August 29, 2014

Seeing Red by E.L. Esch; A Gripping and Sensual, Contemporary Erotic M/M Romance.


What would you do if you lost five years of freedom? If everything you'd ever known was torn away from you, all because the one person you counted on to save you didn't come through?

This is the cruel reality for Gabriel “Red” Thatcher, convicted at age nineteen for the murder of his father. Now twenty-five and eight months out of prison, Red has nothing to his name and no one to help him. He is carrying close to him a rage hotter than white flames. Had his sister just testified on his behalf in court, he could have been spared the horrible things that happened to him in the doghouse. Things that'll make him never look at intimacy the same way again.

Red can't take swallowing his bitter rage alone anymore. Unable to kill the growing loneliness and ire with time, he heads into the Flower District in search of a gay bar to drown his sorrows. There he meets the bubbly, easy-on-the-eyes Silo Winters.

When Red learns that Silo did three years in prison for an accidental oil fire, he brings Silo home, not so much for a wild romp as to relieve his aching loneliness. Besides if anyone will understand Red's pain it'll be Silo, who's gone through some of the same horrors he has. However, he definitely doesn't count on Silo becoming so much more than a sexy shoulder to lean on. Now, if only Red can learn to let him in.


The Flower District was named for what many men lost there—that moment when the lily white of a pure man’s soul turned red with his first taste of carnal lust. This was not my case, however. I’d lost the purity of having an untouched body years ago, and to a man I didn’t even love…or want. 

I sat in the district’s most renowned bar, Divano Messia. I could practically feel eyes cruising over me, but I paid them no mind. I felt bad for the first guy who’d offer to buy me a drink, because I was that one-in-a-million man who wasn’t looking to get laid in a place meant for people looking to get laid. I just wanted to be left alone and drink. 

Despite this, I let my gaze wander. I hadn’t gotten any in more than eight months, so I let myself have some eye candy at least. Those times in prison didn’t count. I didn’t exactly find the idea of being forced against some concrete wall by a man I hardly knew a good time. If I wanted, I could have one of these men on my arm in an hour’s time, but because of the past, because of prison, I didn’t. I would never take a one-night stand—that was the promise I’d made to myself eight months ago on my first day outside my prison cell, my first day of freedom. 

Besides, I didn’t have much money to buy a guy a drink. All I had in my wallet today was a twenty, enough for two drinks at most and, if I was lucky, a taxi ride home. 

I looked down at my reflection in the bar top and sneered. The twenty wasn’t even mine. I hadn’t been able to find work since I’d gotten out of the doghouse, and it stung worse than a rough first time that the money I did have I was leeching off of my sister. I had been for eight months for rent, food, and now alcohol. But as much as I hated being out on the town using my sister’s money, I desperately needed the booze, because if I penned through another to-be-ignored job application sober, I knew I’d blow a gasket. 

Thus I ordered the driest cocktail Messia served—a Stinger. It hurt my throat to swallow it, but I sucked up the burn and smacked my lips. It wouldn’t get me drunk, but twenty bucks wouldn’t anyway, so at least I could take my mind off all the shit going on in my life by scalding my tongue. 

When I grimaced at my second sip of the cocktail, a man a few seats away from me laughed. I looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking back. I wondered if he’d even been laughing at me as I profiled his average build and cleanly shaven skull. What attracted my attention the most about him were his ice-blue eyes. I only caught a glimpse when he turned to look behind him, but they were astounding. A pale winter blue, almost stark white, just like icicles reflecting the color of the sky. I could almost smell the clean air and feel the frigid chill of winter when I saw them. 

Realizing I was staring, I lowered my eyes. Then I caught sight of an array of black bars on the underside of the man’s wrist. A barcode… I gazed back up at his shaven skull and understood, and that’s when he looked at me. 

He smiled. His teeth were straight and perfect, though strangely not quite as white as his eyes. 

I turned my gaze away, finding his tattoo again and staring. He must’ve noticed, because he folded his arms to conceal it when I brought my gaze up to his face. 

Now it could have just been a meaningless tattoo. I’d heard of teens getting barcode tats just so they could scan themselves at stores. He could’ve been inked just for shits and giggles, but I didn’t think so. The way he hid his tattoo from me when he caught me staring…the seemingly pained look in his eyes when he’d folded his arms…his ink was personal. Too personal to have been done for kicks. After all, lots of guys who’d been in prison got tats of their prisoner ID. I knew—I was one of them. Only I didn’t do it to make myself look like some badass, or to brand myself as a rebellious stray lamb. I did it to remind myself that no matter how rough life got, I’d been through worse. Much, much worse… 

“Silo Winters.” The tattooed man called across the bar. “That’s my name. Yours?” 

“Red…” A large part of me didn’t want to talk to him, because I knew what he was after. A larger part of me realized from the ink on his wrist that he might have been through the same type of hell I had in prison, and that he, like me, could possibly want a shoulder to lean on to get away from it all. But I wasn’t about to kid myself. This was the Flower District’s most popular gay bar, after all. 

