Monday, 11 December 2017

Blue Monday: Kay Jaybee guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is the award-winning Kay Jaybee with a teaser from The Fifth Floor- the re-edited and revamped version of her BDSM novel previously titled, The Perfect Submissive. Kay says "It has been over five years since the first novel in The Perfect Submissive Trilogy was first released. It felt high time therefore, that I took the entire series off the market, gave its words a brush and polish, and invested in new covers, before releasing it into the wild."


Hidden behind the respectable faΓ§ade of the Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire, five specially adapted rooms await visitors to the fifth floor. Here, Mrs Peters is mistress of an adult entertainment facility pandering to the kinky requirements of its guests. When she meets Jess Sanders, she recognises the young woman’s potential as a deliciously meek addition to her specialist staff. All it will take is a little education. Under the tutelage of dominatrix, Miss Sarah, Jess learns to cope with an erotically demanding training schedule and a truly sexy exercise regime. But will she come to terms with her new career? Meanwhile, Mrs Peters is temporarily distracted from her intimidating rule over Fables’ fifth floor by artist, Sam Wheeler – who she believes can help her in her mission to transform Jess into the perfect submissive…


Jess was sat at her desk, a half eaten sandwich in one hand; the fingers of her other hand dancing over the computer keyboard. Laura watched her through the office window for a few moments before confidently stepping into the room, interrupting the clerk without hesitation. ‘Mr Davies informs me he has not yet had time to complete your preliminary tour of the hotel.’

Understanding precisely where the manageress intended to take her, Jess spoke carefully, ‘I’ve seen most of it, but not all.’

Without confirming the clerk’s suspicions, Laura said, ‘I have a few moments, so if you’d like to walk this way I’ll complete that area of your training.’ She pointed towards the office door, ‘You are bound to be asked for directions around the place by our guests and it doesn’t look very professional if a member of staff gets lost herself, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would, Mrs Peters.’

Although she’d now worked at the Fables for just over a week, Jess still hadn’t looked her boss in the eye once, a fact that sent a buzz of conviction through Mrs Peters; her initial instincts about the girl had been correct.

‘Are you happy here so far, Miss Sanders?’

‘Yes, Mrs Peters. Thank you.’ Jess muttered her response, almost managing to glance directly at her superior, but falling short at her shoulders. Laura’s heartbeat increased in response to the girl’s natural deference. Jess Sanders was just so perfect for what she had in mind.

As they walked towards the staff lift Laura attempted to improve the flow of conversation, ‘And I don’t think you have yet been introduced to all the other members of staff?’

‘Not yet, no.’ Again Jess spoke cautiously, and Laura knew from the expression on her face that she was both fearful and curious about meeting anyone who kept their business arrangements entirely to the Fables upper storey.

‘We are one member of staff down at the moment; one of my assistants has left us for pastures new. I’m searching for a replacement. Master Lee Philips, who works in the bar downstairs, helps me out as and when required, but it’s not an ideal arrangement. He has many other duties, and besides, the fifth floor guests frequently prefer the female touch.’

Following the clerk into the lift it was obvious that no small talk was going to come from her, so Laura calmly kept up her commentary. ‘My associate, Miss Sarah, should be on the premises by 10.00 each morning, unless she has had a complete night session, in which case she is not expected until 2.00 p.m. As I’ve said, Master Philips comes and goes, depending on our requirements and his bar and reception work. Miss Sarah has her first session of the day in a few moments, if we are lucky we should just catch the show.’

Visibly shrinking back, Jess noticed how Mrs Peters walked a little taller now they’d reached her domain. Her face was more set, her back straighter, and somehow she appeared even more intimidating than before. Pushing her hands into the deep pockets of her clinging knee-length black skirt, Jess hid the growing sheen of perspiration on her palms, while trying to ignore the fearful beat of her pulse.

Crossing the threshold of the room, into which she was being firmly steered by the elbow, felt like entering another world to Jess, or rather, another time. Manoeuvred towards a plush red velvet chaise longue, her eyes darting here and there, the clerk was pointedly sat down.


