Blue Monday: Falling Deep release

Every Monday I post a anughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Falling Deep is out on WEDNESDAY THIS WEEK so here's a bit from where it starts to get all BDSM...

The chauffeur waiting by the car cast her one cool glance as he opened the door. She felt embarrassed by the flush she was sure must be showing at her cheeks. The ridiculous heels wobbled on the gravel and Yohan had to help her balance. Under that impeccable suit sleeve his arm felt strong as a bar.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured her.

Liz thought back to the teachers she’d had crushes on at school. Older men had their own attraction, she admitted. At least this one was courteous, unlike Evan. And certainly more caring than John! Definitely a step up the social scale, she told herself, trying to keep her breathing under control. The corset was more constricting than she’d first realized and she was uncomfortably aware that there’d been a certain amount of, well, heaving when she was first introduced to him.

The interior of the car was upholstered in white leather and unusually spacious. It was also cool, little warmer than the chill November evening outside. As Liz slid into the seat she hoped he’d put the heater on. She was not dressed for autumn.

Yohan settled himself beside her. “On the floor, please,” he said with a little smile, indicating the carpet before him. “I want to be able to see you.”

“Oh,” said Liz, not sure whether to be offended. “Right.” She swung down to kneel before his spread thighs. In a weird way she felt flattered, she realized. Before she came to Enniswitrin she’d felt invisible. Men had never paid her very much attention. Now she was getting it in surfeit.

She shivered.

“Cold?” he wondered.

“A bit.” Then she tipped sideways as the car executed a turn onto the drive, and had to catch herself with an out-flung hand.

Yohan tutted. “Hold on to these,” he told her. There were two metal rings set into the floor of the vehicle, and tied to them were what looked like black silk scarves. He caught one up, wrapped it several times around Liz’s right wrist, and tucked the loose end into her palm. Before she could react he turned to her other hand and tied it the same way.

Liz bit her lip, uncertain. She was now bound, sort of, as long as she cooperated. But he was right, in that she could steady herself when the car yawed.

“You look utterly delicious,” he told her, stooping to tuck his hand up the front of her skirt, between her parted thighs. The brush of his palm was smooth but his touch on her sex was electric and she responded, quite automatically, with an arch of her back and a sharp in-drawing of breath that made her bosom strain against the basque’s cruel confines. He watched her reaction, his dark gaze pouring across her face and breasts. With one fingernail he found and scratched the silk directly over her clit.

Liz quivered from top to toe and shut her eyes. It was too much—too intimate, too fast, too shameful. She didn’t want to see his face, so close to hers, drinking in her reaction. His finger moved, a tiny light scritch-scratch over the most sensitive part of her, making her squirm on those taut silk bonds, almost making her dance to his touch. She could tell him no, she could push his hand away, but that would mean unwrapping her bonds, it would mean voicing defiance, and it would mean making him stop. And she didn’t want that.

No, her reactions had been too slow. That second’s hesitation had been long enough to allow the pleasure-messages to reach her brain. Now she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want to lose that teasing, sharp-edged stimulation. Her clit was singing like a tuning fork in sympathy with his motion, and those vibrations were rolling out through the rest of her body in waves.

“I see,” he murmured, and she wondered what it was that he saw—that she was a pushover when it came to sex? That she was as malleable to his will as any ingénue?

She heard a click and she opened her eyes. Yohan was reaching into a compartment built into the leather seat. “No,” he admonished, deserting her crotch to catch her jaw in his hand and turn her face up to his. “I want your attention at all times. I want you to look at me.”

Liz would have made some snarky comment, but her poor pussy was too upset by the loss of his hand. The need for him to touch her again was so cruel that she blinked her long lashes at him and nodded, the tiny motion captive in his palm.

“Good.” He rewarded her by reaching back under her skirt with his other hand, and she heard the hum a split-second before she felt it. A vibrator. A good one—big, near-silent, its flowing curves almost velvety in texture against her inner thigh, her panty-gusset, her aching clit.

The touch of it there sent her up on her knees in wordless shock, the silk bonds straining against her wrists. Yohan never flinched and never let her escape. His hand cupped her face as she writhed her hips and thrashed her head back and forth, and his eyes were still gazing into hers as she lost all focus.

There was no respite. No matter how she moved, the vibrator kept up with her, its muted and secret rumble turning her flesh to liquid, her cold to hot, her no to yes. It drowned her inhibitions and sank her senses in an ocean of wanting.

Wanting more.

Needing more.

I can’t come here in the car! she thought frantically, even as her body told her it could, it would, it was going to.

Now.

