Rough Weather by Lisabet Sarai


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

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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.


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 ( or her blog Beyond Romance ( She also hangs out at the group blog Oh Get a Grip (, writes monthly reviews for Erotica Revealed ( and contributes to the ERWA blog (


Thirteen Nights Book Tour

Thirteen Nights Button 300 x 225 Dec and Jan

Thirteen Nights

Divine Temptation

Book 1
Sabrina Garie


Genre:  Paranormal/Fantasy


Publisher:  Ellora’s Cave


Date of Publication:  December 6, 2013


ISBN:  9781419941764

Word Count:  23,000

Cover Artist:  Kelly Martin

Ellora’s Cave      Amazon      BN


Book Description:

Annie’s always been different. An empathic Amazon, she hides her emotional anomaly beneath her legendary fighting skills. To avoid passing on her genetic disorder, she’s always avoided the Thirteen Nights Ritual—the annual breeding rite among the warrior races of the Greek Pantheon. Only months away from 30, she is now duty-bound to participate. When she meets Tai, a half-human warrior who revs her up beyond legal limits and nurtures the gentleness she’s had to keep secret, thirteen nights of pleasure don’t seem nearly enough.


As a half human, Tai has survived by being faster, more lethal, and a whole lot smarter than his brethren. While the male warriors accept him for his achievements, the Amazons have never given him a second look. Until he meets Annie, whose smile is warm and real and whose body shudders with desire—for him. Determined to have her, he hacks into the Thirteen Nights database and rearranges the pairings to make Annie his breeding partner. Together, their strength and tenderness combust into pure love.


But Tai’s actions are forbidden under Amazon law, subject to a death. To stay together and alive, they must take on the Greek Pantheon and win.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.


Copyright © SABRINA GARIE, 2013

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

A strong drink in hand, she found her seat by matching the number on her name tag with the table number. Following the instructions on the card, she swiped it over the datapad and put her thumbprint on the screen where directed. That would tap into her medical records to ensure genetic compatibility. A bell rang in the distance and the first male slid into the seat. A small human. She smiled politely but knew that weak frame could never handle an Amazon lover. Humans were not forbidden, but strongly discouraged. Not all were as frail as this one, but humans usually wanted more than the Amazon vows permitted. The bell couldn’t come soon enough. Annie clandestinely hit the no button on the pad.

A giant of a man swaggered into the now-open seat, all testosterone and appetite. Linebacker shoulders, six-pack abs straining against a muscle shirt chosen to show them off, thighs so big they could choke a horse—and probably had. Elaborate tattooing covered his left arm from shoulder to wrist, detailing every victory, every kill. Similar markings ran diagonally across Annie’s back.

He touched his card to the pad and instantly his resume popped up on her screen. Black belts in karate, kendo and Kung Fu, expert sniper, awarded the Golden Shield—the Gargarean symbol for valor—six times, hobbies included hunting, archery and jousting. Okay, the man could kill, but who was he really?

“I’ll give you a good ride. You’ll be well-sated. I’ve fathered two already, one on a first-timer.” Typical Gargarean—built for show and incapable of mincing words. His eyes burned over her, intent blazing so fierce she felt the heat crawl across her skin. It was said the male warriors went celibate for six months before a breeding to build their lust to a fever pitch. From that look, she’d say it was true for this one.

She nodded, splaying well-manicured, fire-engine-red nails on the table. The male covered one hand, pushing the his palm against the tips.

“Yes,” he rumbled. “They’ll feel good tearing through my back when you lose control.” He laid his left arm out in front of her, an invitation to test the strength of him, and show off his prowess. As expected, she walked her fingers along the planes and angles of his muscles, periodically digging her nails in to test his reaction to different pain levels—to see if he really could handle her and show respect for his military achievements. Those muscles would ripple well under her fingers and nails.

A Gargarean in his prime, proven in battle and the bedroom. She should want this. Damn the little voice in her head that told her that it wasn’t enough for the father of her child, so she rated him acceptable, not preferred. Some part of her she kept well-buried thought it would be nice to find someone with an interest beyond weapons and bloodletting. Someone who could handle, I don’t know, maybe a conversation. The next twelve nights joined at the groin could be a lifetime.

Each new Gargarean who plopped down in front of her merged into the next one until she couldn’t distinguish among them. They all rang the same—deadly, dominant and completely interchangeable. She knew she was a desired partner, and would be many of these men’s first choice. The male warriors liked to boast about knocking up the first-timers, it was worn as a sign of their sexual prowess. The DNA compatibility test would have to choose one of them for her. She didn’t really care.

Lost in frustration, she didn’t register the newest candidate in front of her. The blue light on the screen identified him as Gargarean, but he lacked the giant muscular proportions of the male warrior race, that scent of pure dominance and heightened testosterone. Oh, his eyes revealed menace and the lethality of the warrior-bred and his arm tattooing was as detailed and complex as the bigger men who came before him. But he had the lean, muscled strength of a human soldier, the power he emanated more subtle and highly controlled. From the way her lower body pulsed, she liked it. A lot. When she eyed the screen with more focus, the mystery resolved itself. Tai, human father, Amazon mother, given to the Gargareans at birth. That explained his size. “How did you survive their training as a youth?”

“Your mind can bring you to places your body cannot.”

“That’s not a very Gargarean philosophy.” Or Amazon for that matter, even though she agreed with him. “How would your background play out over the twelve nights?”

“Each night more attuned to your needs than the next. You would be seduced across all dimensions, pleasured in the realm of mind, body and spirit.” He flashed her a smile that promised all kinds of sin, but those deep brown eyes, so tender and soulful, pledged warmth and humor. With that, her panties were drenched, her nipples bullet hard, and tingles ran up her spine straight into her brain. Swallowing, she struggled to pull it all back under control and explore this possibility in more detail.

“Your expertise is…” She lifted an eyebrow. “Cyber security.” She placed her hand on the table as she did for all the others. Instead of using his palm to test the bite of her nails, he ran his finger across her knuckles and down her thumb, a lingering caress that promised gentleness, not just a good, hard ride. When he offered her his arm, she did the same up his wrist to his elbow, watching lust flicker in his eyes as her fingers glided across his skin. “You’re not like your brethren, in many ways it seems.”

“No, but I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black and it pleases you.” His voice lowered a decibel, the sound a rough caress around her body. “Why? Most of your sisterhood reject me out of hand for my size, my human heritage, even my talents.” His gaze locked onto hers and held it in an iron grip. He might be small for a warrior of the Greek pantheon, but he made it clear he was no less potent and he wasn’t going anywhere without an answer.

