Beginning January 1, 2013

Stop by the new site and take a look around.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

A Rock Star's Layover by Marguerite Arotin

Exiting the 747 after yet another exhausting flight, Sam’s knees buckled as she spied the drop-dead gorgeous hottie sitting across the aisle reading a copy of Rolling Stone Magazine. Nicky Criswell, oh my God! She hadn’t seen the lead singer/guitarist for the band Deadly Nightshade since her drunken indiscretion with him two years ago. He was an up-and-coming rock God then and she was a sex-starved groupie, but that one night they spent together still haunted her dreams. Nick’s molten eyes were all she saw when she masturbated in hotel bedrooms and airplane bathrooms. She only had one lover since then, but she didn’t want to think about how many lovers Nick had since that night.

Frowning, she grabbed her duffel bag, and was about to head to ladies room to change out of her uniform, when she heard a familiar, gruff voice call her name. “Beautiful Sammy Blair … Is it really you?”

She didn’t turn. God, how could she face him? She knew her brown curls were probably a wreck and she didn’t have a chance to fix her makeup in the last layover in Detroit. “I’m surprised you even remember me.”

One strong arm wrapped around her wrist, pulling her close against a rock hard body. Was he really clutching her ass in the middle of a crowded airport? His hot breath caressed her neck. Suddenly, she didn’t care if anyone was watching them. A tide of memories washed over her, making her knees buckle, straining her nipples, instantly making her panties wet.

“I missed you. I could never forget about that night.” He placed butterfly kisses down her neck.

It all felt so good. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with seducing her so easily this time.

She turned to face him, hands fisted on her hips, lips pursed, “Do you say that to all your groupies?”

He cocked a blonde brow, and then grinned, revealing those dimples and bright smile, which only served to raise her body temperature several notches. “You were more than a groupie to me. I had my eye on you while you danced in the front row. And then the way you marched right up to me in the VIP room … I never wanted any woman as much as I wanted you.”

She wrapped her arm around his neck and ran her fingers through the corn silk curls at the nape. “What about now? Do you still want me?”

He pulled her close, so close that the hardness of his crotch hit her pelvis. “What do you think, honey?” he whispered. “You have me so hard. No one else could do this to me in the middle of a crowded airport.”

A tingle shot through Sam’s heart. “Do you have to be anywhere anytime soon?”

“I have a three hour layover. How about you? Is my angel in a cute flight attendant uniform flying away soon?”

“Nope. I’m off for two days and as you know very well, Cleveland is my home.”

“Still have that condo in Lakewood?”

She knew it brazen, but she couldn’t resist running her fingers across the zipper of his jeans. “Think you can make it that long? My car’s in the parking garage and it has a huge back seat.”

He laughed. “Then what the fuck are waiting for?”

Hand in hand, they raced through the airport terminal and into the parking garage. She fumbled through her purse for the keys when Nick unbuttoned her uniform jacket. She thought she had died and gone to heaven when he toyed with the hard nipple through her blouse. Somehow, she managed to open the door to her black Chrysler and climbed into the back seat.

Nick’s hands were everywhere as he kissed her, gliding across her ass, lifting her skirt, removing her silken panties, rubbing her clit. “Damn it, you’re so wet.”

“Only you can get me like this,” she replied in a breathy tone. She reached for the zipper on his jeans and in a flash, stroked the tip of his cock, and then lowered her lips. She savored the salty taste of his flesh, until he moaned and grabbed her hair.

“Keep that up sweetheart and I won’t be able to control what I do next,” he warned. “I think I have a condom in my pocket, could you put it on for me?”

She reached for his jeans, but then bit her lower lip. “Were you planning on using that condom before you met me?”

He twirled one of her loose curls around his finger. “I saved it for you. Why do you think I made travel arrangements to fly into Hopkins on a three-hour layover? I wanted to see you again and hoped you’d be flying into this airport.”

“Oh, Nicky! God, I love you.”

“I love you too sweetie. Now will you please get that condom on me so I can show you how much I love you?”

Sam couldn’t stop smiling, not even as he glided into her, not even as he worked into a pulsating orgasm. And when he called out her name as he came, pure bliss washed over her.

Panting, she rested her head against his sweaty chest. Suddenly, a realization made the moment bittersweet. “How will we make this work? The two of us always in different cities … Is it possible?”

“How about we take things one day at time? And if you don’t have anything going on tonight …” He reached into jeans pockets and handed her two tickets. One was an airline ticket to Chicago, the other a front row ticket to the sold out show at Wrigley Field. “Would you like to come to Chicago with me?”

She kissed the cleft of his chin. “Only been to Chicago once in my travels, but I’d love to go again.”

