collar fastened around her neck. I've actually seen the photo used for other covers, which doesn't surprise me.

A well-done photograph can be so powerful. It draws you into another world and makes you wonder. What's going on in this scene? What's going to happen next? Who are these people and how did they come to be here? What's it like to be them?

I love the photo of this couple because it feels so intimate. But a more "posed" photo can be fun too.

Photographs don't have to be graphic to pull you in. Some are more about the mood the artist creates with lighting and exposure and little details such as how she's resting her head on the wall.

I've seen so many photos that I wished had a story attached because I wanted to know more. If only all great photographs were actually book covers! If only you could open them up and read about what happened before that frozen moment and after it.

Maybe that's why my almost-cover photo popped into my mind when I wanted to write about a married couple hiding their true sexual desires from each other. What if the wife came across a photo that haunted her, and the husband saw her reaction? What if that provided the vehicle for them to start really talking to each other and sharing their most intimate needs and desires…

Of course, I had to change the photo to suit my characters. I added a man, then a second one. I changed a few other little details. But the mood of the photo—mysterious, erotic—stayed with me and the story reflects it. Amazingly, the cover artist, Dar Albert, captured a similar mood in her cover—with no prompting from me.

Go Deep is coming out September 7 from Ellora's Cave. Here's the final cover and the blurb. You can read an excerpt here.

In honor of my Go Deep release, I'm offering a $5 Amazon gift certificate.

All you have to do is tell me which of the above photos is your favorite!

A standalone sequel to Go Wild.

Beth is the shy, dreamy type. No one guesses at the wild sexual thoughts she hides behind that quiet façade. She doesn't even share her secret longings with her husband.

Gavin loves his wife, but he's tired of living in a marriage in which neither he nor Beth reveal their true desires. When Gavin sees Beth's response to an erotic bondage photo in her framing shop, he jumps at the opportunity to break through her barriers.

He accepts an invitation to a showcase match for the amateur hockey team he coaches during Wild Nights, the infamous winter festival during which "anything goes, nothing counts." But he's opened a sensual Pandora's box—Beth has some surprises of her own. When she meets Eagle, a free-spirited Wild resident, she knows he's the perfect man to help enact her erotic fantasies. And once they go deep, there's no going back.

Guest Blogger: Mardi Ballou

Just a reminder! There's still time to enter the Little Lizard Boy contest! All you have to do is keep posting commments!

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Of Lace and Hems

by Mardi Ballou

Unlike just about everybody else, I love fall. Okay, maybe in part autumn's my favorite season because my beautiful daughter and I were October babies—yea, October! One of my many other autumn joys is the big fat September issue of Vogue, Elle and other major fashion magazines. Fashion may reign all year, but autumn is the start of the fashionista year. I can justify wasting hours gazing at the pages…uh, make that doing primary research in current trends.

I may not actually ever buy a single stitch from runway shows or designer boutiques—at least not in this lifetime—but that doesn't stop me from queuing up to get my copies. Makeup, hair, purses and shoes—aka chocolate for my inner fashionista—ensembles for work and play, impossible to walk in stilettos—it's all there to dream on and inspire.

Gets me to thinking. Dress—and undress—plays a major role in our fantasies and love stories. Getting ready for a hot date with that special guy…hoping the evening won't end until morning…time to unveil the La Perla or La Senza or Victoria's Secret we've kept tucked away for just the right night.

Seeing the cover of my latest book for the first time is always a surprise. I love it when the artist gods and goddesses exactly capture the fashion feel of my story. In Hook, Wine and Tinker, when Gwen meets Dominic, she's wearing a Tinkerbell costume she despises. Luckily, he discovers its charms and hers…

Being a Dancing with the Stars fan, I've come to appreciate the sexy potential of dance costumes. Even though I'm wearing smelly sweats when I try to follow along with the DWTS exercise DVDs, I imagine myself clad in spandex and sparkles, looking as sexy as one of the TV dancers. Both Sherry Amor and Long, Slow Dance include very sexy dance scenes. I was thrilled to see that same sexiness in their covers.

In Sherry Amor, three people who come together for a business deal in Spain discover a Christmas miracle of love that starts with a fiery flamenco in New York. In Long, Slow Ride, a woman who's been very disappointed in love attends a wedding and says yes to a dance with the bride and groom's limo driver—a hot, hot, hot much younger guy.

How about you? Do you have special fashion memories? Is there a night you'll always remember, made even more vivid when you remember what you wore—at least at the start? Maybe you went shopping to find the perfect dress or bra or shoes or panties to get ready for the date. Or maybe you finally had the chance to wear something you'd been saving forever for a special night…

I wish you many happy fashion adventures this fall!

Cheers, Mardi

www.MardiBallou.com

Guest Blogger: Desiree Holt

I look at the places my life has taken me and hope that I was smart enough to enjoy them all while I was there. I had great experiences working as a reporter for weekly newspapers, covering everything from local political meetings, to the trial of a man who shot his wife because she wrecked his car. I once did a tour of thirty stores in one day interviewing Santa Claus. It's a good thing I didn't wreck my car! I've things both sane and insane, like promoting the opening of a shopping center by sending people up in hot air balloons and stopping traffic for four miles in every directions.