“Red, like the crayon color?” He rose from his seat and took the one next to me instead. 

“I guess.” I sipped my drink again and cringed. 

“Why drink it if you don’t like it?” Silo set his elbow on the bar and his chin atop his palm. 

“Because I want to.” I drank again, noticing the way he kept eying my cocktail. 

“Care to offer me one?” He grinned at me stupidly, with his lips crooked and his eyes squeezed shut. 

And though I kind of found it cute, I shook my head and said, “No.” 

That quieted him for a minute. 

“Well, I won’t make you woo me, if that’s not your thing. How about you just take me home and we skip the formalities?” 

Talk about coming on too strong. Part of me was a bit disappointed this man had ended up just like the rest, mostly because I yearned to hear the story behind the tattoo on his wrist. I looked for it again. Realizing it was hidden, I scratched my own instead. 

“Sorry, I’m not looking for anything like that.” I promptly asked the bartender for my bill, and then again for my change when he gave it to me. 

“I won’t rob you or anything.” Silo stared at me as I rose from my seat, an odd pleading look in his bluish-white eyes. 

“Sorry.” I set a dollar on the bar and left, feeling those icicle eyes burning into my back as I stood up to head out the door. 

“Hey wait, sugar.” 

Against my better judgment, I turned back to face Silo. “What?” 

“I’m not offended by a rejection.” He laughed. “Stay. Drink. That’s why you came, isn’t it?” 

I narrowed my eyes. He was right. Besides, I’d only finished half my cocktail. “Fine…” I slowly took my seat again. 

“So what’s got ya sucking down a throat-stinging drink like that, sweetheart?” Silo asked. 

I hadn’t thought he’d continue talking to me, but as long as he didn’t make any more passes at me, I didn’t mind. 

“Life,” I grumbled. 

“Hah! That’s what’s got me here too, sweetheart.” I hadn’t intended to sit with him and talk. After all, I couldn’t give him the night of fun that he wanted. But the moment I saw him, his beautiful icicle-blue eyes captured me. They demanded my attention every time I looked at him. And when I’d felt them on my back as I’d turned to leave the bar, I’d sensed them looking beyond the surface of my skin and down into my core. That was one of the reasons I’d sat back down at the bar. That and my insatiable curiosity about the barcode tattoo on the underside of his wrist. Mostly, though, it was the look of quiet understanding in Silo’s eyes when I caught him staring at my similarly tattooed wrist. 

Before I knew it, we’d been talking for hours, mostly about things that had no meaning, like our favorite bars in the Flower District. Silo was a huge flirt and hit on me more often than not, but nothing serious. He always laughed when he dropped some cheesy line or batted his eyelashes, almost as if he were emphasizing that it was all a joke. At intervals he still seriously asked me to take him home, and—because of my personal principles—I declined. 

“Crayon…” Silo said suddenly. He tapped the side of my martini glass with a terribly chewed nail. The ping echoed around the bar, lost in the conversations of other men. “Do you come here every night? I’ve never really seen you around here.” He smiled. 

I shook my head. “No.” 

Silo grinned and settled his cheek against the palm of his hand. “I see.” 

I could see the barcode tattooed on the underside of his wrist again with the way he was sitting, and my curiosity flared up once more. 

Now normally I would in no way bring up prison, because if I did, the conversation was bound to route back to me and what’d I’d done to get locked up. Normally I avoided the topic like the plague, but here I was with a man who may have gone through that very same hell and all I wanted to talk about was prison since I’d met him, because for the first time in eight months, I’d found someone whose gaze didn’t develop that repelling glare when it passed over the barcode inked into my wrist. And just knowing someone like that existed made my soul cry out to him as a fellow comrade-in-arms. If I was wrong about it all—about him and his past being just like me and mine—then oh well. I would take that chance, because eight months of having no one to talk to were driving me crazy. If I did turn out to be wrong about him, then he’d simply become just another stranger judging me silently with his pale, wintery eyes. 

So as casually as I could, trying to show Silo I wouldn’t care no matter how he answered, I asked, “So I’ve noticed you’ve got a barcode tat. Shits and giggles, or have ya done time?” while tapping my ink. 

“You finally asked, huh? I wondered who would be the first.” Silo chuckled, almost spat as he raised his head and looked at my face. He shucked off his leather jacket and pointed to a fleshy red burn on the right side of his neck. 

“Three years.” Silo craned his neck as if to give me a better view. “Trespassing. Apparently I’m dumb enough to cause an oil fire right in front of my own face.” 

I scratched my wrist. “You didn’t?” 

“Fucking tank fell off the truck. Driver started the vehicle and then…” Silo clenched his fist before my face and then stretched his fingers wide. “Boom. Luckily it was a small tank, but there I was, a twenty-three-year-old nitwit proving the size of my balls to a couple of drunk college buddies. A convenient excuse. They convicted me on the cigarette I’d thrown to the ground minutes before the tank just rolled off the truck and started a fire. I’d tossed the stupid thing right next to the truck’s tire too, and of course there were no witnesses of it being an accident. My college friends had bailed on me, afraid of getting caught. Bullshit. I just got out a month ago.” Silo held up his hand and ordered a Balalaika when the bartender was within earshot. 