About the Author: The multi-published author, Marguerite Arotin, has been writing since the third grade, but switched to writing the hot stuff after she met her hubby of fourteen years. Her real life hero not only taught her the fine points of pleasure, he taught her that true love does exist. Visit her at her website and myspace page.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Author Interview: Eva Gale

Whipped Cream is excited to have Eva Gale with us today. Eva is a busy woman, being not only an accomplished writer but managing to home educate her seven children, from the ages of seventeen to two. We are very pleased she took time out of her busy schedule to chat with us.

I wondered what Eva sees as the difference between erotic romance, erotica, and porn. “You know,” she said, “the first few years I wrote erotica I was caught up in this question all the time, and the conclusion I’ve come to is that the lines are different for every person. When I first started writing, I blushed when I typed the word ‘nipple,’ and my parameters were pretty small. Stories like Virginia Henley’s used to make me gasp in shock back then. Now, not so much.” She grinned, then continued. “That’s why such variety is needed in books. There has to be something for everyone, and I appreciate the sweet as well as the spicy.”

Eva actually set out to write erotica and she says she still writes it for the same reason she started. Her first foray into romantic erotica was Robin Schone’s The Lady’s Tutor and was in awe. “It would completely change my perceptions,” she told me. “Behold the power of books. When I joined her board all those years ago, I was floored by her saying that at the time she got the most letters from Christian women thanking her. Another Aha! moment for me. I was brought up in the church and know very well the ‘good girls don’t’ lessons. Those women touched my heart because they represented so many of my girlfriends who were bound by the same strictures but wanted more from their intimate relationships.”

Eva is a self-confessed research whore when it come to her stories. She even went as far to say, “Maybe even a research slut.” She has a passion for history, her husband is a history freak, and since they homeschool their library is extensive. “The problem with that,” she warned me, “is that it can block you when you’re starting a story. I always have to reassure myself that I don't need to know everything about a time to start writing, that if I need something in particular I can go back and add it in. When I first started -say with an 1860's western-I would have to know the undergarments to what pots and pans they used, how they prepared their food, what they stuffed their mattresses with all the way to the animals they had. Now I start broad, what was the political climate, what the subcultures were and period notes for dress and such. I'll get a snapshot in my head of the time and go from there. If I get it wrong, my even more anal CPs catch it. I would have had a 5 grand hand job if it weren't for them. For the rest there is Google.”

I was curious as to how a writer would be able to tell a good erotic tale when dealing with her own work. “I always check every sex scene to make sure I’ve written in emotional responses, not just physical ones,” Eva said, “and that each scene moves the arc of the characters and plot forward. If I could take the scene out and not miss it at all, it needs to be rewritten. When I hit those markers, I’m doing it right.”

Eva told me she does have her own limits when it comes to what she will or won’t write. “I appreciate the writers whose boundaries are broader than mind (or seemingly non-existent),” she said with a smile. “I read much more widely than I write and my parameters may not even be the same next year. Every story is a learning process for me and I stretch in some way or another.”

She has written scenes that embarrassed her and the one that embarrassed her the most is published in Phaze Fantasies 4, which is one of the books we are giving away this week. “It’s a steampunk and it’s a birth control scene,” she said. “No pills, patches or rubbers; it’s a birth control of the future past. Thank my CP, Selah March, who demanded some birth control in one of my stories.”

There’s another scene that made her blush, but we’ll have to wait to read it, because the story is just being submitted. She did let us in on the fact that it’s a multi-cultural contemporary set in Manaus, Brazil, and the scene takes place in the shower.

On a personal note, she shared with me that she and her daughter were going to be getting their noses pierced together. “No mother-daughter teas for us; we’re starting a new bonding ritual between us.” She also told me, “I wasn’t going to get any piercings, but I saw a girl who had the most beautiful nose and such gorgeous cafe au lait skin. She had this teeny diamond flashing in the curve of her nostril and it was beautiful. Ever since then I’ve wanted one.”

She also discovered firsthand how vulnerable sex can make a person. I’m sure this carries over into her writing. “Let’s just say that I had mistimed my cycles,” she said, “and when I realized what had happened I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour, completely mortified. Thankfully, my boyfriend was a really down to earth guy and just shrugged it all off. His reaction made all the difference.”

And, like many other people, she can tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. “I used to be a die hard Coke fan,” she said, “but then I stopped drinking soda all together. Now when I occasionally drink it (with rum is best), I find that Coke is too sweet, and I prefer Pepsi. Thank God for the two. It’s just like books. Variety is key.”

She also told me she won’t eat anything with tentacles, and for a very good reason. “It could come back to life and suction cup its way out of my mouth,” she said with a shudder.

Finally, I asked her what advice she would like to leave for new writers. “People don’t win by quitting the race,” she said. “Keep writing. When your friends are getting published and you’re not, keep writing. When one story doesn’t get published, write another. Keep your head down, fingers on keyboard and writing. I have this quote on my fridge: Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up. Thomas A. Edison

You can read more about Michelle and her works at her website,

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Be Prepared by Catherine Bybee

Callie’s spiked designer heels made sharp clicking noises as she ran the last steps toward the entrance of the open elevator. She raised her hand to the lone figure inside the metal box, silently asking him to hold the door.

