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Uncovering You Blog Tour

uncoveringyoubanner

Book Info:

Title – Uncovering You

Genre – Dark Romance

Release Date – March 27th, 2014

Series (Y/N) – Yes, first book in series.  Second will be out April 20th, 2014.

Synopsis-

When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what’s waiting for me in the shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.

 

Reality is much worse:

 

A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.

 

I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the bottom:

 

J.S.

 

Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:

 

Resist and die.

 

Or submit, and sign my life away

 

GoodReads Link:

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20512700-uncovering-you

Links:

 

www.facebook.com/ScarlettEdwardsAuthor

www.scarlettedwards.com

www.goodreads.com/scarlettedwards

 

Excerpt One

I wake with a gasp and bolt upright.

Water. I need water!

As my groggy brain starts to recognize my surroundings, I feel sick. I can’t stop the reflex. I turn to my side and hurl. I vomit until the full contents of my stomach are spewed up. It’s not enough. My guts keep contracting, making me dry-heave again, and again, and again.

Bile burns my throat. Tears stream down my face. My back is covered in sweat. I feel so weak. So pathetic. I gag on the putrid smell and endure another attack. It feels like my stomach is turning itself inside out. My insides hurt.

When the final convulsion subsides, and I’m sure the worst is over, I collapse onto my side. I bring my knees up and curl into a little ball, holding my arms tight over my chest. It’s the most protective position I know.

The stink of my vomit is all around me. It’s so bad I almost start puking again. I roll to the other side to get away.

I’m shocked when I see the marble pillar inches from my nose. I was so far away when I blacked out…

That means somebody came in here and moved me.

Even more revolting than the stench is the thought of the author of that letter laying his hands on me. I start to cry. What else did he do to me while I was unconscious?

My blouse is a wet mess of sweat. My cheeks are stained with tears. I can’t get away from the smell. Breathing through my mouth is no better. It brings attention to the taste of vomit on my tongue.

It’s a wonder I haven’t pissed myself yet.

Cope. I can’t cope. I can’t deal with this.

You can, a strong voice tells me. You’ve done it before. Remember?

I close my eyes and drift away to a place where the pain isn’t so bad…

 

uncoveringyoucover

Chapter One

October 2013. Date unknown.

(Present day)

 

A faint hiss, like the sound of an angry cat, jars me from my sleep.

I open my eyes to pure blackness. I blink, trying to get my bearings. A vague memory forms in the back of my mind, too far away to reach.

Why can’t I see anything?

My breath hitches. Panic rips through my body as the horrifying answer comes to me:

I’m blind!

I scramble onto hands and knees and desperately claw at the dark, searching for something, anything, for my senses to latch onto.

A dim overhead light comes on.

Relief swells inside.

I plop back on my butt and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to dispel the rush of adrenaline released by my body. When my heart’s not beating quite so fast, I open my eyes again.

The light’s gotten brighter. I look up at the source. It’s far above me, like a dull, miniature sun. It spreads a little sphere around me, maybe ten feet in diameter. Past that, everything is swallowed by darkness.

An irksome memory keeps gnawing at me. But my head is too heavy to remember. I feel… strange. Kind of like I’m hung over, but without the telltale pounding between my ears.

Cautiously, I try to stand. My limbs are slow to react. They feel heavy, too, like they’ve been dipped in wet clay. I steady myself. Only when I’m satisfied that my knees won’t give out, do I strain my ears for that hissing sound again.

It’s coming from somewhere behind me. I turn back—and nearly smash my head on a gleaming white pillar.

What the hell?

The sound is forgotten as I reach out and brush tentative fingers against the pillar’s surface. It’s cool to the touch. Smooth, too. I put my other hand on it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was made of marble. But what is a lone, white marble pillar doing in the middle of this room?

The memory is like a gong going off inside my head. But trying to reach it is like grasping at a smooth, slippery stone at the bottom of an aquarium. Just when I think I have it, it slips through my fingers and falls even farther out of reach.

I walk a slow, measured circle around the pillar. If I tried wrapping my arms around it, I doubt if I could even span half the circumference. Something far in the back of my mind tells me I should be alarmed. I look behind me and frown. By what? A dark room?

No, you idiot. By the reason you’re here!

My eyes widen. The reason I’m here? I don’t… I don’t remember.

I wince and bring one hand to my temple. Why am I having so much trouble remembering?

I gasp as a second gruesome thought hits me. Did I lose my memory? Do I have… amnesia?

I sink down with my back to the pillar. Desperation starts to take over. I hold my head between my knees and close my eyes to focus.

My name is Lilly Ryder. I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on May 17th, 1990.

My eyes pop open. Joyous tears form in the corners. I do remember! I take a deep breath and try to keep going.

I was raised by my mom. I do not know my dad…

Suddenly, all my childhood memories come streaming back. Moving around as a kid. Never staying in one place longer than six months. All the cities I’ve lived in. All the apartments my mom and I called home. Even the revolving door of her boyfriends. There was Dave, and Matthew. Tom, and Steve. There was…

I shake my head to stop myself. I don’t doubt my memory anymore. But that still does not explain why I have absolutely no recollection of this place, or how I got here.