The bar master exchanged a nod with Silo, turning to find his mixer. When Silo received his drink, he sipped it daintily, his anger seeming to have already cooled. “Ah, that’s good. I missed this damn place.” 

“Amen to that.” I held up my drink in a hypothetical toast. 

Silo sipped his cocktail with a finesse that matched the catlike grace with which he handled the glass. As he brought the glass away from his lips, he smiled sadly at the barcode tattooed on the underside of his wrist. “You have one too, huh?” He gestured at my similarly placed ink. “What do you think possesses us to remind ourselves of the shit we went through in there?” 

I laughed, merely because I was happy to understand what he meant. “That it only gets better?” I snorted. “Or worse.” I examined my ink and shook my head. After what had been done to me in that hellhole, I could only pray that things couldn’t possibly get worse. “So were you one of those dudes who couldn’t stand the blood, Silo?” 

“Pft, no. Tattoos don’t hurt that much. I actually thought about getting another.” He stopped to take a drink of his cocktail. “Funny.” He grinned. “You didn’t say anything about my name being weird. Most people would’ve brought it up by now.” 

I shrugged. “What would I say? My name’s a crayon color.” I paused, thinking long and hard about saying what I wanted to say next. I passed my eyes over Silo’s figure openly. “I’d rather mention something about that fine body.” 

Silo sputtered into his drink and ended up swallowing more laughter than cocktail. “Oh, you’re finally coming around, huh?” 

No, he was wrong. I wasn’t looking for any more empty sex in my life. I glanced at Silo and silently apologized for hitting on him, because I hardly had any intention of having yet another forced, emotionless romp. But that nagging fellowship I felt between Silo and me was just too strong to ignore. Maybe his relentless flirting had simply taken its toll on me, because I actually wanted to take him home now just to be close to him, the man who neither judged nor feared me. 

So when I simply shrugged, I hoped Silo knew how I felt. 

“Don’t come on to me half-assed.” Silo smiled despite his words. He took a swig of his cocktail, twiddling his thumbs around the stem of his glass when he set it back down on the bar. “If you don’t find me attractive, I can go back to the end of the bar.” 

“N-no!” I stuttered. “I meant what I said—you do have a nice body. I just—” 

“You ever been fucked in prison, Crayon?” He looked me up and down and shook his head. “You look too built to have been bullied like I was.” He snickered, almost like his words didn’t carry the horrors of his past. 

The question hit me so suddenly that my mouth went dry. I almost felt like he knew what was going through my head, as if his ice-blue eyes were reading me. So it was true, then—he’d gone through the same shit as me and more in prison, and that was when I knew for sure that I wanted to take him home with me. Because, like I’d hoped, he wasn’t judging me. He understood. 

I regarded Silo’s quiet trepidation with care, knowing I was treading on eggshells now. Little did he know, he was doing the same. 

“No,” I lied. 

Copyright © E.L. Esch

Behind the Book:

Seeing Red is an adult romance GLBT (M/M) contemporary fiction work that I am very proud to release. I started it when I was going through some rough stuff, so I wanted to create a main character with a darker history. In the end, the story didn't end up coming out nearly as gritty as I'd thought it would, and I find that to be a good thing.

I loved creating the character "Red" and his almost complete opposite, Silo Winters. It was fun to have two characters with such different personalities. Red's a bit of a hardass, while Silo is mellow and just goes with the flow. On more than one occasion Silo's carefree nature pisses Red off, but again, that's just Red being a Debbie Downer.

The story is very near and dear to me, as is everything I write. I love my boys as if I'd met them on the street and we were good friends.

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August 27, 2014

A Bit Of Sherlock Holmes Love For All The Fans; Sherlock's Scandal; A Historical, Erotic FanFic Romance by Suz DeMello

Suz deMello’s latest is Sherlock’s Scandal! Now that courts have declared Sherlock and Watson to be public domain, Sherlock fanfic will no doubt take off. Suzie’s story imagines a xxx-rated romance between Sherlock and The Woman—the American opera singer Irene Adler.

Here’s what it’s about:

A bored Sherlock is a dangerous Sherlock. His twin vices of cocaine and sex could prove his undoing, until he meets his match in elusive, enigmatic Irene Adler. Hiding her heart, Irene deserts Sherlock in the midst of their affair. He schemes to win her back, but the lady won’t come easily to hand. Instead, she forces him to compete for honor, glory, and love.

Here’s a snippet to sharpen your appetite:

If perhaps I had Watson’s talent as a wordsmith, I could describe her flawless beauty. The dusky rose nipple contrasted with her pearly skin, with the slightest sexual blush beginning to color the breast. I wanted to bite the tip, redden it, hear her scream my name when I entered her. I nibbled at the ripened peach, then suckled, the nipple hardening on my tongue. I bared the other breast to suck on it also, creating a matching set. I sat back and admired my work, loving the sight of her white globes tipped by rosy-red nipples glowing in the dim, shifting light inside the cab.

