Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 525

So what if she's got a creepy fetish!

A new contest is here with another very cool prize!

What can you win?

This trinket box that I purchased from my favorite curio shop, Christi's Gifts & Consignment

(870-230-1877).

What do you have to do?

Post comments on my blog or my Facebook page. Every comment you make over the next two weeks will count as one entry. Could I make it any easier?

The contest ends August 1st!

To start you off right, you can post here today AND at Wild & Wicked Cowboys. I've posted a very sexy picture of a cowboy. Come help me dream up a story to go along with it!

This 'n' That & a Winner!

I think I'm tired of day-tripping. This past weekend while friends held down the fort here, I drove to North Arkansas to my sister's, then trekked across to Oklahoma where we both led a plotting bootcamp on Saturday. Then it was back to North Arkansas to drop off sis before making my way back south. Those were a lot of miles, and the whole time I was away I fretted about my past due deadlines.

I have plenty of excuses for why I can't get my work done, but none that truly excuse me. I used to write when I worked full time AND did my once a month National Guard stint WITH needy children underfoot!

Last week, last minute (I stayed up until Midnight on Thursday), I wrote a short story for a Cleis collection. That's the sum total of my writing accomplishments last week. I have to do much better this week. Do you have any suggestions for how I might stay focused or organize my time better?

But y'all don't want to hear me whine, do you? You want to know who won that cute little book dragron, right? (Yes, I know I still have the last prizes to get out the door. I'll do that this week, come hell or high water!)

The winner, from among 190 entries is…Karen C! Congratulations, Karen! Be sure to email me with your snail mail address.

I'll be back with a brand new contest tomorrow, so be sure to check in!

Guest Bloggers: A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder

WHEN BETA RELATIONSHIPS BECOME SERIOUS

or "How To Use a Catcher's Mitt"

From ACN: When I go to my writing group and mention to friends of mine that I write with a collaborator, or as I call her, a co-author, I get odd looks. One even suggested that it couldn't possibly be a collaboration and that really I must be doing all the work. But that really couldn't be farther from the truth.

As in any good partnership, once synergy happens, one can't tell where an idea began once it gets going. The whole really is greater than the sum of its parts. (And here you thought two and two only ever equaled four!) Rachel and I started working together several years ago as "beta readers" for each other. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a beta reader is a second pair of eyes who looks at your manuscript and helps to pinpoint areas of weakness. It is not, generally, a line editor. (In fact, many beta readers that I've known refuse to line edit.)

When Rachel first sent me a manuscript to look through, what struck me right off was the strength of the story. It did need help with some of the technical details, but the underpinnings were rock-solid. Contrary to what many writers have said in my hearing, it is my belief that STORY is everything. If you don't have a good story, you just have well-constructed grammar exercises. After all, it's not very interesting to read "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog."

From RW: I would say that several of the main benefits are input and a second opinion when world building. It also helps to have another pair of eyes when editing and another brain when creating, as well as a built in support system for the tough times. It's fun to trade ideas and use each other as a sounding board.

Back to ACN: As we worked together, we started talking about how we might write a story together. I suggested a blog, and created Taurus and Taurus. That is how our serial novel NEW WORLD ORDER came to be. At first, Rachel took one character and I another, and we essentially role-played our way through the story. We have the first, second, and third books all plotted out as well as ideas for a couple spin offs.

When we started writing BURNING BRIGHT, we knew we had something special. The story literally flew off the keyboard. The bulk of the story got written in under four weeks. We realized that not only did we have something, we could replicate it with other stories.

From RW: It was when we were discussing a spin off that we decided to be bold and submit it. We utilize Google chat, many times creating and writing entire scenes that are copied, pasted and polished into the manuscript. Another tool is Google documents where we will have a glossary that we can add to and share between us. The most important tool is a fantastic long distance phone plan so we can talk and plot out ideas.

Back to ACN: In some ways, it's like a marriage. We are, at times, so deeply in one-another's heads that we finish each other's sentences. We utilize each other's strengths. Rachel prefers research and I work on deep POV (point of view) and we both share the fun of writing the smut scenes. The worlds that we create together become real to us. We create maps of our characters' homes, cities, and properties. We look up pictures of interior designs to use. We even took a week-long trip in Chicago and Madison to research locations. Making the stories more real helps the creative process.

