Monday, 18 June 2018

Blue Monday: Ellie Barker guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's snippet is from a stablemate at Sinful Press - Ellie Barker's new LGBT crime series, Undercover Lovers, kicks off with Secrets and Spies.

"Starting life as Miss Blue Hair, a short piece from Sinful Press’s Sinful Pleasures anthology, Secrets and Spies follows the story of Nikolas, a bisexual police mole, and Sky, a transgender thief, as they work to infiltrate the local crime syndicate. Ellie Barker has created a fast paced and highly entertaining trilogy, with a diverse range of characters, various sexual encounters, and unconventional romance. In Bed with the Enemy and For Queen and Country, the remaining books in the trilogy, are due for release on June 15th and July 13th respectively."

When Nikolas Jinsen, police mole, meets an unusual woman named Sky, he thinks he's just in for a night of pleasure. But he's soon pulled into a world of mafia dealings, stolen documents, hacked computers and kidnappings - not to mention a woman with a taste for exhibition, a Queen who demands payment in pleasure, and Sky herself; unusual, intoxicating, and wanting more than Nikolas may be willing to give.

She’d undressed, and I was admiring her from behind, enjoying the faint curve of her hips and her definitely gropeable buttocks...I might have tested that on the way home. But it was as she stepped back and raised her arms above her head, lifting her bright blue hair, that I realised I’d seen her before.

She’d had shorter hair, then, as black as night. She’d been dressed in practical trousers and a t-shirt, and carrying a bag full of tools; an electrician’s apprentice, fixing lights in an office building. They’d been in and out before anyone had realised some rather valuable documents had been copied and somehow removed from the building despite the security.

I’d idly wondered if the maintenance crew I’d walked past had been involved. After all, it wasn’t a dissimilar cover to one that I’d occasionally employed for jobs...

Sky. Thief, seductress, gambler and heartbreaker. This slim, dark-eyed thing in my bed was that legend.

Well, I can’t refuse a chance to fuck a legend. I’d just have to discuss her previous activities with her when we’d finished this business.

That train of thought came to a very nice conclusion as she turned to me, lifting her arms and stretching, taking my open mouth and caught breath as appreciation. “Lost for words?”

I managed a smile. “I’ve never been one for talking when I could express my appreciation in...other ways.”

She fitted perfectly across my hips, her strong legs pressing on my thighs. I felt her cock slide against my stomach, leaving a wet trail in contrast to the warmth of the smooth skin. Her mouth pressed onto mine as I pulled her closer, and we spent a while like that, chests pushed together and skin sliding as my hands explored her body and her tongue teased mine, her long fingers winding into my hair.

“All right, enough,” I said when it got too distracting, pushing her shoulders back a little to get some distance. “I want in you.”

Buy Secrets and Spies at Amazon

Ellie Barker mostly writes short'n'dirty flash fiction and short erotic fiction in any genre going. She prefers vampires over werewolves, and is always hot for a rainy night.

You can find out more about Ellie over at her website, or follow her on Twitter as @EllieBa3

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Wednesday, 13 June 2018


Seriously, who doesn't love an ironic cheese-and-pineapple hedgehog?

Monday, 11 June 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's piece is from After the Party, which appeared in Nexus Confessions #4. These "confessions" were anonymous contemporary stories, usually much shorter than those that appeared for sister-imprint Black Lace, and were supposed to be plainly-written and plausible reader's-wives-style sexual encounters. For this particular one I actually drew on an anecdote a friend had told me... so yes, it did happen!

I didn’t last long that night. I’d pulled a horrible series of shifts that week and I was more exhausted than drunk when I decided to call it a night. Most guests were going home but others were staying for the long haul and crashing wherever there was room. Because I gave in quite early I got the pick of the mattresses, so I ended up kicking off my shoes and crawling under the duvet in the spare bedroom. It was a double bed but I didn’t take up much of it.

I woke up when someone got into the bed beside me. It didn’t occur to me to be worried, just irritated at having been disturbed.

‘It’s all right; she’s asleep!’ That was in a loud whisper, followed by a giggle.

So there were two of them. Lying on my back, I kept my eyes shut and waited for them to settle down so I could drift back off. No chance of that happening, though. It quickly became obvious that they hadn’t come to bed to sleep. I could smell beer and perfume and a male body. I could hear wet kisses and breathy little mutters of appreciation.

Bloody hell. They were going to fuck right next to me. I had to hold back a snort. I mean it was funny, I guess, but it was a bit awkward for me. What was I supposed to do – just pretend politely to be asleep?



