Passing the Torch is a new erotic BDSM novella, out from Total-E-Bound! I've just got the new cover! It's available for pre-order on March 25th!
Here's the blurb:
Wet your toes in this chilling erotic tale of a love triangle created by one man’s dying wish...
Calla faces an avalanche of grief and confusion when she finds out her husband Owen is dying. Owen’s last wish is that she and his brother, Ash, be together when he’s gone. The only problem is that Ash is not happy about the idea, but that doesn’t stop Owen from bringing them on one last sentimental camping trip, one that is immediately filled with intense longing, fear and denial.
Out in the forest, where past and present collide, where far off noises and active imaginations chill the spine, Owen intends to teach Ash how to be intimate with his wife.
Grief, strong wills and insecurities clash in the forest, where Ash learns just how deep the sexual connection between Owen and Calla is, and just how much he can relate. Throughout it all, Calla must find a way to bring the two brothers together to find resolution about their past, and to find resolution to her own doubts about the future.
Sneak Peek: Chapter One
About a week before we went to his doctor’s appointment, I dreamed that Owen tried to kill me. We were at our favourite camping spot in the woods, a place that no one else seemed to know about. In my dream, the towering brown trees of the forest were even denser than in reality. They were so huge I thought maybe they were real giants, giants in slumber, in hibernation, and we were only the fleas at their feet. The ground wasn’t brown and leaf-covered as it normally was—instead, bright green moss grew everywhere, full and fuzzy, a living, spongy mass. I realised that I was barefoot. The moss seemed to grow fuller and fuller, creeping in all directions before my eyes.
Owen walked by my side, quiet, looking down at the ground, too. His skin was so pale, paler than in reality, where normally he had a golden tinge to him. But in my dream he was as pale as a ghost, and I thought I could see through his skin, see his veins running erratically here and there, turquoise lines chug-chug-chugging the blood through his body. I somehow knew that the green veins I observed were clogged with slime, passing through his body, making him sluggish and sappy in his movements.
We came to the stream. It was really too big to call a stream, but I preferred the word to ‘creek’, which I found creepy, and it was too small to call a river. The clear, icy water ran past, flowing steadily over the smoothed stones that populated the riverbed and bank. In the summer time you could see the colour in the stones when the sunlight hit them, but I must have been dreaming it was wintertime or early spring, because the stones were simply grey, round bits of grey that reflected no light, making the stream seem much deeper than it actually was. Making it seem dangerous. I stood with my toes against the flow until it felt like icy little needles were pricking at them.
Owen stood behind me. I felt his hands come around my waist then move up to my breasts. I was naked, too, I realised. His touch was frigid instead of warm like it normally was. His fingers found my nipples. I gasped and my body shuddered. His pale fingertips pinched them until biting slivers of pain shot into my body. I gasped again. He slowly opened and closed the space between his forefinger and thumb, squeezing then releasing the tips, and the waves of delicious pangs in my pussy undulated accordingly with each contraction. He seemed to be ignoring the whimpers of pain I let out each time he pinched my flesh, or, rather, maybe the pathetic noises spurred him on. Soon my nipples were burning and reddened. Still he continued.
I grew afraid of him. I had never been afraid of him, never in all our playing, in all the nights we’d spent hours pushing each other further and further towards our weaknesses, even as he had held every ounce of my sanity in his hands, I had never doubted my safety with him, never doubted his intentions. But now I felt a ghoul had invaded his body, and it was the ghoul who now stood behind me, relentlessly tormenting my sensitive flesh. My strength gave out and I fell to my knees.
Before I could fully understand or maybe even admit to myself that this wasn’t my husband but an embodiment of something wrong, a manifestation of something terrible and indefinable, I found myself submerged. Suddenly I was holding my breath as the icy currents pulled my hair over my face, the roar of white noise and rocks moving against one another, bubbles escaping my nostrils—I was deafened. The ghoul had a hand in my hair and was holding my head in the stream.
I squealed when it put its cock into me, and more of the precious air I still had in my lungs escaped. I tried to think of some way to break free as the length of its hardness penetrated me up to the hilt, its hips pressing hard and cold against my ass. All my thoughts ceased then, and a burning, conspicuous in the surrounding chill, almost took me so far from my panic I could have drowned happily. My knees crushed into the stones beneath them, and the ghoul withdrew then plunged into my body again. As its cock invaded me I was filled with a blissful sort of insanity. I felt lost to myself. My body gave in to the thing, burned around it, desiring it more than it wanted another breath.
I woke up with a gasp, as though I had finally pulled my head out of the stream. The juices of my desperation seeped from between my legs. I flung my arms out into the darkness before I totally regained my senses.
Owen turned me towards him, held me firmly and shushed me. “It’s okay, Cal. You’re all right.”