I push myself back up. The spotlight above me has gotten progressively brighter. The little enclosure of light doesn’t feel quite so tight anymore. I trail my eyes up the length of the pillar. I can’t see where it ends because of the light. But I can tell it’s tall, at least twenty, maybe twenty-five feet…

There’s also something about its surface that calls out to me. My hands itch to run over the smooth stone. A giggle bubbles up as I picture myself stroking it. The column is quite phallic.

I waver at the unfamiliar thought and have to catch my balance against the beam.

Focus, Lilly! I chide myself.

I have no idea where that thought came from. I have never been overtly sexual.

Nothing feels right. The fog that’s heavy on my mind is starting to lift, but not yet enough for me to understand—or remember—where the hell I am. This place is unfamiliar. I know that much. But right now, I feel almost like a surgery patient whose anesthetic kinked out: fully awake mentally, but completely impaired physically.

I go back to my memories. I can remember high school. I remember college. That’s where I spent the last three years of my life, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is.

“Hello?” I call out. My voice echoes into the surrounding gloom. “Is anybody there?”

I wait for an answer. All I get is the hollow repetition of my own voice.

anybody there, there, there…

I spent the last three years in college… but that’s not where I think I am right now. No. I shake my head. I knowthat’s not where I am. My memories are fuzzier the closer I bring them to today. Time feels… skewed. Freshman year’s easy to remember. So is sophomore, and most of junior… but things get weird toward the end.

I… finished junior year, didn’t I? Yes. Yes, I did. And then…

And then I took an internship in distant California for the summer, I remember with another gasp.

Suddenly, my mind is crystal clear. That pressing memory hurtles into view. It’s from yesterday. The last thing I recall, I was alone in a booth at an upscale restaurant. The waiter brought me a glass of wine. I took a few sips, contemplating my future….

Oh, God! Fear wraps a stranglehold around my neck.

The restaurant. The wine.

I’ve been drugged!

I can’t breathe. A suppressing tightness constricts my throat. I feel dizzy, and terrified, and most of all… ashamed.

Holy shit, Lilly, way to look out for yourself! My semi-mad inner dialogue pans with a generous dollop of sarcasm.

I’ve always known about the dangers of sick men preying on unsuspecting girls. I just never thought I’d fall victim to it.

I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen, after the final falling out with my mother. I’ve always been proud of how well I managed. Even the shabby holes I’ve lived in while saving up college tuition were an improvement over living with her and all her low-life boyfriends. At least there, I had autonomy.

I’ve dealt with landlords selling crack on the side and the junkies they attract. Always, I’ve been known as independent, and strong—maybe offputtingly so. But, those were the character traits I had to develop to have any chance of getting ahead.

And all that lead to what? To this? To letting my guard down for one night and ending up… here?

Wherever “here” is, I think to myself.

The shock of the revelation has subsided a bit. I push off from the pillar. I can figure this out. I take a deep breath and look at my hands and feet. I am not bound. I pick at my clothes. They are the same ones I wore last night.

Do you know what might be lurking in the darkness?

I shove the meddlesome voice down. I don’t need more worries. Not now.

Carefully, I place one foot in front of the other and edge to the outer reaches of the light. The strange hissing noise has gone away. I don’t know when that happened. Maybe it was in my head the entire time.

I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the surrounding darkness. It’s impossible. I reach out with one hand and find nothing but air. This far from the pillar, I can barely see my outstretched hand.

“Hello?” I try again. “Who’s there?”

There’s no answer.

What kind of madman would do something like this? I wonder. What is hidden in the shadows?

Without warning, my imagination starts to run wild. Torture devices? Bondage equipment? Something… worse?

Snap out of it! I tell myself firmly.

I refuse to give in to despair, even if my entire self-preservation mechanism is on high alert. Despair is what whoever brought me here wants me to feel.

I will not succumb to that.

I look down at the floor. It is made of some expensive stone. I kneel down and brush my hand over the large, square tiles. They feel solid. Sturdy. They don’t belong in a dingy basement or a dirty warehouse.

Somehow, that thought strengthens me. Things aren’t quite as bad as they could be.

I stand up and peer into the black. I glance back at the safety of my pillar. If I venture past the light, I can always find my way back.

Go slow, I warn myself. Who knows what might be waiting for me out there?

I’ve seen the horror movies. Just because I don’t get the dungeon vibes here does not mean I’m not in one.

Haltingly, my foot reaches past the edge.

A thousand bright lights flood the room. I gasp and shy back, shielding my eyes on instinct.

After a few seconds, I lower my arm, blinking through the sharp pain that shoots through my head. I can almost groan. Light sensitivity, too?

Then I see the room.

Holy shit.

It’s huge. Massive. It must be at least five thousand square feet of pristine, flat space. I’m smack dab in the middle of it all.

