Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 527

Sunday Report Card

Not a bad week!

* A new release! Click on the cover for Begging For It—if you haven't already purchased your copy. (Thanks to whomever starred it on the EC website! I still need a review or two to tell other readers what to expect!)

* 50 pages on a new Lone Star Lovers story, for which I still seek a sexy title. Any suggestions? Pie features in this one. Apple pie in particular, but so do four lusty cowboys!

* I began working on the opening scene of a new vampire novella. It's very rough, not very interesting. I have to find the spark and soon so I can zoom through the story when I wrap up the cowboy thingie this week!

And I saw THOR! Loved it! I suppose it could have been better, but I enjoyed it. It was a fantasy thrillride with plenty of humor, danger and angst. I really loved the lead actor (lovely, lovely body!) and Natalie Portman was suprisingly funny. I hope they plan sequels. Guess we'll have to see if the movie does well enough over time to warrant it. In the meantime, they've given me my Norse fix and a face for my blond Viking in Enslaved by a Viking, HAKON! I'll need that face in my mind when I write his story.

And remember, there's still time to enter the Voodoo Doll contest. Drop a comment! A picture of the prize is in Tuesday's posting!

Heard any good tunes lately?

I was in a girly mood the other night and downloaded several new songs to my iPod…

Familiar Taste of Poison by Halestorm

I Get Off by Halestorm

I Kissed a Girl by Katie Perry

S&M by Rhianna

Rolling in the Deep by Adele

Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

And because I couldn't download all the girlstuff without adding a little testo to the mix:

Diamond Eye (Boom-Lay-Boom) by Shinedown

The one getting the most rotation on iPod is Jar of Hearts, so I was curious about the video. I love it–up until the point the dancers come in. I love the incubus-like element to the story. I'm also suffering tattoo-envy.

So what are you listening to lately?

Remember, the Voodoo Doll contest continues. Post a comment for a chance to win!

Quit BEGGING FOR IT–it's here!

Okay, it's a hokey blog title, but I couldn't resist! Anyway, I don't have any pearls of wisdom for you today. I'm just pimpin' a book. Why should you buy it? It's got plenty of raunchy sex with multiple partners, a heroine searching for release, a hero ready to deliver. What more could you want? Oh yeah, it has a story too! Click on the cover and buy it!

If you do buy, be sure to star it, write a review about it, tell a friend too! Any help at all getting the word out is greatly appreciated!

She needs punishment…before she deserves pleasure.

Tragedy scarred TJ Lipton. Now the only way she can find pleasure is when it's 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.

Begging For It, an excerpt

The Voodoo Doll contest continues! Post a comment today for another chance to win!

Warning! Maybe you shouldn't read this if you're at work or kids are looking over your shoulder.

Tomorrow's the day. My naughty BDSM story will release and you will get a chance to check out TJ and Cross. TJ's a hard case. Thinks she can protect her heart. Thinks all she wants is sex. Cross, however, knows her. He takes her on a journey that breaks her down one brick at a time until she's his. This is their first time together. You'll see her rough edges. Too bad you can't see into his head—but that's something you'll have to wait for until tomorrow! Hope you enjoy.

Note for Readers: You must be of legal age in your country of origin to read this excerpt.

His teeth flashed, and TJ felt an instant wave of heat that didn't have thing to do with the fact his hands were rubbing oil onto her nipples, thumbs and forefingers pausing to pluck and twist the tips. That smile softened his expression and made him handsome.

Downward he roamed, slicking over her belly then onto her thighs, her knees, calves. Lord, her toes.

Each was parted, kneaded. And then his glance sliced to her pussy. "Part your legs for me, sweetheart."

She was embarrassed by how fast she complied, but he didn't smirk. He simply glided a fingertip along her nude folds, up and down then in between, tracing the edges of her thin, inner lips.

Her pussy clenched then opened, making a moist, sucking sound that snared his attention and made her blush. "I like a nude pussy," he murmured. "Keep it like this."

He said it as though they'd see each other again. Frankly, she hoped he'd last longer than Brent.

Fingers parted her and pulled up her folds to bare her clit. Air hissed between her teeth at the first, oily swirl atop the hard, rounded knot.

"Same sweet pink as your lips."

She rolled her eyes. "We are not discussing my pussy."

His eyebrows waggled. "Even if how much I like it will mean I spend some extra time there?" Fingers thrust inside her, two—thick, hard digits that twisted and thrust.



Of their own volition, her knees rose and parted.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I like it too, but we're not there yet." He withdrew and wiped his fingers on a towel. "Get on up."

His hand extended, and she gripped it without hesitation, letting him bring her up to sit on the edge of the table with her thighs parted around his hips. His cock angled toward his belly, and she wondered what he'd do if she shimmied her butt closer until it snuggled against her sex.

His gaze dropped to where their bodies almost met. His firm mouth curved. "You need a little softening," he said, his tone even.

"Softening?" she whispered, leaning back on her hands, all but inviting him to come over her, here and now.

"You'll like it. It's right up your alley." When his head came up, the hardness of his stare told her the use of the word "alley" had been deliberate.

She straightened and pulled her legs to the side, closing them. "You sound pissed, and you've no right to be. What I do with my body is my bus—"

"You're right. But you're also impatient as hell for me to make your body my business."

"You're an ass."

"And you're a bitch."

"So we're even?"

He snorted and shook his head. "We're back to rules. One I have to insist on now."

"Which is?"

"Call me Sir when you address me."

She turned away. "And if I don't?"

"Don't think disobedience will earn you the punishment you want. If you refuse, I walk. And it's not a tease. I won't stop at the door to give you a second chance."