As she stepped into the elevator, she sighed with relief and glanced up at the man. Her heart lurched when she recognized her breathtakingly handsome boss. “Thank you, Mr. Carlson,” she said breathing hard and trying not to stare.

“John,” he corrected with a glint in his eye. “It’s after seven. Formal titles are for nine to five, Callie.”

“Thank you, John.”

His dimples appeared which worked some serious damage to her silk panties. Desperately trying to ignore the gush of fluid between her legs, Callie watched the descending numbers flashing above her head. Fantasizing about her boss at home while alone was one thing. Doing so with him in an elevator was another.

“Callie, have you had dinner?”

His unexpected question and possible invitation made her blue eyes widen in surprise. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and stared into the dark depths of his piercing eyes. “Are you asking me out?”

Lifting a brow he moved closer. “Yes.”

Callie could hardly contain the thrill of knowing he was attracted to her.

Just then the smooth ride of the elevator ended...not with the doors opening but with a jolt, buckle and blacking out of the light.

Callie screamed in alarm.

John caught her.

“It’s okay, the emergency lights will come on in a second,” he assured her.

As promised the flicker of florescent light returned, but the hum of the elevator didn’t and the box still shook slightly.

“Earthquake,” she mumbled. Being Californian, she was used to the subtle shake of the land and seldom panicked when the earth was pissed off.

The quake stopped, yet her body still trembled. John mistakenly took her actions as nerves and spoke reassuringly while pushing buttons of the elevator.

The quake wasn’t the problem, however having his arms around her waist raised havoc on her overactive libido. Musky waves of pheromones filled her head. Her nipples tightened.

Control is over rated, she thought, while her hands slipped across his chest and fanned out to touch.

John stopped his commentary and stared down at her.

Callie licked her lips.

“You’re not afraid of the dark?” His hard body pressed against her.

“I like the dark.”

His hand, at the small of her back, slipped lower. “Claustrophobic?”

She traced the hard line of his jaw and shook her head. “I like tight places.” Suggestive and bold statements like that would remove any doubts he might have.

His hands rounded over her ass, igniting a flame of pure lust. At last his lips descended. Warm, smooth and utterly perfect.

She opened her mouth in response. Finally, after months of watching him walk by her little cubical and casting glances at him over the water cooler, she was in his arms being delightfully assaulted by his torturous mouth.

Crushed between him and the wall, Callie’s knees buckled.

“Oh, how I’ve wanted this,” he said between kisses.

“I didn’t think you noticed me.” Callie pulled his shirt free of his pants, reached for any skin she could touch.

“I’ve dreamed about you. Not just like this, but long walks and candlelit dinners. Do you like champagne, Callie?”

His mouth worked its way down her throat to the top of her breasts.

She gasped. “Yes.”

“Yes to this, or champagne?”

“Both, all of it.” He tugged her blouse off her shoulders, found her straining nipples and took a small bite.

“Shit,” she swore between gritted teeth. Her slit clenched with a deep ache only he could fill. She ground her hips against him. Hard beneath his clothing his desire was evident. “Tell me you were a Boy Scout.”

His baritone chuckle caught her meaning. He found the edge of her skirt and lifted it high.

“A thong?” he questioned as he lowered the strap of material between her thighs. “Sexy.”

“Glad you like it.”

Hard strong fingers found her heat, slipped inside with a stream of pleasure. “Damn, you’re wet.”
Callie freed his rigid length. Both hands stoked his heat and pleasure purred from his lips.

“I’m wet and you’re hard. Doesn’t sound like a problem.” The thought of his cock filling her along with his racing fingers finding her clit and stroking brought her closer to ecstasy.



Moisture pearled on the tip of his shaft. Rounding it with her finger she brought his fluid to her lips and licked. “Where’s that condom, Mr. Boy Scout?”

A small foil package ripped from his wallet was clenched between his teeth as he tore it open.

While he sheathed his shaft, Callie hiked her skirt high, kicked her thong free and placed one stiletto shoe on the rail of the elevator.

“Fuck,” he swore when she stroked herself.

Raking her hand aside he positioned his shaft, caught her eyes and drove himself home.

Filled completely, Callie grabbed his ass bringing him closer. Yearning need built with every thrust.

Gasps of pleasure filled the tiny room. Her darkest fantasy pumped feverishly against her aching clit.

Raging breath mingled with his, every plunge more powerful than the last.

“John!” Callie screamed. Fluid rushed with her release.

“God, Callie!” He shuddered, the power of his orgasm carrying him away.

