Riley Murphy's Blog, page 38
August 20, 2012
RELUCTANT SURRENDER GIVE AWAY!!!
CLICK ON THE COVER FOR THE BOOK VIDEO
JUST EMAIL ME @ write2rileymurphy@gmail.com before 12:01 August 21st and you’ll be entered to win a copy of my latest release!!!
August 18, 2012
OH, NO, THEY DIDN’T!
The “they” I’m referring to are my gals. My Thelma and Louise, meets Driving Miss Daisy to Sweet Baby Jane’s house to talk to Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte, gang. I lub them! And there is nothing more energizing than being in a room with five different generations of smart and feisty women. Makes for one helluva night. But I digress. For those of you waiting to hear about the Magic Mike field trip I will be blogging about that soon. If I had to sum it up, though? The word CLASSIC comes to mind. Heheheheh.
Now, *rolls up sleeves* fast-forward to a few highlights with the gals. Let’s see. Truthfully it started off kind of weird. One moment we ordered drinks and the next there’s this huge discussion going on about Hillary Clinton. I sat and listened (since I’m smack dab in the middle age wise in the group and I’m kind of the magnet that brought these fascinating minds together, I usually serve as the voice of reason, the judge, jury and executioner of hotly debated topics and this night was no exception) so when they tossed out their opinions about Hillary and looked for my input I could do nothing, but scratch my head. Surely these women, my gals, had better things to discuss than Hillary Clinton letting herself go. I mean , COME ON.
Thelma asks, “Don’t you think Hillary has given up on herself? Her hair and even the way she’s dressing it’s…well, it’s not right. What do you think?”
Me, “I think if we’re going to have a discussion about homely Secretaries of States we need to start with Kissinger. What. The. Hell. What does Hillary and her fashion sense or lack thereof have to do with her job? Snap out of it ladies. We need to build each other up, not tear each other down.”
Now, Louise is a die-hard and says, “Personally, I think she’s paying Bill back for all his indiscretions.”
Me, “Hey, the ugly train is a two-way track. Have you had a gander at Billy recently? The guy looks like Dick Van Dyke’s dad. Why do women always focus in on other women to pick on?”
Well, that started a whole other topic that went to hell-in-a-hand cart in two seconds flat. Bottom line? Women are catty, jealous creatures who are basically desperate for any form of male attention even from a guy who looks like a vaudeville actor’s great grandfather. 0_o
With that topic tapped we moved on. I turned to my daughter, who draws up the youngest generation card in the group, and I hiked a brow at her. She’s usually good for some stimulating jabber and she came through. Seems she’s going to a surprise wedding this weekend.
Me, “Surprise? Surprise for whom? The groom?”
“No…well, maybe. I’m not sure it could be their parents.”
Once we did the whole full of hilarious possibilities thing I asked her, “So are they going to go with tradition and jump the broom?”
She nodded, “I think so.”
That’s when Louise pipes up. “Gee, in my day you did that a good three months beforehand to make sure there would be a wedding.”
My daughter frowned and I was left lmao. “That was jump the broom, not the groom.”
*shakes head*
This is when Driving Miss Daisy is heard from. She’s the quiet one in the group. Think Do Jo Sensi with sharp eyes and an all-knowing aura. “The women in our day were racier than they are today. They could afford to be. There wasn’t the internet to catch them doing the naughty and if the boy spilled the beans about the doing he’d never get anymore fiber that’s for sure.”
There’s me thinking. Wow. Just Wow.
My daughter, a.k.a Sweet Charlotte whistles, “Really? I can’t see that. Woman back then seemed so proper.”
I heard a Phiff, snort, ha and “that’ll be the day…
I said, “Interesting.” To no one in particular and that’s when Thelma pointed.
“I’ll tell you what’s interesting. I was sitting in the front seat of my daughter’s car. We were going to the museum and my granddaughter was in the back. I asked her what she did the night before and she said since her boyfriend went to the football game she decided to stay home and watch a porn film.”
Yep, I did a double take at this point in the conversation too.
She goes on, “And there I was thinking this grandchild did belong to me. A chip off the old block, because if you could see her boy,” she nods at each of us, “Enough said there. I was proud she was taking some initiative. But then I heard her say that she had trouble reading the subtitles and I sat up straight. What self-respecting woman watching porn would be interested in the subtitles that’s what I wanted to know. So I point blank asked her.”
Me, “And?”
She tapped her ear and winced. “I need to get my batteries changed. Seems it was a foreign film with subtitles she watched not a porn. I may be two days older than God, but as wise as I am that was a sticky situation to back out of.”
Now, you might think that this conversation had nowhere to go from here, but you’d be wrong. The talk of foreign film nudged them down memory lane and suddenly they were all fired up about The Last Tango In Paris, a stick of butter, Marlon Brando and a steamy love scene. Once the hoopla died down my daughter asked, “So, what did he do with the butter?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything – which was so unlike me that she was forced to connect the dots. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and she stammered, “That’s so…so gross.”
I was a little surprised by her reaction because, well, you know, I’m her mom and I write about this kind of stuff. As patiently as I could I said, “It’s not gross. People do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“With animal fat?” She threw up her hands and made a gagging noise. “Even if you’re not a vegetarian that’s totally disgusting.”
And there’s me thinking…Wow, just wow.
Riley.
Now, *rolls up sleeves* fast-forward to a few highlights with the gals. Let’s see. Truthfully it started off kind of weird. One moment we ordered drinks and the next there’s this huge discussion going on about Hillary Clinton. I sat and listened (since I’m smack dab in the middle age wise in the group and I’m kind of the magnet that brought these fascinating minds together, I usually serve as the voice of reason, the judge, jury and executioner of hotly debated topics and this night was no exception) so when they tossed out their opinions about Hillary and looked for my input I could do nothing, but scratch my head. Surely these women, my gals, had better things to discuss than Hillary Clinton letting herself go. I mean , COME ON.