“Because you’re different…like me.” She was not at all sure she should have confirmed his observation but she felt no deception coming from him. “It tempts me.” She gave him her biggest, sexiest smile.

“Choose me.” His gaze still tethered to hers, he glided his forefinger along her lips in a quiet tease. “I’ll make it worth it to you.”

SGarie photo

About the Author:

Sabrina Garie is on a journey to create the most kick-ass heroine romance fiction has ever known and the hero who can take her. A believer that big, audacious goals spice up life, she relies on coffee, red wine and laughter to make those goals (and her characters) come alive.


When not at the computer, she wrangles vegetables and extra helpings of homework into her fashion-loving progeny, kowtows to a fat cat and reads, a lot.


Since it is more fun to travel in packs, come along for the ride.


Catch the train at




Twitter: @sabrinagarie




Other Blogs:



December 16 Spotlight
Lisa’s World of Books
December 17 Spotlight
The Romance Nook
December 18 Guest blog
Roxanne’s Realm
any list holiday related- top ten favorite holiday movies, songs, gifts received, etc
December 19 Guest blog
Fang-tastic Books
any list holiday related- top ten favorite holiday books, movies, songs, gifts received, etc
December 20 Interview
Pembroke Sinclair
December 22 Guest blog
Erotica For All
Dec 23 Guest post/excerpt
Erzabet Bishop
December 23 review
Nyxx’s Nook
January 6 Spotlight
Buried Under Books
January 6 review
Nicky Peacock Author
January 7 Spotlight and review
Paranormal Romance Fans for Life
January 8 Guest blog
Mythical Books
Guest Post – Amazons and Love  or Amazons – Myth or History?
January 9 Spotlight
Making my Mark:
January 10 Spotlight, Excerpt and review
Ramblings of a Book Lunatic
January 13 Spotlight
Cover Reveals

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Warehouse Wonder World: A Spicy Interview with the Amazing Jane Brooke



A stunning, waif blond British female is abducted by a mysterious female at the train station in Paris. Thus, in a Paris warehouse she is taken on a sexual journey of unfathomable pain, pathos, humiliation by what appears to be a serial killer, or worse a complete and deranged power provocateur. It is, with the fact in mind that some females need flowers and dinner for sexual fulfillment and others need handcuffs and a crop a story that read to its end is nothing as it seems and in that end is touching to say the least.

1. You mentioned that you began writing erotica when you were pretty young. What started you writing hot and spicy stories?


(YES, at fifteen, and because both of my parents are British brilliant artists, I got parts of both of their brains and quickly they placed me in Savant child programs and with an IQ whirling around 170, they did not drug my talent out of me, I was very lucky to be born to them. I am also a painter. I choose erotica, or more like it, erotica choose me because I felt I would not ever need to deal with censorship since my writing has been described as pornographic gun shots and bullets whizzing past your ear. Like DeSade, I would write with my own blood and feces on-a-wall if chained to a prison cot if that was the only venue that was available to me to write my beloved words.) I write or I die.


2. What kinds of characters do you most enjoy writing about?


(I write hard truth reality and since I do a research tour through the European sex and fetish clubs once a year, as a voyeur, I write what I know and see. Of course those are the lovely and honest people that hold no shame in their minds, nor boundaries as they seek the freedom to express themselves within their most natural sexual desires. I do not write Fabio romance, or about lost princesses and the knights that save them. I love to write a lot about female hit woman as I did in my anthology (British Bonzai Bitches) babes that are fierce, valiant, fucked up by genius brains and always are so problematic. I write about hard, dangerous, amazing, unique, compassionate, sweet and hyper sexual woman and for woman, and to empower women. Fuck, I am a women; well at 22 almost TEE HEE.


3. Tell us about your newest release, Warehouse.


(WAREHOUSE WONDER WORLD) yes, is was a total maniacal romp into the world of a lesbian submissive stunning English female who at the hands of what appears to be a sadistic female serial killer, is abducted at the train station in Paris and then in a Place Monge Paris warehouse, is taken on a psychological and physical sexual journey into the very depth of her sexual sole. As everything I write (I never write rape, or under age sex) WWW in the end is my hope of a total education to my readers that sometimes what they are seeing, is in fact nothing as it seems and I have been told, quite moving and poignant in the end. I actually have witnessed such SCENES at Amsterdam and Berlin SCENE CLUBS.)


4. What are some tips for writers working on their first book length novel?


(Leave home, travel to Amsterdam, smoke hash, (I never do drugs, but at one time I did) never judge, always change, take life risks, experience everything possible considering erotica love, all genders will be just fine, thank you very much and laser your cunt, wear a mini skirt, try girl-girl sex, it’s sooo yummy, KATY PERRY SAID” I Kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her Cherry Chap Stick) diet, wear heavy mascara, get you’re hair cut and cow boy up and, then let it RIP and write, write, write what you KNOW, not what you think you know. You want something deep, sexual and meaningful in your life; then don’t be afraid to grab it. You’re unhappy, fuck, do something about it.



5. Tell us about your sexiest scene ever…


(That’s a hard one and all of my work is laced with sex and if I had to choose, and because of my bent personality well it would be in Warehouse Wonder World. I love very dark humor in my erotica, and the Dominatrix, the powerful woman has that, a twisted and almost sadistic sense of humor, and I am laughing for as the English blond waif is hanging by her wrists by leather restraints from eyebolts in the ceiling, and being cropped and forced to multiple orgasms, the Dominatrix pinches her cheeks and demands her not to cum again. Now, say to me “You can’t make me cum. DO IT and I will let you go.” Whimpering, the girl trembles the words out of her quivering lips. “I will try.” Then in process with a ball vibrator pressed to her cunt and as the girl says over and over as her tits are cropped “You can’t make me cum” She has an explosive orgasm. The sadistic woman, looking at her with disgust, says. “I thought you said that I couldn’t make you cum?” Hyperventilating, the waif moaned “You tricked me.” Evilly and cynically Mistress smiled and said. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Though trapped within what apparently the very nexus of darkness, I always try to give my readers humor, it lightens the novel, and thus we can move deeper and deeper into the pathos of the human mind.


