An Interview with a Psychic

Hello! Last week I sat down with Ryann Phillips, the heroine from PreView, my newest release from Carina Press:

Architect Ryann Phillips lives a normal life—except for her psychic dreams. Few of her premonitions make sense, or even cause her to lose sleep, until she dreams about a vicious murder and is compelled to warn the would-be victim.

Attorney Trevor Kearney doesn’t believe it when Ryann claims his client’s life is in danger. Nevertheless, he’s intrigued by her ability to hold up to his questioning, and by the unexpected attraction he feels for the beautiful woman. He reluctantly agrees to work together to keep his client safe…and to spend more time with Ryann.

Ryann hasn’t met anyone who infuriates and arouses her like Trevor does. He may question her psychic visions, but there’s no doubting their sexual chemistry. As they grow closer, their relationship could put them in the path of a killer and inadvertently set the course of events in motion…

There are a lot of things I'd like to know about this psychic heroine. I thought I'd share our conversation with you

Alanna: "Hello, Ryann?"

Ryann: "Yes, how are you?"

A: "I'm just fine. Sorry... I'm a little flustered. I guess I was expecting someone a little more…um…"

R: "Outlandish?"

A: "Well…yeah. You're wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, not a flowing paisley dress and turban like I imagined when I heard you were psychic."

R: "You're the crazy one. You wrote me."

A: "Oh yeah. That's right. So anyway, tell me what it's like to see the future. I've always wanted to be able to do that."

R: "You have?" Her brow furrows. "Why would you want to do that?"

A: I shrug "I don't know. Sounds like it would be interesting. Maybe find out the World Series score and pick the best players for my fantasy team?"

R: She laughs. "If I ever have a sports-related vision, you'll be the first to know."

A: "Obviously. But really, you've had these visions for a while. When did you realize that your dreams were merging with reality?"

R: "The visions began when I was a teen. I blame puberty and the whacky hormones bouncing through my system. At first I just assumed they were just very realistic dreams. Most of my visions are completely harmless snippets of strangers' lives. A child learning to ride a bike, or a young man's graduation day. Nothing that would make me think these were actually real people. One vision was disturbing enough that I told my friend Ashley about it. She urged me to take it seriously, and it was a good thing I did, it meant the life of a little boy."

A: "What, really?"

R: She looks away, and picks imaginary lint off her jeans. "Yes. He'd wandered away from home. I saw where he slept in my vision, and I was able to direct the police to him."

A: "You look embarrassed about it. I think if it were me, I'd be shouting from the rooftops."

R: "Unlike you, I don't want to be branded a freak."

A: "I see." I scratch through my notes for Ryann's role in a sequel. "Do you have any other talents?"

R: "Well, I'm an architect, so I think I do a pretty good job drawing a straight line."

A: "With a ruler." I roll my eyes. "I meant psychic talents."

R: "No, just these weird premonitions. I can't even control them." She takes a drink of water. "Maybe I'd rather be able to move things with my mind."

A: "Well that might be interesting in a romance." I grin. "How about mind-reading? Can you do that?"

R: "No. If I could, it would have been a lot easier to figure out what happened in the dream about Victoria's murder."

A: "Oh yeah you're right. Maybe I should have written some mindreading in there for you."

R: "A little late for that."

A: "Another book maybe. I'm full of ideas."

R: "Oh!" She scoots to the edge of her seat. "Maybe write one for Ashley. She really needs a happily ever after. Give her a guy who snores. She hates that."

A: "You're evil! I love it." I Jot new notes. "How about Trevor's friend Kevin? He's a little too cocky for her I think, but putting characters in difficult positions is one of my favorite things to do."

R: She snorts. "Don't I know it?"

A: "Hey, those positions I put you and Trevor in weren't my idea. I'm just the conductor for you guys. You of all people must know that."

R: "Trevor and I don't need your help any more, thank you very much."

A: "Is that so? Do tell."

R: "That will have to be off the record. Trevor is a private person really. He'd kill me for talking about our sex life."

A: "Well, he must not have read PreView. I'm afraid I spilled some beans there."

R: "Yeah you did. Maybe I'll read those scenes to him. His blush is so cute."

A: "I can imagine. He's a sexy guy anyway." I fan myself. "Okay, before we go off the record, I'll thank the RWBB for letting us use this nice blog to chat. I'll be sure to clean up after we're done. I'd love to give away a copy of PreView to one lucky RWBB blog readers! Just leave a comment, any comment, and in the morning I'll randomly choose one to win. Thanks for sitting down with me, Ryann. Best of luck with your premonitions. If you have any more interesting dreams, let me know."

Website * Twitter * Facebook * Google + * Olivia Brynn (Alanna's Alter Ego)

Tasty Treat with DC Juris

Tasty Treat by DC Juris

Hi folks! DC Juris here. I'll be your guest host for today. For those of you who don't know me, I'm a transgender fella who writes GLBTQ and heterosexual romance, but mostly m/m.