Thelma asks, “Don’t you think Hillary has given up on herself? Her hair and even the way she’s dressing it’s…well, it’s not right. What do you think?”
Me, “I think if we’re going to have a discussion about homely Secretaries of States we need to start with Kissinger. What. The. Hell. What does Hillary and her fashion sense or lack thereof have to do with her job? Snap out of it ladies. We need to build each other up, not tear each other down.”
Now, Louise is a die-hard and says, “Personally, I think she’s paying Bill back for all his indiscretions.”
Me, “Hey, the ugly train is a two-way track. Have you had a gander at Billy recently? The guy looks like Dick Van Dyke’s dad. Why do women always focus in on other women to pick on?”
Well, that started a whole other topic that went to hell-in-a-hand cart in two seconds flat. Bottom line? Women are catty, jealous creatures who are basically desperate for any form of male attention even from a guy who looks like a vaudeville actor’s great grandfather. 0_o
With that topic tapped we moved on. I turned to my daughter, who draws up the youngest generation card in the group, and I hiked a brow at her. She’s usually good for some stimulating jabber and she came through. Seems she’s going to a surprise wedding this weekend.
Me, “Surprise? Surprise for whom? The groom?”
“No…well, maybe. I’m not sure it could be their parents.”
Once we did the whole full of hilarious possibilities thing I asked her, “So are they going to go with tradition and jump the broom?”
She nodded, “I think so.”
That’s when Louise pipes up. “Gee, in my day you did that a good three months beforehand to make sure there would be a wedding.”
My daughter frowned and I was left lmao. “That was jump the broom, not the groom.”
*shakes head*
This is when Driving Miss Daisy is heard from. She’s the quiet one in the group. Think Do Jo Sensi with sharp eyes and an all-knowing aura. “The women in our day were racier than they are today. They could afford to be. There wasn’t the internet to catch them doing the naughty and if the boy spilled the beans about the doing he’d never get anymore fiber that’s for sure.”
There’s me thinking. Wow. Just Wow.
My daughter, a.k.a Sweet Charlotte whistles, “Really? I can’t see that. Woman back then seemed so proper.”
I heard a Phiff, snort, ha and “that’ll be the day…
I said, “Interesting.” To no one in particular and that’s when Thelma pointed.
“I’ll tell you what’s interesting. I was sitting in the front seat of my daughter’s car. We were going to the museum and my granddaughter was in the back. I asked her what she did the night before and she said since her boyfriend went to the football game she decided to stay home and watch a porn film.”
Yep, I did a double take at this point in the conversation too.
She goes on, “And there I was thinking this grandchild did belong to me. A chip off the old block, because if you could see her boy,” she nods at each of us, “Enough said there. I was proud she was taking some initiative. But then I heard her say that she had trouble reading the subtitles and I sat up straight. What self-respecting woman watching porn would be interested in the subtitles that’s what I wanted to know. So I point blank asked her.”
Me, “And?”
She tapped her ear and winced. “I need to get my batteries changed. Seems it was a foreign film with subtitles she watched not a porn. I may be two days older than God, but as wise as I am that was a sticky situation to back out of.”
Now, you might think that this conversation had nowhere to go from here, but you’d be wrong. The talk of foreign film nudged them down memory lane and suddenly they were all fired up about The Last Tango In Paris, a stick of butter, Marlon Brando and a steamy love scene. Once the hoopla died down my daughter asked, “So, what did he do with the butter?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything – which was so unlike me that she was forced to connect the dots. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and she stammered, “That’s so…so gross.”
I was a little surprised by her reaction because, well, you know, I’m her mom and I write about this kind of stuff. As patiently as I could I said, “It’s not gross. People do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“With animal fat?” She threw up her hands and made a gagging noise. “Even if you’re not a vegetarian that’s totally disgusting.”
And there’s me thinking…Wow, just wow.
Riley.
August 14, 2012
THIS IS IT! YOU ONLY HAVE ONE LIFE!
Seriously.
STOP SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF.
This is the sage advice I gave a girlfriend this morning. Yes, I know, it’s pat and well, generic, which got me to thinking. Maybe she needed to be reminded of the meaning behind those words. So great friend that I am, I decided to do a post on it.
Let’s define what I consider small stuff first. Here’s my list:
Your car won’t start.
Your husband’s irritated you spent a hundred and twenty dollars on shoes.
Your neighbor’s non-athletically inclined kid plays catch with his equally non-athletic dad beside your car.
Your job is the pits.
Your garbage disposal crapped out.
Your dog chewed your hundred and twenty dollar pair of shoes.
You have a ding in your car. Hmm..?
You have cinch bugs in your lawn.
A person at work hates you.
The pesticide you used to get rid of the cinches killed the grass instead.
Your boss makes more money than you do.
Heck, everyone makes more money than you do.
All small stuff.
NOW for my list of big stuff:
DEATH.
Gee, when you look at the above options like this they’re all pretty insignificant compared to death, wouldn’t you say? And, as painful as those other options seem now to get over, they ain’t going to kill you.
Life’s too short PEOPLE!
Now, if you’re one of my writer friends who may be nursing the sting from a recent rejection? Or two. Suck it up. It happens to the best of us and remember, if you don’t put yourself out there occasionally you’ll never improve. You know what I always say? Get busy living folks, because you ain’t getting out of here alive!
Riley.
