Saturday, 29 April 2017

The bums of Brum

Following on from my full-frontal reveal of Epstein's Lucifer, here are some more pics of  Slightly Naughty Art in and around the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. It's actually famous for its Pre-Raphaelite collection, but I'm afraid they all photographed very badly (and kept their clothes on).

Dhruva Mistry: The River (1993)
This one is in Victoria Square, along with a Gormley that couldn't help reminding me of bound angels...

Antony Gormley: Iron Man (1993)
Moving inside the Museum... this is ancient:

"Bronze figure of two gods," Northern Syria, Old Babylonian period, 1850-1750 BCE

But these are modern art:

Henry Moore: Warrior with Shield (1954)

Pablo Picasso: The Young Man (1958)
This vase is NOT modern, but it does have Gratuitous Boobies:

Gustave Joseph Cheret: The Fishing Season is Open (1890)
As does this:

William Russell Flint: Silver and Gold (1931)
And this has a Gratuitous Not-Even-Slightly-Symbolic Snake:

Alfred Gilbert: Athlete Wrestling a Snake

 Art feeds the soul 😜

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Short story news #2!

The Goddess Hel by Johannes Gehrts (1889)
 Woohoo - a second short story sale in a week!

My Viking gods erotic tale, Sweet Hel Below, has been accepted by Rose Caraway for her forthcoming collection The Sexy Librarian's Dirty 30, Vol.2


I am chuffed to bits!

It couldn't be a greater contrast to The Pier by Night announced last week - that was contemporary and naturalistic, this one is mythological with supernatural horror overtones. Hel being, of course, the Norse goddess of the unheroic dead, whose body is half-rotting corpse and half-living. Who does she get off with? Well, I thought, how about Baldur the Golden, most handsome of all the gods, who is sent into her realm when he's murdered?

Hotness and death, sex and horror - Isn't that a fine challenge for an erotica writer?

Well amazingly enough, Samantha MacLeod - completely independently and with no conferring -  had the urge to write about just this myth at pretty much the same time, and you can read about her upcoming take on it, Death and Beauty, including an excerpt, here. It's the zeitgeist, baby! πŸ’ž

Monday, 24 April 2017

Blue Monday: Ian Smith guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Ian Smith with a teaser from From the Top, which is Book 3 in his Merely
threesome romance series.

Paul, working with his lovers Becky and Hayley, feels deep-ended. He's acting in his first studio production—a slightly mad family-friendly TV show where amateur Egyptologists find a hidden tomb and temple, with a very realistic mummy on set.

They want to keep their developing three-way relationship private, while surrounded by people who love to gossip and just might let things slip to the media. Time is tight, working with a professional stunt team and egotistical actors is stressful, and Paul and Becky get some unwanted attention.

Adding to his anxiety is the important question of where their relationship can go.

Then there are his terrifying, painfully realistic, and very life-like dreams about nasty accidents. On TV, he can have another take. Real life only gives him one go. But it's almost as if he's getting a chance to change how things work out.

Sonny and Cher woke me up. Off the top of my head, I couldn't remember ever having heard "I Got You Babe" first thing in the morning before, and decided once was more than enough.

"Hate this fucking song," Becky mumbled from behind a veil of hair. She turned over and stretched an arm across my chest.

Hayley was face down beside me. She lifted her head and looked puzzled. "Time to get up already?" She flopped back onto the pillow and sighed loudly. Enough light spilled around the curtains for me to see her hair had spread out around her head. It tickled my face slightly.

I tried to rearrange my legs without disturbing either of my companions. We were staying with Becky, who, like Hayley, only had a standard double bed. Being several inches taller than it was long meant I had to sleep diagonally across it, keep my legs bent, or put up with my feet hanging over the end. When it had been just two of us, we'd coped comfortably. But three of us filled it. My leg muscles really wanted me to stretch them out before I lost all feeling below the waist.

"What's wrong with this song?" I asked.

"Boring and ancient. And he was a right bastard to Cher."

The song ended and was followed by a chirpy advert for a local car dealership.

"When's the taxi arriving?" Hayley mumbled.

"Around half eight," Becky said. She yawned and stretched. "It's from a fancy car and driver company."

She slipped out of bed and padded off to the bathroom. She knew I was watching her and did a bottom-wiggle in the doorway before she vanished from sight.