Floating, they slumped together until their pulses returned to normal. Callie opened her eyes to find him staring.

He touched her lower lip with his thumb. “You deserve more than this.”

Looking around their tiny cell, Callie smiled. “I’m not complaining.”

“What about those long walks and candlelit dinners?”

“Oh, I want those, as long as I get you for dessert.”

His dimples peeked through his smoky gaze. “I can see we are going to get along very, very well.”

“For a very, very long time.”

He leaned in and whispered, “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

About the Author: I have been reading romance novels for over twenty five years and writing them for the last two. I've found my muse taking me all over the board in my writing. I'm currently searching for a home for my time travel series and werewolf stories. Two small e-press publishers have voiced interest and I hope to announce who will publish my work soon. I live in Southern California with my husband of fifteen years, two son's, and a menagerie of animals. You can currently find me on myspace and read excerpts of my work there.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Author Interview: Angela Caperton

Whipped Cream is very pleased to welcome Angela Caperton, whose first novel Woman of the Mountain won the 2008 EPPIE award for Best Erotica. Angela loves to travel and considers herself a citizen of the world. She has a dark erotic short story published at Thaneros Online Magazine entitled “Caveat Emptor” and an erotic vampire story, “Understudy” in Lust at First Bite, which will be released by Black Lace in November.

I asked Angela how she distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. “That is a very hard question to answer,” she said, “and I think the lines between those three ‘genres’ are inevitably blurry, depending on who you ask. I think many readers might find some of my work pornographic, though I obviously don’t consider it so. I had one reviewer (who specializes in erotica) say that Woman of the Mountain had too much sex in it!”

She told me she believes nearly all art and writing has some erotic content and that some of the appeal of art is always erotic. “I believe,” she told me, “that the essence of attraction and appreciation is always at least lightly tinged with eros. Obviously, some art is deliberately erotic, and it may be more useful to limit my answer to those stories that are deliberately written to arouse, either physically or emotionally.”

She went on to say, “For me, pure erotica is the creation and appreciation for the physical acts of love in all their variety, both with and without romantic love, in the context of a story. It is here that ecstasy can be independent of emotional engagement.

“Erotic romance, on the other hand, is all about the relationship of the protagonist and the more explicit descriptions of that protagonist’s sexual experiences. In the end, though, the story should end in relationship—happiness forever or for now. I am a romantic at heart and I will always prefer having my stories end happily (though sometimes the stories have other ideas!), and that happiness usually involves emotional binding between two people.”

She admitted that she doesn’t really like the word ‘pornography’ very much, because of its pejorative sense and the legal issues it creates. “My own definition, admittedly biased,” she said, “is that porn is eroticism without imaginative content, a simple, often artless, depiction of physical acts of love.”

For Angela’s own erotic reading, she confesses she’s not read a lot of contemporary erotica, but adds “I have enjoyed all that I have read. I really love classic erotica, especially the few surviving pieces from the 18th and 19th centuries. Fanny Hill, in particular, delights me every time I read a passage from it. I love the language and the artful turn of phrase that, when you work through its metaphors, is astonishingly erotic. The joyfulness of the story is wonderful and reflective of its age but also of a timeless acceptance of sexuality.”

Her favorite erotic author is John Cleland. She said, “I have been working (slowly) on an erotic novel that is partly set in the late 1700s and Cleland’s book is a constant inspiration.”

Angela does a lot of research for her books. She has recently sold a story called “Understudy,” for a Black Lace vampire anthology. It’s set in the 1920s and she used the Internet to get a feel for where specific theaters were located on Broadway and other historical accounts, both online and in print, to determine what a speakeasy during prohibition might have been like. “For all my stories that have historical settings in the 19th and 20th centuries,” she said, “I have found an essential source. There is no substitute for getting the feel of a time and place like reading the news.”

Of course, if the story is set in a fantasy world, like Woman of the Mountain, the research would be different. Angela said, “I did a lot of reading about historical religions that were centered around sexual rites so that my Zenthean religion would be believable.”

She shared with me that she finds intelligence the ultimate aphrodisiac, plus she often finds villains sexier than heroes (although she was quick to point out that it’s the “bad boy allure,” since she doesn’t generally approve of criminality in the real world.) So, it should come as no surprise that, if she had to choose one fictional character to spend the evening with it would be Professor James Moriarity, Sherlock Holmes’ nemesis. “To be fair,” she told me, “the Moriarity I would want to entertain has more in common with the popular idea of the Napoleon of Crime than with the character as he actually appears in the two Conan Doyle stories that feature him. I love the idea of a man so brilliant he can convincingly redefine morality and then extend that amorality out in acts of world-shaking effect. The evening would be spent in pleasant conversation, with a meal of seafood scampi, and a bottle or two of Schloss Vollrad Riesling. My goal would be to find out what would motivate the Professor to pursue villainy. Then we might move to a game of chess, perhaps with interesting penalties – a game that I would certainly lose!