TJ gave him a fierce frown. "Why's it so fucking important to you?"

"It's a sign of respect. Yours for me."

"You haven't done a thing to earn it."

"I'm here," he said, planting his hands on his naked hips. "I've seen the shit you dish, the stupid risks you take. But I'm still here."

"If I'm such a loser, why bother?"

"You really have to ask? When you saw me at the bar, there was a moment, wasn't there? You sized me up, and if your 'dick with benefits' hadn't walked up, I'd bet you'd have slid onto the seat with me. You knew in an instant that I could give you what you want."

He had to say that while they were both naked. While her nipples were hard and her pussy soaked. He'd oiled her up and gotten her stoked so she'd be weak. So willing to follow where he led that she'd beg for it. Damn, she was tempted to whine.

"What's it gonna be? Do you want me to stay?"

She swallowed down her pride but kept her face averted so he wouldn't see that she was secretly pleased he was placing limits on her. Like invisible bonds. "Please, Sir," she whispered. "I want you to stay."

Fingers slid into her hair, and he pulled to tilt back her head. Then he leaned toward her, closing the distance between them but never touching her with his chest or cock.

One breath, a slight arch of her back and she'd be able to scrape her nipples over his lightly furred chest. But his gaze warned her not to.

His mouth covered hers, suctioning slightly, then drew away.

She blinked open her eyes to find he'd never closed his. He studied her expression then his eased a fraction. "TJ, go to the bench behind me and bend over it. And no more questions."

"Yes Sir," she said, her voice husky.

He lent her his hand as she edged off the table and hopped to the floor. Her legs felt like rubber, and she wobbled a bit, but she strode around him toward the bench. A spanking bench, she guessed. She'd read about them but had never actually seen one. She climbed onto the platform, knelt on a padded step and leaned over it. It was surprisingly comfortable, even if the position left her completely vulnerable with her ass and pussy exposed. And she was comfortable—until he used straps to secure her wrists.

Cross smoothed his hand on her slick skin, from her shoulders to her buttocks. Then both hands closed around one thigh, slid up and down, and lifted it to widen her stance. He repeated the actions with the other. His palm cupped her sex, warming it. A finger slid inside her. "You'll let me do whatever I want?"

"Yes Sir," she gritted out, trying not to clench around the invading digit.

"But you want it rough." Another finger slid inside and both pushed deep.

"Yes," she hissed. Without thinking, she tilted her hips to stick her ass up higher, inviting him deeper. A thicker single digit—his thumb?—pushed against her asshole.

Her head sank as she breathed deeply, trying to relax the tight, little ring. Gradually, he eased inside then fucked all three fingers in and out, slowly.

Arousal slid from inside her to coat the long fingers thrusting in her pussy.

Pursing her lips, she breathed slowly, deeply. She knew he had no intention of getting her off this way, but she was content to let him set the pace.

His fingers withdrew. He padded silently away, toward a dark oak cabinet with slide-out trays of sexual implements. She watched from the corner of her eye as he ran his fingers over the flanges of a flogger, but he passed over it in favor of a paddle—a long, wooden paddle with holes drilled in its surface. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a blindfold.

His gaze darted toward her, catching her watching. He whipped out the blindfold, making it snap, and she smiled then trained her gaze straight-ahead. A blindfold didn't worry her.

His steps approached again and halted behind her. His body leaned over hers, the heat from his skin warming her back although he never touched her. The blindfold came under her face, and she closed her eyes obediently as he tied it.

"Can you see anything?"

"No Sir," she said, smirking.

"Good."

The door to the room whooshed open, and she jerked up her head. When Cross didn't say anything to whomever had entered, she tightened. She wanted to ask who'd come in and whether it was part of his plan, but he'd ordered her not to question him.

Did he expect her to balk? Footsteps treaded lightly on the carpet, stopping in front of her. A hand cupped her chin. Not Cross'. It didn't feel quite large enough. A thumb stroked her bottom lip, but she kept her mouth firmly closed.

The hand withdrew. The sound of latex snapping came from right in front of her, level with her face. She began to shake her head.

A smack landed on the back of one thigh. Delivered by a hand—this time, certainly Cross'—and hard enough to sting. She jerked, tightening her lips.

Another slap landed on the other thigh then one against her right buttock and the left. She breathed noisily through her nostrils, knowing now what Cross hoped to achieve. Bastard! she wanted to say. But then he'd know he'd surprised her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd wanted him. Him alone.

A latex-covered cock stroked her cheek, but she turned away from it.

Cool gel squirted between her buttocks. Something with a rounded point slid between her cheeks. When it circled her hole, she groaned deep in her throat. As it pushed inside, she opened her mouth around a gasp, and a thumb entered her mouth, dragging down her jaw.

The cock pushed between her teeth, but she couldn't object because the thing Cross pushed inside her ass was widening, stretching her. Her jaw opened wider for her to breathe around the cock pushing its way deeper inside her mouth.

TJ's entire body tightened. Her breasts hardened—her nipples grew painfully engorged. The plug Cross pushed relentlessly inside at last narrowed, and his palm snuggled against the base to push it the last little bit, but the toy wasn't going anywhere. The bulbous shape kept it trapped by the tightening of her sphincter.

He'd accomplished what he set out to do. Force her to accept another man's cock—a stranger's. The man in front of her stroked forward and back into her mouth, and she sucked him, obedient at last.

Guest Blogger: Cat Johnson

The Voodoo Doll contest continues! Post a comment today for another chance to win!