Ignoring the possible damage to my trousers, I knelt on the floor of the rattling hansom and lifted her voluminous velvet skirt. 

She relaxed against the cab’s padded squabs with a sigh. “Yessss…”

I found my way through petticoats and pantaloons to her gartered thighs, prying them apart so I could reach the prize. With closed eyes—it was too dark to see anything—I kissed her tender flesh, up, up, up, until I discovered the slit in her drawers that led to the softest, sweetest place, her richly scented and furred mons, hidden treasure buried within rustling swaths of silk and velvet.

I rested my face on her mount of Venus for a moment, glorying in her, breathing her unique fragrance, and thanking the goddess of love, who had surely blessed me this evening.

Here’s where you can score a copy:

Ellora's Cave-

Amazon-  ​

About Suz deMello:

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written seventeen romance novels in several subgenres, including erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. A freelance editor, she’s held the positions of managing editor and senior editor, working for such firms Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press. She also takes private clients.

Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.

A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.

Find Suzie’s books here: (publisher’s site)

August 25, 2014

Anybody Know Where I Can Find a Space Mechanic?

by Drewsil courtesy of Deviantart

No one has ever accused me of being a mechanic (nor will they) but when writing a science fiction story that takes place in a ship in outer space, like Han Solo, I kind have to be familiar with everything. It's not like when the ship breaks down they can take it to the nearest Pep Boys Star Ship Center, or can they?  Hmmm...that's a story for a different time.

Back to my point, for my science fiction novels 'Cold Warriors' and 'Ice and Peace' the carrier in which the majority of the story took place had to be, for the most part, self contained.  Right down to changing the oil in an engine in case it went down.  

Now that I look back on it, creating the self contained world in which the crew lived in was the easy part.  The hard part was making it believable.  Case in point, space travel. 

When ever anyone asks about my science fiction books the first thing that inevitably comes up is how the characters travel through space.  And I always answer the same way-- 'No they do not use Warp Speed.'  Why?  Because I just don't have enough money to go through a long drawn out court battle with Paramount Pictures over intellectual copy right for the use of the term.  So I tend to opt out of its use.  

Then what do I use?  Well for long distance travel, the option that works best for me in the SFR genre is worm hole technology or some variation of it.  But what about when they are just driving along trying to get from planet A to planet B?  That's easy, a standard nuclear based engine will do.  This presents another problem.  When traveling in space, unlike on Earth where we have seat belts, inertia can be a cause for concern if and when the ship stops.  (Yes, I think about these things!)  

Of course when I started writing the series, the only thing I knew about Classical Mechanics was that it had nothing to do with fixing my car and about inertia was that it something to do with a few PBS specials I'd seen.  So I started my research and set about learning how to stop a ship in space.

I came upon Sir Isaac Newton and his Laws of Motion.  In particular his first law which states, “Inertia is the resistance of any physical object to any change in its state of motion, including changes to its speed and direction. It is the tendency of objects to keep moving in a straight line at constant velocity. The principle of inertia is one of the fundamental principles of classical physics that are used to describe the motion of objects and how they are affected by applied forces.” (Wikipedia).  

In other words, inertia refers to objects ability to stay in rest or motion until something else acts upon it. And that means a lot in space where there is no air resistance, gravity or a whole bunch of friction to slow something down.  By the way, I also touch upon the Third Law of Motion as well in a tongue and cheek style. 

by Fishbot courtesy of Deviantart

In the case of my space ship, the problem lay not in the ship stopping but the people.  Because of a mechanical failure, the commanding officer on the ship had cause for concern when applying the so called 'breaks' when they got to port.  

Why? You see it's because of inertia. The people were inside the ship, therefore they were traveling at the same velocity as the ship. So when it stopped, they needed to stop 'moving' too.  But the equipment that did this was broken.  Can you hear my evil laugh?  I had so much fun writing this scene!  Here is it is from 'Ice and Peace'...

“Boatswain’s Mate,” Keegan called out as he stared at his coffee cup on the stand next to him. The liquid inside tilted instead of being level.

“Aye, Captain?”

“I’d like the status of—” The ship shuddered before he could finish the words. It did it again then groaned loudly from its bowels. “What the hell was that?”

Dumbfounded, the officer of the deck stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Sir,” she said, “I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

Stunned, she stood still.

Keegan frowned and barked, “Move it!”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, before scurrying out of the room.

He could only imagine what challenges he’d face on his first day back in command...


The air inside of Engine Room One on the Blanchard was musty and filled with the stench of lubricant. The loud clanking of a broken pump sounded through the room as various personnel did their best to shut it down, along with the engine it served, before it was too late.

“Sir,” one of the engineers called out, while approaching Keegan.

Her soot-stained face and jacket gave evidence to the battle she was having with the machine.

“It’s Inertial Dampener Number One. It’s gone. Apparently, the lubricator pump failed, and it locked up on us and blew,” she explained over the din.

Keegan’s swayed ever so slightly to the side as the damaged system began to affect the ship.