---

Buy Falling Deep at Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Hero's journey

Actually I want to link to this excellent article by Tamsin Flowers: How to use the Hero's Journey to write erotica.

OUT NEXT WEEK! - Falling Deep details

Woohoo! I now have buy-links and blurb for Falling Deep, book two of my Lovers' Wheel quartet, and the follow-up to Summer Seduction.

Publication date is Wednesday 2nd March


Amazon US :: Amazon UK

Liz is reeling with shock. She has just discovered that her Great-aunt Moira’s spooky old house is the last disguised remnant of mystical Avalon, and that Moira has been manipulating her into initiation as an immortal sorceress serving the old powers of nature.

Liz’s ordained role is to turn the Wheel of the Year through the seasons by having sex with each of the Twelve Months in turn. The Brothers of the Fall appear to be hot and handsome men, but they are far more daunting than their summer predecessors. Liz now faces three new avatars who are increasingly dominant and kinky. As the year turns inexorably toward the darkness, Liz must embrace the allure of total submission and give them complete control of her sexuality.

Inside Scoop: Liz explores a wide range of erotic experiences, including light bondage and brief f/f touching.

Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

A paranormal erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

Amazon US :: Amazon UK

The Angels of the Days of Creation

The Days of Creation, 1871-6, oil and gouache, Harvard Museum

 Time for some more angel art, I think - and perhaps some of the most gorgeous ever.

The Pre-Raphaelite artist Edward Burne-Jones originally designed The Days of Creation for stained glass in 1870 and it became such a mahoosive hit that it was recreated many times (by him, by the William Morris factory, and by copyists) in fired tiles, church frescos, stained glass, and paints of various kind.

There are six panels, each representing one of the Biblical days of Creation, working from dark to light, monochrome to colour, one to many. The angels are male (ish) but the primary model was a 15-year-old girl, Jenny Morris.

On Day One, represented by a lone angel, the orb he's holding shows the light created in the void ("Let there be Light") and the separation of the Light from the Darkness, into Day and Night - if you look closely there are two diverging spheres within the angel's crystal orb.

On Day Two, yesterday's angel has retired to the background to make way for a second. The orb he carries shows the sky/heavens being separated from the waters below. There's no dry land yet.

On the Third Day, God picks up the pace quite a bit. He raises dry land out of the waters and then creates all of plant life to cover that ground. The marble floor beneath the angels' feet gives way to soil and plants too, at this stage.

Restored version, derived from B&W photos and contemporary descriptions: The Fourth Day was cut from its frame during a dinner party at Harvard University in 1970, and has never been recovered.

Whoa - hold on! something is missing from the sky, despite the pre-existence of day and night. On Day Four God hurriedly bolts on the Sun, Moon and Stars. Because logic.

Back to Earth for Day Five, when the fishes and the birds are created to fill the seas and the heavens. Beneath the angels' feet you can see puddles and seashells :-)

It's Day Six at last, and the frame is now rather over-crowded. God creates all the land animals, plus Adam and Eve to rule them. If you look closely you can see the wicked Serpent coiling about near their feet ....

(The Angel of the Seventh Day has gatecrashed the party and lolls about in the foreground in his pyjamas, playing the lute and watching Netflix.)

Blue Monday: Primula Bond guests

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is bestseller Primula Bond, with an excerpt from Pierre - which is the follow-up to her Silver Chain trilogy.

Pierre Levi fears that the hit and run which nearly killed him was the only thing capable of stopping his destructive behaviour. Now he’s torn between his desire for reconciliation with his brother, Gustav, and his attraction to Serena, Gustav's girlfriend.

---

I part my lips and smoothly suck in the most precious part of Pierre Levi.
    
My heart is pounding. Sweat pricks under my arms. I run my free hand down between my legs. I'm soaking wet. I'll be leaving a slick of pussy juice on his bed.
  
I close my lips as the length of him jumps over my tongue. So long. So hard. Still he doesn't move. I can only hear the thick pulsing of my own blood. 
   
This isn't just for him. This is for me.
    
He is hard and huge. His hips push urgently. I slide my lips down to the base so that he's deep inside my mouth, shoving to the back of my throat.
   
A brief memory twists in my head of the times I did this for Daniele. In the flat. In the alleyway behind his precious kitchen, amongst the rubbish bins and the overhead lines of washing. I wonder if that sous chef gives head as well as me. But then I realise, in a dazzling flash of exhilaration, that I don't give a toss.  Another man's cock is in my mouth and I'm going to do this so brilliantly that when he's spent he'll be begging for more.
  