Trying to ignore the light but persistent pressure of Mrs Peters cool hand against her wrist, Jess took in the reproduction William Morris wallpaper, the heavy dark-wood chest of drawers, the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the faded brown leather wing-backed armchair. Centre stage, only a few metres from where they sat, was a huge writing desk. Its top was inlaid with a square of leather, a portion of which was covered with blotting paper, an accompanying ink well, pots of ink, and nibbed pens.

Jess was reminded of a museum she’d once visited as a child, where rooms from a variety of different houses had been re-created from a number of historical periods. This room had Victorian study written all over it.

The silence was beginning to get to her as she waited, perched rather than sat, on the unyielding seat. A faint voice of hope at the back of her head kept telling her that all this had to be some sort of practical joke, but one glance at Mrs Peters made Jess reconsider. Her eyes kept drifting towards the study door. Whatever she had been brought here to witness surely couldn’t begin until someone came in. Twenty seconds later, each one ticked off by the hammer of Jess’s heart beating, the door swung back with a confident push.

‘Ah, Miss Sarah,’ Laura rose from her seat, a stern glare at Jess telling her not to move. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Fables has a new member of staff, and I thought it would be a good idea to let her observe one of our sessions.’

Miss Sarah, her face powdered to an ultra-pale complexion, her curling hair pinned up in the style of a Victorian lady, her exquisite outfit historically accurate down to the small white buttons that fastened her stylish black boots, curtsied at once to her superior, ‘Of course, Mrs Peters.’

The stunningly slim woman glanced briefly at Jess, her grey gaze only lingering long enough to acknowledge the stranger, without taking in what she looked like or who she might be. Miss Sarah’s indifference, dismissing the office clerk as an unimportant factor in the room, made Jess feel smaller and more anxious than ever.

The agonising lull continued and Jess’s imagination began to run riot as Miss Sarah sat at the desk in preparation for her client’s arrival. Images of pock-skinned overweight men, panting loudly as they fucked the employees of the fifth floor against the furniture made Jess’s stomach churn, but there was no way out. With a quiet determination that Mrs Peters would have been surprised to know Jess possessed, she thought, if the other members of staff here have survived this part of the tour, then so can I.

As Mrs Peters returned to both the chaise longue and her application of gentle restraint against the clerk’s arm, Jess’s body stiffened. Someone was knocking on the door. Not daring to face her employer, Jess focused on the figure that, after being granted permission to enter, walked meekly into the study.

If he hadn’t had his neck bent, his face to the floor with respect for Miss Sarah, who greeted him with a sharp ‘Good Morning’, Jess judged he would have been quite tall. And he was young; not the sweaty, aged bank manager Jess had conjured up in her head, but a man in his late 20s or early 30s, with a shaven face, short spiked ginger hair, and well built limbs. He was dressed as a servant, perhaps a stable hand. Jess was automatically reminded of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Gulping against her dehydrated throat, unwilling to see the sex that she was sure was about to follow, the clerk dropped her eyes, only to have her chin roughly jerked upwards by Mrs Peters, ‘No, child. You will observe. You will learn.’

A patina of panic gripped Jess. Every hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. Until that moment it had been unreal. She hadn’t let go of the hope that at any minute someone was going to turn around and say, ‘OK, Jess, it’s just a joke. We play it on all the new girls. Let’s grab a coffee.’ No one did though. No one was saying anything...



Buy The Fifth Floor at:

Amazon US :: Amazon UK : Amazon CA
Smashwords


Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO.
Kay was also nominated as the Best Erotica Writer in 2013 and 2014.
Kay has had over 100 short stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite, Penguin, Seal, and Sweetmeats Press. Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane

You can follow Kay on Twitter- @kay_jaybee

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at her Website
Facebook
Goodreads
Brit Babes Website
Pinterest
Amazon Author Page

Saturday, 9 December 2017

Blogtour roundup #1

Wilhelm Alexandrovich KotarbiΕ„ski (1848-1921): Angel in a Cemetery

The Prison of the Angels was published a week ago, so of course I've been going round shouting about it  - thank you to everyone who has had me over at their gaff, wibbling about sexy angels!