But I think the real richness of my life came from my years managing rock bands.

Rock musicians are a breed unto themselves. The music is their life, and one of their first goals is to be able to move their practice sessions from someone's garage to a real practice studio. Sometimes they're lucky and they get to practice far enough out of civilization that only the cows and horses can comment. Other times the poor manager gets to field phone calls from neighbors and—if you're not lucky—the police, about that "awful sounding stuff". But wherever they practice, it's all about the music.

The sound.

Their sound.

And the music is great. It's good. It's terrific. The success of a good song can give you the same high as really good sex. The success of your client can take you to orgasmic levels. And despite all the pitfalls, there's nothing like being at the top, even if the bottom is always just a misstep away.

Last year I went to Johnny Depp's Viper Room to see a performance by an excellent rock band, Run Devil Run. The moment I stepped into the room it was like stepping into my past, surrounded by memories, excitement and hot music. The person who drew my attention, however, was the bass player. Can you say sex on a stick? He was sooo into his music, and so "hawt" on stage you could feel the energy and electricity sizzling from him. I knew I had to write a story where the hero was based on him.

Check out this shot of him.

And so Joy Ride was born.

The traditional story of the good girl and the bad boy, set against the world of rock music. I hope you'll come along for the ride with Emma and Marc.

Available at: Decadent Publishing, Amazon, Sony, All Romance eBooks.

Emma, the good girl poster child, is running from a life she suddenly sees as grey and suffocating. A life where she's successfully buried all her hopes and secret dreams. Until the night she wanders into Aftershock and is immediately drawn to Marc, the hot bass player with the band. Marc doesn't much care for the groupies who hang around the band. He wants a woman he can create a life with that's a counterpoint to the craziness of the rock music business. When he sees Emma for the first time something inside him cracks wide open. Just one sizzling glance between them and he's sure he's found the woman he wants. But as the relationship grows, there's a huge stumbling block: Emma won't tell him her name. The sex is fabulous but he wants more. So does Emma but her fear of everything falling apart builds a barrier she can't seem to cross. Marc is taking her on the joy ride of her life, but will her own insecurities destroy everything?

Clutching the cold beer bottle in her hand, she wedged her way between gyrating bodies, hypnotized by the music until she reached the front of the crowd…and stopped at the edge of the stage, mesmerized. The bass guitarist stood with one foot balanced on the monitor in front of him, his body leaning into the sound. His head was thrown back, dark hair flying around his face as he pounded out the rhythm of the song they were playing. He was wild, uninhibited, totally immersed in his music. He moved with an incredible grace to the accented beat, hips thrusting as his clever fingers plucked the strings and slid on the neck of the guitar.

For one incredible moment, Emma had the feeling he was playing only for her and she realized she really had been struck by "Lightnin'." Permanently electrified by it.

A surge of heat raced through her, and it wasn't the kind that emanated from the tightly packed sweaty bodies. Instead, an electric excitement gripped her, sending a charge of unfamiliar sexual thrill to every nerve. Her breasts tingled and between her thighs, she felt a throbbing as deep as the sound of the bass. At first she stood stiffly, clutching her drink. People jostled and shoved her as they kept time to the beat. She took two quick swallows of the beer, grimacing at the bitter taste. But as the alcohol eased her tension, she found herself catching the rhythm of the music and trying to mimic the movements of the bass player, totally caught up in the seductive lure of the song. For one crazy moment, she was gripped by an uncontrollable urge to jump up on the stage, and bump and grind with him. Her! Emma, the good girl!

Clumsily juggling the beer bottle, she slipped the thin strap of her purse over her head so it lay crosswise between her breasts. Her focus still on the bass player, she swayed to the beat, hips moving, rocking. When the song ended, the bass guitarist threw back his head on a final note and then looked out into the crowd, peering beyond the glare of the stage lights.

His eyes seemed to find hers as if pulled by a magnet, and a fist slammed through her.

Ohmigod!

Guest Blogger: Alice Gaines

The Secret to Erotic Romance – The Erotic Premise

I've been writing erotic romance from the very beginning of the genre—1995, in Volume 1 of Secrets from Red Sage Publishing. By happy mistake, I learned from the start that for a story to have that extra sexual edge that puts it over the boundary from hot into super-sensual, it must be about sex in a way other stories aren't. In other words, the very premise of the story and/or the plot centers on sex.

I stumbled on what I thought was a luscious idea—a male sex slave. I called him a lady's handsome man, and his only function in life was to satisfy the daughter of the noble house in which he served. Obviously, this was a fantasy story. He'd escaped from his master and was on the run. Whose cabin should he stumble into? A priestess who'd fallen from grace by having a sexual liaison with her mentor.

Given the tension between this couple, the story was about sex, even when they weren't actually engaged in the act. The man, who'd spent his life learning how to satisfy a woman, was sex in a basic way.