I'M NOT MY CHARACTERS BUT MY CHARACTERS MAY BE PEOPLE

by Cat Johnson

There's been some noise in the romance community lately which only reinforces my opinion that non-writers truly do believe erotic romance authors are—or at least do all the things their book characters do. Of course that's ridiculous. First of all, unlike my heroine in UNRIDDEN where in New York State just an hour from Manhattan am I finding bull riders to have threesomes with when I rarely leave my PJs or my laptop long enough to go out and buy food for my family? Second, if I wrote murder mysteries would they assume I was killing people for research? Of course not, but apparently researching sex scenes is a different story in people's minds.

So no, I am not my characters, however my characters are often people. Not verbatim but at least in part based on or inspired by real people. Case in point Jared, the hero of my latest release of the same name, the fourth book in the Red, Hot & Blue series with Samhain Publishing.

Jared was written into JACK (Book 2) and JIMMY (Book 3) in the Red, Hot & Blue series as a side character, the younger brother of SpecOps Jack and Jimmy Gordon who chose his first love, horses, and stayed home to run the family breeding farm while his brothers were off saving the world in the military.

Writing the character of Jared was a pleasure. I mean, who doesn't love a man who loves horses? And the image of him working his farm, shirtless and glistening in sweat, wearing not much more than cowboy boots and jeans, is pretty nice too.

So who inspired Jared, you may ask, since I already confessed I don't get out all that much. It was the son of the farmer who delivers my hay. See! I didn't even have to leave home to find him. Gotta love when characters fall in your lap like that. Seeing that hay truck pull up with 200 plus bales stacked high and tight, and the farmer's son jumping up on top of all that hay to fling the bales (weighing at least 30 lbs each) two at a time through the hay door high up in the wall of my barn, was some nice inspiration.

If I didn't have to stack those bales once they hit the floor inside I would have just stood and ogled him. I guess I did pay too much attention to the vision since I nearly got pummeled by a few bales flying in from above when I wasn't paying attention. It was a bit like that game Frogger but I didn't write that part into my story. In the book the heroine isn't sweaty, hacking and covered in dust like I was. Oh no, my heroine gets to enjoy the scene from afar. See how we authors create a fantasy from the facts? You're welcome! LOL.

Anyway, I know what some people are thinking about me and the farmer's son all alone and sweaty on my 5 acre farm—but no I was not alone here with the farmer's son. His dad was here too, helping stack those bales and huffing and puffing pretty heavily, enough to make me wonder if I still remembered my CPR training. You see the son was here because his dad had recently had a heart attack. But when you make a living being a farmer, you're back on the horse—or the hay truck—or you don't pay the bills. So there you have it, life is not nearly as nice and clean or hot and sexy and we write it, and aren't you grateful for authors taking those liberties.

Cat Johnson

www.catjohnson.net

Check out the newly released JARED (Red, Hot & Blue, Book 4) available in eBook now.

Everything is just right…until she turns his life upside down.

It doesn't take anything fancy to make Jared Gordon a happy man. A slice of his mama's pie, a pretty girl, a well-bred horse. Life on the farm is just how he likes it. Simple. Until a big city girl blows into town like a tornado hitting a trailer park.

Quintessentially small-town Pigeon Hollow has everything LA producer Mandy Morris needs for her new reality show. A smoldering deputy sheriff, a quirky diner owner and a horse farm complete with a hunky horseman. If her own instant attraction is any indication, Jared will have the female demographic glued to their sets.

Except the red-hot cowboy is cool to the idea of cameras in his face. And the harder she negotiates, the deeper he digs in…until their head-butting strikes sparks that fans a prairie fire of unexpected passion. She doesn't usually mix business with pleasure, but as Pigeon Hollow's charm works its magic, the youngest Gordon brother has Mandy rethinking many things.

Like happiness doesn't have to end with the word "cut."

Warning: Contains one hot shirtless cowboy taking a city girl for a roll in the hay…and a few other places.

This book has been previously published and has been revised from its original release.

BEGGING FOR IT coming, Friday!–plus, a new contest!

I found out yesterday that my story, Begging For It, will be released by Ellora's Cave this coming Friday! It's part of the 1-800-Dom-help series, but a stand-alone story. Click on the cover to read an excerpt!

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.

Yeah, there's plenty of sexy punishment, boys tying a girl up and down for her pleasure, and a story. What a deal! I hope you'll check it out this Friday—then let me know if you want Tyler's story.

In the meantime, I need to wrap up the Dark Fairy contest. Who gets that pretty little trinket? Christina Freas is this week's lucky winner! Christina, send me an email with your snail mail addy and I'll get it into the mail. I have to do ALL my mailings this week or I will be woefully behind. So be quick!

As to this week's prize? I went to Memphis a couple of months ago and bought up some fun things at Tater Red's on Beale street. This week's prize is a very cute voodoo doll. Doesn't everyone need one of these? Be sure to post a comment to enter the drawing. And you can post here or on Facebook over the coming week so that you'll increase your chances of winning!

Guest Blogger: Kelli Scott (Contest)

Branded

The concept for Stormy Wedding was simple. Ellora's Cave put a shout out about their new Branded line of erotic stories. Branded is a series of erotic tales set within the confines of a marriage.

One of my pet peeves about romance is that the story ends when the marriage begins. And that is where I began my story…at the end…with the wedding. My first-ever erotic story starts at the rehearsal dinner of a wedding and ends in bed. In between dinner and bed, a storm rages outside the wedding venue while a tempest of passion erupts inside.

Why Branded? According to my handy dandy dictionary, branded means (1) a mark burned with a hot iron, as upon cattle, to show ownership. Ouch! And may I say, double ouch. And not the image I want to portray. (2) A trade-mark to show quality or kind. I like that better. (3) To impress deeply upon mind or memory. I like that best. But I do still hear the sizzle of that hot iron, which isn't all bad.