For today's prompt, and because I'm generally crappy at coming up with things to blog about, I asked my Facebook friends what they want to know. My good friend, and fellow m/m romance writer, Ellis Carrington came up with six questions—here's one of them: What is your favorite ice cream?

Now, if you now anything about me at all, you know there's no such thing as a question with a simple answer. And this one is no different.

Growing up, I was only allowed to have store brand Neapolitan ice cream. That was dad's favorite, so nothing else could come into the house. The only exception was if they were out of Neapolitan, in which case he'd buy butter pecan, but he wasn't happy about it. Even the division of ice cream was controlled. Dad got the chocolate, mom got the strawberry, and I was left with vanilla. Not that vanilla's not nice, but every now and then, another flavor would've been nice. I didn't dare think about sneaking a bite of anything else, though. If you think that's all drastic, consider this: I wasn't even allowed to go into the ice cream section of the store.

Crazy, right?

In high school, I started dating a guy named Robert who liked ice cream. We'd frequently stop at one of those parking lot ice cream places—you know, the giant ice cream cones randomly sitting in the parking lot of some megastore or mini mall. I can still remember standing there staring at the menu in awe, wondering what I should get. I had my first chocolate peanut butter. My first banana-flavored. We even went on a mini road trip once, and I had strawberry cheesecake.

A year or so later, a friend and I went to Baskin Robbins. Oh. My. GOD. Thirty-one flavors, all for me??? Some of them I'd never even heard of. And the colors! I'd never really seen the ice cream at the giant cone place. I was completely amazed at the rainbow of creamy goodness!

My husband is also an ice cream enthusiast and takes me to get cones. Although, admittedly he just enjoys watching me eat them. Apparently I'm quite…er…erotic at it. ::shy grin:: He's introduced me to flavors like Heavenly Hash, Chunky Monkey, and Panda Paws.

But what's my favorite flavor? I don't really have one. I'm fond of chocolate peanut butter, but I'm still searching for my favorite. So far haven't tried but a few I didn't like! 

New Release: Elise Hepner's Roped Emotions

Blurb:

Rapunzel is trapped by the harsh, inescapable reality of her prison, so she builds vivid sexual fantasies where she has full control and no one can take it away. If nothing else, at least she has command over her thoughts.

When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes out her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.

Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits while twisting their definitions of control forever.

Excerpt:

“What in Christ’s name…”

I must be hearing echoes from the town nearby, where Mother sells her herbs and braided goods. No one ventures this far toward my tower because Mother’s gone to great lengths to see that they don’t—bear traps are her new favorite method of discouragement. Once one life is claimed, I imagine word spreads fairly quickly to stay away from the area. Why then are there hoof beats that make my head pulse with a slight pain?

There’s no understandable excuse I can delude myself with any longer. Before I can focus on the consequences, I swing my head out the window into the oppressive, humid summer air. Just the very top of his head is visible, his hair brushing past his cheekbones, glowing from the sunshine and shot through with gold. Never have I seen a color so close to my own before—not that I see many people.

For a few moments I can’t quite come to terms with his presence and it’s not for a lack of staring that my pulse inevitably echoes inside my head like an overbeaten drum. This is my chance. Mother won’t be back for quite some time with her wares. He’s circling the tower, slouched over a horse who looks a bit like a nag. Certainly not a proper horse for a man with such fine clothes in gorgeous colors and sumptuous fabrics.

There’s no going back from this moment. It’s a certainty that makes my teeth chatter in a wash of cold fear, despite the heat, and my hands clasp around my middle as I try to hold myself together. He hasn’t looked up yet, more intent on studying the free-standing structure than noticing my shadow plastered across the grass. My mind is desperately working out what I’ll cry out to him. Even as my throat closes with an infusion of happiness that makes me rock on my feet.
“Excuse me?” A tentative question I’m not sure he will hear because it can’t be any louder than a frightened whisper. “Sir, you’re really not supposed to be here.”

Somehow, I’ve managed to make this part louder because he glances up—and his slack-jawed expression is a blow to my chest. He possesses the most gorgeous cobalt blue eyes. Underneath my ribs, the pain grows until taking a full breath is hard. Mother is right, he hasn’t even overcome his shock as my heavy plait of hair rests down the stone side of my prison. He’s not to be trusted.

What am I thinking? He won’t even come near me to aid my escape and his eyes are swamped in confusion—and there’s a flash of unreadable emotion that I refuse to question. He must leave here now and I must somehow convince him to bring no one back with him. I won’t be paraded around for anyone’s amusement. This man has made a mistake coming here.

Yet, there’s still a part of me that grips the windowsill until my palms are numb and that clings to the hope that he will at least acknowledge me. So long since I’ve had any kind of normal conversation. One that didn’t revolve around my hair, my rules or my mother’s day. Won’t he say anything? I’m as trapped by his thick silence as I am by the beauty of his face.