I often judge writing contests, and I've found that some authors think all they have to do is create a story and put a lot of sex in it. In my experience, that doesn't work. A general test for whether or not you have a sexy premise is to try to imagine the story as a sweet romance. If you could take the sex out of it and still write the story, you don't have an erotic story.

For comparison purposes, let's think of a few premises and see which ones are sexy.

Story 1: A woman needs a fake fiancé for a weekend at a friend's wedding.

Story 2: A woman needs a fake fiancé for an "explore your sexuality" weekend.

Story 3: A man wants to win back his ex-wife, knowing that he was the only man who could satisfy her in bed.

Story 4: A man wants to win back his ex-wife by using his company's latest acquisition, the exclusive fantasy sex club she's been attending.

Story 5: A woman is trapped in a snow storm in a mountain cabin with a man she's always been attracted to. Story 6: A woman is trapped in a snow storm in a mountain cabin with a man who offers her the opportunity to act out all her sexual fantasies.

I think you can see that the even numbered stories maintain a sexual tension throughout the pages. Virtually every moment is going to be sexually charged.

As an exercise, try to think up some sexy premises. You'll find a treasure trove of story ideas.

By the way, I wrote Story 4. It's called Cox Club, and it's out now in Secrets, Volume 30 from Red Sage. Here's an excerpt:

Blake Crawford went from the back entrance of Cox Club up the narrow stairs to the control room. If an employee—now a former employee—hadn't acquired a place like this, he would have never set foot in it at all. He sure as hell wasn't going to risk any of the patrons or staff recognizing him and alerting the media that Crawford Hotels and Entertainment, Inc. owned a sex club, even one as exclusive as this one.

A small man with a balding head and a bit of a paunch over the belt of his slacks greeted him at the top of the stairs, extending his hand. "You the new owner?"

Blake shook. "Temporarily."

"Don't know why Becker sold. This place practically mints money," the man said. "I'm Howard, by the way."

"Blake Crawford."

"I recognized you. Come on in."

The man led Blake into a dimly lit room full of control panels and video screens like the ones used in high-tech security. One showed the front of the building and another the dance floor. Various other monitors captured more remote corners of the club.

"You tape your customers?" he asked.

"We don't tape anyone, but we watch."

"In God's name, why?"

Howard laughed. "You're the first guy ever to ask that. Everyone else just volunteers."

"Seriously, don't the customers complain?"



"They agree to it for their own safety." The man rubbed the back of his neck. "You see, not everyone who comes to work here has the best interests of the clients at heart. We select the staff as carefully as we can, but someday, we might make a mistake."

Blake stared at a screen that showed a couple necking. The man had opened her blouse and was fondling her breast. "What a world."

"We need to make sure all our ladies have the experience they want."

"I'll bet there's a lot of competition for your job," Blake said.

"Nah. Watching gets old really fast. Mostly, I just listen for sounds of distress."

One of the images went black to be replaced by another. A man lying on a bed, naked and aroused and waiting for a woman who was taking off her clothes.

"Shut that off, would you?" Blake ordered.

"It's that switch right by your hand."

Blake flipped the little lever, and the entrance into the main room came into view. A face registered in his brain. Carol Redman, a friend of Andrea's. A tall blonde stood next to her. Oh, no…it couldn't be. She turned to face the camera. She might have punched him in the gut.

"Damn it all to hell," he said.

"You recognize someone?"

"My wife."

"Your wife goes to sex clubs?" the man said.

"My ex-wife." The ex didn't matter except in a legal sense. Andrea was his wife and would always be. She did not belong here.

"Oh, yeah, I remember," the other man said. "The artist or something."

"Sculptor."

"Your divorce was in the papers."

"Yeah." Without him willing it, his hands closed into fists by his side. "Can you keep a camera on her?"

"Not one, but I can follow on different cameras as she moves around."

"Do it."

Carol led Andrea into the bar and to a table, where they sat. His wife kept looking around her at all the male flesh—the very aroused male flesh—as if it fascinated her and frightened her. It probably did. She had a passionate nature, but she hid it both for personal and professional reasons. Probably none of the men cruising by realized they had the country's most brilliant young sculptor in their presence. Maybe, she'd only come to do research in the masculine form for some project.

But, when Carol changed seats to make room for a man to sit between them, Andrea didn't move away. She let him sit there, as close as if they were on a date. Most likely, she didn't realize the guy was looking down the front of her dress.

"Who's that man?" Blake asked.

Howard squinted at the screen. "Name's Jeff. He's been with us a while. Nice guy."

Blake would shove his nice guy teeth down his nice guy throat if he did anything to harm his wife. In fact, he ought to do it, anyway, on general principle. But, starting a fight in a place like this would land him in the media in ways that could ruin his company's reputation. So, he just stood there, his gut roiling, and watched another man leer at the only woman he'd ever loved.

"Is he going to…" Blake asked.

"F…um…have sex with her?"

"Yes. Have sex with her."

"If she wants," Howard answered. "That's what the club's all about."

Don't do it, baby. Don't do it.

Buy Secrets, Volume 30

Alice's website

E-mail Alice: authoralicegaines@yahoo.com

It's HOT OUT HERE!