The lights come from embedded ceiling lamps high overhead. Three of the walls, far away from me, are decorated with black and white abstract paintings created in bold brush strokes. The fourth wall is shielded by a heavy red curtain. The entire floor is made of rich, creamy white tiles reminiscent of steamed milk.

The ceiling is so high above me I almost feel like I’m in a cathedral. It’s made of exquisite dark oak beams.

But this is no church.

I do a slow turn. Something about this is all wrong.

So wrong.

Why am I here? What is behind the curtain? Other than the massive pillar and the paintings, there is nothing in the room.

If I’m being kept prisoner, why am I unbound? Why waste so much space on me?

I cup my hands around my mouth and yell.

“HEY! Anybody? Where am I?”

As before, I’m greeted with silence.

I take one more careful look around. If I got in, there must be a way out.

My eyes dart to the curtain.

Behind there.

I start toward it, my bare feet making determined slaps against the cold floor. I’ve not even gone ten paces toward it when I feel a small tug on my ankle.

I stop and look down. I discover a thread, so thin it’s almost translucent, tied loosely around my foot. The other end is attached to the base of the pillar.

I bend down and finger it.

What on earth is this?

The thread looks like it should snap with the smallest amount of force. I wrap my hands around it and tug.

It doesn’t give.

I frown, and apply a little more effort.

This time, it breaks in a clean cut.

I shake my head as I straighten.

Strange.

I half-expected something to happen when I did that. Alarms to blare, the lights to go off, something.

That’s when I notice a small white envelope leaning against the pillar. It’s right where the thread connects. In fact, it blends so well with the marble that I’m sure I would have missed it were it not for the string.

Exploration forgotten for now, I pick up the envelope. Maybe it will give some clue about what the fuck is going on.

It’s made of heavy paper. A wax stamp seals it, imprinted with a two-faced drama mask that I would find unnerving no matter where I saw it.

The only time I saw a wax-sealed envelope was when my ex got tapped by the Spade and Grave at Yale. I can understand the need for antiquity in New Haven. It makes no sense here.

My finger slips under the flap. I carefully ease it open. A foreboding sense of doom swirls around me as I pull the folded letter out.

I stare at it for a long minute. This is all so surreal. It feels like being caught in a bad dream. Once, I play myself right into my captor’s hands.

My natural inclination to resist, to fight back, tells me to tear the paper up without another glance. But that would be madness. The only clue I have to my whereabouts might be contained inside.

My thirst for information gets the better of me. I sit on the floor, cross my legs, and slowly unfold the paper.

It’s handwritten in swift, flowing blue ink. The rows of words make perfect strides across the page. Precision is the first word that comes to mind to describe the owner of the handwriting.

I set the sheet on the floor in front of me, lean forward and begin to read:

 

Two items require your immediate attention.

 1.   You may spuriously assume you are being held here against your will. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You are a guest. As a guest, you retain full ability to leave my home at any time. The door behind the drapes shall remain open for the duration of your stay. There are no physical barriers to speak of—though I would advise you to read to the end of this letter before making decisions based on a flawed understanding of your situation.

2.   You may have already noted the new adornment around your neck. If so, well done! I applaud—

 

Adornment? I stop reading. What adornment?

I bring my hands to my neck. I feel the unfamiliar shape against my skin. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?

I scamper closer to the marble pillar to try to make out my reflection. I can’t see much, but I can make out the “adornment”. There’s a black collar around my throat. I touch it with one hand.

It’s smooth and flat. It’s made of some kind of matted plastic, like the edges of a computer screen. It’s not tight or uncomfortable.

It frightens me. If it warranted a place in the letter, there must be something to it. I need to get it off.

My fingers dart around the edges, seeking the clasp that opens it.

I don’t find one.

The collar is smooth inside and out. It feels like a single piece of plastic. I trail one finger around the rim on the inside, and, finding no discrepancies, do the same on the outside. Again, I feel nothing.

There’s no crack, no edge, nothing to indicate how it was put around my neck.

I jam all my fingers between my skin and the plastic and pull with all my might. The collar flexes ever-so-slightly but doesn’t give.

Dammit! I cry out and try again.

I pull with all the strength God gave me. It’s not enough. I try again, and again, and again.

I realize I’m panting at this point. The exertion has me almost hyperventilating.

I drop my hands. It’s just a stupid, harmless little piece of plastic. Why do I want it off so much?

Because the idea of having anything foreign touch your skin is repulsive.

The voice is right, as always. But what can I do? The collar is bound to be part of the mind game in which I’m an unwitting participant. Reacting the way I just did is probably exactly what my captor wants. He—and I am certain it’s a “he” now, from the wording of the letter—wants me to feel terrified.

I will not give him the pleasure. I return to the letter and continue to read:

…applaud your perspicacity! You should know, however, that it is not an ordinary collar. Contained inside is a small positioning chip and two electrodes. They become activated the moment you stray outside your designated safe zone.