Samantha MacLeod
had mercy on me for using Loki in the novel (when he's HERS) and let me interview my heroine Milja πŸ™‹

At Kryssie Fortune's place I bemoaned my own stupidity 😜

On Tuesday I took over the Blissemas facebook page FOR 12 HOURS and posted lots of pics. Only one penis though. πŸ’¦#OMGitnearlykilledme


On Wednesday Emmanuelle de Maupassant and I discussed the moral maze of the trilogyπŸ™

Billierosie got to hear about Milja's BDSM journey from vanilla to kink 😲

Jennifer Denys posted a  naughty excerpt😍

And today I confess my perverse love of Satan to Kay Jaybee 😈

Thursday, 7 December 2017

When I was 50...



Around my birthday every year I take a look back at what I've done for the first time EVER, just to check that I'm not actually dead of old age yet.

This year, sadly, has been very quiet on the travel front. Basically we have a frail and elderly dog so we haven't been able to go on holiday since last January. Maybe next year...

"No - I will live forever! Give me snacks!"


Anyway, when I was 50:

For the Very First Time:

  • I rode on a banana-boat


  • I finished a novel trilogy: both In Bonds of the Earth and The Prison of the Angels were published this year
  • I hosted a Facebook Promo Party - in fact I've done two now, if you count Blissemas on Tuesday
  • I discovered that neat alcoholic spirits give me terrible indigestion. BOOO! I am getting old!
  • I had a dishwasher installed. Don't tell Mr Ashbless, but I love it!
  • I used a Rug Doctor and was impressed
  • I used a juicer ... yeah, okay, someone shoot me now...
  • I watched a branding (at Eroticon 2017)
  • I went to the Leeds Festival (despite friends insisting it was VERY DANGEROUS)
  • I saw ELO, Muse and Kasabian play live
  • I sold all my vinyl records
  • I had to handle serious fly-tipping in my wood
  • I successfully escaped an escape room (we've beaten three out of four so far, in fact)
  • I used a robo-loo! 

  • I attended a sibling's wedding (my sister's ... I missed my brother's a few years back because I was on holiday)
  • I visited the James Herriot Museum AT LAST (it's up the road ... have I been there at any point in the last 27 years? Have I heck.) Thank you Jo πŸ˜‰



 I'm hoping by next birthday to have done some more travel to new countries, and be in a new house ... we'll see!

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

5th Day of Blissemas 2017: Befana the Xmas witch


Welcome all!

This is a Blissemas post - which means that if you comment on it you will be entered into a draw for a Kindle Fire 7 pre-loaded with kinky lit and hot romance! What's more, if you comment on all the posts on the Blissemas blog-hop, you will be entered multiple times! (Oo-er!)

La Befana, the Christmas Witch


Pictured above are two Christmas tree decorations I bought in Italy a few years ago. Yes – both are Christmassy, and have nothing to do with Hallowe’en!

“But … the witch! On a flying broomstick!” you might be saying. Well, there’s an Italian Christmas story that you may not have heard before…

Once there was a widow woman called Befana who was very tough despite her years and ever so house-proud. She couldn’t stand to leave her home untidy. One day she was sweeping out her kitchen when three men rode up and stopped to ask for food and drink. This she gave gladly, because she was a generous woman, but she could see that these were not ordinary beggars or travelers. They wore crowns and their eyes were bright with the vision of their purpose.

“We are three Wise Men from the East,” they told her. “And we’re traveling in search of the Christ Child who was promised. Come with us to find him!”

Now Befana was tempted, because she loved children and longed to see the Christ and give him a gift. But she said, “First I have to finish sweeping my floor and tidying the house. I can’t leave it in a mess. What would people think?” So when the Wise Men rode away she stayed behind, and only at the end of the day did she lock up and set off after them, her broom in her hand and a basket of cakes, to seek the Christ Child.

But she never found him, from that day to this. From that day onward she has wandered the world with her broom, giving out gifts to every good child (on the 5th of January, the night before the Feast of the Kings) just in case one of them is the Christ.

So that’s an Italian folk story for you. In my latest novel, The Prison of the Angels, my characters Milja and Egan are actually in Italy in the run-up to Christmas – in Rome to be precise – but they don’t meet Befana … just several archangels ;-) My heroes are trying to stop the imminent Apocalypse, btw.