Hayley shuffled up against me, slid one of her legs over mine and stroked my calf with her foot. She reached across my tummy with one of her hands. "Think we can have a quickie before Becky gets back?"

"Have to go like the clappers," I said.

"Better get started, then." Hayley slid on top of me and I wrapped my arms around her.

"No bonking till I get back," Becky shouted from the bathroom.

Hayley and I kissed and writhed together, squashing my erection nicely between our tummies.

I heard the toilet flush and Becky's feet on the carpet as she hurried back, then what could only be a drawer being opened and closed. She joined us in bed, knelt beside my legs and leaned over Hayley.

Hayley squealed into our kiss and stiffened her body, then she started moving her hips around. I heard a quiet buzzing and realised Becky was teasing Hayley with a vibrator.

"That's evil," Hayley murmured.

"Yeah, yeah, where do you want it?" Becky asked.

"In me, on my g-spot, please."

I held Hayley and kissed her as she got closer and closer to her climax. Becky kissed and stroked Hayley's back, bottom, and the inside of her thighs.

"This is going to blow my mind," Hayley mumbled. She'd closed her eyes and her expression was very clear. She was already really close to coming.

"Didn't know vibrators got you this excited so quickly," I murmured.

"I woke up from a really sexy dream," she said, then gasped and bit her lip for a second. "All three of us rolling around for ages, then you were piling into me like there was no tomorrow."

Her whole body tensed and she opened her mouth in a silent scream, then cried out and twitched several times.

She relaxed and lay on me, breathing heavily. "I am officially dead from the neck down," she panted. "You two are to blame."

"Don't blame us," Becky said, then she leaned down and I felt her mouth slowly enclose the tip of my erection.

Hayley slid off me and rolled onto her side, then picked up the vibrator. She watched Becky taunt me for a few seconds, then made an effort to get to her feet. "Shit, my legs are wobbly." She moved around behind Becky, who spread her knees further apart. She moaned gently and I guessed Hayley had slid the vibrator along her cleft.

I relaxed and concentrated on the soft wetness of her mouth and her small, warm hand on my cock. From the speed of her movements and her tight grip around me, I thought she was trying to finish me off before she climaxed. I let myself go and came a few seconds before she did. She gulped and swallowed as I came, then let go of me, relaxed onto my tummy and gasped loudly as she climaxed. I'd opened my eyes in time to watch her face. I loved watching both of them as they came. Their expressions made me slightly envious of how relaxed they seemed and how intense their feelings were.

Buy From the Top at:

 Ian Smith says:
"I currently live and work in the south-western corner of the UK, but I’ve spent time in quite a few parts of the country over my life. My education and professional life have been very focused on science, so I've no idea where my interest in writing fiction came from is a mystery. But I have this quaint day-dream that it might become more than a hobby. Well, one day?

I like to write stories which are at least plausible, especially in the little details. So research has involved me doing a few odd-sounding things. Or maybe I use the odd things I’ve done for fun as retrospective research? I’ve learned the basics of the traditional British rural skills of dry-stone walling and hedge-laying, and spent a day getting an introduction to bushcraft. I've driven a tank, spent the night in a snow-cave I dug in the Cairngorms, flown in a hot air balloon, gliders and light aircraft,  and been for a walk with some nominally tame wolves. I took up archery as a sport after a taster session. And I spent a day doing some jousting. Honestly!"

Regular Facebook profile -
Amazon author page -

Sunday, 23 April 2017

Intervention needed

HEEEEEELP - My "to-read" pile has broken out of the bookcase and is taking over the windowsill!

Friday, 21 April 2017

The Archangel Lucifer

Yesterday I went to the city of Birmingham (UK) - not a place normally at the top of my wish-list, I admit. But I wanted to see Epstein's The Archangel Lucifer, which is prominently displayed in the City Museum and Art Gallery.

It is a truly spectacular bronze, with an interesting back-story. Jacob Epstein, one of the most important sculptors of the 20th Century, cast it in 1945, inspired by the proud Lucifer described in Milton's Paradise Lost. He reputedly used a male model for the body and a female one for the face, giving at an androgynous aura. It has a fine, fine ass!