Even as I found the little glints of his eyes in the darkness of our bedroom, I could still feel the water over my face. I panicked, sure I still couldn’t take a breath. My hands went up to my cheeks and felt the wetness, and I gulped in a ragged, desperate breath and realised I was crying.
“Oh, baby.” Owen ran his fingertips over my cheeks.
I relaxed a little, glad for breath but feeling an emptiness inside my gut I couldn’t explain. I put a hand in my panties. They were soaked.
Owen’s hand joined mine against my pussy. “Scary wet dream?” He chuckled against my shoulder.
“Make me come,” I whispered.
He nuzzled his face into my neck and worked a couple of fingers into me. His kisses against my throat were lazy with sleepiness, but his fingers found a steady rhythm moving in and out of me, his thumb circling over my clit. I ground my pelvis towards his hand and put my face in his hair. It took no time at all. My orgasm was strong but quiet and I released around his fingers, soaking them and my panties even more. He pushed them down and helped me get them off.
His hard cock pressed against my leg and I went to grasp it but he kissed my neck and said, “In the morning.” His arm fell over me and he passed back out.
I lay on my back, my pulse calming, feeling Owen’s warm breath against my neck, and thought about the ghastly Owen from my dream. I held onto the image, my gut heavy with a dread I couldn’t define.
But, like I said, that was before the appointment.
The new Dead Sexy anthology is out from Xcite, featuring my story "Distraction". Sexy werewolves, why not? Get it from Amazon for only $2.99! Here's the Blurb:
Twenty stories of paranormal pleasures. Dead Sexy puts the vamp into vampires and the fantasy into femmes fatales.
The heroes and heroines of these stories may be cold-blooded but their antics are hot as hell!
From gorgeous ghosts and dirty demons to amorous apparitions and phantoms with a fetish, these ghoulish lovers are guaranteed to light up the darkest night.
* Sacchi Green, editor of Cleis Press's newest lesbian erotica anthology, is giving away two copies of Girl Fever for FREE! Go to her blog HERE
, for details. Names will be drawn June 15th.
Apparently, the next big thing in erotica is pee. Why not? * Sex Diaries *O&C Erotic BooksAlso trending: Zombies. See a c
all for zombie-related erotica
at Coming Together.Because I'm doing the reading challenge over at GoodReads, I've decided to make the month of June Mischief Book reading month. I've just finished Primula Bond's Sisters in Sin (which I got for free--go to their website HERE to see what they have offered for free at the moment). I thought the book was fabulous, kinky and downright arousing!)
In The Truce, Sarah faces her darkest hour...
In a state of utter terror, I froze, hoping whatever creature lurked at my back would think I was dead, or a tree, or some wisp of debris caught in a branch—anything but a helpless woman. Even as I held my breath, I knew it would do no good. I was there for a reason. I did not know if it was better not to see what lurked behind me. Despite my inaction, the warm breath continued to travel over the plane of my skin.
Your only choice is to endure, my Sarah.
I am super excited to have finally received the cover art for The Truce, my erotic horror novella, out on April 23rd from Noble Romance. It's a deliciously dark tale about a woman who must sacrifice herself to preserve a gruesome truce between her small town and the immortal monster lurking in the surrounding forest.
Thanks to the very talented Fiona Jayde for her exquisite work!
Lucy Felthouse is giving away a free PAPERBACK copy of Seducing the Myth
, so go to Goodreads to enter to win! You can enter up until December 28th.Visit Angela Caperton's blog for a free serial erotic horror extravaganza entitled "Carny."Just found a Call for Submissions page at a Entangled Publishing. Their site is spiffy. Too bad I didn't see the steampunk romance call sooner, but I will definitely be keeping an eye on their calls.
My first single author eBook, Drawn to Darkness, is out and available from Noble Romance Publishing for a very nifty $1.50! It is a dark short about blossoming sexuality, obsession and madness. Here's the blurb:Margaret, servant in a sinister manor in the English countryside, suspects there is more to her employer than meets the eye. Haunted by the mysterious legacy of the Delaronde family and their cursed estate, the young woman finds herself increasingly drawn to the diabolical and enticing menace that seems always lurking just out of sight. What are the secrets that Mr. Delaronde keeps, and why does the ancient history of his heritage seem to ignite her darkest desires?
Read an Excerpt.