“Please, you must go and tell no one about what you’ve seen. You shouldn’t have ignored the traps. They are there for a reason.”

I don’t know how I’ve gotten that all out because my main focus lies on the foreign stirrings of heat in my cheeks as the pulsing sensation twists lower in my abdomen. What is happening to me? With a certainty that surprises me, I find myself clenching my thighs together, only to have the subtle touch of flesh-on-flesh be more than I can bear. He has yet to take his gaze from mine and a shudder slips up my spine.

“How long have you been here?” His voice carries the strain I hold back and I’m slightly put at ease that at least we are on similar ground. “Who did this to you?”

“For a man who is about to leave, I don’t believe it matters.”

The words barely tumble out of my mouth before I clamp my hand over my lips. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh and instantly regret it. He is so handsome—and these sudden urges, they are overwhelming and confusing to the point where I wish to completely remove the problem. My lips part in an apology and I watch a jovial grin span from ear to ear as he laughs at me until I can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of my heart.

Who is this man? Now he stares at me with a playfulness that washes a wave of goose bumps across my flesh. He doesn’t seem offended, merely amused at my suggestion that he leave. To further that fact, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree branch. While I can only stare at the way his tight riding boots and breeches hug his muscular body from his calves all the way up to his perfectly rounded buttocks.

Though I’d learned of desire from my mother—and all its wicked principles—I never expected it to rear its head in my lonely, simple world.

However, now my life spirals out of control quickly enough that I tilt back against the wall to my left and watch with trembling hands. This mysterious man climbs the wall of my tower as if it had been built to be climbed so easily—without any aid from my hair. One strong, sun-kissed hand and booted foot at a time. When he offers up his hand to me to pull him over the side, what choice do I have?

Even a man that strong would eventually grow tired and plummet to his death—and I want him tucked close to my body, not on the ground.

“I was beginning to wonder what it took to get some assistance.”

He softly grunts and clasps my hand hard enough that I gasp as I shift my weight to pull him over the side. Muscles I didn’t know existed inside me burn with sharp pain from disuse because of my isolation. His touch radiates heat all along my arm. If it wasn’t for his precarious situation, I would fight to pull away on instinct—but as it is, he manages to throw himself into my home with as much grace as a charging boar—and he trips, falling on top of me and sending us to the hard, stone floor.

His surprisingly soft hand brushes the hair out of my face and lingers, gently stroking, down my cheek. Should I be frightened? Probably. At the moment I can’t bear the thought that my first sincerely gentle touch from a man would be anything but special. His sharp leather scent surrounds my tingling skin.

“Isn’t this a day for surprises?” His gaze cuts through all the fear inside me and his mouth holds the subtle curve of a half smile. “I should move myself off  you, this isn’t proper at all when we’ve barely been introduced.”

Yet he doesn’t move an inch.

A realization whips through my mind and would have left me on the floor if I wasn’t already pinned there by a gorgeous man who touches me with such reverence I might weep. When will this happen again? After this twisted, meandering path of fate, there is no doubt I will be alone again—and I want a loving memory to cling to at night when my old fears tighten my chest until I can’t breathe. This is a choice I can make for myself. And I won’t live the rest of my ordinary, sheltered life not knowing true passion when it burns across my skin.

“They call me Rapunzel.”

“Samuel.”

His inviting smile lights up my whole world.

Buy Links:
http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9567-roped-emotions.aspx

Author Links:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elise-Hepner-Writing/311925106401
www.twitter.com/EHepner
www.ehwriting.com

Who Uses Social Media?

From Forrester Research, Inc

Spectators
Who are they? These may be casual readers who see a shared link from a friend and click through to your site. If your website or blog engages them with information and content, they may jump to the next level. If not, they've still visited your site and come away with you and your books in mind. According to Forrester Research (see the infographic), about 70% of people who visit your site are in this category.

Joiners

If you have a contest, survey, or allow commenting, voting, or sharing (like on a blog) these are the people who'll take part. Joiners often return and may also take part in some of the activities shown on the ladder above their slot in the infographic. These will be fans who interact with you on a more regular basis.


Creators
Creators are more prevalent today than ever before. The new smartphones enable them to take an active part in media, and they are more likely to get involved in what you and your site are offering. These are not all smartphone users however. Creators are also the "Conversationalists" who interact on Facebook, Twitter, forums, Yahoo groups, and your newsletters.

Knowing who these various people groups are can help you design your next contest, web design, and project to reach them. For more information, you can visit Forrester Research, who pioneered some of the research into social media.

The question now is... how will you use this information to improve your blog, website, or contest? Please feel free to share, ask, or suggest.

Tuesday Teaser - Bound for Pleasure

Here's a Teaser for 'Bound for Pleasure' 

a Fem Dom 1 Night Stand story from fellow 1NS author Ann Mayburn. 