‘Let’s do it.’

There was shuffling, the mattress heaved, I heard a soft slap and the clink of a belt being undone. The duvet was pulled right off me. If they thought they were being subtle they must be really drunk. Murmurs of ‘Oh yes,’ and ‘That’s good, baby,’ made me clench my teeth. I was exasperated but curious, itching to see what was going on.

In the end I just opened my eyes. I didn’t say anything or make a fuss. I figured they weren’t the shy type. In fact they didn’t even see me looking, because they were too busy. He was lying on his back alongside me. And Lena – I hadn’t recognised her voice, but it was her there in the dim light – was crouched low over him, eyes rapturously closed, sucking his cock.

He had a big meaty cock. Even in that light I could see it glisten with her saliva as she slid those pouty lips up and down his shaft. He rumbled with pleasure deep in his chest. She parted her lips to reveal the fat helmet and swirled her tongue lovingly around it like she was lapping ice-cream. Then she dived, taking his length right down her throat as her nose brushed his thick pubic hair.

I was holding my breath just as she must be. I could feel the stir of hot interest in my own body. My arm could have stretched out and touched his where he lay next to me. This was horny as hell, watching her give him head so close by, unaware that I was watching. I wondered what he tasted like between those glossy lips. I wondered how hot his cock was. I wondered what it felt like to have Lena’s mouth sucking and kissing and slurping as it did.

But she got bored of being the one doing all the work. Pulling her mouth away, she pumped him in her hand a couple of times. His prick lolled about, thick but not particularly stiff it seemed to me. Then she rose up and straddled him, lifting her skirt up her round thighs to slide his cock into her pussy. I could actually hear the wet noise it made as she positioned it. She must have been ready for him.

Sitting up, it was obvious that he’d been playing with her boobs. Her blouse was unbuttoned, her big tits already pulled free of their bra cups to bounce as she rode him, her nipples poking out fat and juicy. She shook back her hair and grabbed his hand to place it on her muff as she rose and fell on him. His hand stirred lazily, then fell away. She twisted her hips, trying to work him in deeper.

Then I heard it.

He snored.

Lena stopped gyrating and glared down at her man. I could see the frustration on her face. She slapped his ribs, loudly, and pinched him.

He snored again, on a deeper note.

‘Bastard!’ she whispered, agonised.

Then she noticed me watching. Her dark eyes were completely black in the dim light. She leaned forward on her fists, bending over me. I could smell the spice of her pussy juices. I didn’t know what to say so I just lay there.

She put her hand lightly on my thigh, and stroked my sex-lips through my clothes.

Buy Nexus Confession Vol.4 at:

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Google Play

Friday, 8 June 2018

Tackling Taqla

Eugène Girardet (1853-1907): Bedouins in the Desert

Lea Bronsen's contemporary Arabian Desert adventure, A Thorned Rose in the Sand, was featured in a Blue Monday here a few weeks back - and now I'm over at her blog because we share a love for writing about that setting.

I'm interviewing Taqla, the main heroine of my magical romance novel Heart of Flame - so grab your flying carpet and zoom over to Lea's place to hear what my prickly sorceress has to say for herself 💓

"The most beautiful woman in all Arabia has been abducted by a djinni - and only forbidden magic can bring about her rescue.

Taqla the sorceress lives in comfortable secrecy, until she agrees to help the handsome traveller Rafiq find the kidnapped daughter of the Amir. They set off together on a journey fraught with magic and peril, though a landscape of ancient desert ruins, terrible monsters and deception. With so many secrets to keep, Taqla cannot afford to trust Rafiq – and yet she must, with her life."

Monday, 4 June 2018

Blue Monday: Sherry Perkins guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Sherry Perkins with her paranormal romance novel At the End of the Rainbow:

Morgan Patterson came to Northern Ireland for her senior college year abroad to focus on her studies far away from family drama. But she’s quickly distracted by a hunk of a police sergeant named Tiernan Doherty. Though he’s old enough to be her da, as her new friends are quick to point out, she fancies him. And he certainly seems to be obsessed with her.

Eagerly going against all good advice, Morgan becomes more and more bound to Tiernan—by ties of lust and love and protection, and maybe even duty. But there is more to their attraction than Morgan can explain with her science textbooks, and more is going on in this sleepy village than she could ever have imagined.

She was once so sure that faerie stories were fiction. But there’s no denying the strange visions and dreams she’s been experiencing again since coming to this place. So many of the people she’s met—both those looking out for her welfare and those seeking to destroy her—seem to feel she is a special one, with powers that are only now coming fully into her possession. Will she finally begin to understand that herself before it’s too late?