Drawn to Darkness, my new erotic horror tale, is out November 7th at Noble Romance Publishing
. Read this saucy excerpt to keep your excitement at bay:To this day, vague rumors are all that remain of Mr. Delaronde. These stories are barely spoken anymore. The locals ignore the evil under the surface quite well. And it might have been possible for me to it ignore too, if I had not witnessed firsthand the path of the poor man’s undoing. It should be noted that Mr. Delaronde did not seem a terribly troubled man—at least not the sort who went permanently insane. He commonly took long walks around the grounds surrounding his manor, and I had often spied him pacing, ignoring the ghastly breeze and alternating glances between the gloomy distance and the loam beneath his feet. One fateful day, taking place shortly before what occurred to change me wholly and haunt my sensibilities forever, he happened past the window looking in upon the servants’ common room. Mrs. Garret was preparing to whip me for my latest indiscretion. Earlier that morning my father, the head groundskeeper, had found a bottle of brandy under my bed. He quickly made it clear that sneaking spirits was unbecoming of a young lady. He harangued me incessantly, but I did not reply to the questions he asked. That my defiance be punished and my headstrong ways be dissuaded, he forthwith directed Mrs. Garret to whip me to a count of twenty. Why might a young lady turn to sneaking liquor in her bedroom, in the dark, alone at night, you ask? Well, the only explanation I have to offer is that after a few months of employment in that place, the stagnant days and nights, imbued with an unease I couldn’t explain, drove me to seek meager comforts. I would drift off, eyelids heavy and warm, and fall to sleep dreaming things of which young girls ought not be aware. I daresay those ominous images and the desires they inspired in me were but impressions of something more sinister at work. The servants’ common room was built rather crooked and so drably decorated and unpleasantly drafty that it was not welcoming in the least. The easterly windows overlooked the gray and rolling hillsides that extended away from the valley. The panes of unremarkable glass let in sufficient light, although grime had already gathered around their edges and the grit had begun to encroach on the vista. Mr. Delaronde had spent a small fortune refurbishing the rest of the manor, but had extended only the barest necessities to our little corner. "A proper young lady does not drink spirits in her bedroom at night, Miss Margaret." I sat on the edge of an old sofa chair, waiting for my castigation. Prideful, I made sure not to betray the least sense of anxiety. Mrs. Garret stood before me, carefully wrapping the stiff and disjointed bundle of sticks together at one end with a length of black ribbon she had retrieved from my own hair. My chestnut locks now flowed freely over my shoulders. The woman was a large, imposing figure to be sure, bulky from all angles, but I knew she was not callous at heart and after a moment considering poking fun at the matter, I thought better and simply said, "You are right Mrs. Garret. It was unbecoming behavior, and wrong of me." No matter that the libation was the least of the unbecoming behaviors I accomplished while lying in the dark with my sleeping dress pulled above my waist and my head swimming with lewd thoughts. Now my thoughts turned back to my lurking urges. My seventeen years had become eighteen in the months I had been here. My passing fancies, dreams that kept me company during hours of dull duties in the lonely rooms of the mansion grew more and more like those of a woman, and less like those of a child. Once, dusting in the master’s study where the high walls were lined with books, I became curious and pulled what was clearly an ancient sort of book down from the shelf, lay the old duster in its place and flipped through the pages. It was a manuscript of drawings the likes of which I had never before seen or imagined. My fingertips passed over images of exposed women surrounded by lustful, half-human gargoyles. The large and engorged appendages of the male predators were not what struck me so and left unwholesome images burned into my mind—no, it was the looks upon the women’s faces. Clothes torn asunder, crouching on hands and knees or lying back with their legs spread, the women, wholly virginal in aspect, sat beholding their captors, consumed with nothing less than utter ecstasy. Their mouths curled in long smiles, their arms and legs were cast aside in surrender, and their eyes were wild with longing. The women welcomed their ravishment, if not demanded it. My heart pounded and the space between my legs throbbed at the impressions. I became so enamored with the pictures that I almost jumped from my skin when Mr. Delaronde entered the study and caught me in the midst of my snooping. He stood, frowning, erect and tall in the doorway, his dark affect making my heart pound loudly in my ears. For a long moment we both stood still and regarded one another. Then his black cat happened in, slinking between his legs. The little creature began sniffing and scratching at the walls before finally going beneath the desk. I closed the book, replaced it upon the shelf and grabbed up my duster. "Mr. Delaronde, forgive me." Headstrong though I was, and not easily cowed, I felt the weight of his gaze and my words left my mouth in a meek sort of way. I hurried from the room, forced to brush my arm against his as I squeezed past him and out of the study. The feeling of it made my gut clench. I went to the servants’ room, which was unoccupied, and sat in the old sofa chair, trembling. It was common knowledge that the master sat in his study for hours at a time, pouring over his books. Mrs. Garret mentioned once in passing, as she was the one who brought him his afternoon tea, that he was forever studying texts on the history of the region in search of some small mention of his frightful heritage. Now, awaiting my lashing, I imagined him studying the bawdy pictures of those women, and wondered how he might think of them, those whores of the infernal pit. Did they ignite his blood as they did mine, or did the beautiful shrews, sacrifices to some vice-driven god, provoke disgust and abhorrence in him as they might in a normal person? I was taken from my contemplation when Mrs. Garret spoke to me, having fixed the skeletal sticks together in a tight bundle. "Now, Miss Margaret, over the chair with you. Raise up your skirts."Remember to buy Drawn to Darkness at Noble Romance on November 7th!