And, what's more, it's great fun!

"Fun" is greatly underrated as a creative influence. So many writers I speak with seem to feel that they must be "disciplined" in their writing, or it won't be real. I think that's tosh. Fun is something that our human spirit needs in order to be happy. The great creators of the world (DaVinci, Michelangelo, Shakespeare, and our contemporary greats like Cherry Adair, Jody Lynn Nye, and Stephen King – not to mention Delilah Devlin) share a deep and abiding love of the craft. That's why they do it and it comes through in WHAT they do. The more we can get the fun back in the writing, the more we as writers can create.

For Rachel and I, having a "Catcher's Mitt," someone there to encourage a nascent story into existence, is as critical as air or water. Julia Cameron in her seminal book THE ARTIST'S WAY talks about the Catcher's Mitt being the kind of person who believes in WHAT you're doing, beyond whether you're doing it well or even right. They can see past the wobbly first drafts to the beauty within and keep their sights squarely on that belief. They believe it so hard, that you begin to believe it too – and together, you midwife a new thing into being. That's a little like how Rachel and I work. We prompt each other through writing slumps and offer encouragement daily. Everyone suffers from the Inner Critic, that voice that murmurs, "This isn't any good, what are you doing? That's not how you spell chair!!" The trick is to get your work out past that censor and onto the page.

After all, didn't we learn it in first grade? Walk with a buddy. Life is just safer that way.

A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder

Blog Website

**Watch for BURNING BRIGHT, coming from Samhain Publishing September, 2011!

Guest Blogger: Denise Agnew (Contest)

Gritty Historical Novels

by Denise A. Agnew

Romance novels have a happy ending, and that's one of the reasons why I love them. That doesn't mean that I don't like a novel with grit. You know, the type of novel that really is heart-wrenching, makes you think something seriously bad is happening to the hero and heroine and that they will have to fight for their lives and their happiness.

While I love writing contemporary novels, I've found my true voice in historical romance. Here I feel like I can sink my teeth into everything dramatic, romantic.

Research isn't something I shy from when I'm researching a historical novel. In fact, it's one of the elements I find compelling. Not only do I discover what I need to accurately portray the people and times for that novel, I love learning about a new time period and place.

Historical novels are calling on me at all levels lately. In summer 2010, Samhain Publishing released a reprint of my Jack The Ripper novel (original title Midnight Rose) under the title Dark, Deadly Love. On January 4, 2011 Samhain released For A Roman's Heart. Both novels have stunning covers! Thank you to the wonderful artist Kanaxa. In June of 2011 Samhain released Before The Dawn and it also has a beautiful cover. Each novel started with a kernel of an idea and blossomed into a story I loved writing.

And what about the future? I have six…count 'em…six historical novels either in the works or in the idea stages. The six are broken into two separate trilogies but they all involve paranormal elements.

Here's a tidbit of BEFORE THE DAWN to tantalize you.

A fallen woman must decide to stay down, or rise and fight…

Elijah McKinnon has been found innocent of a heinous murder, but it doesn't erase the hellish years in prison he endured. He boards the train to Pittsburgh a changed man, certain he will never feel free until he's wreaked revenge on the brother who ruined his life.

The passenger who catches his eye is intriguing, but he's seen her kind before. The kind who puts on airs—and looks down on Irishmen. Still, he can't seem to stop himself from stepping between her and a pack of ruthless cads.

Mary Jane Lawson is grateful for the handsome stranger's help, but her journey has a higher purpose: to rise above her shattered reputation and declare her independence, come flood or famine. Propriety says she should refuse Elijah's suggestion they pose as husband and wife—for her own protection, of course. Her practical side says it won't hurt to pretend, just this once.

Come nightfall, though, their little charade must be carried all the way to shared sleeping quarters, where their vulnerabilities become painfully clear. And when danger past and present threatens, trusting each other becomes a matter of life and death.