6. Heels or flats? (or just bare feet…naked is good…)


(Never ever, ever flats BIG SMILE they remind me of those gals with dog leashes running around the dog show in Manhattan. Naked, well that is the skin we were born in, and YES, sometimes stilettos, they are so dramatic, but most of my girls, Jane in “Jane, Vegas PI” Kenna Gray in “Love, Sex & Silhouettes” and Adray Venus, my stunning platinum clad skinned Cyborg girl in “CYBORG GIRLS” as well as the savage blonde Mandal in my mostly lesbian hit woman “British Bonzi Bitches” all wear combat boots, because they are kick ass kinda girls. My female leads are all genius savages, go toe to toe with life, and mostly fight and decimate evil men in wars to the death, men that have dismantled and injured either dogs or females BIG SMILE.)



7. If you were going to be smothered in food, what would your favorite food be?


It would have to be fruit, blueberries, black berries, straw berries, mangos, papaya, etc, I love fruit, and never shy away slathering it on myself or one of my sweet gay girlfriends. Yes, I warned you, I am savage, one of my most favorite words.


8. What is your biggest pet peeve in erotica?


(OMG, where do I start? Listen, I know I am just a thug with a keyboard, and am no better or worse than any other female on the planet. I dare not judge anyone, for I am so imperfect. But if pressed, I will say why bother to write, unless you can hopefully write something that incinerates the readers ID. Personally, I don’t get all the Fabio, Prince kills the dragon and saves the princess thingy, I mean come on, really, how many times can that story be told. A good example is the (50 Shades) thing, there is nothing realistic in it, if this is heat, passion, madness between two lovers, then I will drink the Kool Aid. Again, I want my readers to see a REAL world of sex, bdsm, bondage, fetish, all gender pathos and sex, not some tepid made for TV world they think is out there, but the world I have seen personally, respect and love. I know, from my reader’s e mails they appreciate my Hard core writing of what really is going out there. Ride hard, give your words the spurs and, then hang on to your dildo for dear life, that’s my motto.)


9. Flogger or whip?


(HA HA HA all of the above and more. I am a huge fan of “Sex Tools Kits” and machine sex, dildos, vibrators, handcuffs, leather restraints, crops, whips, lashes, guns, Caterpillar Tractors, predator drones, anything and everything a female might need to AGAIN fulfill her artistry as she seeks complete and total sexual fulfillment. Remember, it is the MIND that is the sexiest organ in the body, and basically, and I have witnessed most of it, if you can think of it, it will be used as sex implement of pleasure EG: “WAREHOUSE WONDER WORLD.” By the way and since “CYBORG GIRLS” takes place in the year “2101, the futuristic sex with AE computers and machines between humans, Cyborg females and Androids, is nuclear.



10. What do you want readers to get from your work?


(Blasphemy, banality, incredulity, mind fucked, heart pounding honesty, jaw dropping reality, (DIRTY THOUGHTS BIG SMILE) beauty, love, Sex and more sex, humor, redemption of the human soul and hopefully their hearts and minds vaporized and, then reborn and hopefully educated of what the possibilities are if one were to step through the door of what happiness await a human being if they dare to seek it.


11. What is next on your writerly horizon?


(HAVE a new 4 book erotica series called the “Hit Woman’s Assassination Hand Book” 1st novel coming from the publisher in two weeks. It’s about Mandal, a Mensa brilliant stunning blond killer, and we follow her life as she runs from a private girl’s school in Montreal at 15 and we pick her life up twelve years later. She’s been a nude dancer, a grifter, whore, habitual liar and then a Contract Killer for a Obese New Jersey Mobster which she (after  basically selling out because she can’t take the heat of life) has become his concubine. She then runs with a million of his cash and thus the hunt for her across the USA by the mobster’s killer crew begins. She breaks down in her old Caddy in a last ditch Texas shit hole called “Inferno Flats”, run by the violent COX clan that run a massive crystal meth empire. Using her incredible beauty, she must lie, grift, cheat, use her astonish IQ and beauty and then kill everyone as she tries to escape with her head still attached to her neck with their money. Except, she falls in love with a horribly burnt ex Green Beret who is a gifted poet and the third Cox brother and has become a reclusive master horse man shaman to the desert Indians. With the NJ crew boring down on her and the illiterate and lethal two Cox brothers wanting to fuck her, she must play out the final grift to the end. Does she get out alive, don’t know, read the book BIG SMILE. This is my absolute fav thing I have ever written though that of course only means something to me.)


Thank you Jane for visiting on the blog today! I am so excited to start reading WWW for all the grit, glamour and super hot scenes I know will be waiting for me between the pages.

A Divine Life Book Tour




Over the past year of being Jayden Masterson’s collared submissive, Catherine O’Chancey has worked through the mental terrors left behind by her old Dom — she thinks. To celebrate their collar-ing anniversary, Jayden organizes a special day, during which her final limits and fantasies will be realized. Will it prove to be more than she can handle? Can she endure the erotic onslaught her mind and body will experience and survive unscathed?

While Catherine faces dark shadows and pleasurable highs, Jayden finds his own inner strength being tested. He has come to realize that, somewhere along the way, Catherine has taken possession of his heart, mind, and body. Now he faces his biggest challenge ever; he must let go of all his submissives but one: his jewel, Catherine. Can he leave his philandering ways behind? Has he made the ultimate mistake by putting his jewel into the hands of others?


“So, how does that work? I mean, how does one draw the line between Master and husband?” Was such a complicated relationship possible? Could Jayden see her that way? Just thinking his name caused a funny feeling in Catherine’s chest. Her thoughts continued, now on overdrive . . .

No. Master didn’t do personal relationships. He’d said as much when they’d first signed their con-tract together. They’d both agreed to the understanding that this was nothing more than a sexual relationship. Hell, he was fucking two other people besides her that she knew of. If there were a chance that he wanted something more with her, he wouldn’t have handed her over to complete strangers today. Would he? Oh, God. Sir Jonathan’s offer to take Catherine on repeated itself in her memory, along with the knowledge that she had more sessions today with an unknown number of Doms. Was that what today was? Had the ‘inspection’ Sir Jonathan performed not been part of the scene? Was Sir Jonathan looking her over as a potential acquisition? What about Miss K offering to take her on back in February? Catherine’s stomach soured again.

“No. No, please, no. I — I can’t,” Catherine mumbled and began to shake.


Her world began crumbling around her, and panic took root. Catherine gasped for air, wrapping her arms around her mid-section.

“Erin! What’s wrong?”

Paige’s shriek snapped Catherine to attention, and she raised her watery eyes to meet her new friend’s.

“Paige,” Catherine started to cry. “He figured it out. I tried to be so good, so careful. He knows, and he’s going to get rid of me!” She thought she’d done so well at hiding her secret over the months, protecting her heart.