STOP SWEATING THE SMALL STUFF.
This is the sage advice I gave a girlfriend this morning. Yes, I know, it’s pat and well, generic, which got me to thinking. Maybe she needed to be reminded of the meaning behind those words. So great friend that I am, I decided to do a post on it.
Let’s define what I consider small stuff first. Here’s my list:
Your car won’t start.
Your husband’s irritated you spent a hundred and twenty dollars on shoes.
Your neighbor’s non-athletically inclined kid plays catch with his equally non-athletic dad beside your car.
Your job is the pits.
Your garbage disposal crapped out.
Your dog chewed your hundred and twenty dollar pair of shoes.
You have a ding in your car. Hmm..?
You have cinch bugs in your lawn.
A person at work hates you.
The pesticide you used to get rid of the cinches killed the grass instead.
Your boss makes more money than you do.
Heck, everyone makes more money than you do.
All small stuff.
NOW for my list of big stuff:
DEATH.
Gee, when you look at the above options like this they’re all pretty insignificant compared to death, wouldn’t you say? And, as painful as those other options seem now to get over, they ain’t going to kill you.
Life’s too short PEOPLE!
Now, if you’re one of my writer friends who may be nursing the sting from a recent rejection? Or two. Suck it up. It happens to the best of us and remember, if you don’t put yourself out there occasionally you’ll never improve. You know what I always say? Get busy living folks, because you ain’t getting out of here alive!
Riley.
August 7, 2012
The BDSM Apocalypse masterminded by the AARP Team!!!
Picture this, I’ve run around all day doing my chores and once the groceries are purchased I head home to start dinner. Yay! And what the…? I’m barely through the front door when my mom comes racing (okay, racing might be a stretch because she’s old, so let’s just say shuffling faster than usual) down the hall and she’s waving something over her head. Truth-be-told I almost dropped the groceries because there I am I’m thinking, finally, we hit lotto! Score!
Here’s mom all excited, “Riley, Riley! I’ve got something for you.”
Me, cringing because the stupid bagger at the grocery store put the milk and juice in the same bag and the strain on my hand is creating a series of new fingerprints, I’m fairly sure. “What? What is it?”
“It’s going to help you with your writing.”
Me, *blink, blink* “Ah…?”
She flashes that knarled bit of paper in front of my face and I have the worst urge to sneeze. “It’s a book. This woman wrote this book. It’s right here,” she says as she stabs her finger so hard it nearly pierces the newsprint.
Now I must pause in the telling of this to say, that I lub my mum. I really do, but…
Juggling the groceries bag handles out of the crevices they’ve made in my skin, I huff, “Let me guess. 50 Shades Of Grey.”
It was her turn to blink. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Meh, just lucky I suppose.” Because you have to know I’m not getting in deeper than I have to with her on the subject, and by subject I ain’t talking about the kink. I go to step around her and her words stop me cold.
“Well, maybe you should read it sweetheart, you might learn a thing or two.”
Seriously? I steel myself and begin walking away again when she insists.
“Well, what do you think about this?”
I count to three because there is no way in HELL she’d want to know what I really thought, so instead I plastered a smile on my face and like a good daughter I turn to say, “I’m thinking you need to get out more. Do you want to go to the movies tomorrow?”
“Oh, that would be lovely dear. You know, they’re making a movie about this.”
Ack! *insert Homer Simpson type shudder here* Because some heavy-set ghostie gguy just stomped over my grave. This was the moment time stood still and my whole world imploded. Screw mommy porn. Now we’re talking geriatric porn! It’s going to happen guys. I know it. They’ll be carting the old gals in buses (I live in Florida and this is what they do) Those old gals will be chatting about “50 the movie” in restaurants and store line-ups. Egads! I can hear them now in coffee shops making their nefarious plans… OMG!
Yep, this is when I dropped the bags and checked my watch. 5:22 I called it. The day my lifestyle changed forever. Eek! My mom thinking I’d learn something from that book? It is to blush. If only poor mom knew…
Wow, I feel so much better now that I got that out of my system. Thanks for listening. But it comes with a price. I totally want credit when doctor Drip starts expounding on The Today Show, about how awful it is that the bed springs in the assisted living facilities in my area are catching fire from –gasp- unregulated senior BDSM activity. That’s all I’m sayin’…
Who’s with me on this? You think it can happen or…?
Riley
Here’s mom all excited, “Riley, Riley! I’ve got something for you.”
Me, cringing because the stupid bagger at the grocery store put the milk and juice in the same bag and the strain on my hand is creating a series of new fingerprints, I’m fairly sure. “What? What is it?”
“It’s going to help you with your writing.”
Me, *blink, blink* “Ah…?”
She flashes that knarled bit of paper in front of my face and I have the worst urge to sneeze. “It’s a book. This woman wrote this book. It’s right here,” she says as she stabs her finger so hard it nearly pierces the newsprint.
Now I must pause in the telling of this to say, that I lub my mum. I really do, but…
Juggling the groceries bag handles out of the crevices they’ve made in my skin, I huff, “Let me guess. 50 Shades Of Grey.”
It was her turn to blink. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Meh, just lucky I suppose.” Because you have to know I’m not getting in deeper than I have to with her on the subject, and by subject I ain’t talking about the kink. I go to step around her and her words stop me cold.
“Well, maybe you should read it sweetheart, you might learn a thing or two.”
Seriously? I steel myself and begin walking away again when she insists.
“Well, what do you think about this?”
I count to three because there is no way in HELL she’d want to know what I really thought, so instead I plastered a smile on my face and like a good daughter I turn to say, “I’m thinking you need to get out more. Do you want to go to the movies tomorrow?”