Product Warnings: A hot Irish accent mixed with high adventure may cause combustion. Beware of falling for this hunk. The heroine says he's hers.

She stumbled along in his wake, no energy to ask why they pushed onward into the woods where no one from the train could help them. Thinking that far ahead caused more trepidation, so she concentrated on planting one shoe in front of the other. After what seemed an endless time, a rocky outcropping and massive hill rose in front of them.

"Thank the saints." He tugged her forward. "Here." He released her hand long enough to shove aside shrubbery and reveal a tall opening. She saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. "Damnation. I don't want to go in here, but we must. I'll go first, you follow."

His voice snapped like a general, and she flinched. His eyes went hard, unyielding.



The darkness beyond the crevice appeared to be a wide mouth without teeth. What horrors lay inside? Unreasoning fear stilled her courage. She sucked in a quick breath. If Elijah could conquer his apprehension, so could she.

He crawled in, headfirst. When he disappeared into the maw, all went quiet. Even the wind didn't stir, and the rain stopped. Her entire body quaked. Nightmares of deep, unknown places from childhood tormented her from the edges. They beckoned, dared her to stay brave and to remain sane.

Elijah's hand came out and then his head. "It's larger than I thought. It's a deep rock shelter."

She clasped his hand and leaned down. He released her once she started inside. She crawled on hands and knees and discovered enough headroom to stand and several feet on both sides. Light penetrated from a large crack in the ceiling.

He inched around in front of her and made certain the hole stayed thoroughly covered by the foliage. Turning back, he stopped. He put one finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. He pulled his weapon from the inner waistcoat pocket and held it, prepared for use. They stayed that way for several minutes. Time stretched in front of her, an eternity of waiting, of anxiety ridden breaths and heart pounding apprehension. Safety still felt far removed. Now that they had stopped running, she heard her own breath rasping, her heart pounding in her ears as her body slowed. Reaction came without remorse. Tears flowed and fell to her cheeks. She regulated her breath by slow turns, and yet her body remained tense. After what seemed an eternity, he made his way past her and sat against one wall. He gestured for her to come closer.

She eased towards him on her hands and knees, her crinoline bunching up in the way. Frustrated, she frowned. She never hated fashion more than this moment.

"Take off the crinoline. We're leaving it and the corset behind," he said.

She hesitated and then realized the wisdom in his request. Mary Jane rose to her feet. "Help me. I have to remove the dress first."

He nodded, his face etched with a harsh determination. She turned away from him. Methodically he unbuttoned the back of the dress while she pulled the hatpins out of her hat and hair. As his fingers moved, a fleeting thought raced by. Even in these desperate moments of flight, his fingers brushing with heat through dress, corset and chemise somehow made her incredibly aware of him as a man. Then the thought fled.

She tossed the pins in a corner and flung the hat aside. She was surprised the thing had not fallen off before now. Her dress stuck to her, sodden with rain and made the buttons more difficult to undo. She would have to dress in it again once she removed the corset and crinoline, but what choice did she have? Before she knew it the shoulders and the tight sleeves eased away from her skin. Eager, she pulled the garment off her arms until she peeled it all the way down and it fell around her waist. She wriggled to shove it off her hips. She stepped out of the dress and worked on the ties that held the crinoline in place. As they remained quiet, a sense of urgency filled the air. They must hurry in case his brother found them and they must fight. She shoved the horsehair padding downward, and he came around to the front and knelt in front of her.

"Here," he whispered. "Lift your legs one at a time, and I'll pull it off."

She complied, and quicker than she expected, Elijah crumpled the nuisance and shoved it into a corner. Without speaking he returned to stand behind her and made short work of the corset laces. When it loosened around her ribs, she sucked in a breath. That felt so much better. Though she never worn her corset particularly tight, removing the garment was liberating. She took one deep breath after another. When he loosened it completely, he pulled it over her head. It, too, went into the corner.

Now that she stood in nothing but chemise, pantalets, stockings and boots, she trembled with cold. His hands rested on her shoulders for a second, and then he turned her around.