“Lieutenant, we’re traveling at 2C through free space.” He paused and braced himself against the side of a hatch. “How could something like this happen?”

The engineer blinked at him. “Sir. I’ll find out.”

“Well, how are we going to stop?” he asked, raising his voice in order to be heard.

“I don’t follow, sir,” she responded in an even tone.

“Let me rephrase. Lieutenant, at the speed we’re going, when we finally put on the brakes, we’ll be experiencing Newton’s Third Law in living color. So what’s going to keep us from being spots on the forward walls?”

In order to work in this area, everyone had to know physics better than Einstein. So if she had any bright ideas, he was ready to hear them.

“Sir, we lost only one dampener. We should be fine with the other three. Therefore, we have enough stability to make it to port where I can get the parts I need to make the repairs.”

“All right,” he said checking his watch. “We’ll be at Eckhardt in ten minutes. Fix what you can, and I’ll get you to port.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on.”

“And, sir?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” 

“Steer us a clear path until we get them all back online. We can’t afford a bumpy ride," she replied.

“I’ll do my job. You just watch those other three. And tell everybody to hold on.”

Keegan watched the engineer head back to her station. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. A dampener blowing was one thing, but getting the new crew to ensure a smooth ride was another.

End Excerpt~

So there you have it.  All that research for one and a quarter's scene!  I like to think that it added a little gravity to the situation.  If not, it certainly added another layer tension for the commanding officer to deal with.  As for me, my days as a mechanic are over.  But hopefully with these tips, yours are just beginning.

Ice and Peace and it's prequel Cold Warriors are available in ebook format and in print.

To purchase you can buy it at Barnes and Noble or at 


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August 23, 2014

Wild Ride; A Sensual M/M Erotic Futuristic Romance by Raven de Hart


Larik rides for the Zathinian cavalry, and he's happy to lead his men against the Kipzian threat. But during a fateful battle, he's lost, trapped with his enemy and forced to stay with the Kipzian man in their city, sealed from the rest of the world.

With a sickening truth staring at him, Larik doesn't know what to think. He focuses on the one thing he can: Gidid, the man who saved him. Because faced with a new reality, his feelings are the one thing he has some control over. But even that could be torn away by the conflict, leaving him alone.

And possibly dead.


Larik spun around and cracked the reins, ramming Tufex's horns into… nothing. Every attack he launched missed. The Kipzians didn't even try to attack him, that he'd noticed. They only ran, engaged no one. Taking out the limbs first.

General Zart's division filled the gaps in Larik's, thickening the wall against the Kipzians. They still managed to break through, sliding below attacks and jumping above, two rivers of bright red converging on a single point. Tufex stung out repeatedly, but every strike missed by less than an inch. These men rode closer to death than any enemy Larik had gone against, even closer than he would have ridden to the sting of a manticore.

The Kipzians avoided them all, but never struck. Not really. They scratched with horns and whipped out, striking with the sides of their tails, but did nothing to kill. Larik didn't understand until they'd pushed through half of the army. They'd opened a path to Bincha.. Why, he couldn't say, but they did. Amid the red of the Kipzians, his mount looked solid, steely gray. The long-haired rider Larik had locked eyes with rushed straight for Bincha, his mount throwing waves of sand back with every strike of paw to ground.

A sudden movement pulled Larik's attention away. On the smaller hill, the mage corps dropped their invisibility. He saw them raise something, some sort of gray stone, and start maneuvering it, but he didn't risk a real look. Instead, he forced Tufex forward, rushing in to help Bincha even though he knew he wouldn't arrive in time. Damn fool.

The rider he'd seen before locked his manticore's horns with Bincha's, lodged them together in an unbreakable hold. The two beasts warred, both pulling back, but the Kipzian won out. His manticore stood a bit shorter than Bincha's, but he swung and tossed his beast's head, keeping Bincha off balance. They inched ever-closer to the mouth of the tunnel.



Raven on the web:


August 21, 2014

Keeping Sarah, A New BDSM Contemporary Erotic Menage Romance Novel by Julie Shelton


Honeymooning in England, Jesse Colter, Adam Sinclair and their beloved wife, Sarah, are heading for their friend Thorne Cahill’s BDSM club for dinner when another car deliberately tries to run them off the road.  Thanks to their own driver’s skills, the other car is destroyed, the two unknown occupants killed.

Through Thorne, they discover that they’re the targets of a “blood feud”, instigated by Konstandin Sokolov, son of Viktor Sokolov, the Albanian mobster who had unwisely kidnapped Sarah a few months back, and paid for it with his life.  They also discover that Thorne’s guests, ruthless human traffickers, have gathered for a slave auction being held the following night.  Konstandin Sokolov happens to be one of the buyers.

Fraught with treachery, betrayal, and deadly danger, Keeping Sarah keeps the reader on a knife’s edge of tension, while simultaneously exploring the deepening emotional commitment between Jesse and Adam.  They already trust each other with their lives.  Now they must learn how to trust each other with their love.