The string around your foot offers a conservative estimation of the distance you may roam past the marble column. Stay close, and you will remain untroubled. I am told that the electric shock the collar provides, while not lethal, can be quite unpleasant.

 

Holy fuck!

My spine goes absolutely straight and I forget to breathe. Now the collar has meaning. It feels like a live serpent wrapped around my neck.

My eyes are wide as I look down to my foot. The piece of string is still there, but it’s not connected to the one linked to the pillar.

I’d ripped it like a moron.

How far do I dare go? I’ll have to retie the string—unless I find a way to get the collar off my neck, first.

Another thought occurs to me:

Maybe this is a bluff? Does the collar really have an electrode in it? It’s so thin. Where would it draw power from?

I stand up. Assuming the collar is rigged, and the pillar is the center point… but that’s just what he wants me to believe, isn’t it? The letter claims there’s a door behind the drapes. It could be my path to freedom. I would have to be an idiot to stay here without testing the boundary myself.

I can’t trust anything the letter says. But, I can’t give in to despair, either. My only choice is to contest everything that’s thrown at me. If this is supposed to be a battle of the wills, the guy chose the wrong girl to mess with.

I pick up the remainder of the string and hold it in my fist. I square my shoulders to the long, drawn curtain. I hold my head high. My free hand itches to tug at the collar, but I keep it still. If my captor is watching me—which I’m sure he is, because I’m positive there are cameras hidden all around me—I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.

I take a deep breath and start toward the curtained wall. My strides are strong and purposeful. I will not waver. I will not turn back. Fear of a little shock will not keep me from testing the true limits of this prison.

The string goes taut, and I stop.

So far, so good.

It’s the next few steps that will determine everything.

I glance at the floor to mark my position. So, he expects to keep me in an invisible cage, does he? A cage of my own imagination?

Yeah, tough luck.

I drop the string and take one solid step forward.

Nothing happens.

I risk one more.

Nothing happens.

The corner of my lip twitches up in a hint of a smile. I called his bluff. But, I’m not home free yet. The veiled wall is another thirty-odd paces away from me.

I take two more steps forward, and, when nothing happens, start to walk more briskly.

My stroll is cut short by a sharp little zap beneath my left ear.

I tense and wait for more.

Well, color me surprised.

It looks like the collar does have bite, after all. When a second jolt doesn’t come, I can’t stop my smile from becoming a satisfied smirk. I knew the collar couldn’t possible have enough juice to hurt me. Where would the battery go?

Extremely pleased with myself, I venture onward, toward the curtain and its promise of freedom.

The violent torrent of electricity blindsides me. One second I’m on my feet, the next I’m writhing on the floor.

The current pours into me. I thrash about like a grounded fish. Fierce convulsions rock my body. And all I know is pain, pain, pain.

I can feel the source of it, snug around my neck. I’m helpless to fight the onslaught. My head flails about on the ground, throwing hair into my face. A high-pitched squeal sounds in my ears and I desperately hope that pathetic sound is not me.

My eyes roll up and all goes black.

 

scarlettedwards

 

About the Author

I’m Scarlett Edwards. I wrote my first book as a college sophomore. After six months of edits, it made its debut as Yours to Savor.

That was at the start of 2013. I’ve written more books since then. You can find them all here.

 

It’s funny how quickly life changes. I used to think I’d need a degree to get a “Real Job.” Then I wrote a few books, they got somewhat popular, and now I’m living the life as a full-time romance author.

 

Thanks to all my readers for making my dreams come true!

 

Stalker Links

www.scarlettedwards.com

https://www.facebook.com/Author.Scarlett.Edwards

https://www.goodreads.com/ScarlettEdwards

Giveaway Details

 

10 Uncovering You audiobooks

20 Signed paperbacks of Uncovering you

50 ebook copies of Scarlett’s books (Change of Heart, Change of Heart Part 2, Never Let Go, Yours to Savor, Uncovering You)

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

rrtours

Rough Weather by Lisabet Sarai

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Rough Weather by Lisabet Sarai

Paranormal M/F erotic romance

Totally Bound, 2014

Approximately 15,000 words

Destiny hides in the tempest’s heart

Ondine has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world. She concentrates on her work as a marine biologist, spends her weekends relaxing among the waves and worries about human threats to her beloved ocean environment. Fears of a deadly pregnancy like her mother’s make her cautious about sex.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents—aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. He informs Ondine that they share a supernatural heritage and claims she is his destined mate. She responds with scepticism and tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately her scientist’s training won’t permit her to deny the evidence of her senses—and her heart. As a brutal northeaster batters the island and Marut’s life hangs in the balance, Ondine learns that true power lies in surrender to her elemental nature.

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of light bondage.

Excerpt 2 – Rated X

“I want to bind you.” Marut brandished a pale coil of rope Ondine had never seen before. He had stripped her of her clothes, settled her on her back on top of the quilt and told her to remain still. Simultaneously pliant and eager, she awaited his next move.