Congrats on your September 2 release from Decadent Publishing.  Thanks for giving RWBB an exclusive,

never seen anywhere else snippet. 

Hugs & Chocolate! 

Tycen’s heart skipped a beat then pounded in his chest. A petite, curvy woman with big brown eyes and a mass of silky black hair artfully arranged around her face reclined on the wide cream leather chair of the suite’s well appointed living room. Her skin had the natural golden tan of someone of South American descent and her deliciously full lips graced an elegant face. She wore a tailored black suit with a string of pearls adorning her throat. He found her very beautiful in a soft and feminine way and his body stirred in interest.

Not at all what he expected.

He moved out of the foyer and tossed his key card on the polished mahogany table next to a stylish black leather purse that he assumed belonged to her. A carry-on suitcase leaned against the far wall and anticipation sent a rush of desire through his body. “Uh-nice to meet you.” He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to redo his tie. “How did you get into my room?”

“Jackson Castillo let me in. He said your fans spotted you at the bar and it would be better to meet you here.” She uncrossed her legs with a slow grace that made his mouth go dry. “Have a seat.”

He moved to sit in the chair across from hers but she said in a low voice, “At my feet.”

Those words froze him and awakened a part of his soul that had been sleeping since his wife’s death. The command in her voice, the strength that wouldn’t tolerate any arguments. His mind might be conflicted, but his body wasn’t. Before he even made a conscious decision to move he knelt before her on the deep gray carpet. Up close he noticed the flecks of amber in her expressive eyes and the fact that she didn’t wear any makeup.

She tilted her head and considered him. Even on his knees, they were almost at the same height. He wondered how she managed to have such a dominant presence when he could physically overtake her without breaking a sweat.

“Tycen, I come into this knowing more about you than you know about me. I understand why you need me, and what you need me to do.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “You need a Mistress for the night to help you find your subspace, don’t you?”

He tried to answer her, but the words stuck in his throat. For seven years his wife had been his Mistress, had dominated him in the bedroom and given him pleasure and release like nothing he had ever experienced. He nodded and swallowed past the lump in this throat. If they had any chance of this working, he had to be honest with her. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she imitated him with a small laugh. Leaning forward, she curled her fist into his braids and pulled his head back, exposing his throat and making him strain to see her. He could have jerked out her grasp any time he wanted...but he didn’t want to. The pressure of having his hair pulled sent a shot of heat straight to his groin and his dick began to swell. “Is that how you answer me?”

“No, ma’am.”

The pressure on his hair lessened as she released him and stroked her hand over his cheek. A path of electric tingles followed her touch and he rubbed his face into her caress. Her soft sigh was music to his ears as he brushed his lips over the thin skin of her wrist and kissed her palm.

“I realize this is only for tonight, but I need this as much as you do. My ex-fiancé who was also my submissive died in combat over in Iraq two years ago.” She briefly closed her eyes and the delicate muscles of her jaw clenched. “I’ve tried to date other men since then, but they are either not into the lifestyle or so submissive I want to shake them and tell them that no one finds a human doormat sexy.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. She uncrossed her legs and he had a brief glimpse up her skirt. He caught a glance of silky panties between her deliciously rounded thighs and bit back a sigh of his own. His cock twitched in interest and he shifted, wishing he had taken the time to remove his jacket first. The idea of giving total control to her became more interesting by the second.

“I like a man who is a man.” She gestured toward him. “Big, strong, muy macho. I like knowing that all that strength is held in check for my pleasure, that all of that power is mine to use however I want.” Her tone dropped to a husky purr and she held his gaze. “I like to push my men, to have them scream my name when they come.” She leaned closer so that her lips almost brushed his as she spoke. “I like to ride their faces, to grind my pussy on their greedy mouths and make them lick me clean after I orgasm.”

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to grab her and kiss those beautiful lips. She had hardly touched him and already his dick throbbed to the beat of his heart. “Please.”

She pulled back and studied him With the tips of her fingers she traced his forehead and stroked down to his cheeks and lips. “What are your limits.”

He’d been thinking about this a lot, wondering how far he would have to go to reach the intoxicating state of subspace. A place where he existed only to feel, where the rush of endorphins filled him with the kind of mind-numbing bliss he craved. In subspace all the responsibilities and demands of his life disappeared. There, he lived only for the pleasure of his Mistress.

His wife had known how to get him there, but the one Domme he had been with after her passing had left him frustrated. She’d been too in awe of his fame to properly top him and the experience left him hollow and emptier than before. He prayed that it wouldn’t be that way with Lara.

He couldn’t just show up at a BDSM club and hope that word wouldn’t get out, and the thought of going to a whore disgusted him. He held the D/s relationship sacred and his submission wasn’t a gift he gave up easily...at least normally it wasn’t. Something about this curvy, little woman made his blood boil to serve. He lowered his gaze to her lips and licked his own. God, I want to kiss her. “No blood, no heavy bondage, no burning or scarring. No humiliation or wet play. I don’t like gags or cock restraints.”