“Oh, that would be lovely dear. You know, they’re making a movie about this.”
Ack! *insert Homer Simpson type shudder here* Because some heavy-set ghostie gguy just stomped over my grave. This was the moment time stood still and my whole world imploded. Screw mommy porn. Now we’re talking geriatric porn! It’s going to happen guys. I know it. They’ll be carting the old gals in buses (I live in Florida and this is what they do) Those old gals will be chatting about “50 the movie” in restaurants and store line-ups. Egads! I can hear them now in coffee shops making their nefarious plans… OMG!
Yep, this is when I dropped the bags and checked my watch. 5:22 I called it. The day my lifestyle changed forever. Eek! My mom thinking I’d learn something from that book? It is to blush. If only poor mom knew…
Wow, I feel so much better now that I got that out of my system. Thanks for listening. But it comes with a price. I totally want credit when doctor Drip starts expounding on The Today Show, about how awful it is that the bed springs in the assisted living facilities in my area are catching fire from –gasp- unregulated senior BDSM activity. That’s all I’m sayin’…
Who’s with me on this? You think it can happen or…?
Riley
August 6, 2012
RELUCTANT SURRENDER GIVE AWAY!
I'm doing a guest post, at fellow Ellora's Cave author, Cassandra Carr's, blog spot. follow the link and come on over. Just leave a comment and you get a chance to win a copy of my new release, Reluctant Surrender.
Here's the link: http://booksbycassandracarr.com/wordp...
Here's the link: http://booksbycassandracarr.com/wordp...
August 4, 2012
RELUCTANT SURRENDER FIRST REVIEWS
Reviews:
Christine via Amazon says: 5 out of 5 STARS
This was about the best dang BDSM book I’ve ever read!
Rarely does a book hit all my happy switches. It was funny, emotional and super
sexy and when it was over, I sighed out loud. A satisfying ending, but at the
same time, I felt a little wistful it was over. I can’t wait until a few months
go by so I can re-discover these characters, and even better, judging by the
ending, I’m thinking sequel! Things I liked: When Colin and Ethan meet, it’s
off the charts chemistry right from the word go. I’m a sucker for a book that
grabs me from the first page. Even better, as things progressed between them
and (panty-melting sexy) Ethan opens Colin’s eyes to the world of BDSM, we get
to sort of walk through it with her and believe me, there is no better person
to walk through it with, because Colin is laugh out loud hilarious. If you love
spunky female protaganists like Stephanie Plum you will love her as much as I
do. I would enjoy this character in any setting. Things I LOVED: Tapas. I don’t
want to spoil it, but I think it’s okay to say that, in order to help Ethan
decide what types of scenes Colin might enjoy, he takes her on a journey
through about half dozen mini-scenes that he calls tapas. I won’t say what they
are, but MAN, get out a fan! Totally original, fun and sooooo steamy. Then,
let’s talk about the bj scene O_0 Yeah, I said it. And it’s the best damn bj
scene I’ve ever read. If bj’s were cars and I read that scene, I’d be signing
on the dotted line and driving that puppy home RIGHT NOW! It was fog the
mirrors hot, y’all. And last but not least, this story was also really
emotional. There was a real connection between the characters but they also
each grew as people over the course of the book, making the HEA extremely
satisfying. All in all, if you’re in the market for visceral, authentic-feeling
BDSM, this is the one to get. It’s definitely on my keeper shelf.
Margarit via Ellora’s Cave says: 5 out of 5 STARS
I’m so there with Christine, she nailed absolutely. Really
The bestBDSM book I´ve read. Though I like reading BDSM books iI usually feel
let down by the heroines, who act mostly as absolutely unaware ,bratty
teenagers instead of inteligent adults ; not so in this book, Colin is a
charming due to her inteligence and honesty,and knows herself fairly well, and
I would like her in any kind of book. the hero is more you”usual”(in
books) caring Dom. The interaction between them is very intertaining and Hot!!,
and the glimpse we see of secondary characters leads us to what I hope are
books to come ,which I’ll be anxiously awaiting.
Kit via Amazon says, 5 out of 5 STARS
I couldn’t wait for this book to come out! This author’s first book was recommended to me but I did hesitate because I don’t have and ereader so I had to read that one adn this on my laptop but I’m not complaining.Colin Reneaux (the heroine) is one of my favorite heroines in any genre I’ve read. I felt like I was friends with her. She’s smart, strong and funny. And Ethan? (the hero) *swoon* times ten! Ms. Murphy writes a smokin’ hot hero second to none. Commanding and tender at the same time.
Them as a couple what can I say? Their banter and interaction is so entertaining I grinned, laughed out loud, got serious and listened to what they were saying and I even had to pull the tissues out in a few pages because things do get emotional between them and I LOVED it! Once again as she did in her first book Ms. Murphy gave me insight into BDSM things I didn’t understand before. She conveys this knowledge through her character interaction which was fun, fun and more fun.
The sex scenes are totally refreshing and unique. Hotter than hell, dirty but done right. The tapas had my blood pressure racing. I hate to keep repeating myself but I LOVED these little bits. So original and it was like different little stories on their own. Ethan as the abductor. OMG! I wouldn’t have wanted to go home if he stole me from my family. He says something to Colin at one point that took my breath away in that scene. Really. I wanted to dive on the page and eat him up. Speaking of diving there was a set the room on fire “BJ” scene in this book. The BEST. I know others have mentioned it and I have to as well. Holy HOT! I took notes anyone else? I’ll be reading that again and again.