I push the thick shaft back with my tongue, close my lips, and suck it into the wetness of my mouth. It gives a little buck and thickens.
    
I'm getting wetter, wriggling on the bed beside him. He's stiffening and swelling as I suck. My breath is gasping and rasping with excitement now. Pleasure surges through me. 
   
Pierre Levi thinks he's the boss of everyone. But watch this. I have him right where I want him. Well, apart from inside me, that is. But I can wait for that. I can wait. A little longer.
   
His obvious, thrusting pleasure is turning me on. I can taste him. He's wrapped my hair round his fingers and is tugging at me. I move my mouth up and down, a relentless pleasure machine.
  
'Rosie. Stop. Honey, stop.'
   
I pause, my mouth loosening, lips losing their tight grip. Why does he want me to stop? He dismissed me the other day, just after that wonderful kiss. Does he want to dismiss me now?
  
Fight for him.
   
'Too late, Levi. Just enjoy it.'
   
I start to bite him, nip the taut surface. I've no idea how hard to bite or how much I might hurt him. But I'm going ahead anyway.
  
He sinks back.  He's made that token effort of resistance. He's accepted that he's just a man with a massive hard-on that needs sucking off. And a girl he quite likes is doing him the favour.
  
He moans my name again, louder this time, then slides his hands over my ears so that all I can hear is the rushing of my own blood. I work even harder. I want to give him something he won't forget. Here's the little mouse, bursting out of her shell.
   
The dark room is warm and still, lit only by the moonlight.
   
He thrusts deeper into my mouth, groaning more loudly now.  I will myself to exercise control for a little bit longer and fondle underneath the shaft, feel the soft balls shrinking shyly as I encircle the base with my finger and thumb. He's filling my mouth. He's pushing at the back of my throat and my lips are gripped hard over the smooth surface.
   
I nip once, nip a little harder, then suck, my lips sliding, and all at once he is jerking, pushing himself into my face, he's thrusting against the roof of my mouth, blocking my throat, his fingers are pulling violently at my hair, pulling me away, pushing me back, and then he's groaning loudly and painfully, more painfully than I realised. He's sobbing out my name, quietly but forcefully, as his life force spurts from him.
   
I open my throat and swallow every hot sweet drop.
   
I kneel back at last, wipe my mouth quickly, and watch him. His eyes are open, staring at me, glittering through the dark.
   
'Rosie. Bad girl.'
  
His throat bulges as he regains his breath, swallowing down the shouting excitement. His mouth slowly closes and he lies back, totally spent. I could watch him all night. The lovely man I've reduced to this exhausted heap.
   
He could have stopped me at any time, but he didn't.
   
I'm fighting for you, Pierre Levi.
   
'Don't talk now, Pierre. We'll talk tomorrow.'
   
I get up, my legs shaking, my jaw aching from my ministrations. I look down at him, but apart from his arm lying across him now, and his pyjama left open, he looks as if he hasn't moved.
   
I want him so badly it hurts. But not here. Not now.
   
I take one last look at him before I close the door, and outside the room, up in the corner, the little red eye on the camera winks.

---

Buy Pierre at  Amazon UK 
Buy The Silver Chain / Unbreakable trilogy at Amazon US :: Amazon UK 


Primula Bond has been writing erotic fiction for Black Lace and Xcite Books for twenty years, most recently the Sunday Times best-selling erotic romance series consisting of The Silver Chain, The Golden Locket ,The Diamond Ring and Pierre, the dramatic sequel, all published by Harper Collins.     
    She contributes features and stories to the Erotic Review, has given workshops at writing festivals on erotica and short stories, and offers a critique service for aspiring erotic and romantic writers through Writers Workshop.  You can find her blog at www.primulabond.blogspot.com and follow her at Facebook and Twitter @primulabond.
   
'Primula Bond's effortless writing style makes her...a pleasure to read'. Forum

'One day all erotic novels will be as good as this.' Bastei Lubbe

'Explicit and remarkable ... tremendously well written ... a winner.' ETO

Page-turner

My swinging lifestyle

Here I am on a high rope course, trying to look all cool and effortless and everything because my seven-year-old niece is scrambling about saying "This is easy peasy."

Damn kids.

I may have bluebells

This week saw the very first signs of spring growth in my wood:

Dog's Mercury - poisonous, but an indicator species for ancient woodland

And OMG ... that looks like bluebells!

Do I have a bluebell wood? I'm so excited to find out!

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today, a sneak preview from Falling Deep, which has is currently scheduled for release on 2nd March!

Trainee sorceress Liz is meeting up with Evan, the fifth of the Twelve Months she has to pleasure in order to turn the Wheel of the Year.