“From there, well … Maybe I’ll write the story someday!”

Angela has always loved to tell stories and she told me she’s a voracious consumer of books and films. “I hope I have a good appreciation for what makes a solid narrative. I tried writing straight romance a few years back and just never got a feel for them. A little later, I spent a lot of time on an epic fantasy that I will eventually dust off and finish. Although it was generally dark fantasy, there were definite erotic elements in it,” she told me. “I wrote my first piece of erotica, Inspiration, really as an exercise to see if I could and I had a lot of fun with it. When I sold it almost immediately, I was encouraged to try something more ambitious and wrote Woman of the Mountain. My third book, The Passions of Pearl, was written for eXtasy Books Tarot series, but I think I took some surprising turns with it, and it is, in the some ways, the story that has most entertained me while I was writing it.

“Since Pearl, while working on my cross-time fantasy novel, I’ve been experimenting with writing short stories for specific markets, and have sold “Understudy” to Black Lace, “Caveat Emptor” to Thaneros, and I just had another erotic short story accepted for a forthcoming Cleis erotica anthology. I have several more short stories out with other publishers and am aiming to finish my new novel by year end.”

I asked Angela if she had to pierce a body part, what she would pierce and what about body piercing made it sexy. “While I have my ears pierced, I think if I had any other body piercing done, it would be at my belly button,” she shared with me. “I have seen some woman with beautiful belly rings and studs. I think piercing can be provocative, and there is a definite sexuality to the concept of piercing – let’s face it, we’re inserting something through our flesh – and I think it would be very arousing to have my lover playing with that ring or stud during sex.”

Our discussion turned to food and I was curious as to what her favorite (and not so favorite) food was. “Okay,” she said, “chocolate is essential to body and soul (and sanity), so besides that, I would have to say strawberries. I love strawberries. I love their sweetness, their texture, their tartness and their color! They’re wonderful with champagne and the aforementioned chocolate, they brighten up salads, and add a sexy freshness to cakes and desserts. This message brought to you by the Strawberry Growers of America…”

And her least favorite? “Any kind of brains. While unusual texture is my usual disqualifying factor in a food, there is something about the idea of eating a creature’s brains that just turns my stomach. I’ve eaten some odd things in my life, including raw conch, whole fried fish, and mountain oysters, but brains? Sorry, that’s one plate that won't be cleaned!”

She has also known someone who can tie a cherry stem with their tongue. “A few years back I knew a lady named Ginger,” Angela said. “Ginger was middle aged and heavyset, but she was one of the liveliest and sexiest women I’ve ever known. She was a classic study in not judging a book by its cover and I suspect that any man who got to know her completely forgot the first impression she probably made on him. She had a lively wit and a playful spirit that touched everything she did. She could do the cherry stem trick sober but was far more adept at it when she had a few glasses of wine.”

And, in case you were wondering, Angela’s toenails were painted Iridescent Golden Rose. She explained to me, “I live in Florida where open-toed shoe and sandals are practically state mandated attire, thus making painted toenails are an essential expression of one’s personality!”

You can read more about Angela and her works at her website, http:/

Thursday, July 17, 2008

The Roof by Selena Kitt

I want to escape the smell of garbage and grease.

After tossing the bag into the dumpster, I wipe my hands on my uniform and pull off my red and yellow visor, letting my dark blonde hair escape from its ponytail.

The ascent to the roof is like breathing again. The muscles in my legs protest as I climb to the top. It is a cool paradise up here compared to the stagnant summer haze on the ground. It’s so quiet—I can actually hear traffic lights click as they turn from green, to yellow, to red, with no cars left to heed them at quarter to three in the morning.

Josh’s cigarette winks at me from the corner. I reach my arms out to the sky and twirl, making myself dizzy before sinking to the asphalt roof top. He laughs, but doesn’t come to me. Not yet.
I lay there unbuttoning my uniform. There is no getting away from the fetid smell of fries and hamburgers without taking off my clothes. Only when I am free, laying there in my bra and panties, the sharp bite of gravel pressing into my back—then, Josh comes over and stretches out beside me, hands behind his head.


“Me or the sky?”


I am smiling as he rolls onto me, already nearly nude. He presses his lower body against me, moving slightly, and I watch his eyes grow hungry. He wants what I want—we are both greedy to get lost in it.

As he kisses me, his mouth rough, I slide a small, warm hand inside his underwear. A soft sound escapes his throat as he trails his mouth over my neck.

“Sara,” he whispers as my hand moves faster. I gasp when he lets his full weight press into me, lean and hard against my softness. His hand trails down and finds me, and I sigh, rocking with it, on a cloud far away in the darkness.

When pulls my panties aside and nudges against me, I open to him. He moves forward, into me, and my hands go to his hips.