Standing naked at the foot of the bed, he reminded her of some Nubian Hercules. Candlelight painted flickering patterns on the sculpted ebony of his chest and danced along the length of his massively erect cock. The luscious sight temporarily distracted Ondine from his words. Saliva flooded her mouth as she remembered his hot seed spilling through her fingers. How she wanted to taste him!

“Do I have your permission, pitit?” He trailed one end of the cord between her breasts and down her belly, making her shiver with delight. She struggled to remain still as he had instructed. “It will strengthen the connection between us, if you trust me enough to render you helpless.”

How could the bond be any stronger? Already her awareness was attuned to his, registering both his excitement and hisdoubts. One part of her was more than willing to accede to his request. Another cringed, near-panicked at the notion of so completely relinquishing control of her body.

He dangled the rope end between her spread thighs and drew it upward to lightly brush her pubic curls. Electric pleasure arced down to her core. Her pussy clamped down on empty space. “Do it,” she gasped, as he flipped the rope back and forth across her mound, grazing her clit. The panic fled, drowned in sensation. “Oh, please, Marut!”

He chuckled, but in delight, not mockery, then seized her wrists with strong fingers and drew them over her head. Lust surged whenever, wherever he touched her. Faint echoes of fear returned with the first loop of rope around her crossed hands, but the purse of his firm lips upon her nipple banished her last reservations.

A gentle tug on her shoulders told her he’d fastened the rope to the brass curlicues of the headboard.

“Too tight?” he asked, sweeping the tangles off her brow and smoothing them across the pillow.

Incoherent with lust, she could do no more than shake her head.

“Try to get free.”

She discovered that, aside from a bit of side-to-side wriggling, her upper body was quite thoroughly immobilised.

“Lovely. Now your legs.”

When he lashed her ankles to the corners of the footboard, spreading her thighs wide to display her drenched and swollen sex, she thought she’d pass out from the arousal. Once more, she felt the tangible pressure of his gaze as he drank in the sight of her, bound and helpless. The ripe smell of the ocean drifted up from her brazenly exposed folds. She’d die if he didn’t touch her again, soon.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” he murmured. “Beyond my wildest dreams.”

Lashed to the bed, she couldn’t see him any longer, though she felt the shift as he mounted the far end of mattress. A rush of warm breath invaded her sensitised pussy. She jerked against her bonds.

“Oh, God. Please, Marut!” A breeze tickled the inside of her right thigh, then fluttered down to her bare flesh to her toes. “Oh!” She squirmed as the stream of air traced the same path down her left leg. “What are you doing? Ah…!”

He was visible now, a dark form kneeling between her pale thighs as he bent to blow into her navel, then swept the air stream across her rigid nipples. She arched, straining for actual skin-to-skin contact. Marut just grinned and blew into her armpit.

“Don’t tease me. I can’t stand it!” The tantalizing gusts trailed down across her belly, back towards her sex. Her clit pulsed hard and hungry at the apex of her soaked folds, the centre of her need. He loosed a stream of hot air aimed directly at the aching bud and she screamed at the unbearable intensity of the sensation.

“Ondine…?” Alarmed by her outburst, he backed away. As soon as he did, she wanted him back.

“Marut, I can’t bear any more…”

“Do you think you’re ready?” There was that hint of laughter again in his rich, deep voice.

She wanted to kill him for making her wait. No, that wasn’t right. All she wanted was to fuck him. That was her single all-consuming desire.

Buy Links

Totally Bound:

https://www.totallybound.com/rough-weather

All Romance Ebooks:

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-roughweather-1436928-149.html

Amazon US:

http://www.amazon.com/Rough-Weather-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00IPLDIK0/

Amazon UK:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rough-Weather-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B00IPLDIK0/

Contest!

Win a copy of Rough Weather plus a copy of its sequel,  Hot Spell, the book in which Ondine and Marut first made their appearance. To enter, send an email to contest [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com with the subject line “Rough Weather Giveaway”. Contest closes on March 31, 2014.

Bio

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – more than fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre.  She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). She also hangs out at the group blog Oh Get a Grip (http://ohgetagrip.blogspot.com), writes monthly reviews for Erotica Revealed (http://www.eroticarevealed.com) and contributes to the ERWA blog (http://erotica-readers.blogspot.com).

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Delicious Torment Blog Tour

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The Delicious Torment
A Story of Submission

Alison Tyler

Alison Tyler has been hailed as the best BDSM fiction writer of today. But wait a minute—is her work really purely fictional? Blurring lines between memoir and meta in The Delicious Torment, Tyler dares to expose in prose that pulsates off the page. Raising all bets that began in the critically acclaimed Dark Secret Love, this coming-of-age story sees Samantha entwined with an older man, a bondage connoisseur and her equal in every way, as she explores the deepest recesses of her master’s desires and her heart.

Story of O meets 9 1/2 WeeksThe Delicious Torment is fueled by lust, longing and need.