“What are your ‘must haves’?”

He smiled at her and liked the way she watched him, as if she noted every detail, every nuance of his expression. “I must be able to make you orgasm. That’s what I love to do, what I crave, to bring you pleasure. Use me, make me do whatever you want—as long as it pleases you, I am happy.”

She leaned forward and slipped his loose tie around his collar and over his head. Her heat pressed against him as she parted her thighs and scooted down so he pressed between their softness. With her legs spread so wide, her skirt rode up to expose the deep amethyst silk panties covering her mound. He couldn’t wait to remove them with his mouth.

 

Ann Mayburn is an erotica and romance author.  

Seducing your imagination one book at a time.

  Visit her:

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Shh...It's a Secret Part II

Last year, right on this blog, I confessed to a secret. A little tidbit about something that's included in my books (you can read it here: http://romancewritersbehavingbadly.blogspot.com/2010/04/shhits-secret.html ).

Believe it or not, that secret is still alive and well. From my upcoming release, Perfect Limit (The second of the Sypricon Masters series, due out from Decadent Publishing on September 23rd). See so for yourself in an exclusive snippet.

Burke reached down, pulled on Rayna’s hands, and gestured for her to follow. Someone had positioned the old chair covered with dingy yellow fabric he favored into the center of the area. He dropped Rayna’s hand to go sit in the chair while indicating she should face the crowd. Several feet between them, she lowered herself to her knees again, this time without Burke’s order.
Burke nodded to Erik. “Wash her and be gentle about it. Do a good job and you’ll be rewarded. Do an exceptional job and I may let you fuck her.” Out of the corner of Burke’s eye, Rayna froze. He had no intention of letting Erik get anywhere near her in such a fashion, but she didn’t need to know his plan.

If It Wasn’t Hard, It Wouldn’t Be Any Fun

Special Guest Author, Willa Edwards.

Spicy Erotic Romance Author and Life-Long Book LoverMy mother has always told me I have to pick the hard way to do everything. And she’s not wrong. The easy path has never been my style. How much fun can you have doing everything the easy way? The fun comes from having to work hard at something, to strive and struggle to meet that accomplishment.

The same is true for my writing.

Many might be surprised to know that English was not my highest graded subject in school. But in fact I excelled in math. I slept through algebra and got an A minus, same with calculus. I was in all the advanced math classes. I even scored one hundred points higher on my Math SAT than my English. I actually never did well in English classes.

So I’m sure, if my engineering mother didn’t know me better she would have been squirreling away money for top tier technical school. But no, I wanted to be a writer.

Now, just to be clear, writing being hard isn’t the only reason I love it so much. I have a passion for writing, stories, and people, that transcends difficulty. But if it were easy, would I like it as much, probably not. Some of the things I love about writing, is the searching, the desperate trying to find that right word or analogy. Trying to create just the right hero to make the readers melt, or just the right heroine that every woman can relate to her. Discovering all the right plot points to keep the reader guessing, yet never feeling contrived.

If it were easy to put together the perfect story, it wouldn’t be as worthwhile. If everyone could do it, or if it didn’t take years to learn the story craft, it wouldn’t feel so fulfilling when you finally made it all work out just right.

And, to continue this tradition of always taking the harder path, I also choose difficult stories to tell. I try with each new novel to stretch my writing muscles even farther, whether it’s in the characters I choose, or the situation they get themselves into.

A ménage proved harder than I anticipated. To create three complete characters that can function as one relationship, to justify such an untraditional connection, to balance the emotion and attraction to more than one person. It was quite difficult to find all the right pieces and fit them together, but completing this work has only strengthened and toned those writing muscles even more. And it has filled me with great pride in my work. Now I know I can write any story I want. And I wouldn’t have known that if this work hadn’t been so hard.

So what’s the point in taking the easy way, when doing things the hard way can be so much fun?

Here’s a little excerpt from my new release, Midnight Mirage;

 a challenge and honor to write.

BLURB

Lincoln and Gabe, best friends and the hottest new alt-rock duo Mirage, only want one thing. Mallory. They’ve been waiting a year for Mallory to open her heart to both of them and accept the alternative relationship they wish for.

Mallory’s flattered by their attentions but can’t believe they’re any more than sweet words. They’re rock stars, surrounded by beautiful woman. They can’t possibly want a plain-Jane reporter like her.

When a crazed fan forces their hand, their protective instincts take over. Gabe and Lincoln aren’t willing to wait for their woman any longer. They initiate her with intense pleasure, ringing in the New Year in the naughtiest way possible. But when they whisper words of love and forever in her ear, she runs away.

Will Mallory be able to open her heart and return their affection, or will insecurity keep her from the men who love her?