Psst! Be sure to check out today's blog at Girls Who Bite! C.J. Ellison is donating two copies of both books in The V V Inn series to two commenters today!

In the meantime… Yup, I have a short story in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance, which releases today in the U.S.! It's entitled "Hot Out Here"—and the only way you'll get to read it is if you happen to beg, borrow, or buy your very own copy. Enjoy the excerpt!

Beads of condensation, glittering jewel-like in the sputtering candlelight, ran in rivulets down the sides of Jason's ice-cold beer.

Detail I shouldn't have been able to note, given the fact I wasn't anywhere near him.

As I lowered my nephew's toy binoculars, I reflected that I had indeed sunk to a new low. You see, my bedroom window conveniently overlooked Jason and Robert's fenced backyard. A fact that never registered with the previous tenants, but one that proved too delicious to ignore after the arrival of the handsome duo.

I began a furtive surveillance at once. One that had me cringing in embarrassment each time I greeted them in passing and feeling even more ashamed when we struck up a friendship.

We'd shared meals, drinks, watched football games together on their wide-screen TV. And still, I peeked into their backyard, waiting for those moments when they popped outside to mow it or catch a few summer rays. Their bodies gleamed with sweat while raw lust warred inside me along with the fear that I'd mess up our relationship if I let the guys know how I really felt.

My convenient perch on the windowsill afforded me a window into their private lives, and I was hooked from the very beginning. They'd become an obsession, one frustrated by the fact they treated me like a kid sister rather than a woman one of them might desire.

And therein lay another problem. I'd resisted the urge to seek a deeper relationship because then I'd have to choose. My libido was completely fickle, lusting after Jason's muscled physique, then sighing over the possibilities of what Robert's tall, bony frame and large feet hinted at. That their personalities were perfect bookends, fierce and funny, confused my heart as well.



Lucky me, I licked the sweat gathering on my upper lip while this night one of the handsome men living next door tilted his bottle and took several long sips. The look of pure bliss that softened his otherwise stern features made my chest ache.

I watched the movement of Jason's throat as he worked it down, imagining him sipping at my overheated flesh. My skin began to tingle. My nipples beaded, crowding uncomfortably against my lace bra. My thighs clenched as a delicious wash of arousal seeped to wet the crotch of my plain panties.

The sigh he emitted as he set the bottle on the table was echoed by my own painful groan. Watching either of them had never caused my heart to skip a beat like that hint of a moan sliding on the tail of Jason's long exhalation.

Sure, it was hotter than hell out there. I too felt the effects of the enervating heat. Record temperatures had strained the region's resources and planned service interruptions began that night. But something about that sigh felt…un-subtle, exaggerated, maybe even dramatic. And Jason was too straightforward a man for that.

I blotted sweat from my forehead, asking myself again, What am I doing?

Only this time, my peeping hadn't been deliberate. I'd rushed home from work and showered quickly to beat the brown-out. Then I'd stripped to my underwear, pulled back the curtains, and opened the window, hoping for a breeze to cool my skin. Sitting limply on the sill, I waited for the world to flicker into life again.

That's when I'd noticed him, sitting in a lounge chair alone in the dark.

He wore his usual work "uniform"—khaki trousers, white shirt and a tie. Tonight, the tie hung loosened and askew, his collar opened beneath it.

I could see it all despite the lack of electricity. Moonlight silvered his dark hair and reflected bright as a beacon against the white shirt. The golden light from the large Citronella candle leant warmth to his skin and the amber bottle he held between his hands.

As always, he was lovely to watch, but tonight his expression drew my attention more than his breath-stealing features. A sullen slanting of his brows, a bit of pout plumping his masculine lips, an edgy energy to his slight movements—he was either irritated or aroused.

Wanting an answer to the "either-or," I watched. My forte is observation; my people-radar exquisitely tuned to body language and a voice's tonal cues. My curiosity and my lust were caught. No way could I back away from my window now.

The bottle tapped the table as he set it aside. A long-fingered hand tugged the knot of his tie, dragging it from his neck.

When he began to undo the row of buttons down the front of his shirt, I settled deeper on the sill, leaning closer, but taking care to keep my pale body hidden behind the sheer curtain.

The edges of the shirt parted over a broad, nicely muscled chest. My gaze zeroed in on taut, lean abs dusted with dense fur the same color as his close-cropped black hair that stretched nipple to nipple then ran along a thin dark line to slip beneath his zipper.

His hand stroked his chest, scratching through the hair, the faint crinkling sound causing my own chest to tighten, my nipples to surge.

A light sheen of sweat glimmered on his chest and belly. Again, my tongue swept my lips, tasting salt, and I imagined I lapped the dew right off his skin.

When a lazily roaming hand slid over his belly, I tensed, fascinated as he swept the flat plane. Would he be hard or desk-soft? He looked firm. So, I enjoyed fantasizing that he was and touched my own stomach, following his path.

His hand slid down to the knot bulging behind his fly, and he cupped it. Squeezed.

My own hands itched to replace his and grew still, clenching against the fantasy of holding his burgeoning cock as it roused. My cheeks heated and my breaths shortened. No need to tease my own body into arousal, moisture already soaked my panties.