But it was instantly controversial, not least because it is rather obviously well-endowed. Epstein considered the sculpture his finest work at the time, but couldn't sell it at exhibition. He tried to give it away to the V&A Museum and then the Tate Gallery in London, but neither wanted it. The Mayor of Birmingham stepped in to ask for it if it was going begging and it was duly gifted to what was frankly a provincial industrial city with little cultural status.

The BMAG remains slightly embarrassed about this artistic windfall. You'd have to hunt hard for any depiction of the statue on their website, despite the fact that it dominates the Round Room at the top of the main stairs. There is no souvenir of it on sale in the shop - not even a postcard.

Luckily they do let you take photos :-)

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Short story news!

I have horribly neglected my short-story writing over the last couple of years, what with various novels claiming my attention, but hopefully 2017 is going to be a bit different.

I'm delighted to announce that my short story The Pier By Night has been accepted for the very first Sinful Press anthology: Sinful Pleasures. Yay!

THIS pier

The Pier By Night is a contemporary, non-fantastical, tale of succumbing to temptation, set in Brighton - which I visited for both the World Horror Convention 2010 and the World Fantasy Convention 2013. So admittedly my mental picture may be a bit skewed, but it seemed an appropriately sinful setting to me!

Monday, 17 April 2017

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

Since I have been banging on about dragons with regards to In Bonds of the Earth, I thought I should post an excerpt from one of my early short stories, The Dragon's Bride. It's a story I'm pretty sure most editors would not dare touch these days - certainly I was lucky to get it into Black Lace during its more daring early incarnation!

Sheldi has been offered as a maiden sacrifice to a dragon, but when the vast beast snatches her away to his lair, it turns out that he can talk and has an alternative in mind to just eating her...

"Oh please," she whispered, forced to admit her pleasure as her hips, without voluntary instruction, pressed her aching mound against his reptilian tongue.

"Not yet," Oromon reprimanded, pulling his whole head back into the gloomy shadows of the roofspace. Sheldi stayed kneeling, her dignity stripped from her, her mind reeling. "Go to the fireplace," he told her. "There is oil there; anoint yourself."

Sheldi rose to her feet and walked unsteadily across to the cold hearth of the hall. She found the oil, golden and nearly odourless, in a barrel. As the dragon watched she poured cupfuls over her breasts and down her legs, rubbing it in with her hands until she was slick and gleaming from shoulders to toes, pressing herself shamelessly between the legs as he rumbled his amusement.

"Now come on," he commanded at last, but she needed no telling. She burned with frustration and curiosity. She wanted to know what a dragon's pizzle looked like. Taking a cupful of the oil with her, she walked across the breadth of the hall to the red wall of Oromon's belly.

From its rigid protective sheath his erection was beginning to protrude, white as fish-skin - shockingly pallid in fact against the dark colours of his scaled body - and glistening with its own moisture . Whether it was her taste and scent or his anticipation, she had begun to arouse him, and this made her flush in turn. Sheldi reached out to touch the pale flesh, feeling it smooth and slick beneath her palm. She poured some of the oil onto its tip and began to stroke it along the length, but more flesh emerged into sight in response to her touch.

"Harder," growled the dragon thickly. "You must be firm."

She obeyed at once, pressing and massaging him with the heels of her hands, causing him to to rumble deep in his throat and twitch his barbed tail. His penis was as thick as her own thigh, and not bulbed at the end like that of a man but tapering to a point, on the underside of which was a moist slit. Sheldi was awestruck. Her oiled hands described lavish caresses down span after span of its turgid length, and the erection jumped beneath her touch.

"Climb up now," Oromon told her.

She scrambled onto the ridged sheath and wrapped her arms around his pizzle to hold on as he rolled carefully onto his back. Sheldi found herself yards above the ground, straddling the dragon's stiff prick, her knees on the hot soft leather of his belly. The hard, slippery pole under her was as long as her own body now and pointed out like a battering ram. Sheldi had a vivid image of how bizarre it must look, this enormous spear rising from between her thighs, and the thought made her wriggle upon her perch. She pushed forward with her hands and rubbed backward with her groin upon the oily surface, working up a rhythm of pressure and motion. Oromon groaned and her head buzzed from the deep tones. Her own open, needy cunt was pressed against the white flesh, hopelessly unable to encompass its girth but yawning and desperate and sliding. Waves of heat passed through her belly; without warning she began to come, frigging herself on the dragon's huge prick, exultant, gasping out her release. The pizzle bucked beneath her, lifting her from her footing - she nearly lost her balance and had to lie forwards and cling to it as the shocking vibrations of her pleasure died away.

She came back to her senses lying face down, draped around the white lance that fitted tightly between her slippery breasts. She looked up the length of it toward Oromon's head, saw the glow of his golden eyes, his teeth bared in tension. No words came from him now; he was caught on the apex of anticipation, wordless and unthinking as any beast, needing her to finish what she had begun. She smiled.
Then she began to work her way up the length of that prick to the tip, using her whole oiled and sweat-slick body to rub it, wrestling, using the friction of hands and feet and breasts and thighs and groin. She clung to his member as if it were her lover, grinding and mauling. She felt muscular spasms chase through the taut surface of his belly. She reached the tip and pushed her face into the slit, delving with her tongue as she hugged and writhed.

And the dragon roared and arched and spent in ecstasy, his come gushing from him all over Sheldi, exploding in her face like a bucket of water, drenching her hair and breasts. It was hot and very wet; Sheldi choked as it forced its way into her open throat and she swallowed great mouthfuls.

It tasted of burned sugar, bitter and sweet all at the same time.

Sunday, 16 April 2017

Country Matters

Gustave Courbet: L'Origine du Monde, 1866

I'm a big fan of the Whores of Yore website, and this week Kate Lister posted an epic (and very funny) post on the disputed origins and complex history of the word CUNT, and its synonyms. Go read!

Friday, 14 April 2017

Tell me if I'm going in too deep

This is actually me getting my vet on last weekend, at the World of James Herriot museum! You have to pull the calf's ankles...

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Monday, 10 April 2017

Blue Monday: Kate Douglas guests

Every Monday I post a hot excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is the prolific best-seller Kate Douglas with an excerpt from her new novel Dark Terror, Book 5 of the Spirit Wild series.

(Chanku shapeshifters from the Wolf Tales and Spirit Wild stories are born as humans but have the ability to shift and become wolves or other predators once their genetic legacy is unleashed with the proper nutrients. Berserkers are Chanku counterparts, born in their predator form and eventually--if they consume the proper nutrients--able to shift and walk as humans. The pack is under siege, threatened by a demonic presence that was discovered by two Berserkers, brothers Reko and Ari. They have survived as wolves, searching for the nutrients that will give them the power to shift and walk as humans. Now, rescued by the Chanku pack, eating the grasses their bodies need, Reko has shifted for the first time. Mary and Jack, a newly mated Chanku pair, have taken their new packmate home with them to experience sex for the first time. This scene opens when Reko and Jack have just shared a kiss, something Reko hadn’t expected to like as much as he does.)

 Jack didn’t so much wipe his mouth as run his fingers across his lips before he took a deep breath and winked at Mary. “He’s a fast learner, Mary.”


Her voice sounded thick and even Reko recognized her need behind that one word. He focused on Mary, fell into the deep blue of her fierce gaze. She caught him there, held him. She wanted this, wanted him. Like Reko, she was tired of waiting, though he’d waited a lifetime, not even dreaming that anyone like Mary might be here at this time and place for him. He turned and put a knee on the bed, then moved over Mary and knelt reverently between her spread legs. He stared at her for a long moment, learning her shape, the angles and curves and contours of her beautiful body. Then he gently slipped his hands beneath the firm globes of her bottom and lifted her to his mouth.

She rested her legs on his shoulders and clutched the thick bedding with both hands. Leaning close, he inhaled her scent and almost spent himself at that moment. She was ripe with the pheromones he’d only heard of, the musky aroma that drove males wild when they came close.

With just the tip of his tongue, he circled the tiny bit of flesh she called her clit. Her hips bucked in his grasp. He held her still with his hands and used his mouth as she’d asked him, lapping at the swollen lips of her sex, suckling her clit. It had begun to swell so that it peeked out from its fleshy hood—her reaction to his touch. He had no idea a woman had such a thing, like a tiny prick only so very sensitive. Mary’s thoughts flooded him, the way his tongue felt when he swept the length of her sex, how she wanted him to lick inside her. Her instructions fascinated him. Willingly, he followed her lead.

As he drove his tongue deep inside, stroking her inner walls and lapping at her juices, his fingertips brushed the damp, crinkled ring between her cheeks. Everything between her legs was wet with her sweet nectar, and her whimpers told him just how aroused she was. How very much she loved what he was doing. Without really considering the move, he slipped one finger deep inside the opening in her butt. The ring of muscle clamped tightly to his finger and she cried out, arching her back, forcing his finger deeper and pressing her sex tightly against his mouth.

She flooded him with her arousal, flooded his mind with the sounds of her pleasure, and the connection exploded between them into a white-hot barrage of sensation. He licked and nuzzled, knowing instinctively to bring her down from her climax slowly, knowing when to pull his finger free of her body with care. Before she was totally slack in his arms, he lowered her hips and legs, pressed his prick against her opening, and slid all the way inside in one smooth thrust. He held himself there, his sensitive glans pressed against what could only be the hard mouth of her cervix, locked in place by her feminine muscles rippling through her climax. He wanted to move faster, harder, but at the same time he wanted to hold perfectly still and feel Mary, experience her inner tempo, the muscles pulsing with her arousal, adjusting to his size, enclosing him in a hot, wet embrace.

“Now, Reko. Hard and fast.” She clutched his upper arms with both hands and lifted her body to him. Gazing into those beautiful blue eyes, he did exactly as she ordered. He filled her over and over again, the steady rhythm of his hips pounding into her, the thunder that was his heartbeat racing the echo of Mary’s.

He knew his climax was coming and opened the link to Mary, brought Jack into it with them and moved in and almost out of her as if he was a huge piston in a mighty engine. She was so tiny compared to him, and if not for the link between them he would have been afraid of harming her.

But she wanted this, wanted him, and she reveled in the strength of his taking, gloried in the love of her mate, who watched her pleasure and took it into himself. The three of them, so tightly connected that there was no Jack, no Mary, no Reko. They were one, the three of them finding completion as Mary screamed, as Reko cried out and lifted her against him so that he knelt here, in the middle of their bed with Mary’s strong legs wrapped around his hips, with Jack cursing and laughing, holding both of them from behind.

Reko bowed his head over Mary, who’d gone limp in his arms. Jack’s arms stretched around Reko to hold Mary, to hold Reko. After a few moments of the three of them gasping for air, Jack’s laughter filled the room. “Stay there,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Reko had no idea why he’d given the order, but he held Mary close, brushed her tangled hair back from her forehead with his fingers, kissed her lips lightly for one more taste. Jack crawled up on the bed behind him.

“That was a first,” he said. Reko felt a warm, wet cloth on his back.

“What are you doing?” Glancing over his shoulder, he realized Jack was washing his back.

“Washing my spunk off your back. All I was doing was hugging you guys and soaking up your shared sensations, but when you both climaxed, I joined you. I wasn’t even touching myself. It was all you, Reko. You and Mary. There. You’re all clean.”

Stunned by his own powerful response, Reko carefully lay Mary back down on the bed. He kissed her lips, just a taste, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Better than okay. Reko, that was magnificent.”

Before she was rescued from a human trafficking ring by the Chanku, Mary Ryder had lived a tortured life as a sex slave and prostitute, and the emotional scars of that time still haunt her. Through the patient strength and genuine devotion of Jack Temple, Mary is slowly learning to open herself to the possibility of uncorrupted love and passion in his arms. But before the two can explore their newfound connection and dream of life as a mated pair, they must face a dark menace threatening all Chanku.

Aldo Xanakis was thought to be dead, but harnessing the life force of those he had slain, he has reappeared as a dark and vicious demon hell-bent on the destruction of the pack—and of all humankind. With only days to stop the demon’s lethal plans and the fanatical religious cult he has enlisted to serve him, the entire Chanku pack unites to combine their power against him.

As Mary and Jack are thrown together in an epic battle against evil, they and the rest of the pack will be forced to harness all the magic and sensual power they possess to preserve their way of life and everything they hold dear. 

Buy Dark Terror at:
Amazon US :: Amazon UK
Barnes and Noble
iTunes US :: iTunes UK
Google Play

Kate Douglas is the award winning author of the popular erotic paranormal romance series Wolf Tales, Feral Passions, and Demon Lovers, the erotic SF series Dream Catchers, and StarQuest, as well as the DemonSlayers series. She is currently writing the next book in the Spirit Wild series.

Kate and her husband of almost fifty years have two adult children and six grandchildren. They live in the beautiful wine country of Sonoma County, California, in the little town of Healdsburg.

You can read excerpts of all of Kate’s books at Write to Kate at She answers all her email. You can also find her on Facebook at and occasionally on twitter as @wolftales.

Sunday, 9 April 2017

Author Influences - with Emmanuelle de Maupassant

It's not like my heart still flip-flops at the sight of this cover or anything

The indefatigable Emmanuelle de Maupassant, fresh from her vast survey of erotica authors, has started a series on the artistic influences of individual authors, and I'm featured this week!

The post fingers childhood reading matter like that pictured, 2000AD comic and Victorian art as the architects of my erotic psyche, among others...


Like, what possible effect could this have on a young mind?

Friday, 7 April 2017

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms


  • The Mandaeans have a demon called Dinanukht, who is half man and half book, and "sits by the waters between the worlds, reading himself."

  • The first Indian elected to the British Parliament was a Parsee, Dadabhai Naoroji - in 1892.
  • A Zoroastrian who accidentally kills a dog is supposed to perform a list of penances 18 lines long - one of which is to kill 10,000 cats!

  • Most Druze don't know what their own core religious doctrines are. Religious truth is a secret only for the initiated (but we do know it includes reincarnation).
  • Pythagoreans believed that numbers, the building blocks of the universe, had spiritual meanings. 2 was the number of Woman, 3 the number of Man, 4 the number of Justice, 5 the number of Marriage. The classic Pythagorean triangle with sides in a ratio of 3:4:5 spelled out a message written into the fabric of the universe: "Man must behave justly in marriage".

I don't post book reviews. But I enjoyed Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms SO MUCH that I just had to say, if you are into this sort of thing you will love this book:
Despite its reputation for religious intolerance, the Middle East has long sheltered many distinctive and strange faiths: one regards the Greek prophets as incarnations of God, another reveres Lucifer in the form of a peacock, and yet another believes that their followers are reincarnated beings who have existed in various forms for thousands of years. These religions represent the last vestiges of the magnificent civilizations in ancient history: Persia, Babylon, Egypt in the time of the Pharaohs.

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms, former diplomat Gerard Russell ventures to the distant, nearly impassable regions where these mysterious religions still cling to survival. He lives alongside the Mandaeans and Ezidis of Iraq, the Zoroastrians of Iran, the Copts of Egypt, and others. He learns their histories, participates in their rituals, and comes to understand the threats to their communities.

And here's a proper review, if that's what you want ...

Wednesday, 5 April 2017

Revision notes

A glimpse here into my novel revision process... I've been writing myself a lot of notes! Usually after getting out of the shower (where much of my inspiration comes to me) muttering "Must write that down! Must write that down!"

Having completed the first draft, the next stage is to go through and make sure I've included everything I want to include (descriptors, emotions, foreshadowing) and check the logic of the plot flow. That means working backwards a lot of the time - I know for sure that Egan has to have a gun in scene X, so where did it come from? Is it the same as the one he had in scene M? But didn't he have that knocked out of his hand? So either he must have picked it up again (alteration) or it's a different one he got in scene T (alteration), but in the latter case then he wasn't using it to threaten someone in scene O, and if I take out that threat then how do I draw attention to the drawer he got the gun out of which happens to contain something else important?
... and so on.

Checking your plot backward (A happens because B has happened because C happened etc) is one of the best writing tips I've heard. It shows up plot holes SOOOOO well.

Monday, 3 April 2017

Blue Monday: Saskia Walker guests

Every Monday I post a hot excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's guest is Saskia Walker, with a naughty teaser from her novel Reckless, which has just been re-released.

A forbidden lover in the night. A valuable art collection. A mystery to be solved...

When Katrina Hammond finds herself at the center of a struggle for power and dominance between two brothers, she welcomes the darkly erotic charge the situation brings.