“What all of us had hoped Fifty Shades would actually be.”
—Violet Blue

“This tightly written piece of erotica is absolutely fabulous…. The sex is scorching, the characterization divine. This is what erotica is supposed to be. Even if BDSM isn’t your kink, it’s easy to get off on the emotion and the tightly constructed prose. Tyler is a master wordsmith.”
—City Book Review

“Readers tired of sensationalistic portrayals of BDSM will appreciate Tyler’s nuanced and realistic approach.”
Publishers Weekly

“This could be a roadmap for other uninhibited young women, a trip down memory lane for older submissives, and escapist fantasy for the curious among us; any way you read it, this book is a lot of fun.”
—xoxoamore

Hello everyone and welcome to my stop on the Delicious Torment blog tour! When I heard Alison was continuing her series, I was overjoyed. I love a dark, sexy tale and who better to give the grrrrr in growl than Alison?  She rocks it down all the way to my toes–I don’t care what it is she is writing, but this series takes it to a whole new level.  Join me as Alison answers a few questions about her work, some sexy cookie moments and a suggestion for anyone submitting a short story to her anthology calls.

Without further ado…

The Interview:

1. What was your inspiration to write Delicious?
Years ago—and we’re now moving closer to a decade ago—a reader asked me how I got my start in erotica. I responded with a blog post. And then a second one. And, hell, a third. I’ve said this before, but half-a-million words later, I’m still answering the question.
2. The characters in the book are a continuation in a series. How many more books do you envision? A trilogy perhaps?
Well, I’ve definitely envisioned a ménage, because I recently turned in the third (but by no means final) book. Hopefully, I’ll be allowed six. What would I love? Ten.
3. What elements do you look for in good erotic fiction?
Push my buttons right away, from the very first sentence. Tie me up with your words. Hold me down with your phrases. Cuff me with your clever scenario. Then punctuate the fuck out of me, baby.
4. What are some of your pet peeves when you get a submission?
No title. What is up with that? Several stories for my latest call slid in without titles. Can you imagine the Table of Contents?
(Untitled) by so and so
(Untitled) by such and such
(Untitled) by who the fuck cares?
Honestly, even as an art history major, I was annoyed by artists who didn’t title their work. No idea why. But I really feel like things should be given a name.
Other pet peeves? Big blocks of text. No dialogue. Tired tropes. Same landscape I’ve seen before. Old-married couples looking to spice things up. Please.
5. Tell us about some of your new submission calls.
Right this second, I have a call for super-short stories. I won’t waste words. Check it out: http://alisontyler.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-next-big-thing.html
6. Flogger or whip?
Yes, please.
7. Heels or flats?
Stack-heeled, patent-leather Mary Janes. In every color. Motorcycle boots. Granny shoes. Mules.
8. If I was your favorite cookie, what flavor would I be?
Pepperidge Farm Bordeaux. And I would dunk you in chilled white wine. Because I’m trashy like that.
(I believe this is my turn to say yes please!)
 
9. What is one thing you want readers to get from Delicious?
That love doesn’t fit into a specific definition. That preconceived notions can be left in a glossy puddle on the bathroom floor. What if you loved someone who loved someone else? And rather than that be the end, the three of you looked at the situation as the beginning?
10. What is your steamiest sex scene ever? (And you have lots of them! xox)
Fabulous question. Thank you. Taking the pain for someone else is probably my number-one fantasy. “Take it,” may be the two most erotic words in English to my submissive ears.
In Dark Secret Love (the first novel in my latest series) Sam will not give her safeword and Jack shields her body from a whipping with his own skin. I fucking love that.
Alison Tyler is the author of the new series of submission novels from Cleis Press: Dark Secret Love, The Delicious Torment, Wrapped Around Your Finger. Find her atalisontyler.blogspot.com or at twitter.com/alisontyler.
Excerpt:
“When we’re finished here, you’ll get dressed. I don’t want to be late.”
            “Finished—“ I echoed, feeling the dismal mood slowly draining out of me, replaced bit by bit with a fresh wave of fear.
            “You don’t think I’m going to let your behavior today go unnoticed.”
            I hung my head.
            “Not rewarded, of course,” he continued. I heard the dark smirk in his voice, yet I knew that had I looked up, his face would be stone.
            “No, Jack.”
            He didn’t tell me what to next. He took over, coming forward and placing me roughly against the wall, palms flat to keep myself steady. He worked the buttons on my fly before hauling my jeans and panties down for me, just past my knees. His belt was already off, and he had easy access, was able to grab it up, double the leather, and start without hesitation.
            Each stroke felt impossible to bear. I don’t know why or even how the pain can fluctuate—or maybe it’s my ability to take the pain—maybe it’s the mood that matters. But I was in that place, that bratty, mule-headed place, and I lost my head. I tried to turn, to tell him—what? To tell him No? That it wasn’t fair? That I hadn’t done anything specifically to him? I’d been in a funk because of my writing. That was all.
            But none of that counted. My mood had bled into Jack’s world. And that’s all that mattered to him. That and the fact that I tried to fight the punishment, which changed the situation in a flash.
            He was on me, now, dragging me over to the bed. And I fought him, not wanting to get away—not really. If I had been desperate, I would have acted differently. We both knew that by now. I would have groveled. Begged. Wept. Instead, I tested him, struggling, and he had to work to get cuffs on me, to pin me down the way he wanted, ripping my jeans and panties all the way off and going to work on my ass now, seriously, with the belt, blow after blow, until the struggling subsided and I was….
            What was I?
            I was…. Tamed?
            No. Never tamed.
            Broken?
            No, not that either. Jack didn’t want to break me. He liked me wild and spirited.
            Fixed. That’s how I felt. Tuned up. Back to normal. As if he had given me a dose of some strong medicine. Jack knew. I don’t know how he knew. He knew because of who he was and who I was. He’d said he’d known me since he’d first seen me at Jody’s party, years before. He’d claimed he understood me way back then. Now, he’d known—in himself, in his heart—that I was craving this sort of treatment. The fighting on my part was merely a last desperate struggle to hang onto a foul mood. Why would I want to do that?
            When he was finished, we were both breathless. But I was me again.
Thanks Alison. I needed that…*sigh* Now I’m going back to reading this sexy tale. I just can’t get enough!