His voice tickled her skin, and what he was whispering was somewhere between divine and orgasmic but much nearer to orgasmic. “Would you do that for me?” she whispered back, giggling. “Would you do it for me now?”

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t say nary a word, but he grinned. Then he began doing what he had whispered he would do to her, and that…that was orgasmic.

Afterward, lying together on the bed, Morgan felt what she expected was love. But since she had never been in love before, she wasn’t entirely certain. She felt…what? Safe. She felt safe in Tiernan’s arms. That was what she had been trying to tell Tiernan when he had whispered those things into her ear and distracted her from telling him what she was thinking.

Meanwhile, Tiernan nuzzled contentedly at the back of Morgan’s neck. His face was buried in her hair as they lay there together spooning, her big, warm arse nestled against him. Lying there together, he thought they fit together like…what? They fit together like a hand in a glove. Like a key in a lock. Tiernan smiled. They fit together like a man and a woman.

“Morgan, why did you call me here?” he asked, his mouth tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. She responded by curling forward, pushing her arse on him and rubbing against him.

“Luv”—he laughed, his desire for her growing and quickly becoming apparent—“why did you call me here earlier?”

She turned around to face Tiernan. She looked into his eyes and made a low, throaty sound.

Morgan made the same sound again and slid her body slowly down over his belly. Her fingers touched the dark hairs that ran in a line from his umbilicus to the triangle of his pubic hair, a line of coarse hair that she called his happy trail. He watched her fingers touching him, and they made him very, very happy, but not nearly as happy as when she touched him with her mouth. Tiernan watched her and her mouth on him, and then he put his hands on the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair.

“Luv, why did you call me here?” he asked again, but she was doing something brilliant with her mouth and tongue. He very nearly came all over her face. To keep from doing exactly that, he grabbed at her, pulling her up by her hair.

He pulled her toward him so she was kneeling above him, her knees on either side of his hips. They were face to face. He looked into her eyes and said, “Why?”

Morgan didn’t answer him. She was thinking that Tiernan had a peculiar way of questioning her. Not that she didn’t like his interrogation methods, what with all that sweet sexual torture in between the interrogatives. She leaned forward and kissed him.

Not surprisingly, her mouth tasted like him. He took his hands out of her hair and put them on her waist. He positioned her where he wanted her. As she eased down onto him, he shifted his hands to grab at her arse cheeks. Her muscles tensed around him.

He grinned stupidly at her and said, “Tell me why. Why did you call me here, girl?”

Morgan arched her back and rode him. She supported herself against him, putting her hands palm down on his chest. She moved her pelvis against him while sliding herself from side to side and squeezing herself tighter with each smooth, sinuous movement. Her long hair fell around her face. She said, “I called you here because I need to know something.”

“Know what?” he asked, looking up from her hips and what she was doing to him. “Know that I cannot lie to you,” he said. “And I would never hurt you.”

“I know that,” Morgan said, her voice heavy with an emotion he had some difficulty identifying. She closed her eyes and moaned. Suddenly it didn’t seem so important to ask him about the marks on his back. The ones she had not put there. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. I would bet my life on it,” she added softly, more to herself than to him.

“Do you?” he asked. “Do you really know that? Because I cannot lie to you, and I would never hurt you. Ask me, luv. Ask me what it is that you want to know.”

“I want to know…” She spoke slowly and with deliberation. “I want to know…I want you to tell me that you love me.”

“Love you? Bollocks. That’s not what you want to know,” Tiernan said, but it was true. He did love her whether he could say it out loud or not. However, showing her that he loved her, as he had said—that was a different matter altogether. Nonetheless, he was relatively sure that wasn’t what she was going to ask—she had been ready to ask him about the marks on his back. He was glad she hadn’t. Because he would rather die than break her heart with an explanation.

Buy At the End of the Rainbow at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Sherry Perkins has worked as a licensed practical nurse for more than thirty-five years and has experience in psychiatric/addictions nursing, nursing-care coordination, and risk management. She earned a BS in health sciences from Campbell University in Buies Creek, North Carolina, and has spoken at public health functions on topics such as addiction prevention and treatment, prevention of teenage opioid deaths, and connecting patients who are resistant to treatment with appropriate services.

A mother of four, Perkins lives with extended family on the Delmarva Peninsula, where she enjoys collecting shells and sea glass; reading mysteries, science fiction, and fantasy; doing organic gardening; and following the Dave Matthews Band around the East Coast. At the End of the Rainbow is the first in a series of books inspired by a visit to Northern Ireland and a yearning to return there one day.