His eyes had lost their harshness, but they held no awareness of her as a woman. He had shut down for the fight, all efficiency in the face of danger. "I know the dress is cold and wet, but you have to put it back on. If they find us here…"

She put her fingers over his lips. For a few unguarded seconds, his eyes flared. She'd never imagined green eyes could burn this bright and hot with emotion. Quickly he shut it off, like a flame doused under a rush of water. He helped her back into the dress, which went much faster.

Once done, he sat, propped his back against the wall and stared at her. He drew up one leg and propped his forearm on his knee. With his disheveled hair, sweat beading on his forehead, and a harsh look in his eyes, he looked every inch the dastardly criminal. Part of her wanted to run from him too. After all, she was in this predicament because his brother had a vendetta with Elijah. His rumpled waistcoat hung open, dirt and something red smeared over one side. Worry speared her.

She sank to her knees in the damp earth in front of him. She grabbed the lapels of his waistcoat and parted them. "You are bleeding."

"No. I'm not. That's the blood of the man I killed."

Her lips parted but nothing came out at first. She struggled with her words. "We both… I hit that man with a rock, Elijah. I killed him."

"I know, darlin'." His voice softened, the rough understanding lowering his husky voice. "I know."

More tears came, and as they rained down, her face crumpled.

"Shhh…" He reached for her and pulled her into his lap.

He cuddled her close, his powerful arms providing shelter she desperately craved. She wept quietly, holding back the rage screaming fear. She shuddered and quaked. She saw a misery in his gaze, a genuine sorrow. She touched his face and felt the bristle of beard growing there. In those quiet moments, Mary Jane heard nothing more than gentle breaths, felt nothing more than his heat beneath her, cradling and comforting.

Understanding, like that she had witnessed before, warmed his eyes and softened his visage. His lips parted. She stared at that handsome mouth and wanted it on hers with undeniable desperation.

Closer, closer still, he tilted towards her until…his mouth touched hers with exquisite gentleness. When her lips parted under pressure, his tongue pushed inside. Retreated. Caressed. Owned her mouth with sweet, deep thrusts. She arched into that kiss, breath puffing into him, mouth moving in response, tongue tangling in carnal dance.

Elijah broke away with a gasp, eyes still blazing.

He leaned closer until he whispered in her ear. "If we were anywhere else and completely safe, you would be beneath me. Naked."

Blunt as his words were, they excited Mary Jane and made her forget their harrowing flight.

"But we can't." His burning gaze lingered on her mouth, then recaptured her eyes. "I would put you in danger, and that's the last thing I want. Promise me something."

"Anything." The word, so definitive and complete, left her throat without a pause.

"If they find us here and anything happens to me, you fight with everything in you. You fight to live. You understand?"

"No—I— you are not going to die." Her voice broke. "That will not happen."

"If there's one thing I learned incarcerated in Eastern State, it was that bad things happen and you cannot always stop them. If that bad thing happens, and I cannot keep you safe…you do what you need in order to live." His gaze was fierce and demanding. "You understand me?"

"Yes." The excruciating thought twisted a hot knife in her breast. "Yes."

* *

This evening I'll pick one winner from the comments to receive a trade paperback from my backlist. Thanks so much for taking the time to say hello today! ~ Denise

TGIF? Maybe…

I'm soooo not motivated to go on another trip, but sis and I agreed to lead a plotting workshop for the Oklahoma City RWA chapter. The class is tomorrow, but I'm heading out the door today to travel to my sister's house (she lives in northern Arkansas). From there, we'll make the trip into OKC.

While I'm away, I have two guests signed on to keep you entertained:

Saturday — Denise Agnew

Sunday — A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder

Be sure to drop by and comment. The Book Dragon Contest continues! Click here for more details!

And just so that you have something to talk about when you post, help me with a little brainstorming.

I need a title for an eerie book set in the bayou country in Louisiana. There's a monster in the water—a darkly seductive monster who tempts the hero. Our heroine will be there to keep him on the straight and narrow so he doesn't end up the creature's next meal. Throw out suggestions! There's never a stupid idea when you brainstorm, because just a single word can spark another idea, then another…

I'll check in, if I can, to see how you're doing! ~DD

Road Trip — Quigley's Castle

I'm almost done with the pictures from my road trip. Promise! This one was too much fun not to share.