What do you think? Does the romance and passion end when the vows are said? Feel free to tell me about your wedding, your wedding disaster or your dream wedding. Leave me a comment and email address and I'll put you in a drawing for a free e-copy of Stormy Wedding or a deck or Ellora's Cave playing cards. And don't forget to check out the other Branded titles at Ellora's Cave. To read an excerpt pop over to my blog: www.kelliscottbooks.blogspot.com

* * * * *

Today's the last day of the Dark Fairy contest! Post a comment today to win!

Next stop on the Carnal Machines train!

I'm Day 8 of a blog tour to celebrate the release of Carnal Machines! Folks ask me all the time why I write for these collections. They're short. The pay stinks. My name's not on the cover. What I tell them is that I love being in the company of great writers. That readers who've never read me might discover me. That shorts give me a chance to try something new.

I've never done Steampunk. To me, it's a fascinting, frightening genre. So much to learn. A huge world to build. And I'm not very mechanically oriented. So writing a story for this particular collection was a challenge I couldn't resist. A chance to dip my toes in strange waters. I was thrilled when my story made the cut!

I will admit, I didn't fly very far from the truth in my fantasy. I researched Victorian sexual practices, remembering from an old Amanda Quick book a common treatment for "female hysteria", then researched machinery that actually was used to stimulate women into orgasm in those times, for purely medicinal reasons, and then building on those. Yes, my story's all about sex. I hope you'll enjoy the excerpt I've provided here from Dr. Mullaley's Cure.

If you'd like a peak at the other authors and stories that are part of the collection, edited by D.L. King, here's a list of blogs and dates. Some have already past so you'll have plenty to sample already!

May 1 D. L. King

May 2 Teresa Noelle Roberts

May 3 Kathleen Bradean

May 4 Jay Lawrence

May 5 Kannan Feng

May 6 Essemoh Teepee

May 7 Elizabeth Schechter

May 8 Delilah Devlin

May 9 Tracey Shellito

May 10 Renee Michaels

May 11 Elias St. James

May 12 Lisabet Sarai

May 13 Janine Ashbless

The Victorians wrote some of the best and most enduring erotica. For such a tightly-laced age, people spent a lot of time thinking about things carnal. Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mary Shelley, H.G. Wells, et al enthralled us with their visions of new possibilities. The rich and slightly decadent visuals of the steam age lend themselves perfectly to the new carnality of post-punk era. And, of course, what is repressed will be even more exciting once the corset is unlaced. Steampunk, even without sex, is erotic; with sex, it's over-the-top hot. A widowed lady engineer invents a small device that can store the energy from sexual frustration and convert it to electricity to help power a home. Teresa Noelle Roberts shows us what it can do, confronted with sexual fulfillment. What volume of steampunk would be complete without a tale of sailing ships and the men who sail them? If your taste runs to sexy pirates in space, Poe Von Page will delight you with the mutinous crew of the Danika Blue and their new captain.

Then there's the very special room on the top floor in the House of the Sable Locks, a brothel where sexually discriminating men go to have their fantasies fulfilled. Even if a man daren't put those fantasies into words, Elizabeth Schechter's "Succubus" will give the madam all the information she needs with which to make her clients happy. There are brothels, flying machines, steam-powered conveyances, manor houses, spiritualist societies. The following stories afford intelligently written, beautifully crafted glimpses into other worlds, where the Carnal Machines won't fail to seduce you, get you wet or make you hard so, lie back, relax; a happy ending is guaranteed.

I'd been warned that the doctor was a bit eccentric. That he dabbled in machinery and had been ostracized by others in his profession for the lengths he went to please his patients.

"You'll never find another employer," I was told. "Not once they see your only reference is Doctor Mullaley." The mad Irishman. The charlatan who promised cures to bored housewives and whose waiting room hadn't been empty since I arrived for my first day's work. If I hadn't already been turned away at every other respectable physician's practice, I might have heeded the advice. However, those warnings only served to stir my interest.

I was intensely curious about the nature of the doctor's cures, and even more so about the conditions he treated, but they were only spoken of in whispers and never in the presence of an unmarried woman. Which made me wonder why he'd hired me. Not that I complained. One glance at his tall rangy frame, frosty blue eyes and dark, slicked-back hair, and my misgivings evaporated.



However, my curiosity about the man and his practice wasn't to be satisfied at that moment because the doctor waved me toward the reception desk where I worked at fitting in patients who walked in without an appointment. A task I found akin to cinching in the waist of a corset. There was only so much ribbon one could pull before something gave.

That something was the inimitable Mrs. Davies. She arrived in a dudgeon. Cheeks flushed, eyes a little wild. It was a very balmy afternoon, and the painstaking curls at the sides of her cheeks had wilted and were stretching toward her jaw like earthworms. I couldn't help staring while she tapped the counter with her finger insisting her needs were of the highest import. If she didn't receive a treatment that afternoon, somebody would hear about it.

At wit's end, I gave her a false smile, said I'd find the doctor, and escaped down the corridor to the treatment rooms.

The corridor was as handsomely appointed as the waiting room with rich oak paneling below the rail, and burgundy brocade above it. But gaslight sconces were placed so far apart that shadows loomed between the doorways.

I paused at the first room to listen, hoping to hear the low timbre of the doctor's voice. Faint moans came through the door, but since they didn't have an urgent edge, I hurried to the next and pressed my ear against the wood.

Hands curved over my shoulder. "Pardon me, Nurse Percy." The doctor firmly pushed me to the side and strode into the room.