EXCERPT

“Ready for your interview?” Mallory asked, her voice rumbling with unease as she took the final steps to meet Lincoln and Gabe, the duo who made up Mirage, the band she’d been sent to this New Year’s extravaganza to interview. The ground vibrated beneath her feet from the bass of the band still onstage. She looked up to meet their eyes, the focused heat of Lincoln and Gabe’s gaze burning her like a laser. Mallory tried to ignore the warm fluttering in her stomach at their stare, and the heat climbing up her face.

There was something different about the way they looked at her today. The way they’d watched her approach. Her reporter sense tingled.

She knew these men better than probably anyone else did, beside their mothers. In the year since she’d met them, they’d become the constant in her new, relentlessly-moving life spent searching for new stories and bands. Since she’d started her career last January she could only recall a few instances when she’d gone more than three weeks without running into Gabe and Lincoln. She’d interviewed every one of their opening acts, reported on the same award ceremonies and benefits they attended, and even ended up at the same hotel as they were during their vacation, which she’d arrived at to interview a different musician entirely.

At first it had seemed odd to her, too coincidental, but after a few months on the road she’d started to look forward to these chance meetings. Enjoying each moment with these men, basking in the attention they showed her, the flirting words and accidental touches of Gabe, and Lincoln’s deep eyes focused on her as he quizzed her about rock history.

“Of course.” Gabe’s British accent made him sound overly polite as he spoke. Though she knew he was anything but. He took a step closer to her, so she could smell the aftershave and warm sweat from his performance dabbled on his skin.

“Let’s start with what you two are planning.” Mallory looked back and forth between them, trying to determine the direction of their thoughts.

“We were trying to determine how to get you into bed with us,” Gabe stated matter-of-factly. He glided closer to her, fitting into one side like a key in a lock, while Lincoln circled around to the other, making her feel like she was being surrounded by hungry sharks.

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Whatever You Want, Sir ~ Available with Whiskey Creek-Torrid

Midnight Mirage ~ Available with Siren Publishing

Naughty List ~ Available with Cobblestone Press

Guest Author ~ Pat Cunningham

Happy Flirty Friday, everyone. I was so impressed with my author buddy's good-stuff-for-writers blog, that I asked her if I could post it here. Obviously, she said 'yes'. So, the above sexy eye candy must suffice for those with a flirtatious Friday sweet tooth.

How to Grow a Series
by Pat Cunningham

Let me rephrase that: this is how I grow a series. In general. I’m a pantser, so my approach to any novel, let alone a series, tends to be haphazard. I don’t sit down and plot out a nine-book epic with every single twist and plot point outlined and described. God bless those who can. It’d be a lot easier if I could, but my mind doesn’t work that way.

Tip one: don’t wait for inspiration. You can’t expect your muse to drop in on a regular basis. She may go on strike or get caught up in a CSI marathon or something and leave you holding the keyboard with a blank screen to fill. Forget about her. Sit down and write. You may find your best inspirations happen when you’re in the middle of working. As your fingers fly, so do your thoughts. It’s like dominos. One idea knocks over others, and so on down the line.

Tip two: Ask questions. Answering them results in more ideas. Before you know it, you’ve got the background for a series.

For example, suppose you’re writing about Billy and Susie – or, because this is romance, Blake and Cameron. (Or Blake and Trevor, if you’re writing M/M.) Right in the middle of a tense scene, Cameron suddenly blurts out that her sister has been arrested. Huh? Cameron has a sister? Since when? Never mind. She’s got one now. Three brothers, too, and every one of them is involved in some cause or other. That’s why Cameron never talks about them. The whole family has stories to tell and people to fall in love with. Or maybe Blake lets slip that he comes from a dynasty of assassins, but he left the business because he faints at the sight of blood. What about the rest of his family? What if one of them falls in love with their target? What if one is competing with another assassin for a lucrative government contract? Or is being hunted him/herself? There’s a trilogy right there.

If you’re writing paranormal, as I do, it gets even better. Like werewolves? In a wolf pack, only the alphas mate and breed. Depending on the size of the pack, you could have up to a dozen stories about desperate, sex-starved low-rankers trying to find love behind their alpha’s back. Would they try for other wolves, or go after humans because there’s less competition? Or try to seduce the alpha? All sorts of possibilities abound.

Moving into personal territory, here’s how a single book of mine ended up as a trilogy. I wrote Belonging, my M/M vampire story, to deal with two ideas: the concept of a person raised by vampires, and how the undead can have sex. Plus because I wanted to write Supernatural fan fiction, which is how it ended up M/M. But never mind. While answering these questions, others arose. If vampires can have sex (I figured out a way around the undead problem), can they also reproduce? Can an undead woman get pregnant, or would they have to use a human surrogate? What kind of abilities would the resulting child have?