The buckle opened, and the belt slid sinuously from the loops as he lifted his hips and pulled it free. A flick of his thumb and the button at the waistband of his trousers opened. His zipper rasped as it slid down.

Dark fabric formed a vee-like shadow as his hand rooted beneath his waist, and then he slipped the long, gleaming column of his semi-aroused sex from the flap at the front of his boxers and wrapped his fingers around it.

I swallowed the liquid pooling in my mouth. I blinked to moisten eyes that had grown dry and scratchy as I stared, wide-eyed. My breaths grew ragged, a little choked, and I must have made a noise, because suddenly his head swung my way. His eyes narrowed on my bedroom window.

I froze, hoping his gaze couldn't penetrate the darkness.

But a crooked smile slowly stretched his lips, and his hand tightened around himself and began to pump up and down the thickening rod, all the while staring up at me.

Jason knew I watched but didn't seem to mind. I let out a deep, trembling breath and continued to stare, my own body heating, growing increasingly aroused in tandem with his hardening cock.

His head turned away, and his hand dropped from his engorged cock. It fell against his belly with a soft, muffled thud. Heavy, hot, thick—I knew its girth would stretch my mouth.

Another sound intruded. The chime of my doorbell. I bit back a curse and drew away from the window, slung on my robe, then headed downstairs to the front door.

Robert stood in on the stoop, a lazy grin on his face, a sweep of lank blonde hair covering one eye and two beers dangling from his fingers. He was shirtless. Low-riding blue jeans encased his slender hips and long legs. His large feet were bare. "Thought you might like to join us."

Monday Rundown

I'm busy unpacking from this past weekend's trip to Memphis. I have pictures, but they're still in the camera. I hope to get to those this week, but I'm also gearing up for one last trip this coming weekend. I'm heading to Oklahoma City for a ranch rodeo. More about that later!

A reminder: Tomorrow, The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance releases, officially, here in The States! It's one of those huge compilations with tons of A-list authors. I have a story, Hot Out Here, that's a sexy, contemporary menage. Just sayin'…

The Little Lizard Boy contest continues. Next week when this one winds down, I have some Elvis memorabilia to share. So stay tuned!

In the meantime, I have a lot of catching up to do. Lord, it's good to be back home! ~DD

Guest Blogger: Ann Jacobs

Politically Incorrect?

Normally, erotic romance authors don't worry about being politically incorrect—that's what we are, by nature. But there are some lines most of us are very hesitant to cross.

I don't mean only the taboos our publishers mention—the icky and very politically questionable topics that make me cringe whenever they cross my kinky mind—but also those we shy away from for fear of angering some of our readers.

Michele Obama can decry obesity all she wants, and nobody cares except the kids in school who don't much care for healthy foods in the cafeteria—at least not much. The subject, though, is not one you often see in erotic romances, at least not from the angle that the First Lady attacks it—as a health issue rather than one of aesthetics, sexual attractiveness and so on.

The big, beautiful Domme I had sketched out in my mind for hot, submissive linebacker, Matt Rubin, in PRIME DEFENDER, took on a different shape in my mind when my daughter's high school friend died this spring from complications of morbid obesity. After that, I couldn't not give Keisha a similar problem—but with a happy ending.

I'm sure there will be some readers who'll be offended that Keisha went from being a really big beautiful woman to one who's still big by most standards, but healthy with a bright future dominating her hot, submissive husband and lover. I don't care. If one reader realizes the stress that being overweight can place on a human body and uses that knowledge to help herself or a loved one, it will be worth it.

PRIME DEFENDER is scheduled for release September 2 at Ellora's Cave. I'm hoping most readers will enjoy the "different" take on "rubenesque" along with the steamy, BDSM love story.

Ann Jacobs

Guest Blogger: Kinsey Holley

The Little Lizard Boy contest continues.

Every comment here and on my Facebook page counts as an entry!

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SEXY, HAWT, SCORCHING, FILTHY, AND OMG!

THAT'S JUST PORN!

It's a matter of personal tastes, isn't it? Of boundaries, imagination, inhibitions or the lack thereof. One person's sexy romance novel is another's scorching hot read. One reader's erotic is another reader's filthy, and one reader's filthy is another reader's Oh My God! This is just pornographic!

If you're my mother, anything after chaste kisses but before third base is filthy. Third base and beyond is porn.

It's all subjective.

I was thinking about this recently as I was proofreading a book for one of my co-bloggers. Juniper Bell writes in a number of genres, under a number of pen names. She has an historical series coming out with Avon soon. But she also writes great erotic romance. She just got the rights back for her first book, a very hot erotic, and she's going to self-publish it.

I loved the story—well-rounded characters, logical plot, wonderfully smooth, evocative language. And the sex!!! Hoo boy. I tweeted that I was proofing a durty, durty book. Juniper replied that it's not that dirty—she's written much dirtier than that. I was like, Really? Dirtier than the rec room scene? The rest of our co-bloggers (we're the Nine Naughty Novelists just in case you want to, you know, check us out) got a kick out of that. I have an aversion to buttsecks, which always makes them laugh.