Paige had wrapped her arm around Catherine and was rubbing slow circles on her back. With a wince, Catherine became quite aware of every lash mark from Sir Jonathan’s whip. They now burned to her core when Paige’s soft hands brushed over them. Catherine flinched away from her.

“Shh, Erin,” she said in a calming voice. “Who knows what, sweetie? What are you talking about?”

Turning wide eyes on her, Catherine choked out, “Jay . . . Master. He knows I’ve fallen in — in love with him. I wasn’t supposed to. He found out, and now he’s interviewing me with strange Doms to get rid of me. I broke the rules and he —” she swallowed a sob, “he doesn’t want me anymore!”


Guest post:

 Writing f/f v m/f v m/m . . . Which one is your favorite? Do you think writing each one brings you to a different place?


Wow, what a great question. I had to spend some time thinking on this one, to be honest. In doing so, several thoughts occurred to me.

Am I really “qualified” to answer this question when my own dabbling in the slash and femmeslash genres has been limited at best? While I’ve written each pairing separately, and in a variety of configurations such as m/m/f or f/f/m, my works have been predominantly heterosexual. It’s what I live; i.e. I know it best.

But does that mean it’s my favorite? Not necessarily. Does a mother have a favorite child? They might all be similar because of genetics, but each one is precious and unique and you can’t choose one over the other. You love them for who they are inside.

I ventured into writing m/m first with a couple of one shots, and then a collaboration effort for a full length story. It wasn’t too long before I gave the f/f pairing a try. Granted, these stories were written as fan fictions. The Divine Trilogy is the first “official” project I’ve done that includes not only hetero relationships, but gay and lesbian ones as well. I also have an original m/m manuscript in the works with the tentative title of Carnival, which I’m looking forward to finishing and publishing as my first gay contemporary romance.

Guess what I discovered by trying my hand at the different pairings? It really is so basic, you’ll laugh.

For me, once I factored out the physical components of what goes where, I was left with a single truth. The intimacy of the act, the earth-shattering connections, the tender moments — even the hot, sizzling ones — are all the same regardless of the gender. At the end of the day, there is kissing, hugging, and probably holes being filled. Who cares if it’s two guys, two girls, or one (or more) of each?

It boils down to you can’t choose who or what makes you happy. A solid relationship is based not on the exterior parts of the body, but on the connection at the mental level and in the heart. In my writing, it’s not the physical bond between characters, but the emotional ones where the story comes to life.

Love equally — simple as.

 Well put…well put. 🙂 Thanks for being on the blog today!



Author Bio:

R.E. Hargrave lives on the outskirts of Dallas, TX where she prides herself on being a domestic engineer. Married to her high school sweetheart, together they are raising three children from elementary age to college age. She is an avid reader, a sometimes quilter and now, a writer for Renaissance Romance Publishing.

Author Links:






Barnes & Noble




Tour Schedule:

August 6: Sapphire Kande –Review

             N. Isabelle Blanco –Promo/Excerpt

            Tamaria Soana –Promo/Excerpt

August 7: Adrian Smith –Promo/Excerpt

August 8: Matt Lutz –Guest Post

Erzabet Bishop –Guest Post

August 9: Jennifer Garcia –Promo/Excerpt and Review

August 10: Kande –Promo/Excerpt

            Nat Wood –Review

August 11: The Hive –Review

            Jennifer Hensley –Review

August 12: Kaylyn Davis –Review

August 13: Angela Glass –Review

August 14: Sherri Hayes –Interview

S.A. Jones –Interview

August 15: Mich –Guest Post

August 16: M.B. Feeney –Interview

August 17: Tbird London – Review

            Anna Crosswell –Review

August 18: J. C. Clarke –Interview

August 19: Donna –Guest Post

            Elena M. Reyes –Interview


The Journal

The Journal

The Journal by Liv Honeywell and Domitri Xavier


“Come to my study at eight o’clock sharp. Dress for dinner. Wear high heels and put on that dress – you know what I expect of you.”

When the order comes Livia is torn between anticipation and dread.

Does he know? How could he possibly know what she has done? And how can she find the words and the courage to tell him?

As eight o’clock edges ever nearer, Livia waits outside the study door, trembling; uncertain of what she will find when she comes face to face with her Master.

If he knows… If he does, there will be consequences. There is no doubt about that.

What will be the price for her moment of disobedience?


He heard the knock on the door of his study. This was her signal that she had complied with all his instructions, not a request to enter. She would come in when he said so and she would never dare to knock again.

He had asked her to dress immaculately, smartly; as if they were going to dinner. Her hair must be perfect, away from her face. Her make up flawless, perhaps to look a little tarty, but she would know how far to go and the penalties for going over the top. She would be wearing elegant, high heeled shoes.

He told her to come in, gently, softly; as if she were merely coming in for a coffee or cocktails. Immediately she stepped into the room; looking down with her hands behind her. She would never look at his face directly without his express permission.

“Come to me.”

She had no idea what to expect. Would he be soft and tender? Or would he sweep her off her feet by mauling her like an animal. She knew that her body was his and he could treat it in any way that pleased him.

He ran his fingers through her hair, gently folding it back and forth and her head moved with his every gesture. Then he thrust his fingers deep toward her skull and tugged at her hair, moving her head in all directions. She let out an involuntary squeal.

“This is no time for making such noises.”

The quiet scream stopped immediately. She was under his power, his presence; his dominance. There was never any doubt about it.

He put his hands over her eyes and closed them, turning her face downwards. With effortless ease, he bound her hands behind her by her wrists and elbows. He loved the way that this pushed her breasts forwards and outwards. He had no need to bind her but it pleased him; a bound woman was an aesthetic pleasure.

He put one hand over her mouth. The other roamed over every contour of her body; her pouting breasts, her waist, behind her neck. He moved to her pussy and felt that it was already wet. Then both hands wandered quickly and powerfully over her whole body. She let out a yelp of pleasure which he immediately silenced with his strong fingers. She was his to do with as he wished.

He turned away from her, then turned back to look. She was beautiful. She was his. Her pain would be his pleasure…


I knocked on the study door, quietly, almost hesitantly. I knew so well the knots in the wood, the whorls and lines of the grain. How many times had I stood here, gazing at this door; trying to guess what would happen when I opened it?

I wondered how long he would have me wait. I didn’t know what to think. Did he somehow know what I’d done? Had he been waiting for me to tell him, giving me the chance to own up? Hoping that I would before he had to make me? I couldn’t imagine how he could know, but… he had sounded distracted earlier. Not like himself.