When we left Eureka Springs, Arkansas, heading for home the last day of our trip, we were barely out of town when we saw a sign for "Quigley's Castle"—not something we'd heard of before, so naturally we had to stop! We followed a gravel road, all the while humming the theme to Deliverance.

We pulled into a small gravel lot and saw this sign. After about five minutes a very grumpy woman showed up at the gate. Again, I watch too many horror movies. I immediately saw her as a gatekeeper to a Hell Mouth, and wondered if we should worry about the fact no one knew where we were. However, I was too curious at this point and followed her anyway while she led us inside a secret garden and to a shaded area in front of the "castle".

There we heard the story about the house, which she told in a monotone without a single expression. After she finished her little story, she told us to make our own way through the house and the gardens, and then she disappeared. I just knew she hurried off to sharpen her ax!

Her grandmother was Italian and moved with her American husband to the Ozarks. I forget when but assume it was early-ish in the last century. They lived in a crude wooden building with five children and the wife nagged the husband to build her a stone house. When he didn't act quickly enough for her taste, she and the five children pulled apart their wooden home one day when he went to work and moved into the chicken coop. Hubby got the message and broke ground on a new home for his wife.

It's built of concrete. The wife collected wagon loads of all sorts of rocks from a nearby creek, which included quartz. As he made the concrete bricks, she imbedded the side of the brick facing outward with pretty stones and crystals. Note all the greenery in the front windows? The entryway of the house is a two-story indoor garden.

This is a view of the indoor garden from the first floor.

And from the landing on the second floor.

This is a glance down the steps. The frames on both sides contain arrowheads she found in the river.

The rooms inside the house aren't large or lavish, but she decorated everything with stones. In her bedroom, one wall was covered in this picture that's a decoupage of what looks like art work from magazines and books, personal photos, and real moths she captured and set in resin.

Here's a closeup.

Outside the house is a garden that wraps around the house with outdoor furniture and garden art made from more concrete, shells and rocks. She was a little more than obsessive, I think.

Here's the outdoor patio.

There were seven bottle trees scattered throughout the garden.

Just to show you what she did, here's a closeup of a little decorative arch she made for one flower bed.

That's Quigley's Castle. An American oddity, and one we would have missed if we hadn't been willing to take a chance and follow a little sign down a rocky path.

Guest Blogger: JK Coi

Thank you to Delilah for having me as a guest on her blog today.

July 18 is the release date of my next book, Falling Hard, and I was thinking about all of the writing I've done this year. I realized that I really need a break!

But it's so hard to think about going on a vacation when I still have deadlines looming over my head and the laptop is just so darn portable. On the other hand, the weather is so beautiful and where I'm from we don't get long enough summers. My brain wants to turn off for a while, and my body wants to soak in the sunshine, lay out on the dock with the lake lapping and sparkling in front of me. I would watch kiddo splashing around and have hubby to bring me something refreshing to drink…all right, let's not get carried away.

But you get the idea. My writing is important to me and I enjoy it very much (sometimes more than other times, depending on how the words are flowing), but I think everyone needs time to recharge every once in a while, and I not only owe it to myself, but also to my family to spend some time with them without anything else to get in the way.

This is why, although I'm writing this blog post for Delilah BEFORE my holiday, by the time it's posted here, I'll have returned, and I'll be all refreshed and ready to get to work on the next book!

How is your summer coming along? What have you done to relax, or what do you plan to do? Give me some ideas for next year!

J.K. Coi is a multi-published, award winning author of contemporary and paranormal romance and urban fantasy. She makes her home in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and son and a feisty black cat who is the uncontested head of the household. While she spends her days immersed in the litigious world of insurance law, she is very happy to spend her nights writing dark and sexy characters that leap off the page and into readers' hearts.

FALLING HARD is available from Carina Press on July 18!

Check it out: Carina Press

JK Coi's website: http://www.jkcoi.com

Are you BEGGING FOR IT yet?