Amazon Author Page

Sunday, 3 June 2018

My babies!

The trees I planted back in March have survived and are GROWING!

The oaks are going by far and away the best:

The hornbeams are tiny, and the beech are getting chewed by some insect. But at least we beat the deer this winter!

Wednesday, 30 May 2018

"The Rudest Fountain in England"

I went with my sister's family to see Bolsover Castle in Derbyshire, possibly one of the finest landmarks visible from the M1. 

Thin pickings in my eternal hunt for naughty historical art, would you imagine? But NO - it turns out that the Venus Fountain is the courtyard is the Rudest in the Country 😈

(I honestly did not know this in advance. But it drew me like a magnet. I have smut-radar.)

It's not just the nude Venus on top, or the four little boys peeing non-stop for all eternity...

And TBH I'm not sure if this cherub is riding a swan, shagging it, or just has a Furry knob...

But I'm on more solid ground with the Monster Cock ;-)

Monday, 28 May 2018

Blue Monday

Public domain pic from Wikipedia

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

I'm delighted to announce that my short story Sourdough has been picked up for The Sexy Librarians' Dirty 30 Vol.3, an anthology edited by the wonderful Rose Caraway.

So here's a brief teaser....

Grace busied herself with kneading the dough, rolling it out onto the floured table-top and plunging her hands into the soft white mass. The muscles danced in her forearms as she bore down upon it, stretching and folding and squeezing, and the familiar work made her breath come harder. The rhythm was mesmeric, almost, and it was a while before she looked up at Amos again.

He was watching her. Not her face, she realized; he hadn’t even noticed her surreptitious glance toward him. He was staring at her cleavage as if entranced, his mug half-way to his lips but forgotten.

Such a famished look in those eyes.

Heat rose to Grace’s face as she realized her culpability. Her white camisole was low-cut, the top button not even done up, and her breasts bulged softly out over the top of her corset as she leaned forward, just like rising loaves. He’s lusting after me. The wave of heat washed down from her cheeks, through her breastbone and into her belly and down between her thighs, gathering weight and force as it went, until she thought it would wash her out down the creek and into the Missouri and out to sea a thousand miles away, all the way back to her giddy girl-days in England. The shock took the breath from her.

Without thinking—she couldn’t think, not with the blood roaring in her ears like that—she flipped the dough forward a few inches on the tabletop, so that she’d have to lean even deeper into the kneading. The bulge of her breasts must be more precarious now, and she could feel the quiver of her cleavage with every move she made.

When she looked up at Amos this time, she made the motion obvious, though she never paused in her labors. Their eyes met, burning, and his face went stiff, like a mask.

They both knew.

It felt inevitable.

Push went her hands in the dough. She sucked her dry lips briefly to moisten them.

As if pulled by gravity, his gaze fell back to the cleft of her breasts, struggled to her face, and then fell again. She looked at the felt hat in his lap and imagined what it must be covering. She’d seen his erection tenting his canvas pants before at odd moments—once when she’d been hanging out laundry and he’d been chopping wood nearby. Once when she’d poured the hot water into his tin bath while he waited to undress and wash. She’d always pretended not to notice. Now she wondered dizzily what his cock would feel like against her palm, her thighs, her lips.

Push. Fold. Turn. The heavy beat of life. The damp well of her sex was threatening to spill down her thighs.

Softly, almost shyly, he slid his hand beneath the hat to grasp himself. There was a plea in his eyes now.

She smiled. Hot, she thought. Hard. Full of marrow and frustration. She’d like to see that.

Saturday, 26 May 2018

Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Antony Gormley: One and Other

We've had some astonishingly good weather for May, up here in Yorkshire, thus giving me the atypical chance to go look at some outdoors art at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Here's the highlight nudes, boobs and willies for you ;-)

Zak Ové: Black and Blue: The Invisible Man and the Masque of Blackness

Sue Ryder: Sitting
My favourite sculpture here!

Elizabeth Frink: Riace Figures
William Turnbull: Large Idol
You can see all the outdoor exhibits HERE

The Yorkshire Sculpture Park is free to visit too!

Wednesday, 23 May 2018

The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus

Okay, okay - despite all my protestations, this is me doing a book review.

The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus, a true labour of love* by Terrance Aldon Shaw, deserves to be the exception to my rule. 513 pages in PDF,  10,000 entries, countless cross-references (okay, I didn't count) and several pages of notes on such tangential topics as lists of gun-types, the strange modern dislike of the word "moist," and the difference between "demur" and "demure," as well as a beautiful little opening essay on the usage of the word "ass" - this is such a useful resource for anyone writing about sex or romance that it feels like a huge relief to have it at my electronic fingertips at last.

What it is not is just a list of filthy words, although GOD YES we all do occasionally need a synonym for "cock" at some point in our sex scenes. A sprawling range of um, relationship-related terms, covering everything from Mascara to Yawn is presented for our educational delight (and now that I have this book, hopefully I will never have to bash out such a clunky descriptor as "relationship-related" again!). It also functions as a dictionary, so you can look up the meaning of, say, "Irrumation" should you so desire, and includes nearly 2000 usage examples. Just browsing it is inspirational.

It rocks.

Some caveats: it is an idiosyncratic work in which the author's voice and opinions comes across strongly in the expanded notes and topics, take it as you like. Reader opinions may differ on, say, whether a particular word is derogatory, or biologically accurate. I'd always avoid describing an adult woman as a "girl," say, except within dialogue, but of course many people do that and intend no slight. Language is a living, mutable, constantly evolving thing and one of the skills an author must have is choosing the right words to convey not just meaning, but also nuance and character.

TAS is also American, and although there are many inclusions from different sources (Hindi, African-American, Portuguese, Yiddish, Elizabethan, etc - all helpfully flagged as such) and he's done his research, I noted in my uncorrected review copy some question-marks when it came to British slang (which have been fixed in the latest PDF).  That's probably inevitable in a single-author work, and to be honest it's probably all but impossible to write accurately in another culture's idiom. This book will hopefully help you flange it, though. (See!)

 The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus is the dog's bollocks 👍👍👍 and I will absolutely be buying it in paperback. It will become a well-thumbed treasure.

* Love (n): adoration; affection; ardor; attachment; beyond admiration; caring; craving; devotion; Eros...

Monday, 21 May 2018

Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's is from Lea Bronsen's new book, A Thorned Rose in the Sand, about which she says:

"I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience – but with more spice!

A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opiniated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other" 😊

When life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a motorcycle rally across Morocco. But the real excitement is found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert.

After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. He dreams of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but feisty biker stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.

The girl screamed behind him. “Eeeeee!”

Too hard to resist. Until now, Ragab had had a difficult time respecting her privacy, but surely, a scream called for attention. What kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t check on a woman in distress?

He spun and found her kneeling on her jacket, nude and wet, arms outstretched in shock. He bit down a laugh. Yes, the deep well water was cold, but one got used to it, and in the extreme heat of the desert, it was a blessing.

She turned, caught him staring, and even though he couldn’t see anything inappropriate, she hurried to cover her breasts and pubic area. “Look away!” she shouted, voice panicky.

The laugh bubbled inside him, but he obediently turned back to the motorcycle—then stood in such a way he could see her reflection in one of the side mirrors.

Oh, it was like watching a porn scene. Her long, red curls hung wild over her back and round, white butt cheeks. Every time she moved, a portion of her breasts appeared in the space between her ribs and arms. Such perfect feminine curves, all over. Imagine if he saw the front…

Blood rushed to his groin. Stiffening, bothered, he tore from the sight, walked over to the well, and leaned against its waist-high wall, hoping the hardness of the bricks and coolness from the water below would temper his arousal before it became a full-blown erection.

So silent…

He strained to hear.

Splashes. Muffled squeals. More splashes.

He turned slowly and stole a glance from the corner of his eye.

She washed her panties and black top in the bucket and leaned forward to spread them in the sun. Her position exposed the dark pink lips of her sex, from the tiny hole in her butt to the end of her slit, where her clitoris hid.


Shocked to his core, he turned back and groaned low, his cock hardening again.

He closed his eyes, drew long, slow breaths to calm the painful throbbing and counted minutes, trying to think of something else.

His dromedary, for example. It would be cool to show her how to ride it. What if he rode another one, and they both galloped on the dunes together, she laughing, ecstatic…

Then they’d roll in the sand, and he would tease her thighs apart and slide his hungry hardness into her dark pink lips, to the wet bottom of her. Oh, yes.

She called, “Ready?”

He risked a glance in her direction.

Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean—she strolled to the motorcycle, carrying a bag and her clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tanks, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor.

Not once looking at him.

Buy A Thorned Rose in the Sand at:

Add the book to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired Lea to write the book on Pinterest

Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.

Meet Lea Bronsen on