Glancing around his tall frame, I spotted Mrs. Headley who lay on a table that tilted with the lower half split in two.

My jaw sagged as I noted that while she was clothed in a sack-like gown, Mrs. Headley lay bared from the waist down, her legs strapped to the split "legs" of the table. Her fingers dug into padded handles at the sides. Most curious, there was a long, slender trough running from a tank latched to the ceiling, very like a toilet's reservoir. The trough emptied into a funnel, which ran into a tube. The tube passed through a device with turning wheels that clicked like a clock's inner gears, and then ended at a nozzle that spurted water in rhythmic pulses toward the juncture of Mrs. Headley's thighs.

How odd, I thought.

Mrs. Headley moaned. Her gaze roved restlessly until she lighted on the doctor. "Please, Raymond, I can't take much more. I'm very sure I'm ready for the next stage of my treatment."

The doctor stood between me and Mrs. Headley so I couldn't see what he did, but then he aimed a frown over his shoulder. When he turned back, I entered the room and shut the door behind me, staying quiet as a mouse. He turned off the nozzle. The rhythmic splashes stopped, but wet slurping sounds filled the silence.

"I feel…nearly…oh, the agony…oh, doctor!" Mrs. Headley gave a choked little scream, her upper body arching on the table before settling again. Her flushed cheeks shone with sweat, but the smile she gave the doctor was so filled with gratitude I felt a stirring of something akin to pride for the doctor's skill.

However, pride wasn't what tightened the feminine parts of me. Somehow, just knowing where the doctor's hands were made the room feel quite warm.

Doctor Mullaley pulled down his patient's gown, patted her hand and turned, drawing up short when he spotted me standing in front of the door. He jerked his chin to indicate I should precede him.

Feeling nervous and a little embarrassed by what I'd witnessed, I stepped into the hall and wrung my hands. "I wouldn't have interrupted, doctor," I blurted, "but there's a woman at the reception desk demanding an appointment. Frankly, I thought she'd push right past me to find you if I hadn't said I would go."

"Let me guess, Mrs. Davies?"

I nodded.

He sighed and looked up and down the hallway. "I have another hydropathy machine in treatment room at the end of the hallway. "While you were spying, did you happen to notice what I did to turn it off?

"The hose from the reservoir? Yes."

"The reverse turns it on. Take Mrs. Davies there. Find her a gown and help her out of her clothes. Start the machine. I'll be along when the others have finished their treatments." He gave me a narrowed glance that seemed to note my appearance for the first time. "After you've settled her, find me. I think you might work out after all."

Snippet Saturday: Past History

Comment here today to be entered in the Dark Fairy contest (details in Monday's post)!

Writers have favorite books they've written. Seduced is one of mine. The book took only five weeks to write. The fastest I've ever written a full-length novel. It wasn't fully plotted, but developed as I wrote, surprising me at every turn. Nic and Chessa were both so damaged, so in love, but sooooo denying it. The story had everything. A haunted past. Steamy, desperate sex. A maniacal demon they had to chase. For Nic, this demon had to be taken down. He was responsible for both his brother's and his wife's deaths—centuries ago. If you'd like to see more of his past, more of what drives him, click on the cover and read the first chapter of the book.

"…The electrifying follow-up to INTO THE DARKNESS is a breathless read. Devlin's intricate vampire society is filled with compelling personalities. The chemistry between the characters is explosive, and the horrific villain will give you goosebumps…the ending will leave you begging for more." 4 ½ Stars and TOP PICK!, RT BOOKreviews

"…This is a deliciously edgy series with mind-blowing sex scenes that sizzle…Ms. Devlin's DARK REALM series is devastatingly erotic and pushes the boundaries in both premise and sexual explicitness. Ms. Devlin pens in uncharted territory that will leave the readers breathless and hungering for more…" Paranormal Romance

For eight hundred years Nicolas Montfaucon has dedicated his life to preventing the rebirth of an immortal evil. But now a terrible storm has assaulted unsuspecting New Orleans—and the beast walks the earth once more. "The Devourer" has been awakened, and there is only one in the besieged city who can help Nicolas defeat the foul creature—a mysterious and beautiful enigma who haunts the handsome Revenant's erotic waking dreams and enflames his passionate obsessions.

Chessa Tomas is not an ordinary policewoman. A vampire, she works only at night, patrolling a seamy and unseen underworld of roiling chaos. Though Nicolas is sensuality incarnate, Chessa wants no part of him or his kind—but she cannot close her eyes to the unholy malevolence that would consume their world. And Nicolas has uncovered the secret lust that rules her—a steaming, uncontrollable desire he intends to unleash, bending Chessa to his will by making her most forbidden fantasies real.

Nicolas stuck to the shadows, standing beneath the long fronds of Spanish moss trailing from an ancient oak. He watched as the cops combed the bayou bank with their flashlights, looking for clues, photographing the victims, and grieving over their friends' bodies.

He waited patiently, knowing Chessa would be here sooner or later. Since the night was burning away fast, he hoped for sooner.

The carnage had begun. The Devourer had fed and would grow stronger and more frighteningly cunning as he cut a swath through New Orleans.

A squad car pulled up and Chessa climbed out, looking rumpled and wearing a man's wrinkled white shirt beneath her leather jacket.

Nicolas stiffened, his gaze darting to the tall man climbing out to stand beside her in the glare of headlights. As though the gesture was an old habit, the man's hand settled at the small of her back.

Chessa didn't deliver him a blistering glare, just a quick worried glance.