I could finish this up by saying that I LOVED this book right through to the ending because I did and yes I did cry at one point but I want to finish by saying that there were two things about this book that surprised me. Ms. Murphey can really write people. There is a conversation between a couple of children and Colin and Ethan that had me genuinely smiling throughout. So visual. Her secondary characters are interesting and entertaining without stealing anything away from the main players. One stands out. Colin’s best friend Jo. Close to the end of the story Colin and Jo have this time together that had me laughing, crying and getting mad right along with them. I really felt that I was sitting in the room with them and this was a place I wanted to be.
It’s no wonder I was surprised when I got to the end of this full length story and wished there was more. Normally when a book is this long I skip passages and pages and yet I didn’t with this one because I din’t want to miss anything. Already I can’t wait to go back and read because I know I probably did. I really connected with these characters and I’m truly hoping Ms. Murphy plans to write her next book with some of these other players. Jo would be good. She has problems that I’d love to see a hunky dom fix for her. Ted maybe?
This author is an automatic buy for me so I’m going to invest in an ereader. I highly recommend this book if you’re looking for a fun, sexy, emotional and original BDSM love story. It was really that good.
Glenna via Ellora’s Cave gives 5 out of 5 STARS
“MUST READ FOR ANYONE INTO BDSM. I ABSOLUTELY HATED TO SEE THIS BOOK END. HOPE TO SEE MORE FROM THIS AUTHOR.”
Excerpt of Recluctant Surrender
Ethan had finished his errands early and hoped to surprise Colin with his return, but he was the one who wound up surprised. He halted as he arrived at his office doorway.
“Colin.”
The second he called her name, she barked out a laugh, which drowned his greeting. That didn’t interest him as much as where she’d chosen to sit. The chair may have been turned so the back was facing him, but he saw her all right. She was sprawled out in his maroon leather chair with her bare feet braced against the windowsill. She had a pencil in her right hand and was waving it as if she were conducting an orchestra while she chatted on her cell.
“Yeah I called my real estate agent back and left him a message. I’m worried. He sounded upset. I know you’re probably right.”
Ethan was just about to clear his throat when he changed his mind as he heard her say, “Ethan? Nope, creampuff. I know, I know. You could have knocked me over with a toothpick. He looks like trouble, but he’s really sweet.”
Hearing this, his sweetness crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. He was grinning until he heard her next words.
“Alpha? Umm.” She paused mid-pencil twirl and then jabbed it out as if she were literally making a point. “I’m not sure. Aren’t they supposed to be mean dudes that roar and growl all the time?”
Creampuff? Not sure?
He’d heard enough. Without breaking stride he walked to the desk and stood there, knowing she’d eventually see his reflection in the glass. Once she got her head out of her ass, that was.
It didn’t take her long. “Jo.” Her feet shot off the sill and she sat right up. “I gotta go!”
He waited.
“Ethan.” She swiveled around in his huge leather chair. “I didn’t expect you back so fast.”
“I gathered that.”
She went to put her phone in her pocket and he shook his head. “Hand it over.”
“My phone?”
“Yes.” He reached for it. “Good, now please stand up. I think I told you, you weren’t to sit in my chair or at my desk.”
“I know.” She stood and had the decency to eye the desktop as she grumbled, “Sorry.” When he didn’t reply, she hastily looked up. “I said sorry.”
He continued to scowl at her, purposely making her uncomfortable.
“Gee, I guess this is you being the ‘strong man’ you were talking about last night.”
“Not even close.” He turned her phone off and tossed it on the desk before he pulled his own out and did the same. “Follow me, Colin.”
He didn’t wait for her. He just went directly to the kitchen. Once there he got out his black gloves and dug around for another pair. Finding them, he handed them to her. “Put these on and have a seat on the stool.”
He was glad when she didn’t question him. He went to the fridge and retrieved the bag with the ripened ginger in it. “We’re going to carve this. I’m going to show you how, but first I’m going to tell you why we’re carving it.”
Collecting two paring knives, he shut the cutlery drawer with his hip and handed one over to her.
“Thanks, but first I want to explain.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no? Yes.”
He stared her down. “No.” Her scowl made him sigh. “I suppose you want to tell me that you didn’t see the harm. That you thought I’d be gone to the store and I wouldn’t be the wiser about you sitting at my desk.”
Her scowl eased into a frown.
“And as far as what I heard you say about me to your friend, I imagine you want to tell me that she thinks poorly of me and you were trying to smooth things over with her on my account.”
She mouthed the word “wow” and said, “How do you know all this stuff?”
“I’m the next Steven Hawking. You may want to bump me up on that scale of yours from a seven to a nine. Put the gloves on.”
He waited until she had them on before he said, “Now, would you like to know why we’re going to peel some of that gingerroot in the bag?”
“No.”
“Colin.”
“What? It’s the truth. I don’t want to know. You’re mad and…this?” She held up the root. “Looks scary.”
He took the swinging bag from her hand and after he removed the ginger, he began to prepare it. Slowly, he shaped the root, cutting two of the three fingers off before he smoothed the remaining one. He methodically peeled the stem down three-quarters of its length, leaving a good inch of peel on the bottom. Just above that line of skin, he cut a sizable groove.
“Your turn.” He passed it to her and waited for the questions to start.
“Why do you leave this part at the bottom alone?”
Reaching forward, he adjusted her hands and said, “Careful. You don’t want any nicks. You want it smooth as glass.” She nodded as he let go. “Unpeeled, ginger is harmless. That’s what you can hold on to without a glove.”
“Done.” She held it up and her pleased expression soon turned to shock. “This looks like a—wait, is this the BDSM version of washing my mouth out with soap?”
He’d been expecting her to say something, but this definitely wasn’t in the realm of what he’d anticipated. “Excuse me?”