ALISON TYLER has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories appear in more than 100 anthologies, and she is a prolific editor of bestselling erotic anthologies like The Big Book of BondageSudden Sex, and Down and Dirty. In all things important, she remains faithful to her husband of 15 years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume. Find her at alisontyler.com andalisontyler.blogspot.com

Alpha Virtual Book Tour

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Alpha

The Scattered Dark Series

Book Two

Fierce Dolan

Genre: erotic horror, hardcore paranormal erotica, BDSM

Publisher: Fierce Desires

Date of Publication: 23 October 2013

ISBN: 978-0-9860165-6-1

ASIN: B00G4V1ETU

Number of pages: 53

Word Count: 15,857

Cover Artist: Fierce Dolan

Amazon

Book Description:

When domme Alaine Dunham meets beautiful, young werewolf Seth, she dreams of training him to be the perfect bottom to fill her Alpha needs. She quickly finds that gentling the wild wolf is one thing; subduing the rebellious human is another. Tensions mount as the full moon pushes them to consummate their bond before relationship concerns are soothed.

After a strange book falls into Alaine’s hands she begins to doubt her relationship, her instincts, and the moon.

Book One, Journal of a Lycanthrophile , is free on Amazon starting December 2

Alpha by Fierce Dolan

Chapter 1

A wolf. Alaine Dunham didn’t have to see him for that familiar life force to course through hers, for her body to ache to be near his—the telltale signs. Several years had passed since those sensations last sizzled up her spine, thudded behind her ribs, pooled hot and wet at her cunt, and she relished them. Scouting him from her vantage point on the stage, seeing his wild allure, got her even hotter.

The dark man clutched the hand of Hostess Kisha. Her rainbow-plaited head bobbed, a kaleidoscope beacon glinting under the strobing lights as she squinted and guided them through the fray on the glittering dance floor. The shifter pressed through the crowd with his shoulders squared and jaw jutted forward. A lock of wavy black hair obscured his eyes. His swagger betrayed that he was young, anxious, needy, though the power that emanated from him told her he was not newly made. Dancing clubbers parted and stared in his wake.

Alaine jumped down from the stage and waited for him to find her, as he most certainly would. She busied her trembling hands by slapping a cat-o-nine against her thigh. The welts that rose on her skin distracted her from the aching want between her legs. Licking her lips, she sighed and slowed her slamming pulse. If she was half the top she and the patrons of Malice in Fundaland thought she was, he’d be trained to knot in no time. Finally, a worthy conquest.

Shaking her ponytail down her back, she pulled her shoulders up and greeted Kisha. The waifish hostess clasped Alaine’s hand and kissed her cheek, conservative affection considering they had tribbed all afternoon, culminating with the caramel-complexioned beauty creaming on her face around sundown. Fraternizing amongst staff was forbidden, so they kept their bennie trysts secret. Smiling, she tucked a colorful ringlet behind Kisha’s ear and nodded to the lovely man.

“Mistress,” Kisha started, “this is Seth. He’s a regular on the scene, though it’s his first time in Malice.” His gaze roved over Alaine as the smaller woman spoke. “He asked for you. He knows the best when he sees it.”

“Ah.” She resisted the urge to rap his thigh with the flail handle. “I’m booked out several nights. Hostess Kisha can get you on the books for another evening.”

The wolf’s piercing gaze met hers, though his long lashes fluttered and his voice wavered. “Nice to meet you, thanks. For now, I’ll watch.”

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Writing the Sophomore of a Series

I was dubious about writing a series to start with, because it takes a lot of stamina to sustain momentum across several installments of a greater plot. I knew going into Alpha, the second book of The Scattered Dark Series, the challenges that would be ahead, and… I wrote it anyway!