We begin.

Our sweat mingles, serving to cool us even in the humid night air. I can taste it, salty and exciting, when I kiss his neck, urging him on. The delicious friction builds up and up. We are cool water and rain, together—every part of us liquid at the center. We are trickles expanding into streams, flowing toward rivers. Then, we become the ocean, every wave carrying the sweet potential to carry us toward shore.

I am floating beyond my own borders, bleeding past the boundaries of my flesh, swirling into a sweet vortex of calm and chaos where only he can take me. I have been here before, in his arms, on this roof, but I am not really here at all. I am stardust—a bright, gentle hum under the brilliant light and heat of him.

Up and up, I feel my climax coming and work towards it. It's like my escape to the roof, a climb toward the stars. His breathing is shallow and harsh as I move beneath him, gasping, grasping, my nails digging into the skin of his back. Our bodies merge, and we are just slippery flesh slapping together in the quiet night, a wet, sticky coupling on the roof—and yet, we are more than that in every breath, one more miracle, not apart or separate from each other or anything in that moment.

His motion becomes fluid and he opens his eyes, looking at me. I feel like I can look up through him and see the stars.

I cry out and my muscles tighten and begin to contract as I shiver beneath him. My breath sucks in and I clutch him, feeling him let go, the force shuddering through him in waves. It is the moment I long for and dread, every time I make this climb toward heaven. I am lost in the blissful pulse, the rhythmic heartbeat of it all, but it is only for a moment. It ebbs as quickly as it has come, and now I can only feel our hearts beating together in our sticky chests, slightly off-rhythm and off-center now.

He loses his breath for a moment, falling forward onto me, still trembling and burying his face into the side of my neck. I stroke his hair, damp with sweat and redolent with grease.

There is no escaping it, even up here.

About the Author: Like any feline, Selena Kitt loves the things that make her purr—and wants nothing more than to make others purr right along with her! This sassy, outrageous author lives in the rural Midwest with her husband and children, all of whom she thinks are the cat’s meow. Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out—this kitty also has sharp claws and her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths. When she isn’t pawing away at her keyboard, she loves belly dancing and photography. Visit Selena at

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Author Interview: Kayelle Allen

Whipped Cream is very excited to have Kayelle Allen with us this week. Kayelle is a very very busy woman. In addition to creating a full-blown universe for her books, including ten thousand years of history, a full language and tradestandard laws, she is also the founder of Marketing for Romance Writers. She also is working on two new science fiction romance series. And, while she told me she’s completely satisfied with who she is (and let’s face it...I don’t think any of us are), she is pleased with the person she’s becoming. “I’m alive, a work in progress,” she said, “and learning more about myself each day. I would not trade who I am for anyone else’s life.”

I asked Kayelle how she personally distinguished between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography. “To me, the reason for erotic romance is to emphasize the story, plot, and characterization more than the sexual aspects, although sex does play a strong role and is a critical part of the plot,” she said. “Erotica uses the sexual aspects as the reason for the story, characterization and plot. Pornography is essentially a scene, rather than a full story and is designed around the satisfaction of sexual desire, rather than an over-riding plot.” She added, “You could describe it as PWP, which means, ‘Plot? What plot?’”

She believes the biggest misconception of the public about erotica is “that they are ‘sex books’ or pornography. What your mother and grandmother called ‘dirty books’,” she said, adding with a smile, “and may have hidden on the side.” She went on to explain, “Erotica, unlike erotic romance, is not always a Happy Ever After (HEA) but maybe a Happy For Now (HFN). The ending may not unite two people in timeless love, but in a sufficient state of bliss and belonging that they remain together for...who knows how long? Their current union is enough for now.”

Kayelle shared with me that her favorite erotic author is Robin Schone, although she has recently discovered many new authors, among them Kiernan Kelly, TA Chase, Michael Barnette, Denise Rossetti, Chris Owens and Jodi Payne, JM Snyder. She told me, “I have a lot of favorites. I keep up with their releases.”

Her favorite erotic book is Gabriel’s Woman, by Robin Schone. She said, “I have read that book and its counterpart, The Lover multiple times. Both are about former male prostitutes set in the late 1800s. Second, but no less loved, is Tailspin by Denise Rossetti, about two winged-and-tailed men who love each other but do not admit it and the young female ‘groundling’ who brings them together. Both Robin and Denise use brilliant writing and incredible sexual tension to take the reader into another time and place.”

Kayelle’s first two books, At the Mercy of Her Pleasure and For Women Only were m/f romance, but for right now she’s focusing on m/m. “It’s much simpler for me to write m/f because I’ve been in that role. When writing m/m, I tend to drift into what ‘I know’ rather than what the character should know. Fortunately I have two beta readers who are not afraid to jerk my chain and remind me. ‘You’ve written him like a girl with a dick” jolted me when I read the critique of a chapter I had slaved over and was quite pleased with. However, when I looked back at what I’d written, I could see that I had done exactly that. I believe that scene eventually became one of the most powerful in the book, because instead of writing what was natural to me, I went back to the truth of the character.”