---

"Put your hands on the saddle."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Biting the inside of her lip, Liz turned her back and placed her hands on the horse's saddle. They looked pale and tiny on the dark leather.

"You see," said Evan, coming in so close behind her that she could feel the radiant warmth of his body, "there are just some things that cannot be learned from books, or lists, or even from those who know. Obedience, for one. Hold this."

The riding crop, that implement of promise and pain, appeared in front of her eyes as he presented it horizontally. For a moment Liz had no idea what he meant, but understanding came swiftly as it nudged her lips. She caught the fresh scent of her own sex on the leather, then she opened her mouth and accepted the bar, gripping it between her teeth like a bit.

She realized at once that he had robbed her of words.

"Obedience, and surrender, and the natural order of things." With both hands now free, it was easy for Evan to lift her skirts and explore beneath. One big hot hand cupped her ass-cheek firmly to steady her. The other slipped down and between, into the unshielded cleft and the plump soft folds beneath.

It turned out that the blush had run all the way through her and was now seeping into the slit of her pussy. Evan made a small approving noise as he discovered her wetness.

 "You won't find them in a hundred thousand books, little librarian. You won't find them on the city streets, you can't learn them on your Internet, you won't pick them up in college. Things like that are in the blood, and the earth. The deep and the dirt of life." His fingertips swept her fore and aft, spreading the moisture to slick every inch. "Do you understand?"

Gagged as she was, Liz couldn't possibly reply - but as his finger circled her clit a squeak did escape from her open throat. That only encouraged him to do it again. And again. His big, callused fingertip felt deliciously, deliriously alien down there and she shuddered, jerking her thighs a few inches further apart. He rewarded her candor by slipping his spare hand between her bum-cheeks, pushing hard with side of his hand against the pucker of her rear hole. The pressure felt almost comforting.

"Maybe you do." His voice was low, somewhere between a growl and a caress, his breath hot in her ear. "What you need if you are to be an Argante is not to be found in your head. It's down here, where you're dumbest - and wisest. Feel how wet you are?"

Liz groaned out loud. She squeezed her eyes shut, water leaking from the corners. She knew her ass was out-thrust now to grant him easier access, but she couldn't help it. Her pussy was begging for more.

"Oh yes. So wet." He chuckled, deep and filthy. "Your body knows, doesn't it? Your body knows how you need to get dirty." On that last word he pressed his thumb against her anus, just as his fingertip swept over the sensitive round of her clit. It was too much - or just enough - because orgasm sparked and tumbled and flared through Liz's flesh, catching her off-guard, making her keen out loud and jerk repeatedly and push back on the hard jut of his thumb, as if to impale herself on it.

"Filthy girl," he murmured, but it wasn't criticism.

"Ahh," she groaned around the riding crop gag.

But to her chagrin he wasn't done with her. His fingers were already slipping back in to bathe themselves in her sex juices, actually entering her this time. She felt him slide two thick fingers inside her and scissor them open them to test the give of her flesh. She made a small noise of protest and danced her hips away from his invasive touch.

Without hesitation he clapped a hand hard to her ass-cheek. "Stand still!"

Instinct froze her, obedient to his command. She felt his big hand squeeze her bum and heft her up on the tips of her toes.

"Legs open," he told her, settling her down again. "That's better. Good girl."

Hands were on and in her sex again. Firm and sure and most definitely not asking. Rubbing her clit and spreading her lips and trespassing into the cleft of her ass, pressing up against the tight pucker of her rear hole in a manner she at first took for accidental over-enthusiasm, and then realized - with a shock - was entirely deliberate. And very purposeful. His finger, lubed with her own juices, was boldly going where no man had gone before.

Liz would have said something, but the crop in her mouth rendered her speechless - all she could do was utter a high yelping moan.          

"The mysteries are not in your head, book-girl. They are down here."

Dear god - he was going in. Milimeter by teasing, probing millimeter. She could feel everything. She'd had no idea how much she could feel back there. It was far more sensitive than her sexual entrance, in fact - and far more frightening. She'd had things pushed into her vagina before - cocks, tampons, that cold plastic speculum at the doctor's - but she'd never had anything inserted in her asshole. It was just too private.

But it wasn't painful, it turned out. Not at all. Quite the opposite.

"Magic is not learned. It is not about control. It is about yielding to the powers. It is about knowing your place in the great workings of the world."

Liz shuddered. This felt terrifyingly intimate, an invasion of her most secret places. He had a finger right inside her tight clench now, stirring her, stroking her. She was awash with shame. She could feel her sweat and her juices slathering his hands. Her clit sang at his touch. Hot shivery plumes of sensation ran up her spine and across her shoulders, down her legs to the tips of her toes.