[By the way, I think I've finally figured out the difference between hot romance, erotic romance and erotica. If the H&H have durty, durty sex before knowing each other's full names, and they wind up with an HEA, it's erotic romance. If there's no HEA, it's erotica. You're welcome.)

Now, I write graphic sex, but my stuff's not as hot as Juniper's. And although I haven't read a lot of Delilah's stuff (I've read a few titles—my sister-in-law has read nearly everything La Devlin's written), I think Delilah's stuff is hotter than Juniper's. When people I know say they want to read my books, I always warn them about the graphic sex because, for people who never read romance, it might be surprising. But as far as hot romance goes, my books are not at all shocking—monogamous, hetero sex with an HEA. Pretty darned vanilla.

My mother told me this week that my books and my website are nasty, and she wishes she'd never read them. I wish she'd never read my stuff, too. I reminded her that I've told her, since the day I sold my first book, that she shouldn't read it. Mom thinks oral sex is on the outer limits of human sexual perversity and that it was invented by hippies in 1968. So, no, she shouldn't read my stuff. Unsurprisingly (if you knew my mom), she wouldn't listen and now she's been horrified and appalled and nauseated and honestly, it's not my fault. (Mom was considered prude by her contemporaries back in the fifties. She didn't like Elvis. She didn't like Elvis.)

I will admit to being embarrassed when certain people read my stuff. Not ashamed—just embarrassed. I'm not ashamed that I have sex with my husband, but I'd be embarrassed to discuss details of it with people at church or my daughter's school. I absolutely can't imagine people at my church knowing about my books. More and more folks at Diva's school know about my alter ego and so far, there have been no crowds or pitch forks.

My sister-in-law—the one who reads all of Delilah's stuff—says that if she could write, and her books got published, she'd be so proud she'd tell everyone, including clergy and old people. I wish I could be that open and unconcerned with other peoples' opinions.

On the other hand, when I told my mom how much I've earned in royalties this year, she immediately quit complaining about my shameful career as a pornographer. My mom is the most practical prude you'll ever meet. Me, I'm just thrilled that people like my stuff enough to pay to read it, and that werewolf lovin' is helping my family get through a very lean period.

What's all this got to do with werewolves? Nothing. The following excerpt isn't even a love scene. Oh well—I promise you, there's a great sex scene in Ready to Run. But it's not Juniper or Delilah hot.

And that's okay. It's all subjective.

Kinsey Holley is the pen name of a sweet middle-aged Catholic lady in Houston, Texas. She lives at www.kinseyholley.com and Nine Naughty Novelists. She spends way too much time on Twitter, and she loves to get email at kinseyholley@gmail.com.

And she's seriously considering writing a BDSM story. She's just not sure she'd have the guts to publish it. Maybe she needs a new pen name…

Ready to Run is the latest book in her Werewolves in Love series.

 

Sometimes a girl's gotta save herself.

A Werewolves in Love story.

Sara Hedges had planned to escape the backwater, bigoted town of Luxor, Texas on the wings of a college degree—not on the back of a Harley, riding for her life.

Just a couple months shy of loading up her Miata, however, betrayal bares its ugly fangs. Her scumbag uncle has sold her to a pack of werewolves willing to pay any price for her special bloodline and it looks like there's no way out. She never expected the new-in-town, sex-on-a-stick loner to come riding to her rescue. Or to discover he's a werewolf, too. A good one…with one too many secrets.

Bryan Keeton waited two months deep undercover for the chance to get his hands on one of the gangster Eurowolves wreaking havoc across the South. After calling in the FBI to blow the lid off Luxor, he'd planned to leave town before he did something he might regret—like get involved with the suspect's niece.

But Sara makes him stupid. And now they're on the run from the Feds, who aren't interested in her innocence, and from the wolves who want her for their own personal squeaky toy…

Warning: This story includes an undercover alpha with a sexy Texan drawl, a heroine with a dangerous secret, a ring of wolves willing to pay just about anything to own her, and a small town that needs to learn a little something about tolerance.

Ready to Run

© 2011 Kinsey W. Holley

Enjoy the following excerpt for Ready to Run:

"You're really not like everybody else around here, are you?"

She never could seem to look him in the eye. There was something about him that intimidated her, but in a very "God, I hope he backs me up against a wall" way, not a "God, I hope he doesn't kill me" way. So she stared at his mouth instead, and the gooey feeling got worse. "No, I'm not." It gave her a huge, dangerous thrill to sit here and admit something like that. "You'd be surprised how different I really am."

His eyes searched her face for a long moment. They were sitting there, next to each other but not touching, and just before she became unbearably itchy (and gooey) beneath his scrutiny, he said gently, "I think I have a pretty good idea. And I'm glad you didn't say anything, angel."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I'm not from around here, and I'm not going to be here for much longer. I don't have to care what people think. This is your home. You're gonna have to see these folks for the rest of your life, so—"

"The hell I am." Her throat constricted at his casual mention of leaving town soon. Well, she would be leaving town soon too. If she hadn't already been so good at hiding her feelings, the urge to cry, or maybe throw up, would've been hard to resist. But a long-term relationship with Nash had never been in her future.