Kayelle’s favorite food is served at a favorite sushi restaurant and is called “Powerball.” She described it for me:

“It’s smoked salmon, avocado, and cream cheese with a thin layer of seaweed on a roll of rice, cut into ten pieces. They then dip the pieces in tempura and deep-fry them till crisp, and serve over a bed of shredded daikon and carrot, then drizzle it with a tangy aioli sauce and sprinkled roe. I’d eat it every week if I could. The restaurant is about 20 miles away, but I get there as often as I can.”

Even though she likes sushi, she can’t bring herself to eat anything that is still alive, she told me. “I wouldn’t enter a restaurant that serves fish that is still alive and wigging on the plate. I’ve heard about this, and it horrifies me.”

She can also tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi—blindfolded. “I prefer Pepsi, especially caffeine free diet Pepsi,” she said. “If only it came like that with a chocolate flavor. Ah... heaven.”

Finally, I asked her who she would like to play her when they made her life into a movie. “I’d like Regina Taylor, who plays Molly Blane on the Unit. While we’re not the same race, I identify with her character on the show,” she said. “No nonsense, loyal, loves her man and her family, and does whatever she needs to do to get things done. I wish I was more like her. Besides, she gets to play the wife of Jonas Blane, played by Dennis Haysbert, who was the model I had in mind when writing Luc Saint-Cyr. Luc has been in all my books and I have one about him being considered by a publisher now.”

You can read more about Kayelle and her works at her website,

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Author Interview: Kaenar Langford

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Kaenar Langford. Kaenar was born in Ireland, but now makes her home in rural Ontario. Living in the country, though, doesn’t stop her from travelling the world in her mind and books. She told me that her family has gotten used to seeing the back of her head as she sits at the computer, transported to wherever the story takes her. I asked her what her family thought about her choice of genres. “My immediate family—my husband and two sons—know exactly what I write and are very proud of me. My parents and sister thing I write romance novels,” she said. “Well, I do—sort of. They’re delighted with my success, not sure about the romance genre and would never understand my need to write erotica. I solve the problem by not telling them.”

Her friends and colleagues are, though, she said, “secretly delighted” with her new adventure into writing erotic romance. I asked her what she has found some of the biggest public misconceptions about erotica to be.

“Two things really annoy me about how people view erotica,” she said. “I get so peeved when people complain that erotica is just sex without a plot. No storyline. They obviously haven’t read many of the stories that are out there, or they would know differently. Erotic stories are just as intricately crafted and planned as any other genre of the literature. Most erotic novels have well developed plots and strong characters, and to suit the preference of most readers, a happy ending.

“The other thing that drives me nuts is when people tell me that ‘those stories’ are written according to a predetermined formula the publisher has given them. I don’t know about other publishers but Ellora’s Cave and Total-E-Bound, the two I write for, have no magic formula that their authors follow. Each story is painstakingly handcrafted according to the particular writer’s style. It certainly would be easier to just plug in some sort of predesigned format, but that’s not how it happens.”

Kaenar told me when she started writing her book, she thought she was writing a nice contemporary novel with some naughty scenes. “Something totally different appeared on my computer screen,” she shared with me. “I’m not quite sure how that happened.”

I asked her how her writing career evolved. “I attended a workshop on ‘How to Write a Romance Novel.’ About twenty minutes before the end of class, the instructor read us some introductory paragraphs to a few romance novels and asked us to write one. I was floored. No way could I do that,” she said. “I put my pen to paper and began to write. With the presenter’s encouragement, I went home and saved the paragraph on my computer so I wouldn’t lose it. I wrote and wrote for five months, spending every spare minute on the manuscript. I submitted it to three publishers and got back three nice rejections. I then sent it to Ellora’s Cave and, after taking three weeks to make suggested changes, I resubmitted and was offered a contract.

“That original paragraph from the workshop still stands at the beginning of the book, exactly as I first penned it. I was delighted to see it on the Ellora’s Cave blog, Redlines and Deadlines, March 27. My editor had submitted it for the blog entitled “That first line of a submission that hooked one of our editors so hard s/he requested the full and then contracted the book. It was number four on the list.”

I asked her to share that first line with us. From Lucifer’s Angel: He had that look about him—those worn jeans, the white t-shirt stretched across his wide chest, the black boots, the leather jacket.

Kaenar didn’t start another book until Lucifer’s Angel had been accepted by Ellora’s Cave. “I guess I wanted to see if the book was good enough to get published,” she said, “and the contract from them was the go-ahead to get back to writing. I found the second acceptance to be almost more meaningful, in that it seemed to justify the title of ‘author’ and the acceptance of the first book.”