I’d so wanted to confess. I really had. I’d tried all day yesterday. I’d tried today as well but I couldn’t make myself say it. I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, the awful expression on his face that would come from knowing I’d done something absolutely forbidden.

And… and I was scared of the punishment, of how bad it would be. And now I’d made it worse. Not only for me but for him too. For how much more I’d let him down by not telling him the truth.

I hoped I could find the nerve to say it now. Maybe I could find a way to explain, though I wasn’t sure I could explain it to myself. What on earth had I done?

I hoped he would allow me to speak, or I wouldn’t be able to say a word, not even to confess. What would I do then? Wait until he was done with me and then tell him? Wait until he had used my body, whichever way he chose; wait until he had given me pleasure which I surely didn’t deserve?

Then what? If I couldn’t find the nerve now, if I hadn’t found it earlier, what on earth made me think I would find it then?

I reached out and lightly traced the pattern of the wood with a finger tip. My hand was trembling and I slowed my breathing, doing my best to relax.

Then I heard his voice; such a beautiful deep voice, so calm and gentle. It gave me no clue to what he was thinking, to what he would do this time.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind me; keeping my eyes lowered the whole time. I clasped my hands behind my back and waited.

“Come to me,” he said.

‘Always,’ I thought. ‘Whenever you wish it.’ I didn’t say it, of course. I knew better than to speak without permission.

I kept my hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels clicking on the hard wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so wanted to. Perhaps for reassurance that he wouldn’t hurt me, although I knew he would; perhaps to see if the gentleness in his voice was there in his eyes; perhaps to search for something, anything in his expression to tell me what he was thinking.

He lifted a hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely stroked my hair, twining his fingers through the length of it. I began to relax, leaning my head into his hand, until he grabbed a handful of hair close to my scalp and pulled hard, and I couldn’t help letting out a small squeak of surprise.

“This is no time for making such noises,” he said, still so calmly, so controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.

His fingers gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly while he tied my hands behind my back. Now I couldn’t even see what was coming, and even if I could, I was helpless to prevent it.

He clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to protest, as his other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing – over my breasts, across my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I realised he must know how aroused I was.

He released my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my breasts and my bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs once more. I moaned softly and he covered my mouth again, muffling any noise I might make.

Was I not to be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent no matter what he might do to me? The thought of his control made me shiver and I swallowed hard, trying to hold back a sudden rush of desire. I tried to still myself, wondering if he had noticed.

Of course. Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it would make a difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I couldn’t hide my reactions or if I would be punished for moving, however slightly?

He stepped away from me and I waited for what would come…

Buying Links:

The Journal is available from Amazon US – and Amazon UK –

Author Bios:

Liv Honeywell:

When not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading, baking, eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy the demands of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first story, Imagine, was published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming, Ready or Not is my first solo book. The Journal was co-written with Domitri Xavier.

You can follow me on my blog –, Twitter –, Facebook –, Goodreads – and my Amazon page is here:

Domitri Xavier:

Domitri Xavier comes from a rich heritage, including Russia, France and Yorkshire. He is the quintessential English gentleman and lives alone in his cavernous mansion, Upton Abbey.

Domitri is not only a writer, composer, pianist, raconteur, wit and poet, he also enjoys a number of hobbies; he breeds Basset Hounds, plays chess (although he has yet to record a victory) and he is a renowned collector of used tea bags – Earl Grey, naturally.

He fills his remaining time writing erotic fiction, much of it based on his own lifestyle at the Abbey.

The Journal is his first book and his poems have been published on Bitten Press’s website –

You can find Domitri on Facebook –, his Facebook friend page is, his blog is, his Goodreads page is and his Amazon page is

WMS_blogtour (1)

Desire In Tartan


Desire in Tartan by Suz deMello

Dugald Kilburn was sure that he’d never find love. And why should he?

‘Tis rare for vampires and their mates to reproduce successfully and Dugald kens that. He’s certain his lust caused his first wife’s death in childbed.

Innocent Alice Derwent presents Dugald with a dilemma. She’s different than any woman he’s known, different and altogether alluring. And while the lady is innocent, her feelings are anything but.

Will he bed and wed the lady, risking her life? Or remain celibate, sparing her?

But when threatened with death, Alice decides she doesn’t want to die without knowing Dugald’s love. Can he resist her charms?

Like what you read? Buy it here:



Book Two of the Highland Vampires series from Ellora’s Cave


Glasgow, Autumn 1759

Dugald left most of his company of men back at the inn with strict instructions to stay out of trouble, but he had no illusions. The men would drink as much as they could hold before finding the loosest bits of muslin available. If they were still able to perform, perform they would, as long and as hard as possible. He hoped that he’d be able to rescue the less experienced of the lot out of whatever scrapes they fell into. The youngest, Malcolm, came with Dugald as his companion. He wouldna leave Malcolm in the care of the rest.

The mop fair was a mad scene. ’Twas combined with a street fair and a farmer’s market, so the entire population of Glasgow had seemingly crowded itself into the square with a market cross in the center. Food stalls, redolent with the spicy aromas of roasting fowls and sausages were fronted by cooks and ’prentices bawling out the prices of their wares. Nearby, penned livestock emitted a less appealing miasma of straw and shite, with the autumn wind swirling the scents along with dry leaves.

Turning to Malcolm, Dugald raised his brows. Without speaking, the two Kilburns started to walk along the disordered rows of booths. Once they’d passed the food stalls, the fair became even more riotous, with knots of maids and men looking for hire, screeching their qualifications. Each brandished a tool of his or her trade, cooks with rolling pins or wooden spoons, coachmen with their whips. Country girls in their Sunday dresses crowded in a knot, peering anxiously at well-dressed passers-by whom Dugald guessed were the stewards of the grand houses. Every once in a while one would stop and question a rosy-cheeked lass, occasionally leaving the fair with a new maid or tweeny in tow.

He stopped, arrested by a sweet fragrance that rose from the reek of unwashed bodies like clean mist drifting on the surface of a loch. He hadn’t detected it before. Mayhap it had been cloaked by the pungent roasting sausages and the other scents at the food stalls—herbs and the like.

He lifted his face into the air and sniffed. Yes, ‘twas there, elusive but definite.

Malcolm did the same. “I smell it too.”

“That’s our lassie,” Dugald said.

The stripling looked mystified. “A sweet smell means a governess?”

“Milady gave me questions to ask.” Dugald patted his sporran. “If she passes, she’s the one. But this is how we’ll be finding her.”

