Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 530

Enjoy Your Day & Two Contests

In case we forget what today is all about.

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I never got why folks would say "Happy" Memorial Day. Seems strange given it's a day we honor our dead warriors. So instead, I'll just say, enjoy your day. Play with the kids. Grill some burgers and hot dogs. Swim in the pool. That's what my plans are.

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For those of you who won things in recent weeks, be watching the mail! The red-headed spent Thursday packaging for me, and I went to the Post Office on Friday. So your booty should be arriving soon!

So, now I'm ready for another round of fun! I have two new contests I'm kicking off today. Both contests end June 13th!

1) The Promo Ho Contest

What can you win?

Depending on the number of entries, I will give away two $50.00 Amazon.com gift certificates.

What do you have to do to enter?

See the row of covers below? These books are in sore need of online reviews by happy readers. So I'm offering a tempting bribe. You know there won't be as many entries for this contest as for the next one, but wouldn't you like to have some cash to spend on new books? And who knows? Maybe you already have these stories sitting on your TBR pile. Time to move them to the top!

Give a review for one of these stories on one of the online bookstores. Send me the link. It can be the same review on three different sites, but send me three messages with the different links. Doesn't matter if the review is on the Ellora's Cave website, Smashwords, Amazon, Nook—send me the link to the review. Easy as that.

2) The Red Ribbon Fairy Contest

What can you win?

What you see in the picture below. This red-ribboned beauty is a four-inch tall Strangeling Fairy trinket box. Be warned before you enter! This will be the start of a new obsession.

What do you have to do?

Post comments. Here on my blog and on my Facebook. Every comment you make over the next two weeks will count as one entry. How easy is that?

Guest Blogger: Rachel Firasek

Recently I read an awesome little contemporary erotic romance by the wicked talent, Delilah Devlin. Saddled has been in my nook for a few weeks and I've been waiting for a free minute to dig in. Now, I bet you thought this post would be my on-my-knees-kissing-DD's-toes post, but I think I'll surprise you. I'd rather talk about pushing the boundaries.

Without giving too much away, there was a scene in this book that had me shoving my nook across my pillow and calling my hubs in for some clarification (as if he's the expert on ménage) (lmao) on the capability of a scene. Of course the "I don't know, want to try it?" didn't shock me—that's a man for you—but the part that really got me was the boundary that had been broken. This is the first time I've read this in any book. (I can't tell you what it is; you'll have to buy the book) Then I started thinking about other novels of DD's that I've read. Darkness Captured was another one of those that shocked me. There is a scene in that book with some foliage that made me a truly devoted fan. (Letting in on some of my deviant nature, lol)

Okay, so here's what I've learned from my studying the fab Delilah Devlin's writing:

1. If you are going to break a boundary, it has to work. It has to work in the world and it has to work in the flow of the book. Yes, Saddled threw me for a loop, but I was right back to reading it to find out what those two hot cowboys would do next.

2. If you are going to tease your writers with a boundary you plan on crossing, you better cross it in a big way and then deliver on the goods. Don't give it to us, then cut it off. I want details, flavor, smells, and emotions. I want it all.

3. Know that not every book has to cross a boundary, but if you do it once, you're fans/readers will expect it again at some point. This is what builds your loyal reader base. This is what keeps me coming back as a reader.

So, I'm sure that there are a million other lessons I could have learned about boundaries, but these were the three that stuck out. I hope you are now ready to dig into your own writing with new purpose and hint of the forbidden. Have a great weekend and a very safe Memorial Day!

When empath Piper Anast meets sexy, tormented vampire Bennett Slade, she stumbles headlong into a telepathic connection with his missing daughter—and lust.

As they close in on the evil creature holding his daughter—and each other—Piper's powers turn deadly. She must face down demons she never knew she had if any of them are to survive her fury.

For more information about this book and to read an excerpt go here.

Buy here

Rachel's writing career began at the impressionable age of twelve with a poem dedicated to the soldiers of Desert Storm. A dark macabre affair that earned her a publication in an anthology and many raised eyebrows from family and friends, she hid her poetry and artistic style for years…

Tucked away in the heart of Central Texas, with the loving support of her husband and three children, she dusted the cobwebs from her craft. Returning to those twisted regions of her mind, she creates dark urban fantasies and soul-searching paranormal romance.

To learn where love twists the soul and lights the shadows, visit Rachel at http://www.rachelfirasek.com/

* * * * *

The winner of the Mermaid Journal is….Melissa P! Melissa, send an email to me at del…@delilahdevlin.com with your snail mail address. Congrats!

For the rest of you, be sure to check back tomorrow. I'll start TWO new contests that will run while I'm away.

Snippet Saturday: Hot Spots

I'm blogging in two places today. Be sure to check out the Samhain Blog where I'm talking about Cowboys, but be sure to comment here first to be entered in the Mermaid Journal contest (details in Tuesday's post)! The winner will be announced tomorrow! ~DD

What can be hotter than Hell? In Darkness Captured, I tortured my characters, sending them to The Land of the Dead, forcing them to submit to untold indignities and dark pleasures. It was a completely decadent, utter joy to write. Here's a snippet. Hope you enjoy!

"Delilah Devlin delivers an erotic tale of good and evil elevated to a higher level… The erotic scenes in this book are hotter than Hades and ten times more tempting. I dare you to resist!" 5 Cups, Coffee Time Romance

"Darkness Captured is…another steamy sensation!… Delilah Devlin is definitely the mistress of erotic romance!" Reader to Reader Reviews

"Another hot read of dark sensuality, riveting situations and jaw-dropping desire." Fresh Pick!, Fresh Fiction

"Devlin creates memorable characters with exceptional emotional depth. Her magical worldbuilding sets as atmospheric scene for a fast-paced story. The sexual tension runs high and the encounters are smokin' hot." 4 Stars, RT Book Reviews

Driven by insatiable desire, a werewolf will enter hell to rescue a princess captured by the Master of Demons…

Headstrong and proud—a royal creature of sinuous grace, all primal instinct and lethal beauty—the shapeshifter Gabriella has agreed to serve as emissary to the vampires who rule in the shadows of the New Orleans night. But she cannot resist the pull of the demon she glimpses on the other side of a mirror, and she is drawn to him hungrily, through a magical portal into the Land of the Dead. Now an eternal nightmare awaits Gabriella at the hands of a mesmerizing dark lord who satisfies her every erotic need…while slowly devouring her soul.