I've gotten a string of fantastic reviews for Begging For It. I want to share them in case you've been on the fence about the story or didn't know that it's out there. Here are some review snippets, and following them is an excerpt. A dirty one, so be sure to be alone when read it! Cross gives over control to TJ—but that doesn't last long!

"This was the most gripping, emotionally charged sexy foray into BDSM (heavy on the S&M) I've ever read. If you are a reader who thinks there could never be pain with pleasure, then this story will change your mind…in the end, you'll be so gripped by the brilliance of Ms. Devlin's storytelling abilities, that the final pages will twist your guts in knots. I breathed with both Cross and TJ. I ached with them. And when it was over, I couldn't stop thinking about them." A "10″ for Story, Seriously Reviewed

[image error]"…I absolutely loved this book… With these two dynamic characters, the emotional pull of this story was outstanding… Emotions ran the gamut and reached out to draw you in." 5 Stars and Top Pick!, Night Owl Reviews

"…This story is an emotional rollercoaster that will make you laugh, cry, and overheat… Devlin weaves an enthralling tale… It's a novella that's impossible to put down, a definite gem worth reading again and again." 5 Hearts, The Romance Studio

"…Delilah Devlin is at her finest with BEGGING FOR IT!… It is heartbreaking but real. Yes this is a very hot erotic novella but the story really spoke to me… BEGGING FOR IT is outrageous and perfectly delicious!" Joyfully Reviewed

What the story's about…

She needs punishment…before she deserves pleasure.

Tragedy scarred TJ Lipton. Now, the only way she can find pleasure is when its delivered with a heavy-handed dose of S&M. But finding a lover who can give her what she needs proves an elusive quest—until she finds the sex club Unfettered and a Dom named Cross McNally.

Cross understands all too well what drives TJ. He takes command of her body to give her everything she needs—restraint, the stinging kiss of a flogger, the thrill of a three-way—a sexual adventure that pulls her beyond her painful past and has her begging for more of his tender brand of domination.

She released him and sat back, wiping a hand across her mouth as she looked up.

His eyes were narrowed slits. Skin stretched taut around his square jaw.

TJ backed away and stood, quickly stripping off her clothes until she was nude as well and panting with excitement.

"What do you want, baby?" he asked with another slow up and down glide.

Lord, who the hell was in charge here? Not her. His strokes made her jealous of his hand. She wanted all that thick hardness crammed up inside her.

"We need a condom," she said, quietly, urgency straining her voice.

"The bedside stand," he said, aiming his chin toward it, giving up even a pretense that she was still in control.

Eagerly, she went to the stand and opened the top drawer. She found the box of unopened Trojans and fought with the plastic and the lid then drew out a packet. Her hands shook, so she held it out to him.

His lips crimped into a small smile, but he bit the foil and drew out the latex circle, rolling it skillfully down his massive shaft. When it was in place, he glanced her way and quirked an eyebrow.

"The bed," she bit out. "I need you on the bed."

He sat on the edge then slid his thickly muscled legs over the side. Was there anything about him—his toes, maybe?—that didn't make her melt? She'd never felt so feminine, so weak beside a man before. "Scoot," she said then climbed onto the mattress to kneel beside him.

She bent over his cock, slid her nose along his cloaked shaft, nuzzled the crisp, curling hairs at the base of his cock then trailed the length with her tongue to learn by feel every little ridge and vein.

When she came to the cap, she sucked it between her lips and teethed it, careful not to pierce the latex. "I wanted to do this without the condom," she murmured, "but I knew I wouldn't last. I want you inside me. I want you to come for me. I need to fuck you hard, Cross."

"Will you come?"

"You know how to make me come, so hold off until you're close."

He nodded, his gaze dipping to watch her pussy as she spread her thighs over him and funneled his cock inside.

He was broad at the tip but arrowed. He stretched her opening, filled her better than the cold, hard stick his friend had stroked inside her. "Have you and Tanner been friends a long time?"

"Long enough."

She swirled her hips to wet the tip of his cock. "He the guy you had fuck my mouth last night?"

"Yeah, does it bother you, putting a face to the dick?"