"It is all about surrender. Yes. There, that's right."

To her amazement her ass was unfurling, no longer resisting his entry. He could run a finger in and out smoothly, each stroke a caress that sent her nerve endings into tumbling fountains of delight and terror.

"Doesn't that feel good? Isn't that good when you stop fighting me?"

She groaned her acquiescence.

"Good girl. That's nice." His voice was almost a sigh. "That's one finger, nice and easy." He circled it, spreading her, while his other hand played with her clit. "You can take two, you know. No problem at all."

Liz widened her eyes, though he could not see, and yelped softly.

"You don't believe me?"

Her groans were coming thick and fast now. There was no point in preserving any dignity, after all. His strokes were unhurried and very sure. He was not rushing her - he didn't have to. Her treacherous body was already opening up to him, lulled by his masterful working of her clit. For all the fear and the shame in her head, her body trusted him. It wasn't even attempting to resist any more. Tight whorls of muscle grew slack. She could feel a hum of pleasure in her spine.

"You should. I think you have a talent for this, book-girl. You're getting more welcoming by the second. You're opening up inside, you know …." There was momentary adjustment of his hand, an increase in pressure. "There. That's two. I think you'll find that more satisfying."

"Oh!" said Liz, muffled, then nodded frantically. He was curling them inside her now, stroking her inner walls.

"You like a good ass-frigging, don't you. You like it dirty."

I don't! she thought - but her body begged to differ. There were sensations washing up and down her backbone that she was barely familiar with - if they'd been centered on her pussy she'd have known them for the precursors of orgasm, but they were in the wrong place, up her ass - How can you have an orgasm up your ass-?

"Come on, book-girl. That's right. Come for me."

Happy Valentine's Day!

May you have many spider kisses ;-)

XXX-man

Deadpool breaks new ground for the X-Men franchise.

For a start, this has to be the first ever Marvel movie where the hero enjoys
1) being pegged
2) a nice wank with a toy unicorn
3) an obsession with IKEA furniture

It's a whole new world for superheroes...

Satan is the white guy

Phwoar warning! The Archangel Michael has just walked into my WIP, The Valleys of the Earth. And he looks a lot like this:

Actor Martin Sensmeier

Angelology is notoriously vague - all the different angel systems invented over the centuries contradict each other wildly - but for these books I'm going with the line that there are four archangels: Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel and Michael, because those are the ones told to hunt down the fallen Watchers in the Book of Enoch.

I introduced Uriel in Cover Him with Darkness and he looks like this in human form:

Raphael was also briefly glimpsed, because he was the one who took Azazel down, and I decided there was no reason whatsoever for him to look Caucasian - so I modeled him on the long-haired historical heroes of the Chinese cinema industry I grew up with. Because hair.

Actor Leslie Cheung

After that, I thought "Well ... let's go with the notion that the four archangels are assigned to the four compass directions / Quarters of the Earth. Uriel's clearly the North, so Raphael is the East." (I'm assuming that the "centre point" of the world is Jerusalem/ the Garden of Eden / the Middle East here, for the sake of argument.)

Michael, the warrior-angel, obviously watches over the West. Gabriel hasn't shown up yet, but he'll look African when he does.

And if you've read CHWD, you'll know that Uriel is also Satan.
Heh.

Blue Monday: L. Marie Adeline guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is L. Marie Adeline, whose short story Matilda's Secret appears in Best Women's Erotica 1 (edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel)

Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 delivers risky, romantic, heart-pounding thrills. Joyful, daring, and authentic, these steamy stories revel in erotic adventure, from the sparks between strangers to the knowing caresses of longtime lovers. These stories are not merely erotic but filled with strong characters and clever narratives showing how sexual experience is different for everyone. This anthology is a glorious celebration of the finest and friskiest female erotic fiction today.

---

“Can I make a suggestion?” Jesse asked. “Up ahead, there’s a motel. This rain is as bad as I’ve ever remembered it. I say we stop for the night.”
  
When we pulled in, the parking lot was crowded with similar-minded people, all of whom, we discovered, had beat us to the vending machines, drinking all the soda pop, eating all the chips.

“The vultures got here first,” Jesse said, slapping the machine, exaggerating his Cajun accent. He was funny, this cute hitchhiker. And now my funny man was sitting next to me on the bed, gently lifting one of my hands to his mouth to suck a finger.

“You are beautiful, Matilda May,” he said, his tongue swirling around my finger. “I know you’re thinking otherwise. But you’re wrong as the rain tonight.”