Why did she have to keep reminding herself about that?

He looked surprised. "You're not going to come home for holidays or anything?"

"Hell, no. When I'm gone, I'm gone. There's no one here for me but Wendy, and she can visit me in Marshall, or wherever I end up."

In fact, she planned on dragging Wendy out of Luxor at some point. But she had to rescue herself first.

"Staying away might be harder than you think, Sara. No matter how much you don't like this place, it's your home."

"It won't be, not once I'm out of here. I hate this town! I swear to God, I do. I hate every person in it except for Wendy and maybe three other people."

"What about the rest of your family?"

"Especially the rest of my family."

The force of it overwhelmed her, leaving her shaking all over. "I hate this backwards-ass, narrow-minded, locked-in-a-fucking-time-warp piece-of-crap dump."

"Hey. Hey, come here. It's all right." Nash took the beer from her hand, setting both hers and his on the coffee table. Then he wrapped one strong, warm arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight against him. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of him, shivering as he gathered her hair at the back of her neck and laid a kiss atop her head. "You're getting out."

"December isn't soon enough," she said against his chest. "Tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough."

He laughed into her hair. "Well, I'm glad it's not tomorrow. I need more time."

"What for?"

"To get to know you better. Every time I turn around, you're surprising me. I keep thinking I've got you figured out and then it's like, hey, here's something new."

She shrugged, even as his words set her heart to pounding inside her rib cage. "There's a lot of stuff I don't know about you too."

Her face was still pressed against his chest, and she liked it there, but he'd stopped stroking her hair. Something in his body, some subtle tensing, made her look up.

He wasn't smiling. His brows knit together as he stared at her with an unreadable gaze. She got a sudden, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach—a feeling nothing like the excitement and arousal of two hours earlier, or the warm comfort of one second ago.

"What? Please don't tell me you've got a wife stashed away somewhere. Or a girlfriend or a murder conviction or something like that."

He mouth quirked in an embarrassed kind of smile. "No. No wife, no girlfriend, no felony convictions. Come here."

"What? I—whoa!"

He put his free hand under her knees and scooped her into his lap. Now both his arms, with those chiseled, bronzed biceps, were wrapped around her. One hand rested on her thigh—between her legs, scorching her right through her blue jeans—while the other one warmed her back through her cotton shirt. Lord, he smelled good. Whatever cologne he was wearing, she wished she could spray it on her sheets and roll around naked.

"What'd you do that for?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Trying to get comfortable, so we could talk." His smile said he knew he was turning her on. Somehow the hand on her back had slipped inside her shirt, where it now traced tiny patterns of fire across her skin.

She twisted a little, trying to get comfortable on his legs.

"Hmm. That's good," he said. "I like that."

"Like what?"

"The way you're wriggling in my lap." He ran his hand up to her stomach. She gasped as heat flared through her body, her legs going limp and tingly. Instinctively she covered his hand with hers, pressing it harder against her. If he moved it the teeniest bit downward, she'd start ripping her clothes off. It had been so long since—

"I didn't know you didn't like your family."

"Huh?" Hadn't he been about to kiss her?

"Your family. I didn't know you didn't like them."

"Oh. Um, yeah. We're not close."

"Your grandmother raised you, right?"

Why were they talking about this? Why didn't he kiss her?

"Yes. But I moved out when I seventeen."

"Why? Why didn't you stay there 'til you graduated and then go to college?"

"Because…it's a long story. It just— It wasn't a good place for me. I needed to get out."

"Okay." He reached up to pull a strand of hair out of her face. "What about your uncles? Are you close to them?"

"I don't—no. No, not at all."

"Why?"

"That's a long story too. Why are you—wait." She froze as she realized where this was heading. "Wait. Did someone tell you about my family? Is that why you're asking?"

"Huh? No, I— Wait a minute, where you going?" She was wiggling again, only this time it was to get off his lap. He tightened his arms around her. "Wait. Wait a minute, stop. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— Okay, yeah, I was prying. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Figure me out how? What's there to figure out? I don't like my family. I didn't have a happy childhood, and now I avoid them, even though it's kind of hard to do in a town this size."

"So that's why you're moving to Marshall?"

"It's one reason, okay? If you want to know about my family, ask the guys at JP's, but it's not really something people talk about around here." He'd either understand what she meant or he wouldn't.

"No, that's okay. I'm interested in you, not them. What about the werewolves?"

"What?"

"The werewolves. You knew something about them. I don't think most people around here know about werewolf culture, and if they do, they sure as hell don't talk about it."

"I wasn't really thinking. It slipped out."

"But it means you've read about werewolves, right? You're interested in them?"

He still wouldn't let her off his lap, but she put her hands on his chest to push him back. "Nash, why are you asking me these questions? Why do you—?"

"Look, I'm sorry, I—damn. I sound like a freak, don't I?"

"No. Well, yeah, kind of."

"Okay. Let's start over." He finally loosened his hold and she scooted back, her legs still in his lap. She tried to smother her moan when he started rubbing her foot, but she couldn't help it. So, smiling, he went to work with both hands while he talked.