My Blissemas Kiss Present to you all is this little excerpt from that book:

Excerpt from The Prison of the Angels:

Egan grabbed my shoulders. “You okay?”

I nodded, still gulping oxygen. We had arrived, it seemed, exactly where we’d been aiming for. The little piazza, barely more than a junction of three alleyways. It was daylight, and it was drizzling; a cool rain that seemed like a balm after the emptiness, and a joke in comparison to Ireland’s scything, horizontal precipitation.

My legs wobbled as he pulled me to my feet.

“Please, let’s not do that again,” he said.

“I’m not sure I could.”

“It worked though.” He laughed. “And if we survive any of this, at least I’ll be able to boast that I’ve literally been to Hell and back.”

My stare must have been questioning.

“C’mon, Milja,” he said, shouldering his bag. “Where did you think your short-cut was taking us?”

Ohhh…

Nobody seemed to have witnessed us, so we gathered ourselves and slipped out onto the main street. We pushed across stationary traffic and onto the Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II. The flow of pedestrians was that way too; a vast crowd heading toward Vatican City just over the water. Many were praying out loud. Everyone looked nervous. I glanced up and wondered at the strange look of the clouds overhead; they were clotted and writhing, like spoiled milk.

“Where’d all the people come from?” I gasped, bumping along at his elbow.

“Rome’s filling up with pilgrims for Advent; they come for the Papal Blessing. I’m guessing they’re heading for St. Peter’s Square right now. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“What?”

“You’re a December baby, aren’t you?”

Today’s date hadn’t even occurred to me. “How do you know?”

“I had a whole dossier on you to memorize when I was sent to Montenegro, remember.”

My mouth flapped a bit. I did remember. Of course, the Catholic Church had been keeping tabs on my family for years. “Birthdays weren’t a big thing in my family,” I said. “Our patron saint’s day is seen as much more important.”

“Who’s yours?”

The Archangel Michael. “One who doesn’t like me.”

Egan stopped abruptly, pulling me into the lee of a statue’s plinth. He put a warm hand around the back of my neck, inside my hood, and pressed into me for a sudden kiss that took me wholly by surprise and made my heart flutter and sing. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered.

“Well, I am a bit worried how it will all end,” I said in a small voice, “but at least I’m spending it with the man I love.”


Buy The Prison of the Angels at:


And don't forget to COMMENT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN πŸ˜‡

Sunday, 3 December 2017

Ohmigawsh Ohmigawsh Ohmigawsh


ROFL! 😍
Once I'd stopped laughing, I had to post this reaction to The Prison of the Angels from Anna Sky of Sexy Little Pages πŸ˜€

She actually collected herself and posted a slightly less sweary 'official' review for the front pages:

"I adore Janine Ashbless' Watchers series, and The Prison of the Angels is no exception. Like the previous two books, not only is it extraordinarily well researched, but beautifully written. The pacing, dialogue and characters all combine to create a modern classic that's impossible to put down."
 ... which I've just added to the brand new TPotA page on my website

THANK YOU ANNA!

Friday, 1 December 2017

The Prison of the Angels - release day!


The angels have been released from their prison! Yes, the final part of the Book of the Watchers trilogy is NOW ON SALE - and what's more, the first Amazon review has been posted!



This is a romance with a lot of super-heated steam and the darkest shadows you can imagine, and I think it’s a fantastic conclusion to a story which has built up a serious head of steam over the previous two books.

In principle, this could be read as a stand-alone story, but I strongly enourage you to read the first two in the series. It’s imaginative, sweeping, full of twists and turns, and I genuinely had NO idea where Janine’s story was going right up until the end. She brings together myths from different cultures as well as archangels and angels who, being truly inhuman and created in a particular way, have a multitude of what we call human failings as well as unimaginable powers.

Wow.

And the ending was, well, endearing.


THANK YOU IAN! πŸ’Ÿ


I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless. I was wrong, wasn’t I? 

Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart. Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries. 

She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether - torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost. But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja. Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it. 

Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel. 

This time, the choices she make will change everything. 