Merde! Bitch! Nicolas drew a deep breath, stunned by what he saw. Only hours ago, she'd begged him to fuck her, but here she was with another man—one she seemed to know rather well.

His hands fisted at his sides, readying to drive them through the handsome face of the human standing beside her.

Nicolas forced himself to think, drawing a deep cleansing breath.

He'd never been a jealous lover—knew all vampires craved sex almost as much as they did blood. A blood fuck with a host wasn't considered an infidelity. But vampires left their hosts behind. They didn't consort with them afterward. Courtesy among lovers meant seeking strangers to feed the two hungers. Comfort and affection were drawn from those you loved.

Only Chessa didn't love him. Regret washed through him. Maybe she never would.

But who the hell was this man?

He stepped out of the shadows and strode toward the cozy couple as they conferred with several officers beside a long yellow stripe of crime scene tape.

"Halt! Get your hands above your head or I swear I'll pull this damn trigger."

Nicolas rolled his eyes, tempted to flash by the young officer faster than he could blink.

Chessa's gaze landed on him, and her eyes widened for a moment. She gave him a subtle shake of her head.

He paused, then raised his hands obediently.

"It's okay, Len," she said, her voice husky. "Let him through."

Len gave him a narrowed glance that swept him up and down. A warning not to cause any trouble because he'd be watching. Then he holstered his weapon and stepped back.

Nicolas gave him a mirthless smile and ducked beneath the tape to join Chessa and her "friend."

"I'm Nicolas Montfaucon," he said, ignoring everyone else as he leveled a glare at the man standing beside Chessa.

The man's lips curved in a slight smile, his expression slyly amused, and he held out his hand. "I'm Alex, Chessa's new partner."

Another bloody partner! Although he would have preferred to ignore the hand held in his direction, Nicolas gripped it hard, gauging the other man's strength.

"Good grief, Nic," Chessa muttered. "If you wrestle him to the ground, I'll fucking clout you."



Nicolas flushed, realizing he had been squeezing a little too long and hard, not that the human showed any signs of conceding the silent battle. He was strong. A cocky young bastard.

"Who's he to you?" Alex asked.

"Family," she bit out. Then giving Nicolas a searing glance, she lifted her chin toward the river's edge. "I take it you've already seen the damage."

Nicolas gave a sharp nod.

"Damn," Chess said. "It's your guy, isn't it, Nic?"

"I warned you we would need to work together."

"What's this all about?" A barrel-chested black man in a dark suit asked.

Chessa sighed. "Lieutenant Byron Williams, meet Nic. He's a…well, you know…"

A grim smile stretched his broad mouth. "Another bloodsucker? I guessed," he said, his voice pitched low. His gaze narrowed on Nicolas. "I s'pose we could use a specialist's help with this one."

Chessa's eyebrows lowered, and her hands fisted at her sides. "We aren't teaming up!"

The lieutenant's gaze whipped to Chessa. "Can I trust him?"

Chessa's lips thinned, but she gave a sharp nod.

When he looked at Nicolas again, his expression turned thoughtful. Seeming to come to a decision, he pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped at the sweat gleaming on his forehead. "Look, I don't know you. Any other time, I'd tell you to butt out and let us do our jobs, but I gotta city in chaos and half my officers are gone."

"This is not a good idea," Chessa gritted out.

The tall black man gave her a lop-sided smile. "Cheech, normally I'd let you handle whatever it is you do alone and give you backup only when you ask. I can't do that right now. You're gonna have to work with your people on this one."

"He's not one of mine." This time her rejection was softer, but no less agitated.

Nicolas felt a ripple of satisfaction at Chessa's anger. Although he hadn't planned on joining the police investigation, it made sense. They could keep tabs on the victims and try to find a pattern, a direction the demon was heading.

The lieutenant ignored Chessa's tight-lipped rejection. "You got knowledge of what this thing is?" he asked, directing the question to Nicolas.

Nicolas grimaced. "I know what, just not who he is at the moment."

The burly black man sighed. "Sounds like this is gonna get complicated."

The lieutenant didn't have a clue just how complicated it already was. Not that he had a need to know. "It's going to get bloodier before we're done," he conceded.

"Just so you know, there are only a few of us on the force who know about you guys—know there's scarier things out there than human killers."

Nicolas bowed his head, understanding the unspoken stipulation. This arrangement would be strictly confidential. "We'd like to keep it that way, too."

"I need to know what we're facing."

Nicolas glanced around, making sure no one listened beyond their select circle, then pitched his voice low. "It's a demon we seek. An ancient one. Our coven kept him imprisoned in a sarcophagus for eight hundred years. Yesterday when the water rose, a river ripped through the cemetery, flooding the mausoleum, and allowing him to escape."

"A demon? Shouldn't be hard to spot. What's it look like?"

Nicolas leveled his steady gaze on Byron. "You have anyone missing from the patrol?"

"Bernie Watson." The lieutenant's dark eyes widened. "He looks like us? Like Bernie?"

He nodded, his mouth tightening. "For the moment. Until Bernie's body dies. Then he'll crawl into someone else."

"Fuck me!" His lips pursed around a low whistle. "What's with the hearts?"

"His favorite meal."

"And he's been on a diet for a long damn time." The lieutenant scrubbed a hand across the top of his close-cropped hair. "Fuck me!" he repeated.

"Precisely." Nicolas slid a glance at Chessa who'd folded her arms across her chest. Defiance bristled in her stiff posture.

"So, we look for a trail of bodies with missing hearts," Alex said, his expression grim. "What's that gonna tell us? How do we catch him?"

Nicolas would have liked to ignore the other man, but knew he had to work with him if he was going to team with Chessa. "That's the tricky part. After he's finished his feeding frenzy, he might lay low for a while, but he's going to remember things. He'll want revenge."