“For breaking the rules you’re going to make me suck on it, aren’t you?”
“No.” He snatched it from her gloved hand before she dropped it, watching as she nearly wilted over the counter in obvious relief.
“Thank God. I was worried about that now that I know ginger burns.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you better tell me why we’re peeling it?”
“I’ve told you before, I’m old school. I’m going to spank you for breaking the rules and when I do,” he held up the ginger, “this is going to help you learn how to take the spanking I give you.”
She slapped her palms on the counter and pushed up until her shoulders were aligned in a perfect T. “We’ll address the spanking part in a minute, but for now? Teach me to take it? How?”
“Once inserted, it will stop you from clenching your ass when I spank you.”
She gasped.
“What?” He dropped the ginger plug into a fresh baggie and tilted his head as he eyed her. “Is that too much creampuff for you?”
Ethan White
One minute Ethan White is shielding the ultra-conservative events photographer from his snake-charmer friends, and the next he’s channeling his inner Dom to hypnotize the submissive he’s discovered hiding behind her blustery exterior.
Colin Reneaux
Colin Reneaux has a successful career, a secretive, but thriving blog and three quarters of the capital she needs to realize her dream until Master-disaster, Ethan White, hires her company to work his pre-opening event. The instant she meets him an internal trigger is squeezed. Immediately, she goes from cool and collected to fried as in, ”kill me now I want to die”. Good thing it’s only a one day job because as soon as it’s over she plans on catching the train back to her normal life in Denial-ville. With no sexy Dom tempting her.
Buy now from:
Ellora’s Cave
Amazon
August 2, 2012
DOES AGE, LIKE SIZE, MATTER?
How old is OLD? I think that one’s answer depends on what year in your respective lifetime you answer this question. I mean when you’re twelve, twenty is old and when you’re in your twenties, thirty-five is old. Hell, now that I’m a smidgen older than forty, fifty is looking pretty darn spry.
Anyway, this universal concept seems to be lost on Honey. Without blinking an eye he can watch something on television or read (and then repeat it -> extra credit here for having to go out of his way on this) to freak my mom out when he talks about age, healthcare and the elderly.
For instance. Last night while we’re all having dinner and sharing our doings for the day, a small segment came on the news about an elderly man looking for a cutting edge medical miracle to cure him. He was 76. When Honey hears this he says to no one in particular: “76? Are you kidding me? How much longer does the guy want to live?”
The previously boisterous room goes silent and one set of unblinking eyes glares at him. The rest of the eyes in the room (aside from his) are trained on me. No doubt waiting to see how long it will take me to brain him! *shakes head here* Because Honey, God love him, continues down this path toward a major domestic dispute. Yep, he even looks over at me and nods with conviction. “Don’t worry,” he says. ”When I’m that old and I get sick you have my permission to poison me. Humans should be born with a self-destruct button that ignites when you’re 80. Tops.”
I’m speechless. Permission to poison him when he’s old and sick? Hmm… I’m thinking why wait? Especially when Madge’s jaw (that’s my mom) is swimming in her mashed potatoes. Unbelievable! Here he is talking about blowing up at 80 when his MIL is 84. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting, pissed off wife would do. I told him not to worry. When he was 76 (he’s older than I am) we’d take a one way flight to Alaska. Upon arrival we’d stop at the hardware store and buy a pick-axe. Then we’d find a nice chunk of ice near the sea and sever a little island for ourselves to float away on.
He thinks this is a terrific idea. As for my 84 year-old mother she’s happily distracted by talk of somone else’s eminent demise, but our adult child who was also in the room, is not so amused. She leans over and whispers, “Don’t say that mom. I don’t want to think about you and daddy dying.”
I buttered a piece of bread and hand it to her. With a casual shrug I put her mind at ease. “Who said anything about me dying? I’d be the one holding the pick-axe.”
Riley
Anyway, this universal concept seems to be lost on Honey. Without blinking an eye he can watch something on television or read (and then repeat it -> extra credit here for having to go out of his way on this) to freak my mom out when he talks about age, healthcare and the elderly.
For instance. Last night while we’re all having dinner and sharing our doings for the day, a small segment came on the news about an elderly man looking for a cutting edge medical miracle to cure him. He was 76. When Honey hears this he says to no one in particular: “76? Are you kidding me? How much longer does the guy want to live?”
The previously boisterous room goes silent and one set of unblinking eyes glares at him. The rest of the eyes in the room (aside from his) are trained on me. No doubt waiting to see how long it will take me to brain him! *shakes head here* Because Honey, God love him, continues down this path toward a major domestic dispute. Yep, he even looks over at me and nods with conviction. “Don’t worry,” he says. ”When I’m that old and I get sick you have my permission to poison me. Humans should be born with a self-destruct button that ignites when you’re 80. Tops.”
I’m speechless. Permission to poison him when he’s old and sick? Hmm… I’m thinking why wait? Especially when Madge’s jaw (that’s my mom) is swimming in her mashed potatoes. Unbelievable! Here he is talking about blowing up at 80 when his MIL is 84. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting, pissed off wife would do. I told him not to worry. When he was 76 (he’s older than I am) we’d take a one way flight to Alaska. Upon arrival we’d stop at the hardware store and buy a pick-axe. Then we’d find a nice chunk of ice near the sea and sever a little island for ourselves to float away on.
He thinks this is a terrific idea. As for my 84 year-old mother she’s happily distracted by talk of somone else’s eminent demise, but our adult child who was also in the room, is not so amused. She leans over and whispers, “Don’t say that mom. I don’t want to think about you and daddy dying.”
I buttered a piece of bread and hand it to her. With a casual shrug I put her mind at ease. “Who said anything about me dying? I’d be the one holding the pick-axe.”
Riley
July 28, 2012
Your story has committed suicide…
That’s right. The writer’s story has committed suicide and the author, a.k.a, the loved one, doesn’t know why. Her plot is fluid, her characters are developing and the stakes are being raised with each new page. So, when the tragedy happens, she’s surprised because she didn’t see it coming, but the reader did, why? Simple. The reader isn’t a loved one. And, as that distant outsider who wants to care about what happens in the story, the reader is able to pinpoint the exact moment the author turned her back and the death occurred.
I’m speaking about acceptable levels of personal influence versus concrete intrusion of our opinions in what we write. Here’s the scenario: Heroine loves the environment. Her mission in life is to see that nothing bad (if she can help it) happens to it. Okay, that explains why she’s face planted in front of the bulldozers that are pushing forward with development plans. She’s hoping to stop the desecration of the nearly extinct trees she loves so much. Great. Got it. She has a heart and nine out of ten readers will connect with her on some level because of this passion.
But then, her ‘save the environment’ moment becomes an unsightly soapbox. A huge platform that she stands on and proceeds to awkwardly preach from one page to the next. Now, here’s the kicker. The story is still being propelled forward, but really, at this point, it’s on life support because the characters are developing into people that are hard to like. So even though the stakes are being raised – big time – the reader isn’t interested because they have no investment in the characters.
*Enter the sharp object to the wrist. Let’s call the time: Story death here.*
So, I’m wondering. Does anyone else see a danger of inserting a controversial ideology that they are passionate about into their hero or heroine’s makeup? Oh, I know that an author’s tenets and beliefs bleed through the pages. That’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m focusing in on that one thing. That one political phrase of ownership spoken by a hero or heroine, such as, “I’m a Democrat or I’m a Republican.” Or maybe the heroine cries, “What’s wrong with that? I think socialism is a positive thing.” That’s what I’m talking about.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen on the rare occasion where these potentially controversial statements work because they’ve been woven into the plot subtly with a finesse that distracts the reader and allows them to overlook their differences of opinions on the subject. Now the key as to why that works is simple. It was part of the plot not the obsession of one of the main characters the reader is supposed to adore.
Do you guys agree? Disagree? Because I gotta tell you. I was reading yesterday, when something I tripped over on a page got me to wondering about all this. It was one small sentence. One tiny statement. Six little words. And yet, it was big enough for me to go, “Hell, no.” (and don’t ask because I ain’t saying.)
Personally? I think of the stories I write like they’re a person at a party. My story is exposed to all manner of people with varying likes, dislikes and ideas. So if my story focuses in too narrowly on a controversial topic and beats it to death page after page, I know it risks being pegged as that pompous ass expounding in the corner that party goers want to avoid at all costs. I don’t want that. So, I’ve decided. Now that my stories have been invited to the party their sole purpose for attending will be to be fun and be entertaining.
For those of you who’ve been fortunate enough to commandeer an invitation. Do you agree with this? And for those of you who haven’t YET. Have you thought about how you’re going to handle your invitation to the party?
Riley
I’m speaking about acceptable levels of personal influence versus concrete intrusion of our opinions in what we write. Here’s the scenario: Heroine loves the environment. Her mission in life is to see that nothing bad (if she can help it) happens to it. Okay, that explains why she’s face planted in front of the bulldozers that are pushing forward with development plans. She’s hoping to stop the desecration of the nearly extinct trees she loves so much. Great. Got it. She has a heart and nine out of ten readers will connect with her on some level because of this passion.
But then, her ‘save the environment’ moment becomes an unsightly soapbox. A huge platform that she stands on and proceeds to awkwardly preach from one page to the next. Now, here’s the kicker. The story is still being propelled forward, but really, at this point, it’s on life support because the characters are developing into people that are hard to like. So even though the stakes are being raised – big time – the reader isn’t interested because they have no investment in the characters.
*Enter the sharp object to the wrist. Let’s call the time: Story death here.*
So, I’m wondering. Does anyone else see a danger of inserting a controversial ideology that they are passionate about into their hero or heroine’s makeup? Oh, I know that an author’s tenets and beliefs bleed through the pages. That’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m focusing in on that one thing. That one political phrase of ownership spoken by a hero or heroine, such as, “I’m a Democrat or I’m a Republican.” Or maybe the heroine cries, “What’s wrong with that? I think socialism is a positive thing.” That’s what I’m talking about.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen on the rare occasion where these potentially controversial statements work because they’ve been woven into the plot subtly with a finesse that distracts the reader and allows them to overlook their differences of opinions on the subject. Now the key as to why that works is simple. It was part of the plot not the obsession of one of the main characters the reader is supposed to adore.
Do you guys agree? Disagree? Because I gotta tell you. I was reading yesterday, when something I tripped over on a page got me to wondering about all this. It was one small sentence. One tiny statement. Six little words. And yet, it was big enough for me to go, “Hell, no.” (and don’t ask because I ain’t saying.)
Personally? I think of the stories I write like they’re a person at a party. My story is exposed to all manner of people with varying likes, dislikes and ideas. So if my story focuses in too narrowly on a controversial topic and beats it to death page after page, I know it risks being pegged as that pompous ass expounding in the corner that party goers want to avoid at all costs. I don’t want that. So, I’ve decided. Now that my stories have been invited to the party their sole purpose for attending will be to be fun and be entertaining.
For those of you who’ve been fortunate enough to commandeer an invitation. Do you agree with this? And for those of you who haven’t YET. Have you thought about how you’re going to handle your invitation to the party?