This time it’s the End of the World

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Janine goes to a stripshow

Ooh - look at me all dressed up like Chrissie Hynde and taking an actual selfie!

(On a borrowed phone, to be fair)
And the occasion?  I was off to see this:


The East London Strippers Collective is an activist/feminist community aiming at empowerment and equality for their members. Here's their statement video:



"ELSC are a group of feisty, articulate and fiercely independent women, who also happen to be strippers, challenging stigma and smashing stereotypes with their refreshingly honest and open discourse about their culture, working conditions and feminist beliefs. They have come together as a collective, united in their shared grievances about poor working conditions and exploitative business practises within their industry. They also lament the stigma surrounding their jobs; the lack of wider public understanding about what they do, compounded by negative connotations that come from poor mainstream media representation and “feminist” campaigns that seek to erase their industry and destroy their livelihoods.

To counter all this they have begun self-organising their own pop-up events to raise awareness, invite new audiences to explore their world and see what they do from a new perspective.
 Strippers of the ELSC seek to challenge the patriarchal conventions on which their industry is built, and we warmly invite women, couples and trans/queer individuals into our world of wondrous titty-twirling, booty-clapping, pole-dancing and underwear-peeling." 

Here's their WEBSITE - check out the "Lip Glossary" page; that's an education.

The show I watched took place at Club Aquarium in London and had a definite old-school-Rock theme with just our kind of music (AC/DC, Motorhead, Rammstein) πŸ’– - hence the dressing-up on the part of the audience too.


What was it like? Well, almost squeaky-clean, tbh! As a public event it had to stick to the licensing laws - thongs and nipple-tape, absolutely no full nudity, no physical contact. The performers were all pole-dancers, and WOW was that impressive - athletic, sensual, high-energy fun. The drinks were London-pricey but the bar staff were into the music too, which was nice.



Correct practice is to buy "strip dollars" and "make it rain" - throw them on-stage encouragingly during the performance (because no one wants pound coins being hurled around, lol). One guy had a money gun...



The audience? Diverse, young and predominantly female.

Time raced by, I have to say, and we had loads of fun. We even had a good trip home on the train for once, with no drunken blokes falling about (bad), or rabid teenaged girls (much worse), so altogether it was a most successful evening in town!

In short, if you're in London and want to see a sexy but not outrageous, guaranteed ethical, strip-show ... SUPPORT THE ELSC!



Monday, 27 November 2017

Blue Monday SPECIAL

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment... But TODAY I have a naughty bit from my soon-to-be-released novel  The Prison of the Angels - out FRIDAY 1ST DECEMBER πŸ’™πŸ’šπŸ’›πŸ’›πŸ’

In this chapter Milja is being taken by Egan to see his superior within the secretive Vidimus order, within the Vatican:


Claustrophobia and agoraphobia seemed to alternate in this place, with nothing in between. And everywhere we were surrounded by naked flesh—hugely muscled statues of ferocious-looking saints, frescoes where billowy people bumped around on clouds like pastel-colored helium balloons, and bare-bummed putti equally at home flashing pagan gods or the crucified Christ.

To top off my anxiety, as I’d fought my way out of the crush surrounding Michelangelo’s Pieta, I was pretty sure I’d spotted the Archangel Raphael. He’d been attempting to blend into a crowd of South Korean tourists, but had failed by dint of being head and shoulders taller than anyone else, and supermodel-beautiful. He’d walked away and I’d lost sight of him. If it truly had been him.

I hadn’t told Egan.

Here, at the top of the vast stairwell and through another anonymous door into a broad gallery, we were surrounded by flesh again. Vast tapestries covered the rear walls, full of unclothed Greek heroes slaughtering one other. Before these stood twin rows of white marble statues. I couldn’t tell if they were Roman originals or Renaissance homages, but almost all of them were nudes. I scrunched my face in bewilderment.

Egan knocked on the door at the end of the gallery. A wizened old priest came out briefly and they conducted a murmured conversation in Italian. The priest disappeared again and Egan shrugged. “We wait,” he said.

I strode slowly back along the lines of marble, peering at the ripped torsos and the contorted limbs, frozen in strife. Even the sedate bust of an elderly philosopher was heroically proportioned. “Is this part of the museum?” I asked.