The powerful warrior wolf Guntram Brandt is responsible for the safety of the vanished princess he swore allegiance to years before. Yet it is more than a soldier's loyalty that pulls Guntram down into the depths of nightmare—for Gabriella ignites within him a burning animal passion that must be satisfied.

But when offered an escape, will she follow her rescuer to safety—torn between her lustful obsession with the dark lord who has enslaved her and her fierce sensual attraction to the only wolf who could ever master her?

Bright light streamed into The Master's chamber, softened only by the mesh curtains closed against the morning sunlight.

Gabriella cracked open her eyes and listened, but heard no footsteps, no breaths or faint heartbeats. She inhaled through her nose, but found only the stale aroma of sex and Marduk's fading musk.

She was alone.

Gingerly, she sat up, grimacing at the small intimate aches. Her mind spun with the images that flitted through her mind of all the nasty things she'd done. Her hand smoothed over her skin, touching on raised welts, still hot to the touch. A glance downward assured her they weren't all that visible, were no longer red, just shallow stripes of raised flesh. She pinched one and groaned, loving the way the pain induced a heady arousal that rushed beneath her skin, flushing her, heating her sex.



"I'm such a slut," she whispered.

And she was no closer to finding a means to escape. Already, her master's attentions were beginning to fill her head with thoughts of what a life here with him would be like.

However, she wasn't a bird like Simon's kestrel, which could be forever happy inside her golden cage. She was a wolf. Her innate pride and independence would eventually rise up to nip her in the ass. As attractive as the demon was, she couldn't forget what he was or where they were. Reaffirming her goal, she dropped her hands away from her hot skin and rose from the sumptuous bed.

She bathed quickly in the pool, keeping an eye out for movement from the sandy floor, but the vines behaved. Perhaps they only responded to the dragon's urgings. She ruthlessly thrust aside a niggling disappointment and finished washing her hair and body with the potted soaps Xalia had left behind.

Because even the shredded skirt and bra had disappeared, she walked nude to the balcony and brushed her hair in the sunlight until it and her body were dry.

By the time she'd finished her ablutions, she was bored and pacing inside the chamber, an edgy anger growing along with her hunger. Silently, she railed at how quickly Marduk forgot all about her when he wasn't thinking of his own pleasure.

She walked to the door, pressed an ear to the wood, but heard no sounds outside. Trying the latch, she found that this time it depressed. She cracked open the doorway and peered into the stairwell.

It was empty.

Thoughts swirled inside her head. She knew it was risky, but she longed to stretch her legs and needed to at least try to gain her freedom. And because she hadn't clothing or shoes to make an escape, she backed away from the door, shook out her hair, and let the change come over her.

Her shoulders drew back, her head fell forward, and then she dropped onto her hands and knees, barely suppressing an excited howl as hair sprouted over her skin and bones crackled and reformed. When she straightened on all fours and shook her fur, elation filled her.

She nosed open the door and sprinted quickly down the winding staircase, down to the bottom and out the door into cobbled street.

The melding aromas assaulted her nostrils, but she inhaled deeply, catching an elusive and familiar scent. She bent closer and drew in the scent, quivering when she recognized it.

Guntram was here! She dropped her nose to the ground, found another spot where his fading scent remained, then another a long stride further down the street and hurried forward, ignoring the gasps of people darting from her path as she rushed forward in her eagerness to find him.

Then she heard shouts and the heavy whomp of large wings and raised her nose from the trail she followed to see a winged creature swooping down. A thick golden ruff of fur surrounded its leonine head. Golden brown feathers cloaked its wide-spread wings, but it was the lion's paws, outstretched, claws extended, that made her heart skip a beat.

She whirled and headed the opposite way from Guntram's scent, away from the demon bird rushing toward her. She ran hard, her lungs burning, felt a snip at her tail and changed direction again. When another snip at her flank turned her again, she realized the creature was herding her, but she was panicked, couldn't take the time to think, because the thing was just above her.

Then she saw the open gates, saw the desert stretching in front of her and darted outside, flying down the grooved and graveled track to the bottom of the ridge where the fortress perched and ran for the dunes stretching as far as she could see.

The flapping grew fainter, a rumbling roar rose above her, returning to the fortress, but she was outside with a wide-open expanse in front of her, and she was free.

Gabriella ran as far as she could until her lungs felt ready to burst, then settled at the bottom of a dune and scratched at the sand, digging a hole to back inside and hide from whatever else might follow her from the air.

Only as her blood cooled, did she begin to worry. She had no water, and hunger rumbled in her belly. Worse, she hadn't a clue how far the desert stretched or if there was an end, a place beyond the hot, golden sand.

She'd have to wait for darkness, climb to the top of the tallest dune and have a look around. One thing she knew—she couldn't go back. Marduk would be furious she'd escaped.

She settled her muzzle atop her front paws. Happy at least that she was alone and had time to think about all that had happened, away from the enticements of her captor. She'd almost succumbed to his seduction, had been close to surrendering. She'd felt her will bending, nearly breaking beneath his sensual assault.

A shadow passed over the sand in front of her, so large it sunk her surroundings into dusk-like darkness.

She raised her head and watched a black cloud blot out the blazing sun. Odd, since there hadn't been a cloud in the sky when she'd watched from the balcony of Marduk's chamber. Then a distinct chill arrived on a breeze, and the blazing, empty desert blurred before her eyes.