Then Jesse turned to Sarah.  Bending down, he put his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up off the floor.  Turning her in his arms, he unhooked the garters, then unlaced the corset, letting it fall to the silk carpet.  As soon as the beautiful, but restrictive garment fell away from her, Sarah took the first deep breath she’d had in hours. 

 “Step out of your shoes, baby,” he crooned, rolling down her stockings and removing them one foot at a time.  “Now bend over and grab your ankles.  I owe you a spanking.”

With a whimper, she assumed the undignified position, her second of the night, wrapping her fingers around her ankles while he got on his knees behind her to remove the vibrators from her pussy and ass.  Dropping the toys on top of the crumpled corset, he palmed her ass cheeks, his flexing fingers making deep indentations in her sweet flesh. 

“Spread your legs, baby, or you’re gonna fall over.”  A smile curved his lips upward as she slid her feet outward.  God, I love this ass!  

He slapped her sharply, the sound and her subsequent cry loud in the quiet room.  “Count,” was all he said, transfixed by the erotic sight of his handprint blooming on her skin, first white, then red.

“Y-yes, Master.  O-one.”

“How many have you earned tonight, slave?”

“Ten, Master.”  Her voice was barely audible, muffled by her position.

“There will be no warm-up, so I’ll make them quick.  Count them all.”  In rapid succession, he delivered ten blistering swats to her backside and by the time she counted the last one, her ass was fiery red and she was sobbing in pain.

Crap, that hurt!  And yet, it felt so good.  So damn good.  The heat from her ass seemed to be having an effect on her clit, as if the two were connected by wires pulsing and crackling with electricity.  Her sobs turned into moans as he stroked and kneaded the heat more deeply into her flesh, sending it straight to her pussy until her clit felt like it was on fire.

Still gripping her ass cheeks, he lowered his head, slanting it sideways to flick the tip of his tongue across her throbbing little nub.  She jerked and cried out as pleasure consumed her.  Then he straightened, pulling her up after him, and steered her toward the bed.  

If Adam was in sub-space, then Sarah was right there with him, lost and drifting and needing Jesse’s loving care.  It was now his duty and responsibility to love them and keep them safe and give them the pleasure they had both earned and richly deserved.

“Climb up, baby,” he said, assisting her up onto the bed.  “On your hands and knees above Adam, pussy over his face, head over his cock.” 

As he was talking, he, too, was getting on the bed, crawling across its enormous expanse toward Adam’s feet.  

“Legs apart,” he ordered and Adam slid his feet across the silky sheets.  “Prepare Sarah.”

At the quiet command, Sarah’s core convulsed again, sending out another gush of fresh cream.  God, she was so ready to come!  She had been so highly aroused for so long, now that it was finally going to happen, it was all she could focus on.  Without warning, Adam reached up and stroked his fingers through her slit, from front to back before thrusting two fingers deep inside her sheath hovering so tantalizingly above his head.  

He pressed his thumb against her puckered anal opening, pushing insistently, until the muscle relaxed and sucked it in.  Sarah stopped breathing.  With wicked skill, he thrust in and out of both her anus and vagina, pinching the membrane between his thumb and fingers as he stroked, quickly re-stoking the fires of need in her sex, burning just beneath the surface.  A thin, high wail escaped her lips as pleasure devoured her.

“Christ, Jess,” Adam muttered over the wet, sucking noises his fingers were making as he pumped them in and out of Sarah’s sheath, “you should see what I’m seeing.  Our little slave has the most succulent pussy in the world.  And it’s dripping all over the place.”

“Sarah,” Jesse ordered, “Take Adam into your mouth.”



Julie has always loved stories, both reading and writing them, ever since she was old enough to hold a book in her hands.  One of her favorite childhood activities was smuggling books under the covers to read by flashlight after she was supposed to be asleep.

A career as a children’s librarian eventually led to her dream career as a freelance storyteller and puppeteer, a business she operated successfully for twenty-five years.  During that time she created and wrote all the original material for Kidstuff, a monthly language arts newsletter full of poems, songs, puppet and flannel-board stories, finger plays, and other resource material for early childhood educators. 

For that endeavor she won the prestigious EDPRESS Award for the best educational newsletter of 1982.  Her 288-page book, Puppets, Poems and Songs was a major resource.  She has also written other resource materials for librarians and preschool and early elementary teachers.

Julie lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia.  Now widowed and retired, she once again has time to devote to her two favorite things—reading and writing—especially her new love, erotic romances with strong heroines, hunky alpha-male heroes, and lots of smokin’ hot sex. (y)


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August 19, 2014

The Inspiration Behind Janis Susan May's Time Travel Historical Romance; Passion's Choice.

I’ve always been intrigued by the past – especially certain time periods in the past. As I am a life-long student of Ancient Egypt, of course that tops the list. It is such an ancient land that the boundaries between past and present sometimes seem to blur. Did you know that at Deir el-Bahri there exists the stump of a tree planted at the time of its construction? Now desiccated and surrounded by an ugly iron paling, it still sits there in defiance of the millennia that have passed since it was planted by hands long turned to dust. Such things never cease to thrill me.