“Yes. Not a bit open to the public though.” Unable to shove his hands into jeans pockets, Egan crossed them and tucked them into his armpits while he paced slowly about. “Father Giuseppe is a curator in the Vatican Museum, officially.”

“And unofficially?”

“He’s more important.”

“Like, the head of your order?”

“That’s not something I can discuss.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s an academic by inclination, not a crusader. Which is why he might listen to us. And he is my confessor within the order, so he knows about…us.”

“Hh.” I poked a dryad’s stone nipple. “Does your Pope know about Vidimus?”

“And that’s something else I’m not authorized to talk about.”

I sighed. “Why do you lot have all this stuff?” I asked, derision breaking into my voice. I waved my arms at the gallery and its contents. “It’s all pagan! What’s any of this got to do with the Church?”

Egan was keeping half an eye on the closed door. “You can look at pagan myths as metaphors for deeper eternal truths. I guess. Human attempts to depict the ineffable.”

“In my faith we never try to depict the divine in three dimensions, or like realistic people—it is too worldly.” I spun in a circle and laughed. “How can you keep your celibate priests clean of temptation surrounded by this stuff all day? All your nasty half-naked saints? It’s all abs and asses and heaving bosoms, it must drive you crazy!”

Egan frowned. “It’s just art.”

“It’s porn!” I crossed to a statue of a goat-legged man grasping a struggling, wide-eyed nymph and I clapped my hand against his bare butt. The statue, labelled Pan and Selene, was certainly dynamic. Pan, apart from his hairy calves and cloven hooves, was handsome in a coarse way and muscled like a wrestler, while Selene’s round breasts seemed to bounce weightlessly despite their marble. I could see the dints his fingers made in the alabaster of her thigh. “Really high-end, expensive porn, okay? And this is pretty violent stuff too. Doesn’t look consensual to me.”

I had Egan’s attention now. He uncrossed his arms and stalked toward me. “You shouldn’t touch that, Milja,” he said mildly. “It’s hundreds of years old and probably priceless.”

I wrinkled my nose at him, wanting to provoke. “I’m just trying to grasp an ineffable spiritual truth,” I told him, sliding my hand lasciviously up Pan’s thigh and tickling his heavy ball-sack.

Egan laughed, half disapproving and half amused. His response fueled the devil in me, and I caressed Selene’s bare bosom, stroking her while I watched Egan’s face. He was close enough now that I could see his pupils dilate, darkening his eyes. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Is that a dare?

I ran my fingertips sensually down the long line of the goddess’s arched torso, from erect stone nipple to the curve of her hipbone—and as I dropped my hand away I swept it out and let it graze the black fabric of his cassock. My fingers guessed accurately; there was nothing soft in the bulge they found there, and Egan caught his breath. He went terribly still. He wasn’t looking at the marble assault, he was looking down at me.

“Milja,” he whispered.

But he didn’t back away.

The knowledge of what I was doing to him was like a liquid flame running through my core. I felt like I could have sprouted horns and a tail at that moment. I could have tied his erect cock with a ribbon and dragged him away by it into the fires that never die.

What I did was let my hand drift back, and use two knuckles to slowly trace the thick, curved ridge hidden beneath his robe and trapped in his pants. It was already more turgid than it had been a moment ago.

“Ah please, Milja, why?” He pleaded like a man tied helplessly to a wall, unable to escape, unable to defend himself. All he had to do was thrust my hand away, or step out of reach, but somehow he was now closer to me instead, looming over me. Helplessly.

I stretched up until my lips were all but brushing his. “I want to make sure you have plenty for the confessional,” I murmured.

“Oh, you have no idea.”


 

Pre-order The Prison of the Angels at:



Friday, 24 November 2017

Totally Sinful


Hahahah! I appear to have taken over Sinful Press! When you visit their website my four books are plastered across the top of the homepage (well, temporarily, for about 5 seconds until the rolling banner moves on... all glory is but brief, eh?).


And yipeee - the new "Sinful" version of Named and Shamed is already appearing up on sale in various places, with more to follow!