The fur on her back lifted; her heart began to pound slowly. Something wasn't right. Then she remembered Marduk's warnings and knew she was in real trouble.

"True Hell" had found her.

Gabriella blinked, then glanced down. She was no longer a wolf, lying in a sandy den. She was in humanskin and clothed in a white shift. Her bare feet curled against cold, damp stone. Looking around her, the bare stone-block walls and arched ceiling above her head seemed familiar. She stood in the foyer of a stone keep, a tall oak door in front of her.

Voices carried from the beyond the door. She slumped toward it, her ear at the crack. Inside familiar voices whispered. Voices she hadn't heard in centuries.

Mother? Father? Dear god, where was she? And when?

"She's just a child," her mother's voice quavered.

A deep snort sounded. "She bled. She's a woman now. It's our way."

"They'll savage her."

"She'll survive. And she'll have a mate to protect her."

"It's too soon. Please husband. Let me lock her door. We'll wait until her next season. She has a right to know what is expected. I haven't had time to prepare her."

"You've coddled her. She should have known long ago."

A wolf howled in the distance, drawing Gabriella's attention from the heated conversation in the other room.

And suddenly she knew where she was, and what night this was, and her blood ran cold. Run to your room and lock the goddamn door! she screamed inside her mind.

But the girl she'd been didn't hear. Her young body heated, excitement of a sort she'd never experienced before flooded her body, moistening the place between her legs. She wondered if it was blood. Her menses, or so her mother had explained when she'd provided the rags she would use to protect her clothing. But it had ended a fortnight ago.

It was too soon for that to happen again, and the moisture was too hot and thin. Something else was happening.

Another howl, another voice, called to her, inviting her to run.

She ignored the conversation in the hall and ran on light steps to the tall wooden doors at the entrance of the keep and pushed them open. At the top of the steps, she shed her clothing, wanting to join the wolves, her playmates, in the forest.

Her mother's shriek sounded in the distance behind her, but she was already shifting, already running for the gate, her heart beating happily as she entered the forest.

Freedom awaited her there. Whining howls erupted around her and she called back, letting them know where she was as she raced toward the stream. Her pack's special meeting place.

Rabbits and deer would be feeding. A hunt would ease the tension coiling inside her body these past few days. She entered a clearing and halted, not recognizing the wolves that waited there.

Not her pack. Lone wolves. Ones her mother had warned her about. She began to back up, preparing to whirl and run the opposite way, but another blocked her path.

Low growls emanated from the two largest wolves in front of her, one a speckled gray, the other pure black. Teeth bared as the two males faced off, until the gray leapt, jaws opening and he took the black to the ground, rolling in the leaves and dirt.

She backed up, knowing she needed to escape because the other males weren't watching the fight. They watched her. And were slowly closing in.

She felt a cold nose nuzzle beneath her tail, and whipped around to snap, forcing him to jump back, but when she faced forward again, the black was on his feet and approaching, his head low to the ground, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

The other wolves continued to close in, and she began to quiver, knowing her escape was closed.

Frozen in place, terrified by the vicious flair of his nostrils and the length of white fang he displayed, she could only watch in horror. He came close, his nose sniffling along her sides, under her tail, his tongue lapping out to lick her there.

She folded down her tail and bent her back legs to escape him, but he nipped her flanks and she danced to the side, trying to evade his attention.

She understood his purpose now. Sensed on a primal level that the males had gathered because of her heat, because of the scent of arousal that carried on the wind, summoning them.

If one covered her, conquered her, she'd be his. Mated. Despite what her mother thought, she knew that much about their ways. If she was dominated, pierced and locked by his wolf's knotted member, she'd be his.

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

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

Vivian Arend

Leah Braemel

Mari Carr

Taige Crenshaw

Eliza Gayle

McKenna Jeffries

T.J. Michaels

Emma Petersen

Jody Wallace

Guest Blogger: Tilly Greene

An Inspiring Man at 20″

There was a time when I drove an hour and a half each way to spend time with a man. Many know of his extraordinary strength, courage, ingenuity, and sexual prowess. He was always naked and prepared to conquer me, which is why I can tell you he is beyond gorgeous and a true hero. However, one day I turned around, and lost myself to another.

HA! A bit flowery, but oddly true. Way back when for almost three months I went once a week to visit and study a 76″ sculpture called The Lansdowne Herakles. That's right, he was originally known as Herakles until the Romans decided to call him Hercules, but enough about that. It was no hardship to study this particular sculpture and yet, no matter how wonderful he is, Herakles was not who inspired me to write Tied Up For Love, that honor belong to a lesser character who was broken.

When the work I needed to do was finished, I would leave the courtyard where Herakles stood and spend time with Marsyas. The sculpture is small at less than 20″ and has lost some bits, but he still packs a powerful punch. While his pose, arms stretched above his head, is seductive the story behind it isn't so much. I won't go into details as it plays a part in Tied Up For Love, although I will tell you he pissed off the wrong Olympian, and paid a big price for being the best.

The sculpture has been with me in photos I've taken over the years. That's right, I continue to visit him, although he's currently not on show – shame. Anyway, this is such a memorable piece that when I was sat down to write another installment in my Mythological Messes Redux series, I chose Marsyas. Not only was he cut off at his prime, but later artisans and mythologists messed up his origins, and his importance was lost.

The picture above [from the Getty Museum website] hung on the wall above my monitor and I wrote this man a seriously hot and somewhat kinky second chance.

Thank you, Delilah, for allowing me to share how a sculpture fed my need to write Tied Up For Love.

* * * * *

Filla is a nymph used to the raucous ways of a Dionysian festival and allows a handsome newcomer, Marsyas, to strip her down for a passionate interlude while tied to a tree. After time spent alone, together, she knows little about him beyond the physical. However, her feelings for him are growing until he brings her back for the next festival, and suddenly she's not sure of anything.

Love is found in the most unlikely places, but will it last?

eBook now available at All Romance.

Tilly Greene

WARNING! Red hot romances ahead!

www.tillygreene.com

ARe Cafe│Hot Thoughts Blog│Facebook│Twitter

Two more chances…

I am slammed this morning—the six-year old is getting Citizen of the Month at her school and there's going to be a special breakfast. Funny, considering she was kicked out of pre-school for misbehavior and spent three weekends in the high school detention center as a kindergartener for fighting. I'm not missing the breakfast!

So there will be no winner announced in the Mermaid contest this AM. I want to have the next prize ready to go and I have to look through a ton of entries here and Facebook. What I'm taking a helluva long way around saying is that you have one more shot at winning!

Post a comment here, or on Access Romance where I had to dash out another blog! So TWO more chances to win.

And as a side note, Her Soul to Keep is now ready for you to order! Be sure that if you do buy it, that you take a moment to tag, like and review it! I'd be forever grateful!

You can buy it at the following sites:

Buy at Amazon.com

Buy at Barnes & Noble

Buy at All Romance eBooks

Buy at Smashwords

Guest Bloggers: Michelle Moore and S. Reesa Herberth

Turn Around, I Forgot The Pig: Superstitions, Charms,

and How We Trick Ourselves Into Writing

by Michelle Moore and S. Reesa Herberth

Michelle

While I doubt that any of us are as bad as professional sports players (I, for one, have never worn the same underwear for a week!), we writers have our quirks. Quirks, idiosyncrasies, traditions… superstitions. Okay, we don't really like to call them superstitions. That makes us sound so, well, superstitious. But I suspect everyone has some sort of a process they go through to get ready to write.

Like me, for an example. Before I settle in for an evening of productivity, I slip into a gold lame tuxedo jacket, braid some chameleon tails (naturally lost, of course) in my hair, and peddle a unicycle around the dining room table. Okay, not really. But there was a time when I couldn't write a word without a bowl of Crunchy M&Ms at my side. Imagine my dismay and horror when Mars discontinued them. It wasn't pretty.

Now that I have two novels under my belt, what's my course of action? Am I as shortsighted in my choices? Well, as long as Starbucks stays solvent, I should be okay. Five days a week, I pack up my purple Dell mini, my purple thumb drive, my "Working Writer's Daily Planner" and my little stuffed guinea pig and head to the neighborhood Starbucks. I do not leave without the pig. Let me repeat. Do. Not. Forget. The. Pig.

There are two acceptable tables, the preferred one is next to the mug display. The computer goes in the middle of the table, the planner goes on the window ledge, and the pig goes on the right hand side of the computer, sitting on top of my phone. Centered on top of my phone. I order the same drink, grande Java Chip Frappacino with four pumps peppermint and six scoops chips, and that goes on the left hand side of the computer on a napkin. Then and only then am I ready to write.

I'm insecure and I need some validation. Surely I'm not the only person out there with so many, err, issues. Help Michelle feel better about herself. Share some craziness. (Talking about yourself in the third person is not a requirement.)

—

Reesa

It only stands to reason that since Michelle and I write the same stories, and work at the same time, we'd have similar writing jinxes. I don't -need- a grande skim caramel macchiato to write, but I'm not saying I'd ever turn one down. As outlined above, I clearly have to jockey for space on the table, but I've been known to bring my own little touchstones with me, namely a squishy pineapple stress toy that feels nice and bumpy in my hand when I need a moment of clarity.

That's about it though, as far as similarities go. Michelle, to my horror, rarely even brings her mp3 player, much less turns in on. (But when she does, she has M&M earbuds to wear. Don't front- you know you're a little jealous.) I hardly ever turn mine off, whether I'm working from a playlist I've set up for the story I'm writing, or just randomly tripping through the 9,000+ tracks I feel are vital to my continued aural happiness. I can't listen to an album I'm not familiar with when I'm writing. It has to be something I already know, and it has to be music that will fade into a wash of sound, or I'll find myself working lyrics into my dialogue.

She requires a mix of semi-live background noise- if not the other denizens of the local coffee shop, then at least the TV. If you turn a television on near me when I'm trying to write, it's all over. The only time I have ever paid attention to football was when I should have been writing, and someone flipped the game on in the same room. Flickering pictures are my kryptonite. And Home Goods, but let's not talk about my affection for occasional tables and hat boxes.

I watched a special on Stephen King years ago, where he revealed that he did his writing in a stark white room with no music, no TV, and if I recall, not even a window. This was before every toaster came Bluetooth-enabled and wifi-ready, so I assume that Mr. King wasn't using his typewriter to access the internet. I remember thinking at the time that there was no way I could work in an environment like that, devoid of any kind of visual inspiration or catchy beat to tap my toe along with. Now, I'm not so sure. I write faster, cleaner prose with nothing else going on around me. My room is on the fourth floor of the house, situated practically in the branches of a huge cherry tree, and in the afternoon, I can sit in my chaise lounge and pound the words out, just me and the breeze, and maybe a handful of songs I've heard hundreds of times before to play buffer between me and the noises that might distract me.

I'm sometimes amazed that Michelle and I can find any common ground at all in our mutual quirks, but five days a week, we sally forth to torment our favourite barista, and we both manage to create the environment we need to be productive. It's all in what works- and luckily, the guinea pig and the pineapple have learned to co-exist as happily as we have. Except when we get the tiny table- then it's every woman, cavy, and edible bromeliad for themselves!

—–

Michelle Moore and S. Reesa Herberth are the co-authors of the Ylendrian Empire series, an inspired mix of space opera, romance, action, and humor. Their latest release is The Slipstream Con, available now through Samhain Publishing.

Michelle and Reesa live and write in Virginia, near a cherry tree, and the best Starbucks in the world. You can find them online at:

Michelle and Reesa Write

The Ylendrian Empire

Psst! The Mermaid Journal contest (see a picture of the prize here) continues through tomorrow! Be sure to comment for another chance to win! ~DD

An excerpt from HER SOUL TO KEEP

I'm extending the Mermaid Journal contest through Thursday, because 1) I want to finish packaging previous winners' gifts for mailing, and 2) I want to begin a contest to help get the word out regarding Her Soul to Keep. I'll be uploading the story to Kindle, Smashwords, Nook and All Romance today. Hopefully by Thursday, I'll be able to point you to the book.

In the meantime, here's an excerpt. Enjoy!

* * * * *

Minutes later, they arrived hand-in-hand and winded at her front door.

Viper cut a quick glance around them, straining for the crunch of footsteps and the beat of a telltale heart. No one lingered in the shadows around them.

Specters from his other life hadn't followed him here.

Earlier, before he'd stalked her, he'd been careful not to lead anyone else to her door. He'd scrubbed the scent of blood, booze, and cigarettes from his skin and hair, and dressed in freshly laundered clothing. He'd laid down a trail in the opposite direction from her house and backtracked.

No one would ever connect her to him. No one could ever know how precious she was. The seamy underbelly of the dark world he moved inside would never touch her.

He'd sacrificed everything to make sure of that.

Her keys jangled as she clumsily fit one into the lock. "Don't be expecting too much. I didn't know I'd bring company back with me tonight."

The door swung open, and she stepped inside.

Viper followed on her heels, not letting her put space between them. His hands gripped the sides of her hips, and he pushed her deeper inside before kicking the door closed behind them.

Then he pulled her backward, wrapping both arms around her waist and gliding his lips along the top of her shoulder and up her neck, finding the pulse thrumming just beneath the skin.

Her head fell against his shoulder, and his teeth began the slow slide downward. He jerked back his head, trying to get control of himself.

She drew deep, rasping breaths into her lungs. "What's wrong? Why did you stop?"

Knowing he'd lisp around his elongated teeth, he shook his head against hers and smoothed his hands over her firm belly, then upward to cup her breasts through her clothing.

She kicked off her sandals and slid down. Her clothing rustled. When her skirt dragged against his jeans on its downward journey, he rucked up her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. With a soft snick, she opened the front clasp of her bra, but before she could lean away to remove it, his palms enclosed her breasts, squeezing gently.

The feel of her warm, plump flesh filling his hands caused his entire body to tighten with excitement. He scraped thumbs over her hardening nipples, eliciting a gasp. Smiling, he plucked then twisted while her chest jerked with her excited little breaths.

He glided a hand down her belly, then stroked up again until she quivered and tensed. When he stroked downward again, her hand halted him just before he touched the soft hair atop her mound.

"It's not fair," she moaned, rubbing her back and shoulders against his chest. "You have on too many clothes."

He twirled her in his arms, reached down to cup her bare bottom and lifted her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her mouth landed on his cheek, his chin—

He turned his face to avoid her mouth. "Your bedroom?" he bit out, although he already knew.

Mariah lifted her arm to point and snuggled her cheek alongside his as he moved through her darkened living room and down the short corridor to her bedroom.

A single lamp beside the bed lit the room. He stepped toward the bed and climbed onto the mattress, taking her to the center before lowering his body to blanket hers.

"This isn't going to work," she murmured.

He ignored her complaint and trailed his mouth down her neck, shielding his teeth behind his lips until he reached her breasts.

A soft cry filled the air above him as he stroked her with his tongue, chancing gentle nibbles with his front teeth.

Her fingers thrust through his long hair, combing it, pulling it as he deepened the suctioning that drew her nipples into taut beads.

"Danny…"

Not Daniel, as he'd insisted. Did some small corner of her mind remember him after all? He pulled away and sat up to strip off his jacket and his T-shirt, which he tossed to the floor behind him.

Her hands reached for his belt and opened it. She thumbed open the waist of his pants then began to slide a hand inside.

Instead, he backed off the bed to remove his boots and jeans.

She came up on her elbows, her greedy gaze raking his body.

When he was nude, he stood still for a moment, letting her look at his body. "Do I pass?" he teased.

Her thighs closed then slowly parted again. A slick of moisture glazed her pale skin.

As he climbed back onto the bed, Viper noted her heightened arousal in the flare of her nostrils and quickening breaths.

Her legs widened at his first gentle nudge. He reached down to lift her knees and arrange them on either side of his hips.

Then he lowered himself, closing his eyes as his skin met hers. Pure heaven. He was gonna roast in Hell. "This too fast for you?" he gritted out.

Her hands slipped around his back and kneaded the muscles on either side of his spine. Her face was tightening, her eyes glittering with unashamed excitement. "I need you moving inside me. Now, please."

Her tight, urgent words were exactly what he wanted to hear. He lifted his hips and slid a hand between their bodies. His fingers closed around himself, and he fitted the tip to her entrance and slowly thrust inside. The feel of her moist channel closing around him made him clench with sensual delight.

Her eyes closed tightly, and her thighs clasped him, her hips tilting to receive him.

He settled his cheek beside hers and stroked deep into her liquid heat. Surrounded by her creamy walls, he began to move, his body shuddering, already in the grip of his overwhelming arousal.

Planting his knees in the mattress, he slipped his arms beneath her thighs and lifted her hips off the bed, churning, thrusting, and circling his hips to tunnel deeper inside her sweet body.

She gasped and her arms wrapped around his back. Her fingertips scraped up and down, digging into his skin to urge him deeper, faster.

His motions increased in strength and intensity. He jerked against her, beginning a sweet pummeling that moved her up the slippery, silk comforter. He followed, not letting her escape, not giving her a moment to deepen the quivering breaths that gusted against his cheek.

Wrapped inside her arms, sliding into her deliciously wet channel, he fought the tension growing inside him, not wanting to surrender, not willing to allow the beast inside him to crawl out and take his pleasure and her blood.

The internal battle he fought made him sweat and tremble.

When her first shivers rippled along his shaft and her internal muscles clamped hard around him, he groaned and opened his mouth to suckle the salt and perfume from her neck, testing with his tongue until he felt the surge of blood beneath her skin, and he gave into the urge to taste.

His razor-sharp teeth slid into flesh, nicking the pulsing artery.

A sharp hiss sounded in his ear, and her hands came between them, shoving at his chest. Her body bucked, writhing under him.

But he didn't let go, even knowing he'd hurt her. Wait, let it happen.

The next frightened roll of her hips brought him deeper and she groaned, her fingers now sinking in the hair on his chest to clutch him closer.

Her body spasmed, her back arched hard, a low agonized moan squeezing from her tight throat.

Still, he held back his own release, letting hers sweep through her, knowing the exact moment it happened because a keening cry rose around them.

When the quivering beneath him lessened, he withdrew his teeth, lapped at the tiny wounds to close them, and drew back his head to stare down into her pale, shocked face.

"I know who you are," she said, her voice rasping painfully. Tears welled in her eyes, but didn't spill over. Her lips trembled.

"Who do you think I am?" he asked, afraid she might have gleaned the truth.

Best Cover Ever

Do you agree? This was the first draft the designer gave me. "Let me know what you don't like," she'd said in the email. There wasn't one thing I didn't like. The cover captures the tone of the story perfectly. I'm sharing it today to let you know that tomorrow, I'll be working on uploading the book to Amazon, Nook, All Romance and Smashwords. It will likely take a day or two for the story to be live, but what better things do you have to do than hit the refresh key?

One night of pleasure…

His name is Viper—a dark mysterious enigma who rules the seedy, dangerous vampiric underworld. For one night, he will escape his murky prison and tempt an innocent.

…can last a lifetime…

Beautiful Mariah haunts him. Lures him from his den with a glimpse of his past. One she doesn't remember. This night, he'll be her dream lover. He'll seduce her, make her fall in love with him—then leave her. Again.

One night of pleasure is all they must know.

Read an excerpt

* * * * *

Just a few announcements…

Today is THE LAST DAY to enter the Mermaid Journal contest. See last Tuesday's posting for a picture of the pretty prize!

I'm also blogging at Everything Erotic today. I posted a very long, juicy scene. You won't want to miss it!

Tonight, I'll be in live chats at Writerspace. Join me, along with other authors from Ellora's Cave at 8 PM EST. Then stick around to talk with authors from After Midnight Fantasies at 9 PM EST. Here's the URL for the chat room: Writerspace Chat Room

Guest Blogger: M.K. Elliott

Remember! Post a comment and be entered in the Mermaid Journal contest! ~DD

Short but Sexy

The short story is under-rated. When it's good, it's really good. A short story can pull you into its world within the first few lines, thrust you through intense drama and then surprise you at the end.

Examples of some hit short stories include Stephen King's, The Stand, and 1408, both of which were made into hugely successful movies, and Edgar Allen Poe's, The Pit and the Pendulum.

These days everything seems to want to be long. It's as if some writers are in competition with each other, trying to see who can write the longest manuscript. But bigger doesn't always mean better.

As author Mark Twain once famously wrote to his friend, 'I would have written a shorter letter, but I didn't have the time.'

In many ways, writing a short story is harder than writing a novel. There isn't the opportunity to hope the reader falls in love with the characters within a few chapters. Instead, the character must be big enough to be believed in and adored within a few paragraphs. The story needs to have a plot and the characters need to have a past, but this information needs to be filtered in and not simply dumped in one big heap.

Writing erotic short stories is sometimes even harder than writing non-erotic stories. Of course, the sex is important. It has to be smoking hot and it needs to happen within a few pages. However, this doesn't mean that the story itself should be lost, or that the characters have any less depth or background.

Generally my short stories start with a situation: a woman gets into difficulties while out for a swim in a rough ocean, a man returns to his parents home to find the girl next door is no longer a little girl, a business man is accosted by a hot air hostess while on a long haul flight. Once I've got the situation sorted out, then the characters start to build in my mind. I ask myself who they are, what are their likes and dislikes—their favourite foods and music—how do they like to dress? Then I start to look into their past. What has happened in their past to get them into their present situation?

I like to end my stories with a happy-ever-after or a happy-for-now ending, but my favourite type of ending is a twist, something even I didn't see coming.

The great thing about a short story is that it has such immediate gratification, both for the writer and the reader. There isn't the six months writing the first draft, followed by another six months of revisions, then another six months of submitting before you even hear something. Writing short stories are fun, and getting the acceptances are even better.

So get writing everyone. Craft your short stories with the love you give your novels, but remember if less has ever been more, it is certainly true in a short!

Author Bio:

M.K. Elliott is the author of the bestselling short story collection, Rescued. A British author, she was born in Devon, England, where she now lives with her husband, two young daughters, a crazy Spanish rescue 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.

Rescued is available to buy from Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you would like to know more about M.K. then please visit her Facebook Page. Her short stories also appear in the Kindle blog and eBooks, Everything Erotic.

Snippet Saturday: Water

Comment here today to be entered in the Mermaid Journal contest (details in Tuesday's post)! ~DD

Yeah, the cover's a little freaky. This story is from very early in my epubbed career, when I was still trying to get my footing writing series. Love Bites came easier than I expected because of Quentin. He appeared as the best friend of my hero in the first My Immortal Knight book and was so arrogant and droll I didn't want to say goodbye to him. Here's a snippet from the story when he nearly loses the one thing he can't live without.

"…congratulations to Ms. Devlin for creating a masterpiece. This story has all the elements that a Gold Star book has in it. The novel has intense suspense that was thrilling and delightful,…" Gold Star Award, Just Erotic Romance

"… LOVE BITES is a delicious, emotional romp of a story, a tale that builds powerfully on the old, often-used love triangle and succeeds beautifully in creating something new and exciting." Sensual Romance

On the trail of a serial killer, vampire Quentin Albermarle is mistaken for the killer by a police special task force. Once the smoke clears, Quentin finds himself in a delicious position-atop one of the unit's crack officers, Darcy Henry.

In need of Quentin's access to the vampire sub-culture, the task force leadership invites Quentin to join the crime unit as a special advisor, much to the chagrin of the men in the unit, and especially, of Darcy.

A no-nonsense cop with no time for romance, Darcy suddenly finds herself embroiled in a steamy love triangle between her mortal partner, Joe, and the handsome vampire. Going from abstinence to wantonness, she is unable to resist the two men's relentless seduction or her own sensual curiosity about a vampire's special "kiss".

When the real killer threatens the life of someone close to her, Darcy makes a choice that forever binds the three of them together.

The radio crackled in Darcy's ear. "Nicky and his crew just pulled into the marina," the Captain said from the command post—the team's van in the parking area. "Remember, we'll wait to strike until he brings his men in to move the cargo."

Thank God! She'd been afraid she would disgrace herself. The wait had been interminable. The storm that threatened to break over their heads had whipped up waves in the inlet, setting all the boats tied to the dock bobbing in the water. Her stomach pitched right along with them.

"I'm gonna barf if this doesn't go down soon," Phil moaned.

Soft chuckles sounded from seven mikes. Darcy commiserated with Phil. Glad she hadn't eaten any dinner, she kept silent beside Quentin, nausea roiling in her belly and clammy perspiration breaking on her forehead. This was one stakeout she'd be happy to see the end of.



"Too many of Bets' meatballs, Phil?" Emmy broke in, her voice full of sympathy.

"God, don't mention it," he groaned.

Above the sound of the gathering wind, footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden planks of the dock. Quentin crouched so close behind her she felt his body grow rigid. It felt right to have him watching her back even though she still missed Joe. They'd taken up a position on the cabin cruiser tied next to Rupe King's. Hunkered down behind the gunwale of the boat, they listened tensely for the order to move in for the kill.

Quentin had stuck to her like glue all evening. It was annoying, but sweet, how protective he was of her. And totally unnecessary. When things turned ugly—and they would—she'd be moving fast. She didn't want to trip over him.

The rumble of voices sounded in the next boat, but they were too low to make out their words. There was a sudden burst of laughter and a door opened, spilling light from the cabin onto the dock.

Darcy rose up to peek over the rail, but Quentin's heavy hand pushed her down. She turned to glare at him. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered angrily.

"Shhh." He lifted his chin in the direction of the other boat.

Darcy saw one of Nicky's boys on the bow with a radio next to his ear. "Tell them it's clear," the teen said.

Ignoring Darcy's glower, Quentin whispered into his headset, "Get ready. Nicky's given the all clear. The others will be closing on the boat."

"Roger that," Max replied quietly. "No one moves until I give the signal."

With the team in position on neighboring boats and inside cars in the marina, the gang would be encircled in moments.

Darcy held her breath. Once the noose tightened, Nicky would react like a trapped animal. She'd seen the mayhem he was capable of when he held all the cards, now she'd get a glimpse of a monster in full rage.

The heavy tread of half a dozen of Nicky's "soldiers" echoed dully in the night. Darcy hugged her crossbow to her chest and concentrated on the sound of her breaths to make her racing heart slow its pace and give her thoughts focus.

Slower, calmer, centered. She drew on her inner reserve of peace, visualizing the team's victory.

She was ready.

"Get cocked," the Captain said.

Darcy rose on her knees, lifted her bow, and sighted down the shaft of her arrow, and then rose a fraction higher to point it over the railing. In the dim light provided by the lamps strung from boat slip to boat slip, Darcy couldn't sight on Nicky.

"I don't see Nicky," she whispered.

"Must still be in the cabin," Max replied. "Take out the men on the dock you can see when I give the order."

With the deck of the boat pitching beneath her knees, Darcy struggled for balance. "I'll take the first in line."

"I've got the second target," Max replied.

Once the team had selected their marks, the airwave was silent. The only sounds coming from boats nudging their slips and booted feet on wood.

Suddenly, one of Nicky's men lifted his nose into the wind.

"Now!" Max shouted.

Darcy pulled back on her trigger, letting her arrow fly. Her first target staggered, and then disintegrated. When she reached for her next arrow, Quentin leapt over the gunwale and landed on the narrow walkway between the two boats.

The rapid tattoo of gunfire erupted and her team members shouted in their mikes as they took cover.

Cursing beneath her breath, Darcy quickly pulled back her bowstring, latched it in the spring clip, and slid the arrow along the track. Armed, she slid over the gunwale, intent on following Quentin.

From all along the dock came the sounds of the ensuing battle. Curses, and the sharp staccato of machine fire ripped through the night.

"How many?" Max's voice demanded.

"I counted nine," the Captain said, his voice sounding raspy as he ran along the dock to join the fight.

"That means six to go." Max grunted, and then roared. The sounds of fists meeting flesh filled Darcy's headset.

"Emmy, get back to the van!"

"Dylan, I have a stake in this too. You're not leaving me behind."

"God dammit to hell!"

As she crept aboard the drug lord's cruiser, Darcy ignored the voices in her ear and the flashes of gunfire that burst brilliantly around her. Getting Nicky was her sole focus. Oh, and saving Quentin's butt. They were partners now. He shouldn't have proceeded without her.

She climbed up the gangway and slipped over the side, making her way toward the steps leading down into the cabin. The lights had been doused, but she sensed movement inside. Careful not to make any noise, she inched her way toward the shadowed compartment.

"Well, if it isn't GI Jane." The voice came from behind her and she stiffened, her heart lurching in her chest. "I'd recognize your sweet scent anywhere."

The team went instantly, eerily, silent. With her heart picking up its pace, she slowly turned to face Nicky Powell, her bow raised level with her chest. All she could think was where the hell was Quentin?

Quentin watched from the shadow of the cockpit, his hand tightening around the puny stake he held. Nicky had a gun pointed at Darcy. Quentin didn't dare make a move or he might distract her.

Nicky took a step toward her.

"Don't come any closer," she warned.

He sniffed the air. "I smell Quentin. He's been all over you, hasn't he?" His smile sent a shiver down Quentin's back.

"You're surrounded," Darcy said, her voice steady. "You may as well lay down your weapon. You aren't stepping off this boat."

Quentin's chest filled with pride at her courage.

"But I have you, therefore I have the advantage."

A soft click and the blur of her arrow flying toward Nicky's chest happened so quickly, Quentin didn't have time to react.

The arrow sank only to its tip.

Nicky's laughter, soft and ominous rang in the air. "Do you think you're the only ones who own flak jackets?" He plucked the arrow from his shirt. "Let's stop wasting time. Come here." He waved her closer with his gun.

Quentin watched Darcy's face and knew the exact moment she'd decided not to cooperate. She drew a deep breath and her hands clenched at her sides. He started to rise from his hiding place when she took a step toward Nicky. Suddenly, she feinted to the side.

The roar of Nicky's gun spurred Quentin from his hiding place. From the corner of his eye he saw Darcy pitch forward and over the side of the boat, her body splashing softly in the water below. He roared and launched himself at Nicky, desperate to get to Darcy.

He raised his stake and Nicky fired again, striking Quentin in the abdomen. He dropped the stake, but the bullet didn't slow his advance. His charge carried him into Nicky and down onto the bow of the cruiser. His progeny roared, his face transforming and pulling Quentin into his bloodlust.

Quentin's body and face expanded and he flung back his head with a roar of fury. He rolled with Nicky, fighting to keep his "son" beneath him. He spotted a coil of rope and reached out his hand to close around it.

Nicky pounded at Quentin's sides with his fists, but Quentin was undeterred. He grasped the rope in both hands and wound it once around his opponent's throat.

Nicky's eyes bulged as the noose tightened. His mouth gaped and his body bucked in powerful surges, trying to unseat Quentin, but Quentin pulled tighter until the nylon cut into the other vamp's throat.

With adrenaline surging through his veins, Quentin snapped the rope, severing Nicky's head from his shoulders.

When the din of his bloodlust quieted in his head, he heard the shouts of the team and Dylan as they ran toward him. He lurched toward the side of the boat and jumped into the water. As he entered it, he heard splashes all around him and bright lights shown into the murky depths.

He swam deep to the bottom of the inlet, but he didn't see her. His heart breaking, he reached into the silt and waving fronds of seagrass, searching for the place her body had settled. How long had it been? Please God, I have to find her.

His lungs burning from the lack of air, he refused to return to the surface. Every moment was precious. His hands sank below the swirling green seaweed as he swam along the bottom.

Then he saw a pale oval glimmering among the fronds. He reached and snagged Darcy's braid, pulling her into his arms. He swam for the surface, his lungs nearly bursting, praying he wasn't too late.

When he surfaced, many hands reached for his burden. Although reluctant to let her go, he lifted her body gently into their waiting arms, then heaved himself onto the planks beside them.

Max made quick work of removing her Kevlar jacket and her T-shirt. Then he placed two fingers to the side of her throat. "Her heart isn't beating."

A raw, burning sensation tightened Quentin's throat. With every fiber of his being, he fought the need to push everyone aside and gather her close to him and howl. Darcy couldn't be gone. Eternity without her was unthinkable.

His breath sounding harsh in his ears, he watched Max press his clasped hands against her chest. Captain Springer knelt beside her head and lowered his mouth to hers, breathing into her lungs. Dylan pressed her T-shirt against the furrowed wound high on her shoulder that seeped slowly with her blood.

An arm settled around his shoulders and Quentin looked up into Emmy's misty face. Then he realized he was crying. She kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly to her breasts. His arms slipped around her while his eyes burned, watching the men work over Darcy's still form.

"Breathe dammit," he whispered, willing her to live. If only, he'd moved more quickly, he could have taken the bullet for her.

The men continued to work and Quentin's dread grew. He was responsible for this. He had made Nicky. God damn his soul.

Max stopped the compressions and checked her pulse again.

Quentin saw a flutter of an eyelid. "Wait," he said, his breath catching. Please don't let me have imagined it.

Darcy's body convulsed and water burbled from her mouth. Max rolled her to her side and she choked, vomiting water. Her eyes remained closed and the group waited to see whether she'd recover.

Slowly, her hand fisted and she coughed. Her eyes opened and she stared straight at Quentin.

Quentin didn't care that everyone saw the tears that streaked down his cheeks. He crawled toward her and reached out his hand to cup her cheek. "Don't you ever give me another scare like that," he said, not recognizing the sound of his voice, it was so clogged with emotion.

Darcy's hand settled over his. "What? You think I planned to suck down the entire Atlantic?" She coughed again, the sound rattling harsh inside her chest.

"Let's get this one to a hospital," the Captain said.

Darcy's eyes sought Quentin's. "Nicky?"

"He's dead," he said flatly.

"As are the rest of his minions," Max said.

Darcy settled back against the wooden planks, her eyes closing. "So tired."

Quentin gathered her into his arms and lurched to his feet. "Sleep, baby. I've got you now."

She sighed and pressed a kiss to his throat.

Quentin held her to close to his heart as he followed the Captain toward the waiting van. He'd never let her go.

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

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

Vivian Arend

Mari Carr

Taige Crenshaw

Eliza Gayle

McKenna Jeffries

T.J. Michaels

Emma Petersen

Jody Wallace