Before we get into the challenges of the sophomore book, let’s talk about what a first in a series must do. Each book in a series must stand-alone, yet tie neatly into its sister books. The first book gets to be the darling—one hopes. It sets up the core conflict, introduces enticing characters, and jets the plot along so well that the second book is set up sublimely. Everyone falls in love with the freshman, or is so incensed by its setup that they want to know more.

So what about The End? The final book (we’ll assume the third one, for brevity’s sake), reveals all characters’ true colors, resolves individual character arcs (at least mostly), and to some degree brings an aptly satisfying resolution to the greater plot. With all of that candy, what’s sweet about the second in a series? Are they all just Jan Brady?

Well, that’s the question every author who writes a series has to clarify from the beginning. The sole purpose of the middle book is to get readers to the final installment. That’s it. Simple enough, right? Yet the majority of the time, the middle book is the one readers complain most about. The first book gets all the action, all the proper introduction, while the finale pushes toward thorough resolution. That said, there can be no lag, no deviating, no grand flourishes in either.

Apart from giving characters the chance to step up their role in plot resolution and possibly explain their connection to it bit more, second books allow a tad more room for dabbling. The very fact that they tend to focus on character development a bit more and rounding out the story allows them wider berth in how the story is told.

There’s a reason second books fall into what’s called the “sophomore slump,” or “sophomore syndrome.” It’s hard to live up to the hype generated by a first book, and sustain the interest to the finale. The truth is, there is no one formula for writing the second of a series. When a concept is created to develop across installments, the power of its story has to be strong enough to carry through.

Review:

This was a delicious short read that kept me glued to the pages in the midst of a mighty writerly deadline. The sexual tension between Alaine and Seth is toe curling. She is a Domme and this werewolf boy will come to heel. The best part about it is that he is no way less a man for being submissive. Just the opposite. Even as he learns to master the wolf within, he must harness his desire and do as his Mistress bids him. Sometimes that is easier said than done. With techniques that have conquered stronger men, Seth and Alaine begin a journey that will lead them both into a mutually beneficial arrangement. This was a great read either in the series or on its own. Fierce Dolan is an author to watch. I love a sexy lycanthrope tale!

4.5/5

 

About the Author:

Erotic mezzofiction writer, Fierce is imagination shapeshifted as a scribe taunting blank pages and carpal tunnel, neither of which are much use for deadlines. Close allies are impeccable timing and a trusty masseuse. Being a switch I/ENFP doesn’t hurt. For kicks Fierce has other personas across several genres, tends to fill in “Other” on surveys without explaining, and chooses the finality of the Japanese Tamagotchi.

www.fiercedolan.com

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Totally Bound

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Totally Bound—the Home of Erotic Romance.

Totally Bound delivers ‘A List’ escapism for readers who love erotic romance fiction. They are the go-to destination for deliciously good stories that put a smile on readers’ faces and a spring in their step.

The Totally Team are passionate about quality. They seek out, nurture and polish captivating stories with mesmerising plots and compelling characters from the most amazing authors. The result is a truly decadent, enjoyable and divine ‘me time’ reading experience—the very best stimulation for the imagination available.

Whether you’re looking for a slow-burn, or red-hot and super-steamy, Totally Bound has something for everyone. Spend time browsing their luxury online book boutique for Five Star fiction, delectable deals and tasty free teasers to set your pulse racing. Pay them a visit today at: http://www.totallybound.com

Claimed by the Devil

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Helene Gaudet is finally free of her past-a rage-filled ex-husband whose curse has left her unable to have children. Helene shares those past agonies with no one-certainly not with a Marchand. Her lonely life is upended when she encounters who she believes is her perfect Dom in an Internet chat room. To her shock, her Dom is none other than Devlin Marchand, the very person who handed her over to a dark sorcerer to be killed. Yet Devlin proves himself to be a loving Master, and lust and love grow with each tormenting, releasing, encounter. But guilt over his past betrayal is multiplied when he learns the curse that has dogged his lover for years comes from the trove of magic created by his very own family. Devlin fears all he has built with Helene will be destroyed. Can they overcome the past to have a future together?

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Claimed-Devil-Bayou-Magiste-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B00ETR8GI8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382672444&sr=8-1&keywords=claimed+by+the+devil

Review:

I love a good series I can sink my teeth into and Claimed by the Devil is the beginning of series with magical sex toys, dream worthy Doms and sex scenes with BDSM that will curl your toes. *fans face*. When Devlin crosses paths with Helene after they reconnect after a harsh betrayal. I loved the element of suspense as Devlin has online Dom/sub conversations with Helene and they finally meet. The magical nature of the sex scenes was original and made the story flare with all consuming heat. The community of beings wrapped in spells and workings is positively diabolical and worked so well the the voodoo/magick elements of the story. There is a painful history between these two and there is a very real possibility that their reawakened passion may not be enough to surmount the damage done in the past. Some things are better left alone-will Helene and Devlin heal the wounds that bind them or will the darkness find them first? I love the characters and who wouldn’t love a magical sex toy?

5/5 This series is hot!!