Katrina's job is to value a collection of art in the Spanish villa of the Teodoro family, where Sergio Teodoro rules. Sergio is a dominant man who compels her attention. Nicolas, his younger brother - a passionate artist - also seeks her out. One brother will seduce her and win her heart, but danger awaits Katrina in the shadows of the Teodoro villa. As she uncovers the subterfuge surrounding the collection, she finds that there is more to Nicolas and Sergio's battle than meets the eye, and more to her growing allegiances than may be good for her

“Now I see you like this...” Nico’s eyes darkened as he examined her on the bed. “I’d like to keep you locked up this way for much, much longer.”

Why did that arouse her so much? Why now, of all times, was her body responding to his threats as if they were invitations to pleasure? Stupid woman, she chastised herself. But he smiled that smile, and he watched her with those hungry eyes, devastatingly handsome as he moved his hips over hers, pressing his erection against her hipbone so that she knew how ready he was, how aroused he was.

“You can’t keep me here,” she repeated, her voice faltering.

He sighed. “Oh, but I can, and I know I can make you enjoy it.”

“Threats,” she blurted, unable to stop herself. That was the wrong thing to say.

“Threats, or promises?" He licked his lips, eyeing her again.

Katrina pursed her lips, annoyance flashing through her. But the annoyance she felt was more about the responses her body gave to the situation. She was a professional art expert on a commission, pinned to a bed in a foreign country by a man who was contesting her client’s actions, and she was aroused beyond belief. What the hell was happening to her? It was as if ever since she’d got hooked into this crazy situation she’d lost all sense of reason.

He pushed up her top so it bunched under her chin, his fingers brushing languorously over her lace-covered nipples. Infuriated, she wriggled and attempted to dent him with her elbow, which only made him laugh, a dry, husky sound that made her sigh inside. He moved his hand, slowly running it over the surface of her throat and then lower, down around the outside of one breast, slowly cupping it through her bra.

She tried to pull away, but he pushed her back onto the bed, pulling her top off over her head, then pinning her arms to the pillow.

He bent to rasp his tongue over the surface of her bra, where it sent a flame beneath the fabric, beneath her skin and into her breast. She couldn’t voice an objection, her body wouldn’t allow it. With Nicolas lying alongside her—toying with her, his large male body pressing so determinedly against hers, his mouth brushing over her skin—she was rendered speechless, helpless, a victim of her own desire.

Anger flared in her, futile anger. She rolled her hips away from him, turning her back as best she could. But he laughed softly, and his hand immediately went to the underside of her thigh. Pressing close against her back, he stroked his hand under her skirt, pushing it up to expose her G-string and her bottom.

“You want it, you know you do. No woman can look as pleasured as you do and deny herself more of it. I admit how much I want you, Katrina,” he coaxed, “I’m hard. You make me hard. This is because of you.”

She had to count to ten to stop herself responding.

“You’re so hot, damp.” His hand was between her thighs, cupped against the fabric of her G-string. “I feel your need in the palm of my hand.”

She lay still on the bed, her eyes pressed shut, mentally refusing to acknowledge him as his fingers moved the fabric aside and sank straight into the slick wetness of her sex, entering her with ease.

Her heart raced, her body clamoring for him.

“Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t want me, and I will stop.” He whispered the words close against her ear, huskily, his warm breath teasing over her skin, making her aware of him in every possible way.

Oh God, she wanted him, she wanted him badly, but she refused to move or speak, refused to give in to his demands and to her own lust.

             She bit her lip, lust making her crazy. Even though she knew she had to take a stand and walk away from this situation, she couldn’t deny she wanted him. She wanted to make this – whatever this was – about something other than the reason why they had met, and yet she couldn’t resist him if her life depended on it. 

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Saskia Walker is a British author of erotic romance, an award winning writer and a USA Today bestseller. Saskia's short stories and novellas have appeared in over one hundred international anthologies including BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA, THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST NEW EROTICA, SECRETS, and WICKED WORDS. Her erotica has also been featured in several international magazines including COSMO, PENTHOUSE, BUST, and SCARLET. 

After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects. Her erotic single titles include TRADING HEARTS, RAMPANT, DOUBLE DARE and INESCAPABLE. Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying "hello" to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. Her novels DOUBLE DARE and RAMPANT both won Passionate Plume awards and her writing has twice been nominated for a RT Book Reviews Reviewers' Choice Award. She has lots more stories in the pipeline! Saskia lives in the north of England, close to the beautiful Yorkshire moors, with her partner, Mark, and a houseful of felines.