"Against whom?"

"Against me," Nicolas said quietly. "For one."

"You two got a history?" This from the lieutenant whose eyebrows lowered in a suspicious scowl.

"I was the one who imprisoned him. I was his guardian."

Those thick brows pressed ominously closer. "You thinkin' to be the bait?"

Chessa jerked, her wide-eyed glance settling on his face.

Nicolas locked his gaze with hers. She cared. She might not admit it even to herself, but she did have feelings for him.

"Not my preference," Nicolas said, tightening his jaw. "I'd like to catch him first."

"If he comes for you, then what?" Chessa whispered.

"We give him another body to inhabit." He hoped she didn't ask whose, because he hadn't thought that far ahead. Someone would have to be sacrificed. "An immortal one. Something he can't kill to escape."

"Can't the bastard die?" Lieutenant Williams asked.

"We tried centuries ago. If there's a weapon that can kill him, we haven't found it."

***

Chessa looked at the employee file picture of Bernie Watson. She'd known him by name, but couldn't remember much more. His file said he had family here. A wife, two children.

If his family spotted him on the streets now, they'd be defenseless.

She handed the photo to Nicolas who glanced at it quickly and passed it to Alex.

They sat in an empty interrogation room. By her choice. She didn't want Nicolas standing in her space. Leaving his scent behind, burnishing the sight of his broad shoulders and lean body in the place she spent more time than her home.

Alex sat in the circle, seemingly oblivious to the anger rolling off those broad shoulders. But she felt the searing heat each time Nicolas's steady gaze landed on her—and passed to Alex.

He knew.

Could likely smell the lingering scent of arousal that had enveloped them both back in the blood bar. Chessa licked her lips, nervous now because sensual heat was rising again to choke her.

Damn Natalie and her virgin pheromones. Chessa had always kept a tight lid on her desires, letting them out at will when she needed to feed, closing the dark box with a vicious twist when she'd satisfied her hungers.

That ability was gone. Seated beside two of the men she'd had sex with in the last twenty-four hours was testing her control.

She squirmed on her seat, fighting the clenching of inner muscles that remembered the stretch and burn of Nicolas's big cock and the fierce lash of Alex's tongue on her swollen clit.

They had more important things to worry about. A demon to capture—and the sooner the better. Maybe then she'd get her life back on an even keel.

Alex tossed the photo in the middle of the employee file. "So, what's next?"

"Dawn will be breaking in a little while," Chessa said, not wanting to start this conversation. "We can't scour the city for him."

"Maybe your partner can follow leads on any sightings."

"I had a busy night, too," Alex replied. "I need shuteye same as you."

"Then we meet back here after dark?" Chessa said, rising from her chair, trying to make a quick getaway.

"Why don't you head home, Alex?" Nicolas said, his voice a dangerous, low rumble.

Chessa's nipples peaked hard against her borrowed shirt. That tone was one he used when he commanded her obedience—in bed. Shit!

"Think I might just do that," Alex said, his tone cheerful. "Chessa, want me to drive you home?"

His expression was so innocent, she narrowed her eyes. What was he trying to start? She'd only known him for a night, but she already read the sly amusement beneath the guileless look.

Nicolas's hand closed over hers, holding her in place. "I'll see her home. We have coven matters to discuss." His cutting tone was clear. Alex wasn't welcome to join that particular conversation.

"You sure, Chessa?" Alex asked softly.

She nodded, unable to cram a denial past her straining vocal cords. As soon as Alex left she was gonna kill Nicolas.

"All right." He nodded to Nicolas, an unspoken warning in his eyes.

Gawd, they were acting like two pit bulls facing off over a bone! Only she wasn't gonna just lie there in the bowl. "See you tonight, partner," she said, her tone silky-smooth.

Alex's grin stretched wide, and he lifted one wicked eyebrow as he left, a throaty chuckle echoing in his wake.

When the door clicked closed, she leapt to her feet, dumping her chair on the floor. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Nicolas rose just as fast, his upper lip drawn back in a snarl as he faced off from the other side of the table. "I should be asking you the same thing. That bastard's scent's all over you. Did you fuck him as soon as you met him? Breaking in a new partner?"

"It wasn't like that—and it's none of your damn business anyway!"

"Like hell it isn't."

"You don't own me."

"You're mine. You will come to admit it if I have to remind you every time we meet."

"Whatcha gonna do? Brand my forehead?"

"Maybe I'll brand your sweet ass so every time you sit, you'll know whose ass it is!"

His comment, delivered in his slightly inflected French accent, struck her at once as comical—and just about the sexiest thing he'd ever said to her. I'm one sick puppy.

"I want to go home," she said, her body trembling with sweet, aching desire.

"I'm coming with you."

"I was counting on that."

They left the file on the table and departed the station, walking side by side past the people still roaming aimlessly on the street like shell-shocked refugees.

She noted their presence, but ignored them, not able to think beyond the anticipation sizzling through her body. What would he do once he had her alone? His stark, feral expression excited her beyond common sense.

They didn't touch. He didn't glance her way even once. He stalked like a rangy cat, his long strides eating up the concrete as dawn crept between the huddled buildings in the Quarter.

At her apartment building, he held open the door, daring her to pass close to his body.

Heat simmered on his skin, scorching her, building a liquid, melting passion that had her thighs so tense she had to concentrate to put one step in front of the other.

Then they were at her door, and her hand shook as she stuck the key in the lock and turned it.