At the end of the row of coachmen, stable hands, maids and cooks fluttered a gaggle of…what? Somberly robed figures resembling a flock of giant crows or, mayhap, vultures. Exuding the stinks of mothballs and body odor, they all appeared to be flapping about one small, drab figure, a female who couldna contrast more with her oafish companions.

Dugald’s first impression of the woman was of narrowness, so at odds with her tempting scent that all he could do was stand and gape at her like a looby. Dressed in unrelieved black, she had slender shoulders and a tiny waist. Slight hips. When she turned, he could see she possessed but a small bosom. He raised his gaze and didn’t bother to stifle a gasp at the sight of her pure and perfect profile. Intelligence sparkled in her hazel eyes, completely belying the rest of her dull demeanor.

Her face… He could stare at that face forever without a single moment of boredom.  Pale, though not as white as a Kilburn’s, for a smattering of freckles spattered the bridge of her straight little nose and sprinkled her high cheekbones. She had well-cut lips with a definite Cupid’s bow, the one distinct curve on her serious face. A semi-circular half-moon dip.

He wanted to slide his tongue into that dip before kissing her with every mite of passion he possessed.



Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written over sixteen 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 worked for Total-E-Bound, Liquid Silver Books and Ai Press, where she is currently Managing Editor. 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 her books at

     For editing services, email her at

Befriend her on Facebook:, and visit her group at

She tweets her reading picks @ReadThis4fun

Her current blog is


Polly Frost: Deep Inside

Deep Inside


If you enjoyed Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James, you’ll love Deep Inside by Polly Frost.

“I haven’t taken my pills for two days. I put them under my tongue and only pretend to swallow.”

“Two days? But aren’t you—”

“Dangerously oversexed?” she says. “You bet!”

A dominatrix with a discipline problem. A nervous virgin tempted by an unearthly sacrifice. Lust-crazed Viagra addicts. A seductive serial killer. A sexual psychic who can foresee other people’s erotic adventures. And a street cop hooked on alien ecstasy…

The sensual men and women in this sizzling collection are all in search of the ultimate sexual high. No plain vanilla sex here; driven by insatiable desires, they push their bodies and souls to the limits, exploring the outer reaches of eroticism. From arcane sexual rituals to the heights of Hollywood decadence, Deep Inside breaks every taboo as it takes you inside the throbbing flesh and twisted urges of the kinky, the depraved, and the supernatural.

Turn down the lights and enter a new realm of exotic and forbidden pleasures.

post divider-pen


Please welcome the amazing Polly Frost as she talks about her life, erotica and her book Deep Inside.

1. How did you get started writing erotica?


I started writing erotica in 2002 largely because it was considered a risky writing career thing to do. Most writers, if they do erotica at all, do it under a pseudonym. But I’m one of those artists who, if you tell me I shouldn’t go there in my work, I will. I don’t take risks in real life, because I like to save up taking risk taking for my art.


I’d been writing humor that was published in places like The New Yorker and The New York Times. That was great, but you’re always restricted as to what you can write.


I was also drawn to doing erotica because of the way I started out as a reader — the 1960’s and 70’s was a time when respected and established literary figures like Philip Roth, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Jack Kerouac and Kurt Vonnegut didn’t shy away from sex in their work. And the big pop novels like Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place were drenched in sex.


It bothered me that literature took this turn in the 1990’s when publishers no longer wanted to do those kinds of books. How can you write truthfully about the world and not write about one of the most powerful forces in it — sex? Put it all together, and you have me, wanting to cause a fuss with some sex writing.


2. Tell us about “Deep Inside” and why men and women have loved it.


Men tell me they like it because it’s so unabashed about being a turn-on. There are exploitation-movie elements in it. There’s action, and there’s humor, and there’s heat. They don’t feel like they’re drowning in female fantasies and romance-needs.


Women who have loved it are gals who dig raucous stuff with humor and sexiness, and who get off on that. There’s a lot of hot fantasy in it, but it’s definitely not romance for daydreamers! Plus: it’s very cinematic, and who doesn’t like that?


Plus a lot of it is funny. The usual assumption is that laughter breaks the erotic spell. I wanted to show that laughter can actually heighten the eroticism. Works for me, anyway! And many people have told me how relieved they are to be allowed to laugh while getting turned on.


3. What do you think separates how men and women appreciate erotica?


The cliche is that women are more romance-oriented and men are more action-oriented. I think it’s a pretty accurate cliche, and I did my best in my book to come up with plenty for both sexes to enjoy.


4. Tell us about your show Bad Role Models and What I Learned from Them.


It’s a one-woman show I’ve created that I’m taking it around the country to theaters as well as to oddball venues, like horse rings and wineries. It’s autobiographical tales and reflections about how much certain bad role models have meant to me, from a hard-drinking horse trainer to a 50 year old husband of one of my mother’s friends when I was 17. I got more from these people than I did from any of the self-proclaimed goodie-two-shoes good role models I was supposed to be paying attention to. Don’t you get tired of all that baloney about “mentors” and such? I sure do. This show is my way of shooting a few holes in that. People tell me it’s funny and touching, and that it gets them thinking about their lives. In fact, many of the people who have seen the show have come up to me afterwards and told me all kinds of personal stories. It’s been very touching, in fact.


One of the key parts of this show is talking about my sexuality as a teenager. That was really scary for me at first, believe it or not. Here I was, someone who was used to writing and doing readings of my stories about people taking it up the ass from outer space aliens, yet talking about where I was sexually at that time, I just blushed and couldn’t do!


I was a teenager in the late 1960’s/early 70’s in Santa Barbara, which was an epicenter of Free Love Hippiedom. It was not unusual, for example, for me to see people openly having sex on the nearby beach. And I was doing free love things with hippie guys. I had a thing for vain California hippies — that hair and the way they never wore anything beneath their jeans! But I was only going to third base, so to speak, with all these guys. I was technically a virgin. Probably the oldest virgin at 16 in Free Love Santa Barbara! In other words, I was a ferocious free love cocktease!


I was very infatuated with a bad boy hippie art student. He was the one guy I really wanted to go “all the way” with and yet I was certain he would break my heart. He had other women and it wasn’t that I felt monogamy was morally right, it was just that I knew I couldn’t handle it, not with him. Plus we were basically incompatible since he was a country boy and I’m a city girl. I knew he would want to live on the land which was the absolute last thing I ever wanted to do.


Of course, the fact that he was a bad boy and we were incompatible on a living together level was precisely was turned me on about him, combined with the fact that he was very sweet and patient with me (no doubt because he was going off afterwards and having sex with other women!). But he took me to beautiful movies and talked to me about his art and brought over records of all kinds of music. I wanted to be an artist at that point in my life, but I wasn’t really doing art and he was.