How much more sinful could you ask for?!

Wednesday, 22 November 2017

"Crying over my Kindle" - FIRST REVIEW and pre-order links


The first review for The Prison of the Angels comes from Samantha MacLeod! I was scared! She was scared! (No, honestly... we were both really worried I couldn't pull the trilogy off...)

Her verdict?

"Both surprising and ridiculously satisfying, in a heart-breaking, crying-over-my-Kindle sort of way.

I wanted a lot of things out of this series. And I won’t say The Prison of the Angels met my ridiculously high expectations. Because, somewhere between sneaking through the Vatican’s secret chambers and skiing the mountains of Norway, The Prison of the Angels took those expectations and blew them out of the freaking water."

 FULL REVIEW HERE

Thank you so much Samantha!



Here are the buy-links for pre-orders; The Prison of the Angels is released on DECEMBER 1ST:

Amazon US paperback :: Kindle
Amazon UK paperback :: Kindle



I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless.
I was wrong, wasn’t I?

Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart. 

Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries. 


She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether - torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost.


But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja.


Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it. Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel. 


This time, the choices she make will change
everything.

This time it’s the End of the World

Monday, 20 November 2017

Blue Monday: Samantha MacLeod guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Samantha MacLeod is back today as the second part of a double treat (her excerpt from Claiming Thor's Hammer is HERE). Today's sexy snippet is from her new fantasy story The Night Watch, which will be released on November 28th.



When Prince Liam returns to his kingdom after five years away, there's only one person he wants desperately to see: Cerdec, his closest friend since childhood. But Cerdec is now a knight sworn to protect the kingdom, and Liam fears he is the only one who remembers their stolen moments together.

Newly-sworn knight Cerdec has had no shortage of lovers since Liam left, but he's never felt as close to them as he once felt to the prince. Now that Liam has returned, Cerdec is prepared to serve as his personal guard, even if the position torments his with longing he's terrified to voice.

Even if it means he must welcome and protect the bride Liam's father has selected.


Liam paused at the intersection. "If you would be so kind," he said in a level, measured voice. "Please show me to my room."

He did not turn to meet Cerdec's eyes. In the torchlight, Liam looked pale and exhausted. He looked, Cerdec realized, like he could really use a guard.

"Of course," Cerdec said. "You're almost there."

Liam trailed him down the corridor, his steps seeming to slow as they approached the wing reserved for the royal family. They'd spent years renovating; Cerdec had examined the plans along with his father, discussing their defensibility, their tactical implications. And Cerdec had tried, desperately tried, not to think of Liam sleeping there. Of the way his beautiful body would move through those empty rooms.

"This is it," said Cerdec. "It's all new. I... I hope you like it."

Cerdec stepped back, wanting Liam to be the one to open the doors to his new quarters. Liam hesitated at the entrance, running his fingers over the smoothly polished wood.

"Eagles," he muttered, tracing the delicate carving on the door.

"I hope they're still your favorite," Cerdec said. The eagles had been his idea, suggested very discreetly through his father.

Liam closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. Cerdec was struck with the sudden, bizarre impression that he was trying not to cry. Then the moment passed and Liam pushed open the doors.

The torches had burned low, bathing the room in soft golden flickers. Liam shook his head as he entered, his fingers lingering on the massive wooden desk. "It's enormous," he said.

"This is just the antechamber," Cerdec said. "Beyond is the, uh, the bedchamber."

"All this for one person," Liam whispered.

Cerdec fell silent. He slept in a bunk in the barracks, in a room he shared with seven other knights. Liam turned toward the bedchamber, but hesitated on the threshold. His shoulders hunched, as if he were in pain, and Cerdec moved toward him.

"If there's anything else I can do for you," Cerdec said.

Liam's hand darted out and caught Cerdec's wrist. His fingers shook as they closed over Cerdec's skin. Liam turned toward him, his eyes burning with mute longing and loneliness, with fear and desire. The space between their bodies trembled.

I might hang for this, Cerdec thought.

And he pressed his lips against Liam's.