“I feel…beautiful. I do. But, Jesse, I—”

“Matilda, I’m telling you, men don’t see age the way you think we do.”

He knew me already, knew what I was thinking.

“What do you see then, when you look at me?”

I braced for the answer as he brought his mouth to my ear.

“I see heat. I see…lushness. Is that a word? Lushness.”

I nodded as he reached around behind my head and tugged the elastic holding my long red hair in a messy ponytail. It fell around my shoulders in a cascade of curls. Maybe I was too old to hold onto my tresses, but I was proud of the fact that I didn’t have a lot of grey hairs to cover. I was a natural redhead, all over.

“Good. That’s better. Where was I? I see a woman. A grown woman who I want to fuck, who I want to make scream. I see a strong woman who knows what she wants and can get it, but who only wants me.”

His words were making me wetter than I’d been in years. He began to walk a hand under me, his fingers firmly stroking under my thighs, nudging, asking for permission to enter. His hazel eyes seemed glazed, the scar on his upper lip deeper in the shadowy room.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, touching his lip.

“I told you I was mean.”

We locked eyes and I let my knee drop open. He curled a finger under my panty elastic, found my slit and played with the outside of my pussy, coaxing out more wetness from between my lips with the back of his thick knuckle. He began to slowly finger fuck me.

“You’re wet,” he whispered. “You’re teenager wet.”

“You make me that way.”

“You make me this way,” he said, placing my hand under his towel. I could feel his erection, stiff and insistent.

“Oh God.”

With that, his kiss was on me, firm and insistent, pressing me back down on the bed. I let my hands drift up to his hair. He stopped kissing me as his other hand tugged the sweatshirt up over my breasts, over my head, leaving my arms bound up in the shirt. His mouth found a tense nipple, and he took it between his lips. His warm tongue traced circles around each one as I arched into him.

“Look at you all tussled on this fucked up bed.”

His mouth made a heated trail down my stomach, and when he closed in on my throbbing clit, he paused. I gazed down to watch him dip the tip of his hot tongue, barely touching my tight little knot, relishing the way his teasing made me squirm.

“Do you want me to make you come?”

I nodded, my knees going completely slack, my arms useless over my head. He slid a finger inside me while his wet, muscly mouth swirled around my fat clit in achingly perfect circles, stopping every once in a while to suck and nibble on my tender thighs before engulfing my pussy hungrily. The build was excruciating; he took me close to the sweet edge of orgasm only to pull back, ever fucking me with two fierce fingers. Finally, mercy, as he covered my clit with his whole, hot mouth, his perfect, talented tongue gently slashing and circling, carrying me higher and higher, closer and closer…

“Oh god, Jesse, don’t stop…” I hissed, my hips bucking into his face. “Yes…make me come, baby…do it…”

My wild surrender made him moan with victory. He pressed my thighs wide open, his tongue now a hot, crazed motor. I don’t know if my body came or he just detonated something in me; I had the kind of orgasm that exploded from my center out, the sound coming from my throat animal and desperate. I flung my arms down, both still twisted together in the sweatshirt. I placed my hands on the back of his damp head as his tongue lapped and pulsed, bringing me to earth, the crescendo waning, my whole body just washed ashore in a pool of sweet bliss.

“Jesse, you wrecked me,” I murmured to the stained ceiling, my eyes shut. Before I could crane up to gaze at his glistening mouth, he expertly, quickly, flipped me over onto my stomach. Then he buckled my hips back into his groin, his hand pressing down on my back, pushing me into the bed. I could feel his erection prodding my lips, soaked and ready for him.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, his voice choked with desire.

---

Best Women's Erotica Volume 1 at Amazon US :: Amazon UK

L. Marie Adeline is a pseudonym for the bestselling author Lisa Gabriele. S.E.C.R.E.T., her first novel in this erotica series, was a #1 international bestseller. For more information on the S.E.C.R.E.T. series, visit www.secretnovels.com and www.facebook.com/lmarieadeline

For more information on books by Lisa Gabriele go to www.lisagabriele.com

The Watchers secret backstory revealed!!!

;-)

Seriously, at some point in The Book of the Watchers I'm going to have to tackle a number of Big Questions.

1) WTF was God thinking of?
2) WTF is God doing right now?
3) WTF is God going to do about all these fallen angels escaping?

Don't let anyone tell you Erotic Romance is an easy genre to write...

Falling Deep cover reveal!

Well, this is the cover for Falling Deep, book 2 in the Lovers' Wheel quartet. I think Kelly at EC has done a terrific job with the autumnal woodland look and the quartered-circle motif, echoing Summer Seduction nicely.