Riley
July 23, 2012
TIME TO PICK A WINNER FROM THE BDSM BLOG HOP!!!!
Hi guys!
I want to thank everyone for stopping by my place on the hop. It was a lot of fun and now it’s time to choose a winner who will recieve a copy of my debut novel, Reclaimed Surrender. And the winner is…
Sue Sattler!
Thanks again!
Riley
I want to thank everyone for stopping by my place on the hop. It was a lot of fun and now it’s time to choose a winner who will recieve a copy of my debut novel, Reclaimed Surrender. And the winner is…
Sue Sattler!
Thanks again!
Riley
July 18, 2012
BDSM BONDAGE ON A BUDGET
This is my second BDSM post for the Playroom’s awesome hop! For the first post (click here). There’s lots of great comments, but whether you leave one here or there – I’ve got you covered to be entered into the giveaway. No worries.
BDSM BONDAGE ON A BUDGET…
Wow, say that fast three times. I got to thinking about this because I’ve been plotting a historical BDSM romance (think Marquis de Sade meets Jane Eyre) and well… All that came to mind in the toy department was rusty chains and unsanitary other things. Metal chastity belts? Blerg. I wouldn’t be caught dead in one. Wait, maybe I would. One wrong slip whilst walking by the moat and plunk, I’d sink to the bottom before I could shout, “Dear husband! The key. I need the…” Glug, glug, glug.
Anyway, one thing lead to another and suddenly I was thinking about our stuff today. We’ve got lots of schmancy stuff. Metal and glass dildos. Vibrators that talk and not only come in various sizes, but different widths and colors. Actually, in my second BDSM novel Reluctant Surrender, my hero explains the pitfalls of breaking with traditional items. When he asks his heroine what color belt she’d like to be spanked with, her choices are brown, black and pink, and she picks the pink one. He takes it off the hook and snaps it before he patiently explains that the pink belt was a special order item and in future she should remember. If they are going to go through the trouble of special ordering an item, they’re going to want to get something for their money. Translation? The pink belt is thicker and heavier than the other two. *heheheh* Sneaky bastard.
Welp, we can’t all be fortunate enough to special order expensive items so I went on a search. Here’s my pick for best bondage on a budget item. A surf leash. Sure, scarves, ties, ropes, and pantyhose work, but for some high-quality cuffs, one needs to go no further than their local Surf Shop. Inexpensive and they make for great restraints. Think about it. One end is already made to attach to the board, so these are easy to install. The board is substituted for a piece of stabilized furniture. Bed post? Awesome. Door knob? Heck, yeah. Your honey’s belt loop? Why not? Just keep in that clever and dirty mind of yours that these are made with tumbling and thrashing in mind, so you can be as rough as you and your sweetie want to be. Just sayin’.
Ooh, and I came across this really cool…Well, never mind. I’ll save that for another BDSM blog hop post.
Riley
All right, here’s an excerpt of my debut novel, Reclaimed Surrender, released Feb 9th
2012. In this snippet my hero Rene has instructed his wife (who he is trying to
get back on the BDSM track with) to text him from work and tell him in 150
words or less something sexual about the beginning of their relationship. He
tells her he wants it real, held to the word count and to have been something
that deeply resonated with her regarding their kind of kink. This is the very
first thing she thinks back on to text to him…
This is My hero, Rene
Excerpt:
Taking another sip, she sighed and rolled her shoulders. As
the tension began to ease, she closed her eyes and relaxed just as Rene had
instructed.
Rene.
She concentrated on him and thought about his other
instructions. Warmed by the sunshine, she leaned back, sinking deeper into the
couch and mulled over what she could text to him about the beginning of their
relationship.
The first thing that came to her was the movie theater. She
tried to envision that night. To recall the power of it. So innocent now that
she was able to view it through the distance of their rawer experiences together.
Even still, when the images began to surface she thrilled with the brief but
poignant chills that zipped through her.
They’d sat side by side in the theater that night. He’d let
her pick the movie. In the beginning, Rene was careful to let things evolve at
her pace and this was right at their very beginning, only their fifth date. It
was a time when she did nothing but think about him every minute of the day.
Watch her phone and wait for him to call and later lie in bed alone and imagine
him touching her. Even now she could practically smell his cologne. That unique
blend that he’d let her pick out for him on their third date, which turned out
to be the exclusive scent he wore during their intimate sessions. At the time,
she hadn’t known how solidly she’d connect with it or how much it would come to
mean to her. How she’d crave it. Thinking about it now made her restless.
With a deep breath she focused on the two of them in the
movie theater that night.
“Are you comfortable, Alexis?” he’d asked in that
authoritative tone of his. The one that made her insides melt and her heart
race under her rib cage.
“Yes.” She remembered she’d leaned toward him, until her
shoulder was pressed against his biceps. “Are you?”
He never answered. He just pushed his elbow out at an angle,
wordlessly directing her to slide her arm around his. When she had he’d
readjusted until she was captured and happy. Not wanting that moment to end
because she was sure that it didn’t get better than that, but Rene blew that
position out the water a few minutes later when he’d dropped his big hand to
her knee and squeezed her as if he knew all her secrets. The very idea had sent
blazing shots of electric tingles up her thigh, through her skin and penetrated
muscles deep into her core. That was the first time she’d felt anything in that
part of her body without actual physical stimulation being applied and the
realization had made her jerk. She probably would have made some excuse for the
sudden movement if Rene hadn’t reacted.
That was the first time he’d put his hand under her chin.
The first time he’d drawn her gaze up to meet his. The first time he’d looked
into her eyes and whispered a command that made her lightheaded and breathless.
“Open your legs for me.”