Liam's body exploded under Cerdec's touch. His fingers plunged into Cerdec's hair, pulling him closer as he moaned into Cerdec's mouth, opening to his tongue. They pressed against each other, destroying the space between them. Liam pulled away from their kiss to run his lips over Cerdec's jaw, his breath hot on Cerdec's neck and ear. Cerdec wrapped his arms around Liam's waist and lifted him, carrying him through the antechamber as Liam wrapped his legs around Cerdec's back.

The door to the bedchamber was closed, and Cerdec braced Liam against the polished wood, their hips pushing against each other as Cerdec fumbled with the latch. Liam was devouring him, licking and sucking on his bottom lip, digging his fingers into Cerdec's shoulders, his cock throbbing against Cerdec's thighs, and Cerdec could not for the life of him figure out the damn door. It was just a doorknob for fuck's sake—

The door swung open and Liam fell backward. Cerdec caught him, his strong arms around Liam's waist, and their lips crashed together again, their tongues furiously mating as Cerdec pulled at the waist of Liam's pants. Buttons pinged against the stone floor as he ripped open the slacks and shoved them over Liam's hips. Liam's entire body shuddered as Cerdec wrapped his fingers around the hard heat of Liam's manhood.

Cerdec hesitated, his heart in his mouth. Gods, he wanted this—he'd wanted this for years. But he wanted this to be good. He moved his fingers along the length of Liam's cock, rubbing his thumb over the head. Liam moaned into his neck, his body trembling in Cerdec's arms. Cerdec turned to kiss the length of Liam's exposed neck, and Liam's hips began to rock against Cerdec's fingers.

"Shall we test the bed?" Cerdec whispered.

Liam moaned something that may well have been assent, and Cerdec brought his hands to Liam's thighs, lifting him. Liam pressed his lips to Cerdec's and the whole room spun as they kissed and kissed, deeply and hungrily. Liam's hips thrust rhythmically against Cerdec's when they found the bed, his cock hot and hard against Cerdec's stomach, his breath coming in gasps.

Cerdec sat on the bed, releasing Liam's thighs as he brought his hand back to Liam's glorious cock. He ran his fingers along its length, and Liam moaned in response, his entire body trembling. Cerdec smiled, his hand moving faster. Liam panted and then cried out, tilting his head back as he came hot and thick across Cerdec's chest. Cerdec pulled him close, kissing his collarbone, his neck, taking in his scent, the feel of his prince's body in his arms.

Liam's shoulders began to shake. A heartbeat later, a ragged sob escaped his lips. Cold panic coursed through Cerdec's veins. What have I done?

"My prince?" Cerdec whispered. "Liam, are you —"

Liam sobbed again, his arms tightening around Cerdec's shoulders. "Oh, gods," he gasped. "I thought—I thought I was the only one."

Relief spread through Cerdec like sunlight. "My gorgeous prince, you are certainly not the only one."

Liam sobbed louder, his entire body heaving in Cerdec's arms, and Cerdec kissed the top of his head, kissed his neck. "You're not alone," Cerdec whispered over Liam's tears. "You're home."


Preorder The Night Watch at:
Less Than Three Press


Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.

Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.

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Sunday, 19 November 2017

Q: Why's he called Aquaman?


A: Because he makes women wet πŸ‘Ώ

In honour of the fact I watched Justice League yesterday, here are some pics of the sexiest man in all the Seven Seas:




And here's the haunting Leonard Cohen song the movie opens with, since this was my Facebook review:

"Everybody knows the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich"

Well WOW, if you want a metaphor for Trump's West, just try the death of Superman. JL opens with a montage, to Leonard Cohen's lyrics, of a world where hope has died; stuck in a spiral of hate and vicious self-interest, where white supremacists attack hijabied shopkeepers and nihilistic terrorists attempt to return us to a medieval age of "holy fear". The good guys hide in the shadows, firefighting but not daring to lead. To be clear: I never liked Superman as a character, but this really hits home with why he mattered.

And if "Batman vs Superman" was the turn of the wheel into darkness, "Justice League" is the very necessary counterpart - the turn toward the light again, the righting of past wrongs, the reaching out from isolation to others. The two movies make a whole. 

"The deepest darkness is not the absence of light, but the belief that the light can never return".