I didn’t go all the way with him, yet when I did lose my virginity, I went all the way with other guys I didn’t care about. Go figure that one! Not that I would ever condemn empty sex!


When I was writing my show, it was a powder keg getting into that because I regretted never having had that experience with that guy. Yet I knew I had to talk about it in my show. If you don’t get at the truth of things, you may as well be talking to yourself, you know?


The interesting thing is that section is one that women really relate to in my show. I just performed it and a bunch of women afterwards wanted to talk to me afterwards about their own early experiences with guys, and with bad boys.


It’s very different, though, talking about my own sexuality at that time as compared to writing erotica. The characters in my erotica stories are not really me, they’re women I would love to be!


5. What are you working on now?


I’m focusing on performance. I’m very proud of “Bad Role Models.” People I trust tell me it’s the best thing I’ve done. So I’m devoting myself to getting better and better at performing it, and I’m giving myself a year to tour it around the country. No other writing at all — just performing and touring. It’s a funny stretch for me because I’ve always been a writing junkie. I’ve never before NOT been in the middle of a couple of different writing projects. In many ways, writing is what has held me together. It’s been like a drug. But “Bad Role Models” is something special, and I want to give it all my attention for the next year. Which isn’t to say I’m not playing with ideas and sketching things out! I’m reading, making notes, and gabbing about plans. I’m just not letting myself turn any of it into anything concrete until I feel I’m really done with Bad Role Models.


6. What three things must you have on your desk while you are writing?


Well, not “on my desk” literally, but …


Music is the most important thing. I always listen to music that fits the story, either music that the character I’m writing about would listen to or, in the case of my one person show, music I was listening to at the time I’m writing about. When I was sixteen it was the late 1960’s and I was really into The Moody Blues. I still love them! It was amazing how listening to their song “Nights in White Satin” completely propelled me back to the person I was at that time.


When I wrote the story “The Dominatrix Has a Career Crisis” in “Deep Inside,” I listened to a lot of heavy metal, because that’s what the main character would listen to. When I wrote the title story “Deep Inside” — which is about two women who make magical dildos — I listened to a lot of bossa nova, the kind of seductive Brazilian music that makes you lose your inhibitions. It really helps me get inside these imaginary worlds and characters.


There’s also always a wine glass on the desk. I do like to drink white wine as I write, I admit it. I suspect that saying this will assure me of getting indignant emails from readers saying I’m promoting alcoholism! But I gotta be truthful. I’m about 25 percent Irish, and that 25 percent 100 percent loves to hang out at bars and talk and drink. I’m sure that will also get me emails from readers saying I’m stereotyping Irish writers. But I have a lot of Irish writer friends and one thing that distinguishes them from the American writers I know is that the Irish are extroverts, and their poetry and prose comes out of the expansiveness and storytelling they naturally do at pubs and bars. Many of the American literary writers I’ve met or known are introverts and the way they drink and write is very different.


The third thing I absolutely need with me  when I write is my terrycloth bathrobe. This is probably the least sexy thing that any writer will say to you, Erzabet, but I need to be in my tattered old bathrobe to write.


7. Favorite ice cream flavor?


I’m not an ice cream person generally. I know! What kind of a woman am I? But I do love the wasabi ice cream at the Japanese ice cream boutique near us in Greenwich Village. It’s weird but it’s great. I have about three spoonfuls of it, get a little high on the flavor and fat, and then throw the rest away.


8. What type of character is your favorite to write about?


I love conflicted characters, ones that challenge my sympathies, ones that make me have to stretch my ability to understand their motivations.


9. Plotter or pantster?


I’m a plotzer. I let myself go crazy. I start out with some things on my mind, some ambitions for what I want to do, some characters I want to explore, and I just go nuts with it. Luckily I’m married to a man who’s very sympathetic to my imagination and who’s wonderful with structure. He goes through what I give him, detects the implicit narrative DNA in it, and helps me devise a story that will support and convey what I’m doing. It’s very organic. I’d kill him if it weren’t! Then I go back to work, and when I do my later drafts I’m a gnawer. I go by my intuitions about what I think the truth of the story needs, and I simply will not stop until I feel the story is complete. I’m pretty headstrong in that way. My husband sometimes think I go too far. But I always tell him that “too far” is where things start to get interesting.


The big difference between doing one-person shows and writing for the page, I’ve found, is that you develop theater through doing performances of it. You can’t sit in your room and polish the writing, the way you can with a short story or novel. With theatrical creations you simply don’t know what you really have until you take it on the road and do it in front of different audiences. Performing the show early on is where the “polishing” stage takes place.


10. What are some books that have influenced you as a writer?


I’ve been influenced by everything from philosophy to horror to cooking. If I have to narrow it down off the top, here are ten favorites:


1) The Feynman Lectures on Physics by Nobel Prize winning physicist Richard Feynman

2) Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust

3) The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky

4) The Story of O by Pauline Reage

5) Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche

6) Candy by Terry Southern

7) Psycho by Robert Bloch

8) Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann

9) Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child (who I once had the honor of spending a week with, cooking and interviewing her)

10) Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis


Thank you Polly for being on the blog today! My copy of Deep Inside is on my nightstand and ready to roll!




Coming, Ready or Not! An Interlude with Liv Honeywell


Please welcome the lovely and talented Liv Honeywell as she tells us about her smoking hot new book, Coming, Ready or Not! This one is scorching up my e-reader and fighting the Texas heat for which one is making me hotter! Take it away Liv!

1. Tell us about your new book.

My latest book is Coming, Ready or Not! Three Tales of Tease and Denial.

Here is the back cover copy and a short excerpt:

Meet Will and Abby. An ordinary couple that you wouldn’t give a second
glance at if they were walking down the street. Except they share a
wonderful secret and bond as they explore their Master/slave relationship.

This is a loving couple, full of good humour, but nothing in any
relationship is perfect and sometimes things go wrong. Even the strongest
will in the world can’t always obey and with that comes consequences…

Three vignettes, The Edge, Bad Girl, and Breathless focus on control. Can
Abby be taken to the edge of pleasure and not cross over? She wants to
obey and to hold on. But can she? And what will happen to her if she

Holding on has never felt so good…

Warning: This book is adults only. It contains adult language, caning,
spanking, face slapping, gags, a brief mention of anal sex and orgasm

Buying Links:

Amazon US –

Amazon UK –


I am not sure whether I am relieved or sorry when I finally hear your key
in the door. I put my hands behind my back and look down at the floor, my
stomach twisting in knots over what is about to happen.