Right in the middle of writing one book, I suddenly found the plot for another. My M/M couple becomes M/M/F when they come to the aid of a woman who has vampires chasing her. My vampire lead discovers her past and his intersect, as an incident from his human life (mentioned in the first book) comes back to haunt him. Answering the initial question – can vampires have sex? – led to the second – can vampires have children? – which led to a second book. I even got to re-use the main characters, who I really liked. Yay, less work for me.

It didn’t end there. I decided to tie off a loose end from the first book by bringing back a cameo character for a subplot. The slayer who destroyed Jeremy’s vampire family only appeared for half a page, but he left a lot of unresolved issues in his wake. He ended up playing a larger part in the sequel than I’d expected. His backstory hit me while I was writing the flashback chapter in Belonging – remember what I said about inspiration while writing? – so I already knew his whos, whats and whys. I just needed a where for him.

And I found it. My muse waylaid me as I was walking across the library parking lot. The sequel had left its own set of loose ends, in particular the other female victims of the book’s vampire conspiracy. One of them meets up with the slayer. Sparks fly and conflicts ensue. I’m currently sweating over the first draft of yet another sequel to what initially started out as a standalone book. Ta-da! My first series.

Tip Three: when an idea hits you, run with it. At one point in the third book, the heroine researches vampire slayers on the Internet. She comes across a reference to the Colt brothers, a family of slayers living in Texas. This was my little shout-out to the Winchesters for starting it all, and to Jared and Jensen, both Texas boys. Then I remembered: Annie Stanton, my retired slayer from the first book, hails from Texas, and she comes from a large family. Was her maiden name Colt? That mob down there could be her nephews, with a few nieces thrown in. Maybe she helped train them, and still sends them leads. Holy Joe, it’s a spinoff!

Tip four: know when to quit. I’m going to leave those ideas on the back burner while I concentrate on getting the other two books into (hopefully) sellable shape. In the meantime, I can always jot notes and ideas as they occur to me. If you’re looking to start your own series and don’t know what to write about, look no further than your current WIP, or maybe a previous book. Odds are the seeds of a series are sitting right in front of you in the form of a character, idea or line of dialogue, just waiting for some inspiration to help them sprout. Happy growing!
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BELONGING by Pat Cunningham

Can a prostitute find happiness with the vampire he loves? Available in e-book and print. [M/M]
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Bio:

Background: born in New Jersey, transplanted to Pennsylvania at an early age. Grew up on a diet of Marvel Comics and Star Trek. Wrote in the SF/Fantasy genres as P. E. Cunningham back in the '80s and 90s.

Currently living in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch Country and writing paranormal romance, which combines the best of all my favorite genres. Favorite pastime: impromptu road trips. Favorite author: Stephen King. Favorite time waster: Cable TV. Without it I'd write a lot more.

Come visit our blog at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS ~
You can also find Pat Cunningham blogging at ~ TITLE MAGIC ~
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Thursday 13: Thirteen Lines from an Alley

Warning: At the Mercy of Her Pleasure features a half-feline thief who plays with what he steals, and a by-the-book military heroine whose passion he liberates. Author not liable for items missing once book is open, including hearts.


At the Mercy opens in an alley. Professional thief Senth Antonello's next job will take him off planet for a week, and he wants to touch base with his enslaved half brother, Khyff before leaving. After hunting through an area of Miraj City called Crooktown, Senth finds Khyff in an alley, where his older brother (a prostitute) is servicing a client. Senth hunkers down out of sight to wait, and witnesses the scene below when the client offers Khyff an outrageous sum of money as a tip.

      1.            Khyff tucked a strand of his hair behind one ear. "You already paid me."

      2.            Senth bit back a startled laugh. Khyff actually sounded as if he was turning it down.

      3.            "You made me happy tonight. Come on, Khyff. Please? Think of it as a little extra tip."

      4.            "No way. You know I can only take soft money. You think I want people knowing about us? You think I want your banker knowing you've got a slake?"

      5.            Oh, you don't want your prints in her bank's possession. Senth nodded. Or your master knowing you moonlight.

      6.            "It's debit, not registered. Untraceable. Come on." She jiggled the bracelet. "Let me do something for you. I want to."

      7.            Khyff reached out, hesitated, and then took the bracelet. "You carried this kind of money here? Are you crazy? You could have been buzzed. There are thieves everywhere."

      8.            Senth suppressed a snicker. Ain't that the truth. What would the Grand Master say if he knew I passed up a chance at a thousand draks? He shook his head. Never hear it from me.

      9.            She ran her hands over Khyff's chest. "You care about me?"

 10.            He moved her hands away. "You know I do."

 11.            "Oh, Khyff."

 12.            "Oh, Liu."

 13.            Oh, please. Senth rolled his eyes.

Check out this video about Senth and his heroine, Captain NarrAy Jorlan.

Loose Id: http://tinyurl.com/atthemercy

Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/atthemercy-k

Print: http://tinyurl.com/atthemercy-p

Quincy's Woman (Adult Excerpt)

 Reviewer Rose @ Two Lips Reviews said: 5 kisses & a Recommended Read~"...a sweet and often hilarious historical …with very hot scenes told in first person as entries in Lucy's journal.  This book made me laugh so much, people wanted to know what I was reading..."