So, when I decided to write a time-travel, Ancient Egypt was a natural. If you’re interested at all in history, if you know how the past sparks your mind – what would it be like to actually be there? To live there? What would your daily life be like? How would it feel to realize that you could never come home again, that everything you had always known was forever denied you? Not just cosmic things like family and medicines and knowledge and the immediate gratification of almost every wish, though – everyday things like Mexican food, sneakers and hand cream.

And so was born PASSION’S CHOICE, a story about an average American woman thrust back into the turbulent time of Pharaoh Hatshepsut. And the work began. To sit and fantasize about living in another time and place is one thing. To make it into a believable, coherent story that is historically accurate (a very big thing with me!) is another. Would my heroine have worn cotton? (No) Eaten lemons? (No) Had slaves? (No – at least during my time period) Had toilets? (Yes, and flushed with water, but still very different from our own) Had pets? (Yes)

Writing a time travel means creating a believable, workable world with rules and parameters, just as must a fantasy writer creates a world of cool orange oceans and children who can fly up to the age of eleven, or whatever. A time travel is harder, though, because you are writing about something that is true, something that once actually existed. Most everyone knows something about most time periods, though, making your mistakes that much more visible. (Alternative histories and fantasy histories are completely different animals.) And you daren’t let a fact slide, thinking it is too obscure or unimportant to research. I guarantee someone will catch it and call you on it.

Once given the basic fantasy aspect of a modern-day person going back in time, there are just as many restrictions as writing a contemporary ‘reality’ story. Not only must you conform to the framework of history, you must accept the mores and mindsets of your chosen time period.

For example, the Ancient Egyptians believed most thoroughly in magic. In fact, to them magic and religion were inseparable, two disparate parts of a single whole that infused every aspect of life. The medical texts show this; the spells which were to be recited by the priest/physician and the magical texts which were to be inscribed on the bandages were given equal importance as the physical medicaments. To the ancients, it was a package deal; our perception of religion as one thing and medicine as another would have been incomprehensible and more than a little blasphemous to them.

It is tempting to create our own worlds and live our own fantasies when writing time travels, but it is imperative to keep your characters (time traveler him/herself excluded, of course) and facts, lifestyles and beliefs congruent with their time. Otherwise you end up with the dreaded ‘21st century people in fancy dress’ syndrome. That’s just plain bad writing.

No, writing a good time travel is difficult, and – if it is going to be a good one – takes a great deal more work than a simple contemporary story. You not only have to have the viewpoint and beliefs of your time-traveler, you also have to have the viewpoints and beliefs of the time traveled to. That conflict, of beliefs and attitudes as well as technologies, is what makes your story, and we all know that good books are nothing but a series of conflicts arisen and resolved.


Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson is a 7th-generation Texan and a 3rd-generation wordsmith who writes in mystery, romance, and horror. Once an actress and a singer Janis has also been editor-in-chief of two multi-magazine publishing groups as well as many other things, including an enthusiastic amateur Egyptologist. 

Janis’ husband even proposed in a moonlit garden near 
the Pyramids of Giza. 

She and her husband live in Texas with an assortment of rescued furbabies.

August 17, 2014

What Could Go Wrong With A Fake Marriage? Or Will It Be Just Right? In Deep Water; A Steamy Historical M/F Erotic Romance by Anita Philmar


Skinny-dipping to cool off in the Trinity River couldn’t cause any problem...could it?
Wading into the water, Carolyn Evans takes one step to far and finds herself neck­-deep in the river and fighting for her life.

After saving Carolyn from drowning, Zack Goodman is trapped in an awkward situation when they’re both rescued by a steamboat and hauled on deck.

Naked and embarrassed, Carolyn is quick to save them from humiliation and claims they are married. 

Will Zack release her from her claim of matrimony? Or will he teach her once words are spoken...they are not so easily retracted?  


“Oh, God, I don’t want to die.” The girl in his arms dug her nails into his arm. Her muscles tensed, and she sank deeper into the water. He gasped a quick breath before the weight of her body pulled them both under again. 

Water streamed up between them, and she turned in the circle of his arms. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she shoved him deeper in her attempt to keep her own head above water.  

He sank into the murky depths and freed himself from her panicked grip. She yelled, and her foot connected with his chest. Air exploded from his lungs. He swam away from her and quickly rose back to the surface. A loud whir roared in his ears.

With one big gulp, he swallowed both air and water. His lungs rejected the mixture and he choked out a cough. 

Plop. An object hit the water, and he stared at a floating white circle. Waves crashed around him.

“Grab hold, and we’ll pull you up.” A voice boomed from the steamboat.

Zack glanced around and caught sight of the girl struggling to reach the device. He swam to her and shoved her closer to the floating ring. Then he grabbed ahold of the device and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Just hold on, and they’ll lift us up.”

Her eye grew wider. “But...” She glanced at the boat’s railing.

The rope tied to the device lifted the ring onto its side. Zack tightened his grip on the girl and repositioned her into its center. “Put your head through here, and wrap your arms over the sides.”