A shallow pulse forced him inside an inch. "Yes, I didn't want him last night. I wanted your cock."

"I was a little busy giving you what you really needed."

He said it in a gruff, masculine tone that clued her to the fact he was just as tightly wound as she was. She pressed down, taking the cap inside another two inches. Her thighs flexed, and she fought the urge to shove downward. She wanted to savor the stretch—this fuck had been a long time coming. And because she was a little annoyed that he'd made her wait, she asked, "Do you like fucking?"

His smile was a quick, tight flash. "One of my favorite things to do."

Her nipples were hard, aching, but she resisted the urge to cup them. She wanted his hands there but wasn't able to command him. Her voice would lack strength. She feared he'd laugh if she tried because she shook with need. "Why didn't you take me? You knew I wanted you to do it."

"I told you, baby. It was about you. What you needed. And I wanted to build your trust."

She came up but missed the solid heat of him filling her and pushed quickly down again, taking him deeper. Sweet Lord, she was wet. He slid inside with a succulent sound. "You don't need my trust. Not for this," she said breathlessly. "You can have me. Have me any way you want, so long as you do one little thing for me. You know what that is."

"Have you any time? More than just today?"

She shook her head but dug her fingers into his chest as she gave him another shallow stroke. "Don't go getting possessive. I don't need promises. You don't want mine."

"You don't want to see me again?"

Her mouth gaped as she slid down a little farther, almost dizzy with relief, feeling as though every inch she consumed deepened their emotional connection. She shook her head, waging an internal battle for control. "I don't want to make plans. Don't want promises," she lied. "But I wouldn't mind you knocking at my door some night."

His jaw flexed. "For a quick fuck but not a date."

"This isn't good for you?" She was wetter now, and the glides were faster, getting deeper, her breaths shortened and her face flushed with heat. His strong hands took some of the burden from her straining thighs.

"This isn't enough for me, TJ," he said, slamming her down his cock now. "I want the whole woman."

She slowed, shuddering hard. "That's the problem," she said, smiling with tears in her eyes. "I'm not whole."

His palms slid up to cup her breasts, gently kneading them. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me why."

She blinked away the moisture. "Just be quiet. Please."

His lips closed, forming a thin line.

Closing her eyes to his disapproval, she continued to rock, but even though her body melted all around him, even though arousal curled inside her, she knew her limits. Her thighs gave way and she sank against him. "Cross?"

"Open your eyes when you speak to me."

She gave him a glare but knew the corners of her mouth were pulling downward and that her bottom lip was trembling.

"What do you need?"

Her shoulders fell. Her head bent. "For you to take over. For you to punish me."

"Do things my way?"

She nodded.

"Will those legs hold you up if I tell you that you have to stand?"

She nodded again then gave a little, gasping hiccup. She hated being so needful, so out of control. He'd think she was a complete basket case, but maybe that was already too late.

His hands cupped her ass and he lifted her. His cock slid from inside her and bobbed against his belly. "Go stand under the hooks."

* * * * *

The Book Dragon Contest continues! Click here for more details!

Road Trip — Haunting at The Crescent Inn Hotel

After spending a very pleasant time in Des Moines (I'll post tattoo pics another day!), we headed home again. Next destination: The Crescent Inn Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It's one of the most haunted places in America. Ghosthunters episode #13 was filmed there.

Wierd things happened even before we arrived. The Crescent lies in the Ozark Mountains and sits on the crest of a hill. We had the address plugged into the Garmin. The GPS worked fine the whole trip, up until the point when it took us up a goat trail of a narrow, gravel road. Halfway up the rutted trail, we met a Hummer. There really was only room for the Hummer, so he had to climb a hill while we squeezed by with our wheels on the edge of the trail. It was a nail-biter staring down the long drop into the ravine.

This is the Crescent Inn Hotel. Built in the 1800′s, it's had many lives—as a resort hotel for the rich, as a school for girls, a cancer treatment-torture facility, and again as a hotel.

