Sneaksy Cleis Press! There they were saying that
Best Women's Erotica 2011 was due out in December - but it's shipping NOW from Amazon US!
My story is called
Abigail's Ice Cream and is one of two ice-cream themed tales bookending the collection. It is - for me - sweet and gentle and a bit thoughtful. It's also another one of my M/F/M stories - I seem to have a few of them out this year. Anyone would think I was obsessed or something...
*dirty snigger*
As usual this annual collection is edited by
Violet Blue. and here's what she had to say about me in her foreword:
"Closing the curtain is a legendary name I swooned over in my first forays into erotica: Janine Ashbless showed me that erotica can be literature, and in "Abigail's Ice Cream" we get another helping of the sublime, slippery dessert we started out with. As you sink into the world of a gourmet ice-cream maker, you'll also get a taste of the possibilities presented to a single woman running her own business - dishing up treats at a festival alongside hunky paramedics who tease and play with both sweets and the sweet life."
...
That pause was because I fainted...
Wow.
Wow!
Thank you Violet! I'm not sure I deserve it (
legendary name...?), but thank you!
Here's an excerpt, to get you wanting chocolate-and-chili ice cream:
“How did it go?” asks Matt.
“I sold every last scoop.”
“So ... what’s your favourite flavour?” Trev wonders.
“These two,” I answer honestly. “That’s why I brought both; I can’t choose between them.” Then I catch his lifted eyebrows and blush. Matt, chuckling, offers me the chocolate cone.
“Want a lick?”
I shrug one shoulder and nod, tipping my lips to the creamy chocolate his tongue has already swirled over. Goddamn, we’re flirting. How did this happen? What the hell do they see in me? I’m not ugly, okay - but I’m an artsy middle-aged lady who makes outrageous ice cream and wears clothes two decades old and her hair in a style and colour that’s too young for her. I’m not like them; not the sort of person who can press into a drunken crowd or a freezing pond to rescue someone from certain death, not the sort of person who can address a total stranger as ‘love.’
The chilli heat burns on my tongue. My cheeks are already flushed. Matt grins at me, an easy wickedness dancing in his hazel eyes, as I lick my lips. I’m not trying to be provocative, honestly: you have to lick your lips if you are eating ice cream. “That’s hot stuff,” he teases.
“This is better,” says Trev on my left. “Try some of this, Abi.” It would be rude not to, so I turn to the golden ice cream he offers. This one is melting faster: it’s dribbling down the cone and threatening to slide off. I catch a big gobbet on my tongue, aware that they find my action vastly entertaining, and still not quite believing it. “Bloody hell,” says Trev happily.
“You like the taste of his cream better than mine?” Matt complains and I giggle. Then a cold drip hits my skin and I realise the honey ice cream is dribbling out of the tip of the cone and is marking the front of my dress.
“Ack!” I yelp, half laughing, looking down. There’s a drip on the inner curve of my left breast. I’m not wearing a bra and this dress has rather a deep V-neck. The white trail winds down toward the cleft.
“Oh,” says Trev, looking too. “Oh ... that’s...’
"Hold on,” orders Matt. He drops his own ice cream back into the rack and then swiftly kneels before me. His fingertips graze my thighs. “Keep still,” he commands. I feel Trev’s free hand settle on the small of my back and my spine arches, thrusting my cleavage out a little more. Delicately – and it surprises me that this hearty, vital man is so careful – Matt leans forward until his lips are brushing my upper breast. I feel his breath on my skin: my own stops in my throat. I feel the tip of his tongue as he gently licks me clean.
My heart is pounding. The world seems to lurch. I stare over his head, wild eyed. We’re tucked away here, shielded by the first aid tent. Sunlight glints on the dark leaves of the hedgerow and the discarded cans in the long grass. His lips are on my breast in a lingering kiss, causing my nipples to respond greedily, hardening to points. And Trev’s hand slides up and down my spine, slow and firm.
Then Matt sits back. “Trev’s right,” he says softly, his eyes narrowing with hidden laughter. “That’s bloody good.”
Despite the warmth of the day, my nipples are standing up hard against the soft cotton. My sex is full of melting honey.
“Let’s go inside, Abi,” Trev murmurs in my ear. “Come on.”
Other authors showcased in this book include
Alison Tyler,
Rachel Kramer Bussel and
Sommer Marsden. So you are guaranteed plenty of filthy bang for your buck!
Buy at Amazon US :
Pre-order from Amazon UK (out Jan 2011, theoretically)
The editors of Cast the Cards have been on a blog-tour all month, telling people about this sumptuous Tarot-themed erotic romance anthology. I was asked, along with the other authors, to say which Tarot card I feel represents me, and all six responses are now over at Naughty in the Backseat.
There are many different artistic interpretations available for this card, but they almost all show a woman and a lion. She may be holding its mouth closed (or opening it to peer inside), riding it or simply relaxing with it. I particularly like it that the imagery is so female-positive. It reminds me of mythological depictions of the great goddesses like Kubaba, Cybele, and Durga, enthroned or accompanied by lions.
“This is better,” says Trev on my left. “Try some of this, Abi.” It would be rude not to, so I turn to the golden ice cream he offers. This one is melting faster: it’s dribbling down the cone and threatening to slide off. I catch a big gobbet on my tongue, aware that they find my action vastly entertaining, and still not quite believing it. “Bloody hell,” says Trev happily.