The red-headed bloke on the cover represents the mysterious Guy on the Train, and in this volume we find out who he really is...

I'm very happy with this one! :-)

Imbolc

I went to an open Imbolc ceremony last night, which was quite lovely if EXTREMELY COLD.

Stourton (modern) stone circle

I'm not a pagan, of course. I'm a pantheistic materialist ("tingly atheist", ahem), but there is a part of me that loves neo-pagan ritual and feels right at home there. The focus on and the connection to the earth, the seasons, the weather, the landscape, and for living nature, is something that I plug straight into. The tropes (north/south/east/west : earth/fire/air/water : body/will/intellect/emotions etc etc) make easy symbolic sense to me, even if I'm not buying into any of the gods.

Because the pagan/natural cycles are woven into my Lovers' Wheel series, I thought I'd take a look at the four great Celtic quarter days, the most important festivals of the neo-pagan year.

IMBOLC (from oimbelc "in the belly") is celebrated on February 1st/2nd. It falls between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox and is a rite celebrating the first visible arrival of Spring; the return of new life to the seemingly dead land. In historic times it seems to have been associated with the pastoral calendar in particular, marking the coming-into-milk of the ewes and the birth of the first lambs.

It was also the day that snakes were supposed to wake from their winter torpor, and that bears were said to check upon the weather before coming out of hibernation (or not ... good weather was said to be a harbinger of more snow) - which is exactly why it is now Groundhog Day in the USA.

Thig an nathair as an toll, la donn Bride Ged robh tri traighean dh' an t-sneachd air leachd an lair.

(The serpent will come from the hollow on the brown day of Bridget / Though there should be three feet of snow on the flat surface of the ground)

If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter has another flight.
If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,
Winter will not come again

(English proverb)

It's a fire/light ceremony, rejoicing in the returning light, strongly associated with the imagery of a young woman or girl, dressed in white, carrying a candle or torch. Pagans view this as the Goddess in her Maiden aspect, because this is the moment the black-clad crone of Winter turns into/gives way to/is reborn as the Maiden of Spring.

February 2nd is Brigid's Day: in old Ireland this was when the great goddess Brigid or Brigit (poetry, fire and smiths, healing, brewing, fertility, midwifery) would be invited into each house.

St Brigid's Cross, made of reeds. More sun-wheel than crucifix, tbh.

The goddess Brigid became St Brigid in Christian times, with the same feast day and almost identical portfolio.

February 2nd is also known as the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin (40 days after the birth of Jesus, when she presented her Son, "the light of the world" and "a light unto the gentiles" (Luke 2:32), at the Temple), and, as you can see from the rhyme above, Candlemas, because it is the day candles are blessed for use in the church, year-round.

Why's that? Well, in Romano-Greek ritual it was the time that the young goddess Persephone returned from the Underworld, bringing spring to the world. Here's Pope Innocent XII on the subject:

Why do we in this feast carry candles? Because the Gentiles dedicated the month of February to the infernal gods, and as Pluto stole Proserpine, and her mother Ceres sought her in the night with lighted candles, so they, at the beginning of the month, walked about the city with lighted candles. Because the holy fathers could not extirpate the custom, they ordained that Christians should carry about candles in honor of the Blessed Virgin; and thus what was done before in the honor of Ceres is now done in honor of the Blessed Virgin

Snowdrops are "Candlemas bells"

So - along with Christmas itself - Candlemas / Imbolc seems to be the one of the strongest and clearest cases of Christianity appropriating pagan ritual into the church calendar.

After all, we all long to see the return of spring...

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's excerpt is quite frankly as much a surprise to me as it is to any reader. I found out this weekend that my story Grinding was reprinted last year in Wetware: cyberpunk erotica. Don't worry - it was with permission! There was just a wee bug in the communication about publication dates, lol!

Grinding first appeared in the very limited hardcover anthology Geek Love so I'm delighted to see it now available to a wider audience, in such talented author company, and in an anthology with such an illustrious editor.

Late-night gamer Joe has accidentally encountered a succubus - one who in habits the world of a certain MMORPG nothing like WoW, absolutely nothing at all...

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“Would you like to fuck me, Joe?”

“Um. I guess.”

That’s good enough. I step right out of the monitor into the mundane world. Instantly I feel the aether tighten, resisting my presence. It wants to reject me because this isn’t my realm. Only Joe’s acquiescence allows me purchase.

Bereft of my touch, he leans forward and stares into the monitor at his lonely avatar. “Damn. Where’ve you gone?”