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This is our room and the very first picture where creepy things happened. I have a very good little Cannon camera that takes crisp, clear pictures. I took hundreds of pictures on this trip and this is the first one that's blurred this way. But here, you can make out a shadow. Do you see the outline of a head and shoulder? As it turns out, our room has a ghost that plays outside the door. A child died from a fall and is "seen" playing and "heard" to say "It's not fair!" when he sees people dressed comfortably because he hated his own fussy clothing.

The next snap, same lighting, and nothing.

Here's the front desk when you first enter the hotel. Slightly theatrical, but it does set the tone.

Still in our room and third snap. See the moon-like circle? It's an orb. To non-believers (snicker if you like!), it's dust or a reflection. The rest of us know it's a spirit. I've only gotten "dust" like this in my pictures of cemeteries.

I found shadows and orbs everywhere in this hotel and wished I had a thermal imaging camera. See the shadow AND the orb?

See the orb here? It's not the round sign at the end of the hallway, but the one on the right. I swear it's not a spot on the carpet!

See the orb just below the stairwell? This is the stairwell where that little boy died from a fall.

We took the haunted tour and this is our intrepid group.

I think ghosts and shadows like to lurk in pairs.

It's appropriate seeing an orb here. This door was used by the fellow who poisoned the cancer patients with his cures. He wheeled the bodies through this door at night while the rest of the patients slept.

The creepiest part of the tour was the trek to the bowels of the hotel, past the spa rooms to the morgue.

This the room where the doctor examined his victims.

This locker was featured in the Ghosthunters episode. A figure was seen in the thermal imaging camera and the number "2″ glowed.

We were invited to step into the cooler where the bodies were stored. Seven of us crammed inside. It was hot as Hell! I snapped pics overhead, but found no orbs. What ghost would want to hang out there anyway? This pic was the scariest of the lot.

After our tour, the three of us had the best sleep of the entire trip. If a ghost came scratching, wailing, knocking—he was doomed to disappointment.

I took pics before I got out of bed that morning. Besides my feet, see anything strange?

How about now?

The creepiest thing that happened, by far, occurred in the formal dining room when we ate dinner. The six-year-old scowled and turned to her mother who was seated closest. "Mom, stop kicking my flip-flops." She went under the table to retrieve them and her mother showed her that her feet couldn't reach that far. The little one sat down again then made another face. "Stop it! My flip-flops!" The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. The Red-Headed Hellion and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. Little twerp when under the table again, then started talking to herself. When she came back up, she had a really wide grin on her face. "You want to eat my heart!"

Well, that's not something she'd ever said before. And that was before we learned about the little boy. The tour guide said he was likely jealous of her flip-flops. AND it was before we learned that the doctor experimented on the bodies in the morgue and removed the hearts and livers from his victims.

That's not the end of the wierd things associated with the Crescent Inn. When I got home, I downloaded all my pics. Four times! Each time, only the pictures from the Crescent were missing from the batch. Say what you like, but I think a ghost hitched a ride in one of those pictures. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Sunday Report Card

Where to begin?! I've just come off the most unproductive three months I've had in forever! My ability to shut out "the noise" around me has been compromised. Until this week, I seriously considered renting a cabin somewhere away from family and the Internet to get some work done. But things do change.

This week, I received acceptance for a short story I wrote entitled Drive Me Crazy for Cleis Press's Best Erotic Romance of 2012.

I put together the After Midnight Authors Fantasies newsletter and published that.

I completed the draft of a new lesbian vampire story that will accompany a story by Paisley Smith for a two book anthology that Ellora's Cave will publish! (Long enough sentence for you?!) I'll be sending it to the editor today!

What else? My daughter was married in the swimming pool on a day where the weather crested 100 degrees. Most fun I've had in a while!

The Six-Year-Old turned seven, so she had her choice of favorite things to do that day. McDonald's was part of the list. Bleh.

I spent a day painting a room for my grandmother's newly converted garage suite.

And there you go—my week in a nut shell. I'm hoping things will continue to hum along this next week, writing-wise. I have a new book and a new short story to start. Do y'all have any ideas for a 1500-word lesbian short story? Yeah, I can't come up with anything other than a coffee break in that short a space.