"It's just that you're nothing like I thought you'd be, you know?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

He let out a frustrated sigh, as if having trouble finding the words. She didn't mind waiting, because what he was doing to her feet was almost—almost—as good as sex.

"All those times I sat in your section and talked to you, I had no idea, and even after I first asked you out, I assumed you were like everyone else around here."

"Oh. And I'm not?"

That made him laugh out loud. "No! And don't act like you don't know that! I figured you were some sweet, backwards Apocalyptic babe who was working in the diner 'til you found someone to marry and have babies with. And then you'd spend the rest of your life in Luxor, hiding from the big bad world."

That was exactly how she thought of everyone else in this town, even Wendy, and exactly what she didn't want to be. But for a second, she was tempted to defend Luxor. Even if she hated it, even if she wanted out more than anything, it stung to hear an outsider talk that way about the people she'd grown up with.

"Well, if you thought I was so backwards and everything, what the hell did you ask me out for?"

That grin again. "Because you were so hot. And I was lonely." His strong, supple fingers were massaging the balls and arches of her feet, and she decided that this was, in fact, better than sex. "And then I find out you're taking college classes and you don't want to birth a bunch of babies and grow old in Luxor. And that was cool, that was interesting. Then, tonight, I find out you don't like your family—" now his grin turned evil "—and you have a thing for werewolves!"

"Hey!" Embarrassed, she slapped feebly at his arm, but she was too blissed out and enervated by the foot rub to sit up and really hit him. "I do not have a thing for werewolves."

He reached under her to pinch her butt. "Maybe you do and you just don't know it."

"I don't!" God, it was like he read her mind sometimes. Was he hacking her Internet account? How could he know about her fascination with shifters, or her desperate dream to meet someone, anyone, with fae blood? "I think they're interesting, all right? I don't think they're evil. Just because they're not human doesn't mean they're not, like, you know…"

"People," he said quietly.

Guest Blogger: M.K. Elliott

Writing Good Sex

As an erotica author, I'm asked so many times where I get my inspiration from. I have to be honest, much of what I write comes from experience. Now before you all gasp and I'm labelled something I'm not (I've been the same man since I was twenty-one) I have had good sex. I'm talking all kinds; passionate, dirty, with a vast range of toys and other funs things going on.

There are some things I haven't experienced. I've not had any forays into any lesbian encounters but in those situations, I've got a pretty decent imagination, and hell, haven't we all fantasized?

So when I'm writing, I definitely use my own personal experiences to help describe the sex in my books. And writing good sex is all about the description. The reader wants to be taken along with every last lick and suck and nibble. They want to feel exactly what the characters are feeling and, by reading, experience the range of sensations and emotions for themselves.

When I first started writing erotica, I never imagined it would be of benefit in my regular writing (I also write paranormal fiction) but it definitely has. I'm so much more aware now of how I'm conveying the senses of my characters to my readers. I now consciously think about every sense; the taste of salt on someone's skin, the musky scent of a woman's arousal, the hard ridge of muscle on a man's stomach. In erotica, we want details. We want to know everything the character is experiencing.

Here is a "no-no" when it comes to writing erotica. Never, ever finish a really hot sex scene with "and then he/she came…" Just like real sex, it's all about the big "O". The reader wants to experience every toe-curling, body shuddering, last delightful thrust of it. The orgasm is the turning point in the story, the moment when the couple (or more) go from that height of excitement into whatever relationship they'll have going forward.

I read a discussion recently about whether a virgin would be able to write good erotica. Surely, like many other things an author may write about (sci-fi authors describing going into space/horror authors describing being eaten by zombies/historical authors describing living in the 1800's) just because they haven't actually done any of it, doesn't mean they should be any less good at writing about it. It's a good argument but it's one I would have to disagree with. Writing erotica is all about the sensations and if it's a feeling you've never experienced properly (or at all!) how can you properly convey it to others?

Sure, the type of sex we want to read about might not be quite what we're used to experiencing—the setting is bound to be sexier, the characters are going to be hotter (no beer bellies or saggy bits please!) but that doesn't mean we can't add a little of our own experiences to our tales.

So here's what I think, to all those would-be erotica authors out there. Want to write about toys or anal, then why not give it a go first? After all, there is no better research than experiencing something for yourself and if you want to write about it, why the hell not have a bit of fun at the same time!

M.K. Elliott was born in Devon, England, where she now lives with her husband , two young daughters, a mad Spanish rescued dog and four hens. Though she has a degree in Zoology, her true love has always been writing and she now works as a full time author. M.K. writes everything from contemporary romance to steaming hot erotica, and her love of travel and adventure is her main influence in her stories.

M.K. is the author of the Barnes & Noble best-selling collection, Rescued. She's also had a number of titles in the Amazon top 100 for erotica, including Rescued, Some Love it Hot, and her bi-sexual vampire novella, Deadly Beauty. Her latest short story collection, Some Love it Rough is now available to buy from Amazon.com.

You can find out more about M.K. by visiting her Facebook page or by following her on Twitter.