Nicolas came up behind her, pushing her over the threshold with his body, his hands already stripping away her jacket before she'd kicked the door closed behind them. Buttons popped as he skimmed the shirt off her shoulders, but he twisted the fabric, somehow binding her hands behind her.

His hands came up within her sight, cupping her breasts, squeezing hard. His cock pushed hard against her ass.

God, she needed him now. Inside her. Stretching her. Cramming deep. She didn't care which particular portal he chose, so long as he did it quick.

"Nic! Oh God!"

Her whole body quivered as he jerked her pants open and skimmed them down her thighs, trapping her knees, then he turned and lifted her in his arms, striding toward the sofa.

He dropped her over a plush upholstered arm, face down, her bottom raised.

Chessa struggled to toe off her boots, but his hands were everywhere, rushing up the backs of her thighs, parting her buttocks.

Fingers thrust hard inside her vagina, gliding deep, swirling to capture the wetness spilling from her inner walls.

"He touched you here, didn't he?"

"Yes!" she gasped.

He thumbed her clit, a sharp jab that shot a bolt of electricity straight to her womb.

Then his fingers slid up, and he circled her asshole. "Did he take you here?"

"No. Not him."

His breath choked. "You had someone else, too?"

"Leo," she groaned, resenting the fact he demanded the details. Who she fucked wasn't any of his damn business.

"Leo," he growled. "Did he fuck your ass?"

"Just his fingers," she said, nearly sobbing now. Her pussy already weeping with creamy passion.

"Maybe I'll let him keep them." He plunged two fingers in her ass, not waiting for the tender flesh to ease around him. "Did you like it?" he asked, his whisper harsh and ragged.

"Yes! I fucking loved it! I came so hard I crumpled like a dirty Kleenex."

"Bitch! This is my ass."

Chessa was too far gone to care how thin the ice was beneath her at the moment. She sensed his rage close to the surface—savage, hot anger ready to erupt all over her. "It's whosesoever ass I choose, you bastard!"

"We'll see about that."

The first slap landed low, between her legs, cracking against her swelling cunt.

"God. Jesus. Fuck!" She bit her lip to keep from telling him to do it again.

"Does Alex know you like this?" he purred, his hand caressing one fleshy globe.

She bit harder on her lip, piercing the skin.

Another slap landed in exactly the same spot. This time, sounding wetter.

Christ, she'd come like this! One more time and she was done.

But the next open-palmed swat landed on her ass, one cheek then the other, over and over until her skin burned and she squirmed again, rubbing her bared breasts against the thick corduroy, abrading her swollen nipples, trying to get off on just the sweet hot pain.

When a noisy sob escaped her lips, he stopped. He pulled away, leaving her dangling over the sofa, her skin cooling.

For a moment, she feared that was all he'd give her—revenge for what he saw as her betrayal.

The soft rustle of clothing sliding over skin soothed her.

She wished he'd say something, even if only to rage at her more. His sudden silence yawned like a dark chasm, one misstep on her part and he'd leave her there. Empty, unfulfilled. Her ass in the air.

She stayed silent. Obedient. Knowing that was what he demanded.

She was Born. Born to lead. Born to rule over him.

That he didn't accept this role—with her—only fed her desire. Only Nicolas had ever mastered her.

His hands gripped the notches of her hips.

She squeezed her pussy, a futile effort to deny him entrance, proving her dis-obedience as he pushed the thick crown of his cock inside her.

His rich chuckle washed over her, licking at her nerve endings, pulsing through her channel where her body readied itself for his invasion. "Why fight me, when this is what you want? All you want from me."

She closed her eyes, turning her face into the rough material. Wrong! He had it so wrong. She wanted more, but didn't dare seek it.

Then his hips lunged forward, and he impaled her on his strong, thick cock.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Vivian Arend

Leah Braemel

Mari Carr

Taige Crenshaw

Eliza Gayle

McKenna Jeffries

Emma Petersen

Guest Blogger: Elle James

The Dark Fairy contest continues! See Monday's blog for details, then post a comment today!

Fly on the Wall…yes or no?

by Elle James

If you could be somewhere in spirit, but not body, or if you could be so tiny no one would notice you, like say a fly on the wall in a room full of people, would you do it?

So many times I've wanted to be a fly on the wall, a voyeur in my children's lives, to see how they interact with others or to live vicariously through the fun activities they get involved in. Then again, to see them make the same mistakes and the social guffaws I made at their ages only makes me glad I'm not a fly on the wall in their lives.

But if I could be a ghost, floating in an out of rooms, seeing things without being seen, would I want that ability? Maybe not. What good would it do? If I saw a tragedy about to happen and I could do nothing to warn the people, I'd feel a lot worse than not having been there at all. But then again, if my body was out of commission, I'd like to be able to get around without it…Hmmm…bears considering.

The book I released last week HAUNTED is about a woman who is in a coma, but her spirit is free to roam. It has a similar concept to the movies JUST LIKE HEAVEN and GHOST DAD, with a different storyline. I wanted to write a mystery about a car crash that took two lives and almost a third. The victim who "isn't quite dead" gets to help solve the mystery of who was responsible for the crash. Needless to say, the ghost character had many frustrating moments when she was powerless to help those who needed it most.

What about you? If you were in a coma, would you want your spirit to roam while your body lies in a vegetative state?

About the Author:

Elle James spent twenty years livin' and lovin' in South Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, Elle is proud to be writing full-time, penning intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edge of their seats. Now living in northwest Arkansas, she isn't wrangling cattle, she's wrangling her muses, a malti-poo and yorkie. When she's not at her computer, she's traveling, out snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

You can reach Elle James at www.ellejames.com or email her at ellejames@earthlink.net.