She did as he instructed seconds before the device rose up between them. He wrapped his arms around the ring and grabbed ahold of the rope.       

His feet dangled in the water for a moment before they swung on the end of the line. The motion slammed him into the side of the steamboat. Pain radiated along his right side, but he didn’t loosen his grip. 

The rope jerked them upward.

“Oh, God, what if they drop us.” The girl buried her head in his shoulder. “Thanks for at least trying to save me.”

Her naked body plastered against him eased the pain in his back. Silky skin caressed his stomach and her warmth penetrated the fabric of his pants. Need heated his blood, alleviating the cold chill of the river.

He glanced up at the concerned expressions of the people lining the steamboat’s rail. His body hid the girl in his arms, and he wondered what the curious passengers would say when they finally arrived on board? 


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Anita Philmar likes to create stories that push the limit. A writer by day and a dreamer by night she wants her readers to see the world in a new way.

Influenced by sci-fi programs, she likes to develop places where anything can happen and where erotic moments come to life in a great read.

Naughty or Nice?

Read her books and decide.

Want to feel more?

Read Anita Philmar

To learn more -- visit her website or blog.



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Twitter: @anitaphilmar

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Award Winning Author Caroline Clemmons; Featuring Her Historical Western Romance; Gabe Kincaid. Book Four in The Kincaid Series


Gabe Kincaid has reasons to hate lies and those who tell them. He moved from Austin to Kincaid Springs and joined his great uncle’s law firm. Gabe believes he’s happy and pushes aside those moments of loneliness, of wishing for more. He strongly believes in the law, in justice, and obeying rules. Doing what’s right is fulfilling, isn’t it? Then why is he so fascinated with a circus fortuneteller who spins tales faster than a cowboy whirls his lariat? 

Katie Worthington poses as Dorothy Duncan in a small-time circus. If she isn’t behind the scenes mending costumes or in the circus kitchen, she’s disguised as the fortuneteller, Maharani Shimza, Mystic of the East. Even so, she worries about being killed by the men pursuing her. She fears a brawl at her fortune telling tent that sends her into the Kincaid’s protective custody will end with her exposure and death. Then, a death at the circus implicates her. How can she escape when that attorney pops up every time she turns around?    

Will Gabe and Katie let the sparks between them ignite into a passionate romance or will her secrets destroy their chance at a happily ever after? 


She pressed her hand against his arm. “Don’t, Gabe. It’s such a nice afternoon. Don’t spoil it by prying.”

“All right. But I wish you’d trust me with all your secrets, Shimza. Damn, I feel like a fool calling you that but I don’t even know your real name.”

“Shimza will do. And I do trust you to keep me safe here.”

“But you don’t think I could if you told me more, is that it?” He gently clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him.

She met his gaze, pleading with him, “Please, it’s too . . . complicated.” 

Slowly he slid his hands across her shoulders, lightly up her neck, and caressed her face with his thumbs. He rested his hands gently on either side of her face. “Then let’s make it a little more complicated.” He leaned forward and claimed her lips.

She dissolved against him. His gentle kiss increased in fervor. Her arms slid around him and her fingers weaved into his hair. 

His hands slid across her back. Stroking. Touching. Hugging. 

One of his strong hands skimmed her ribs beneath her breast. Brazenly, she wished he’d move higher where she ached to be touched. As it was, the heat of his touch near burned through her clothing.

He broke their embrace, his chest heaving. “I’ve never kissed a client. Damn, Grandpa will have my hide.”

She rested her head against his powerful shoulder. “Mmm, I don’t think so. Perhaps you noticed we were seated next to one another at dinner. I could be wrong, but I think the Judge and Mrs. Gamble are conspiring. Judge Kincaid smiled when we left the dining room together.”

“You don’t say? Then, if it’s all right with you, I’m kissing you again.” 

And he did. Not that she was an expert, but her verdict was he kissed very well indeed.


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Caroline Clemmons is an Amazon bestselling author of historical and contemporary western romances whose books have garnered numerous awards. Her latest release is GABE KINCAID, book four of her popular Kincaid series.

A frequent speaker at conferences and seminars, she has taught workshops on characterization, point of view, and layering a novel. 

Caroline is a member of Romance Writers of America and the Romance Writers chapters of Yellow Rose, From The Heart, and Hearts Through History. 

Her latest publications include the acclaimed historical Men of Stone Mountain series: BRAZOS BRIDE, HIGH STAKES BRIDE, and BLUEBONNET BRIDE and the audio books of BRAZOS BRIDE and HIGH STAKES BRIDE. 

Caroline and her husband live in the heart of Texas cowboy country with their menagerie of rescued pets. 

Prior to writing full time, her jobs included stay-at-home mom (her favorite), secretary, newspaper reporter and featured columnist, assistant to the managing editor of a psychology journal, bookkeeper for the local tax assessor and—for a short and fun time—an  antique dealer. 

When she’s not indulging her passion for writing, Caroline enjoys reading, travel, antiquing, genealogy, painting, and getting together with family and friends. 

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