I hear your footsteps enter the room and come closer. You sit opposite me
in the chair near the fire, resting a cane across your lap.

“I’m glad you remembered. I’m here, Abby. Have you got something you want
to say to me?”

For a long moment I am tongue-tied. There is so much I want to say and yet
the words won’t come.

You shift in your seat, waiting, and suddenly, almost without me realising
it, I begin to talk.

“Sir… Master, I’m sorry. I came without your permission and I’m so sorry.
And it’s not because of the punishment or because I want to come or
because you’re going to cane me. I’m sorry because I genuinely am, because
I want to do my best for you. I want to please you and I know I didn’t do
that the other day. I… please, Sir. Please will you cane me, please punish

You are silent through all of this. I can feel your eyes on me but you
give me no sign whether it is what you want to hear or not and let me
stumble through it.

More silence. Perhaps I’ve not said what you wanted. My tongue seems to
tumble all by itself to fill the silence.

“Please punish me, please cane me, Sir. I beg you.”

My face flames, not for the first time this week, in humiliation at having
to beg.

The rest of what I say is incoherent but it seems to be enough. You lean
forward and stroke my hair and my cheek.

“Very nice. Thank you. Now, head on the floor. Get that bottom in the air
for me, Abby. And don’t forget to count the strokes.”

You stand and walk behind me, whipping the cane through the air as you go,
and I tense at the sound.

I also have another book out on 12th July – The Journal, co-authored with
Domitri Xavier about a slave who does something absolutely forbidden. She
looks in her Master’s private journal. What will it cost her? Will it be
everything…? There’s a short excerpt below from that one :).

2. What are your favorite erotic stories to tell?

I’m in the BDSM lifestyle so my favourite stories to both read and write
and male Dom/female sub stories, with a happy ending. I love the dynamic
between the characters and the fact that, although the Dom does hurt the
sub physically, it is because she wants that, even needs it and there is a
deep connection and a loving relationship.

3. What is your favorite m/f or f/f and why?

Oh too many to mention. My favourite romantic comedy is While You Were
Sleeping with Bill Pullman and Sandra Bullock. I love the humour and Bill
Pullman’s growly voice works wonders ;).

Although they aren’t BDSM erotica, I really enjoyed Rosanna Leo’s series
on the Greek Gods about what happens when mortal meets God and they
develop a relationship. Very hot!

Out of my own books, I do have a soft spot for Will and Abby from Coming,
Ready or Not because I love their humour and the genuine affection and
love they feel for each other, but I think The Journal is the most
personal so far. I pretty much wrote heart and soul into that one, though
how much of it is me and how much is the character is for me to know and
you to guess :).

4. Flogger or paddle?

Flogger every time. I like the paddle, but the flogger can be painful,
sensual or sometimes both depending on what you do with it.

5. Chocolate or angel food cake?

Chocolate! Didn’t even need to think about that one 🙂

6. Sushi or cheeseburgers?

Blech! Just the idea of sushi makes my skin crawl so it’s got to be

7. What is the hottest scene you have ever written?

Oh good question! I think the scenes in Coming, Ready or Not when Will is
taking Abby right to the edge but not letting her have release.

8. What advice would you give an author just starting a novel length work?

I think whether you plot every last detail before you start or pants the
whole thing it really doesn’t matter as long as you write the way that
works best for you.

The best advice I ever heard was ‘you can’t edit a blank page’. So true.
Just write and don’t try and edit as you go, because editing uses
different parts of your brain and you pull yourself out of the flow of the
story if you try and edit as you go along. Allow your first draft to be
the biggest pile of rubbish you’ve ever seen, if that’s how it turns out.
That’s okay. That’s what first drafts are for. Because then you have
something finished that you can edit and polish and fix :).

9. What are your pet peeves in reading erotica?

When it’s clear people are writing something they know very little about
and when they use the wrong terminology. It’s not ‘her dominate’, it’s
‘her Dominant’, for example.

10. Open your book and tell us what juicy things are happening.

This bit is from The Journal. It’s right at the beginning of the story
when she has no idea whether her Master knows what she has done:

I kept my hands behind my back and walked over to him, my high heels
clicking on the hard wood floor. I dared not look at him, but I so wanted
to. Perhaps for reassurance that he wouldn’t hurt me, although I knew he
would; perhaps to see if the gentleness in his voice was there in his
eyes; perhaps to search for something, anything in his expression to tell
me what he was thinking.

He lifted a hand toward my face and I tried not to flinch, but he merely
stroked my hair, twining his fingers through the length of it. I began to
relax, leaning my head into his hand, until he grabbed a handful of hair
close to my scalp and pulled hard, and I couldn’t help letting out a small
squeak of surprise.

“This is no time for making such noises,” he said, still so calmly, so
controlled, and I bit back the sound, unable to rid myself of the feeling
that this was the calm before the storm.

His fingers gently covered and closed my eyes, and then I stood quietly
while he tied my hands behind my back. Now I couldn’t even see what was
coming, and even if I could, I was helpless to prevent it.

He clamped his hand firmly over my mouth, stopping even the chance to
protest, as his other hand explored my body, stroking and caressing – over
my breasts, across my hips, between my legs. I blushed as I realised he
must know how aroused I was.

He released my mouth and inspected my body with both hands, squeezing my
breasts and my bottom, stroking my face, touching between my legs once
more. I moaned softly and he covered my mouth again, muffling any noise I
might make.

Was I not to be allowed even the slightest sound? To have to keep silent
no matter what he might do to me? The thought of his control made me
shiver and I swallowed hard, trying to hold back a sudden rush of desire.
I tried to still myself, wondering if he had noticed.

Of course. Of course he had. He noticed everything. I wondered if it would
make a difference to what he would do. If it pleased him that I couldn’t
hide my reactions or if I would be punished for moving, however slightly?

He stepped away from me and I waited for what would come…

Liv’s Bio:

When not writing about delicious, hot male dominants and the female subs
who love them, I’m usually doing something craft-like, reading, baking,
eating the results of said baking, and attempting to satisfy the demands
of His High and Mighty Dominance (the cat!). My first story, Imagine, was
published with Silver Moon Books last year and Coming, Ready or Not is my
first solo book. The Journal, co-written with Domitri Xavier, is out on
12th July.

Coming, Ready or Not! is available from Amazon US –
and Amazon UK –

You can follow me on my blog –, Twitter – or Facebook and my Amazon page is here: