Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 532

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.

Broken Bird

May 1st, I thought I was back in my writing groove. I made new pages on a new story, was busy reading through the galleys of my upcoming Berkley release. All was chugging along nicely.

The next day, however, was a complete nightmare. I went to my daughter's for a cup of coffee before beginning my day. We sat in the sunshine (it's back, at last!) while we watched the two-year-old run around the yard. She slowed down as she approached us, but somehow twisted up her feet, rolled on a pine cone and came down. My daughter and I heard a snap. I hoped like hell it was the pine cone, but the little one screamed like a banshee. Because of floodwaters, we couldn't take her to the emergency room seven miles away. Instead, we drove back roads to the next town to get her to an emergency room where they confirmed she'd broken her tibia. A "toddler's fracture" they called it.

They took x-rays, contacted the children's hospital in Little Rock, then off again we went with the little one moaning pitifully in the backseat the whole way. At their emergency room, they splinted the break, gave her tylenol laced with codeine for the pain, thank god, then late afternoon, we were finally on our way home.

Since then, it's been so complicated. The little one doesn't understand she can't stand on her leg, and picks constantly at the cotton padding surrounding the splint. Mama has to keep her close. The six-year-old is feeling neglected and acting up. Whew!

Today, I took a break to try to get some things off my desk. So, sorry this isn't an entertaining blog post. Tomorrow, I have a guest blogger, my own sister, filling in.

My Dark Fairy contest is still ongoing (see Monday's post for a picture of the prize). Be sure to post something here or on facebook for another chance to win.

Guest Blogger: Leah Braemel

The Dark Fairy contest continues. See Monday's blog for details—then post a comment today for another chance to win!

On Friday, my husband and I will be celebrating our thirty-third anniversary. I always kid him that he owes me TWO presents since we renewed our vows on our fifteenth wedding anniversary The last thirty three years haven't been easy—we've had our share of spats, generally because of outside pressures that make us snap at each other because we can't say what we're thinking to the person who really deserves it. But through it all, I've always known Gizmo Guy would be there, a sounding board, someone I could turn to in those dark wee hours and unload all my worries.

I noticed that about him from our very first date—that he'd listen to what I say and not fob it off as unimportant or worse, me being overly-emotional or ridiculous. I'd say something, he'd listen and comment in his usual soft thoughtful way. No judgment, just quiet reason. Which he would then often follow it up with a very sly joke. He still does, and I hope that he knows that I'll always listen to him too. (Actually, he does know that—but it took him about four months to figure that out because I can be rather…passionate…about topics but I'll always respect someone else's opinion.) Even before we were lovers, we were friends. He's still my best friend even after all these years.

It wasn't until I started writing this post that I realized all of my stories are about friends-to-lovers. They weren't necessarily best friends at the start of the story, but every single one of my couples have known each other for a while before they start dating. There's already a certain amount of trust established, and often a fair bit of carefully hidden lust.

It's true with my upcoming release, Deliberate Deceptions too, but this time I switched things up. Chad and Lauren had not only been best friends, they'd been married for several years. Except they lost the trust that is so essential to a good relationship which doomed their marriage—and their friendship.

When I wrote Personal Protection back in 2008, I already had it in the back of my head that Chad was divorced and that he regretted it, that he'd never stopped loving his wife (I've cleaned it up a bit and removed some of the F-bombs they dropped during this conversation):

When Sam flipped him off, Chad sighed. "You're exhausted because you've been staying here late every night for the past week. Go home, Sam. Go talk to Rosie. Straighten this mess out before you lose her completely. Before she comes and asks me for a transfer because damn it, Sam, that's going to happen too fricking soon."

"This from the man who let his wife slip through his fingers because he was too frickin' busy feeling sorry for himself to pay any attention to her."

Chad stiffened. When he spoke his voice was quiet, but he couldn't disguise the bitterness filling it. "Who better to give advice? Yes, I messed up a good thing with Lauren. I was too blinded by everything that happened to see that I was driving her away. That's why I hate to see you make the same stupid mistake."

But when I wrote it I hadn't a clue why he'd been feeling sorry for himself that he'd let his marriage shatter, I just knew he was still hurting and blaming himself for the break-up. Which meant that I also knew that part of his story was going to be about him healing that self-loathing. There's a lot of Gizmo Guy in Chad—he's one of those quietly determined guys who knows what he wants and goes after it without a lot of fanfare. (Although I wish Gizmo Guy were as organized as Chad is, I'm glad he's not when you discover the reason for Chad's slight OCD tendencies.)

Writing Chad's story was a challenge because how do you go about restoring a trust that's been broken so badly your marriage hasn't just failed but failed spectacularly, and in Chad and Lauren's case, failed very publicly? If figuring out what made Chad feel sorry for himself was one key, then the mysterious Lauren was the other.

I often watch people in the malls (it's all in the name of research—honest!) and wonder what attracts that particular man to that woman, or that girl to that other guy. It's no different when I write my characters. So I asked myself what type of woman Chad would be attracted to and why would she walk away from him or him from her? Given that they were both FBI agents and dealt with secrets as part of their jobs, there would be things they can't tell each other for national security reasons but I wanted something more than just the obvious "I'm working on the west coast, you're on the east, and we're never together" type of conflict. And that's where things started to bubble for their story. What if the line blurs between your professional life and your marriage when you start keeping secrets? And what event would be the tipping point?

For them? The tipping point was the loss of their daughter. Locked in their own pain, they forgot to talk to each other. They drifted apart because of lies others told them, and lies they told themselves.

GG and I are lucky—we've not experienced the loss of a child, but we have had some other fairly major problems we've had to deal with, including one that was darned close to breaking us apart. If we hadn't both felt like we could talk to the other openly and honestly about it, that we could deal with the situation as a united front, it is possible that I might have been counting the years since our divorce instead of our impending anniversary.

So how could I get my characters who had been geographically apart for years together again to talk everything out? It wasn't easy. Lauren discovered one of the lies someone else has told her—and Chad—and realizes she still loves Chad enough that she wants to set the record straight. As the truth slowly comes out, one question Chad and Lauren must ask themselves is if good intentions are a good enough excuse for deliberate deceptions?

"It doesn't matter anymore. Our marriage is over. You got what you wanted. You don't get what you want this time." He released her and opened the door between their rooms. He stopped on the threshold and spoke over his shoulder. "I'll make sure you're protected from this Harris a**hole. But once he's neutralized? I don't want to see you again."

Once the door closed behind him, Lauren walked up to it, pressed her forehead against the cool panel and whispered, "I'm not going let you walk away until you've listened to me. Until you believe I left you because I loved you. Not because I didn't."

More than once I found myself asking both myself and Gizmo Guy what we'd do in that situation. Is there ever time when a lie even one of omission is justified?

And thanks to Delilah for inviting me to be her guest today.

Leah

* * * * *

You can visit Leah at her website, follow her on Twitter or on Facebook. If you want to read more about Deliberate Deceptions, you can read an excerpt at Leah's website. Deliberate Deceptions is available for pre-order from Samhain Publishing, Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

Does this inspire a story?

The Dark Fairy contest continues. Post a comment today for another chance to win!

Watch this. It's annoying because she's speaking English but the narrator speaking over her is French, but you don't really have to know what she's saying to understand what she's doing. Don't you think this would make a terrific scene in a shifter book?

Tell me a story…

Winner…and new Dark Fairy Contest!

The name of the winner of the Queen of the Kitchen spoons is at the bottom of this posting!

Good lord, more storms last night—although it did feel portentous given who fell last night (HE, whose name we shall not speak here). It rained and rained and rained. Lightning cracked in our front yard and the power fluttered off then on. I'm hoping school buses can get through the water…

Like the necklace? It's not very expensive, but it did catch my eye. It's beaded, and the pendant is a painted ceramic with a picture of a pretty, dark fairy. If you want a chance to win it, you have to post a comment on my blog. If you want more than one chance to win, come back and post every day over the coming week. The winner will be announced next Tuesday!

To give you something to talk about when you do post today, here's a question…

Aside from any family, friends, or pets,

what would be the most difficult thing for you to give up in your life?

The winner of the Queen of the Kitchen spoons is…Tammy Ramey! Congratulations, Tammy, and be sure to send me an email with your snail mail address.

The Warrior's Touch is here!

The Queen of the Kitchen contest continues (see Tuesday's post for details)!

The Promo Whore contest ends today. You have a little time to enter before my sister and I get together to choose our winners!

I hope the snippets I've fed you were enough to convince you to go buy the book. I'd love for it to be a success. I'm dependent on you to provide me the chance to write more stories for Nocturne.

And y'all know the drill. Please tag it, "like" it—and if you've read it—review it as soon as possible! Anything to get the word out to other readers would be appreciated. You have the power! (Why do I feel like a dozen She-ra's are raising their swords into the air? )

Here are the buy links:

TWT at Amazon

TWT at eHarlequin

TWT at B&N