Available now! 

ISBN: 9781419933424

By: Gem Sivad

Scene set up: The morning after their wedding night. Lucy Quince is new to marital relations. Ambrose is interested in furthering her education in the pantry.

"Hold on," Ambrose told me.

Not knowing what to expect, I did as he instructed, grasping the wooden board before me. Startled, I felt his calloused  palm smooth across my rump and then fall lower to part my legs. "Husband?" It wasn't the manner in which we had joined the preceding night and I found it awkward as I stood with his chest pressed against my back.

"Trust me," he growled. Pulling my hips back toward him, he prodded the entrance to my channel with his shaft. As he entered me I winced, tender from our former coupling. He reached in front of me and began to fondle my feminine folds, concentrating his attentions on the sensitive button that pulsed with need.

"Yes," I whimpered already feeling the liquid emissions that made me slick and ready for his thrust.

"God, yes," he agreed. Sinking his manhood into my passage, he began stroking in and out at the same time he teased the nub of my sex. At first his thrusts were gentle, inching part way, before withdrawing to enter me again. But soon, he gave himself up to passion and wrapped his arm around mywaist, tilting me for the right angle so that each drive carried him closer to my core.

My breath was a harsh pant in the small room. I couldn't grasp the pleasure I'd captured the night before and my frustrations were emitted in a mewling cry of need. He increased the fervor of his joining,rotating his groin against my rump and pressing his fingers against the sensitive bud within my plump moist folds.

I was filled to the brim with my husband's manhood when he pinched my nub of pleasure and I cried out claiming ecstasy at last. My flesh squeezed his shaft as pulsating bliss rippled through me.  

"Only for you," he growled in my ear as he came, pumping in and out of me so hard and fast every thrust carried me upward as he spilled his seed in my depths.

As he had the night before, he slumped against me when he was spent and gasping for breath. The fervor of our coupling had left me standing on unsteady legs and I braced myself against the shelves to hold myself upright.

Our combined weight was apparently too much for the old board which cracked under the strain, breaking and sending a tin of flour and cans of beans tumbling to the floor.

Embarrassed, I hid my face in my hands, trying to stifle my laughter. Not so inhibited, my husband caressed my rump, than smacked it sassily."Hold your dress up and I'll get a wash cloth to clean you."

I waited, grinning idiotically at our decadent behavior ´til he returned,  gently cleansing the emissions from my now very tender lower regions before pulling up my drawers and dropping my skirts. My smile disappeared when I turned to find him holding a broom ready for my use.

"Made quite a mess," he said, pointing at the white powder he'd tracked from the pantry into the other room.

He exited wearing a smug smile of satisfaction and I held the broom, not sure whether to sweep the flour from the floor or use the tool as a club to smack my husband in the head.

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Six Sentence Sunday

This week's Six Sentence Sunday is taken from Handcuffs & Silk by Mary Quast.


Hunter moved into the other room and lay still on the bed with his arms at his sides, silently waiting when Steph walked into the room. His eyes focused on the ceiling, his erection jutting upward, and she thought his nakedness a tribute to the gods or a meal spread out just for her. Dropping her purse, she straddled him, forcing his cock to lay between her and his belly.

“You have the right to remain silent.” She clamped a handcuff roughly onto a wrist and raised both arms over his head to hook around the headboard rails then attached the remaining cuff to his free wrist. “Anything you say can and will be used against you for my pleasure.”


As a professional artist, Mary Quast answered the call to express herself creatively. With her descriptive writing style she has developed a knack for creating passionate characters and realistic settings. These features are prominent in her published novels of the "Soul Series" and in the books she currently writes for Decadent Publishing's 1 Night Stand series.

Flirty Friday

Music Moves My Fingers

When sitting down for a writing marathon, I have to have the perfect song to fit my mood and the scene I'm writing.

If it's a heightened moment of a sex scene, making love with the ultimate sensual feelings- I chose this one- Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch. The guitar riffs and instrumental ballad is prefect for orgasmic results.

This chorus "Cause it's almost like
Your heaven's trying everything
To break me down
Cause it's almost like
Your heaven's trying everything
To keep me out" brings to light, heart break and turmoil. The rhythm and words make my fingers hum along the keyboard, allowing me to describe the most sensual love scene in my career.

When the mood of the characters, the plain dialogue and scene is flowing smooth, I have anything from Metallica to Papa Roach serenading me. While the lyrics are geared more towards resentment and eventually coming out ahead of someone else who has burned you, "Kick In The Teeth" holds a special pace for me when writing. The upbeat tempo, the angst displayed and the "na-na-nas" have me dancing in my seat.

Music really sets the tone for my writing and I have to feel the 'music' in me.

So what songs inspire you?