“Behind you.”

He swivels round abruptly, the casters of his chair squeaking. His jaw sags a little. I’m right there in his room, and he can’t help being a bit freaked out. He can see me, and I look just as I did on-screen.

“Shit. You’re gorgeous.”

I am. Of course I am. I shine with an inner light that nothing in the mundane world has, and what’s more, I’ve dressed up to please him. I’m short and slender and the color of a caramel sweet, just ready to be sucked. My emerald eyes are slanted and the ram’s horns that curl up and out of my forehead are almost buried in my thick dark hair and all the beads and flowers and scarves braided into it. My clothes are flimsy rags of crimson silk, held on by narrow straps that threaten to give way under the strain. They are garments that emphasis just exactly which bits of my body he can’t see—yet.

“Hello Joe,” say I, sauntering over and settling down in a straddle across his lap. He doesn’t know where to look: at my face or my breasts or my spread thighs. I’m just heavy enough to make him believe in me, without being the slightest bit uncomfortable. Of course I can be as heavy as lead, should the need arise.

“Hi,” he says, swallowing. His hands drift to my legs, cautiously, and test the satin of my skin. His fingers slide all the way to my crotch but stop just short of the translucent silk flap that shields my sex. “Wow.”

Smiling, I lift my tiny skirt to reveal a mons as soft and smooth as a bird’s breast, split by a delectable crease. He slides his thumbs in, one from either side, stroking the tender folds and searching out my heat.

“Best. Dream. Ever,” he says faintly.

That makes me giggle. Wriggling my hips to encourage his exploration, I keep my own hands busy by finding the thick ridge of his cock under the denim of his jeans. It’s quite solid already, so I rub the heel of one palm up and down its length. Then I locate his fly zipper and tug it down. His cock is hot and sticky and keen, and with a few twists and a lift of his hips I manage to fetch it out into the open air. It bounces up, ruddy and engorged, hairy about the base. I’m impressed by its size and congratulate myself; I’ve picked a good one here. I can smell the savory sweat of his arousal and it makes my mouth water. “Oh, this is nice,” I whisper, wrapping one small hand about his shaft.

He grins, goofy and unfocused, as I lick my middle finger lavishly and use it to caress the swollen head of his tool. It weeps a drop of pre-cum.

“What’s your pleasure, Joe?”

“Me?” His gaze meets mine and his eyes are full of confusion. His hesitancy is kind of endearing. I’ve known men who’ve stuck their head between my tits by this stage. I’ve known men who push me down between their legs and stuff their cock in my mouth. To be honest, I don’t mind one way or another, so long as they don’t erupt before they’re inside me.

“I’m here for you, Joe. This is your dream. What do you want to do to me?”

He licks his lips. Then his gaze drops to my out-thrust rack and he lifts both hands to cup me. I’ve a small frame but full breasts and big, pert nipples, which swell and harden as his thumbs slide over the sheer cloth.

“Yes,” I urge, not needing to exaggerate my pleasure as he flicks and circles them. My hips writhe and I press into his hands. I can feel my sex juices gather and swell. He makes a small questioning noise in his throat and then pushes my top up altogether to reveal the twin orbs heaving beneath. I am not, strictly speaking, a mammal—but I am sweet to the taste, as he finds out when he stoops over me and fastens his mouth over my left tit.

Oh, that feels good. Oh, that’s just wonderful. The pleasure of suckling him makes me moan low in my throat and writhe against him. I arch my back, losing my grip on his cock as I clasp his head to me, turning him from tit to tit, urging him to suck and lick. My pussy nuzzles against the hard jut of his erection.

That’s not enough for Joe. Without warning he clasps his hands about me and pushes me right up
over him, his lips pulling from my teat and scouring across the flat of my stomach instead.  I plant one bare foot on the arm of his chair as he gets where he wants and buries his mouth in my pussy. Our balance is insanely precarious, and doesn’t last: the computer chair tilts back suddenly, leaving Joe half-recumbent and me practically straddling his shoulders, clinging to the air by my fingertips. It’s a good thing my balance is preternaturally good. And a real woman would be heavy enough to tip the silly office chair over altogether and bring us both crashing down.

I writhe upon his face, kicking out one foot and nearly taking out his monitor, spreading my sex lips, sinking my pussy onto his wildly lashing tongue and withdrawing it again to let him lick and nip and capture me anew. Oh, he’s sweet. I can feel the arousal building in me like a furnace. I’m going to come, soon. On his mouth. While his cock stabs the air behind me.

And that would be very bad, at least for him. If I don’t consume semen as I come … well, I have to eat something.

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