Some other facts you may or may not know about Kaenar: her favorite food is pizza. “I could eat it every day,” she told me. “Thin crust, lots of cheese and vegetarian toppings. Pesto, olives, spinach, feta cheese. Food of the gods.”

She also prefers Coke over Pepsi, even though she doesn’t drink either very often and is not sure if she could tell them apart in a blind taste-test.

She has one incident from her life that, if it hasn’t made it into one of her books yet, should. I’ll let her tell you about it.

“Years ago, I was with a group of exchange students as a teacher chaperone. We were spending the day at a friend’s cottage—another teacher. Everybody was swimming and waterskiing and having a great time. I wanted to get out of the water so my friend grabbed my hands and started to draw me up into his boat. Unfortunately, the bathing suit I was wearing tied around the neck, so as he pulled me up, the force of the water rolled the top of my bathing suit down. Since he was holding my hands to haul me in, there was nothing I could do. When I landed in the boat, my suit had peeled its way down to my waist. Luckily the kids were all busy and didn’t notice, but my friend and I just killed ourselves laughing. I’m sure my blush went from forehead to crotch. It was really embarrassing.”

Finally, I asked Kaenar what one piece of advice she would give to new writers. “Don’t give up,” she said. “If you submit and it comes back, get someone else to read and critique the manuscript for you. Not a family member—they’ll love it no matter what. Keep writing, read what’s popular or what you like and try to figure out what puts that book there for you or for other readers. Go to workshops and conferences. Spending the money helps you get in touch with other writers or publishers.”

You can read more about Kaenar and her works at her website,

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Ravenhart by Jennifer Katherine Shepherd

The changing light caught Nadine’s eye as she hurried into her dwelling. Her breath caught in her throat at the close call she’d had. She couldn’t believe she’d almost allowed herself to be caught outside the shelter at nightfall...not tonight of all nights.

A low growl alerted her to the presence of a stranger. On the night of Ravenhart, though, it was not unexpected to share your shelter with someone caught by the time, so she ignored him and fastened the door with its treble locks.

With a sigh, she turned, her back against the door and studied her uninvited guest. The black-and-white canine curled up on the rug in front of the hearth stretched and, as he did, changed into human shape.

Hmmmm.... a very nice human shape. Nadine’s lips turned up and her pussy heated up at the prospect of spending Ravenhart with this man... if she decided to share her bed with a shapeshifter. Not that there was anything wrong with that, she reminded herself. Shapeshifters had been granted citizen status years before, but...sometimes old teachings die hard.

And, so did old trainings. “Welcome to my hearth, stranger, this night of all nights,” she said in the traditional greeting. “What catches you out and about on Ravenhart?”

He stood and walked close to her. His nostrils flared as if he were drinking in her scent. A smile curled his lips as if he picked up on her attraction and his gaze moved down to her tits, pressing against her thin shirt. Her nipples hardened, as if his look had physically brushed over them. She caught her breath as her pussy started throbbing.

“I was passing through town and didn’t realize the inn would be full. Or that dark fell so quickly here. I’m from the south. They call me...Hudson.”

Nadine shivered as his gaze raked her body, even as she wondered at the pause before he gave his name. It had been long since she’d shared her bed with a man. Mayhap too long.

“Would you eat?” She moved to the fire and pushed the stewpot over the flame. The aroma of vegetables and herbs wafted throughout the room and caused her stomach to growl.

“It sounds like perhaps it’s time.” Hudson smiled at her and she turned from him in confusion. She didn’t want to like this man...this shapeshifter. He was a stranger passing through. If she desired, she would enjoy his body and send him on his way in the morning. Or if she chose not, he could curl up on the rug in front of the fire and be safe from Ravenhart for the night. Either way, she didn’t want to feel anything for him.

Her confusion made her words sharper than she intended. “There are bowls in the cupboard. I’m going to wash.”

She closed the door to her sleeping quarters and pressed her hands against her stomach. What was it about him that was affecting her so? Surely it wasn’t just being celibate for so long. It was if a part of her recognized him... a part that had been waiting. This would never do. Nadine poured water from the pitcher next to the door into the matching bowl and rinsed her face and hands. She took a deep breath before going back into the main room, reminding herself to feel nothing.

Hudson stood near the fire, his body outlined by the light. Nadine bit her lip as she unerringly located his cock, barely contained by the trousers he wore. She must have let out a low moan, for he looked at her.

“I think perhaps we are both hungrier for more than stew.” With a bound, he was in front of her, lifting her in his arms. Her legs straddled his hips and he pulled her in, rubbing her cunt against his cock. Fire ignited and ran up her body. She arched back, giving him full access to her tits.

He nipped at her nipples through the cotton, wet from his mouth, as he carried her to the bare table and sat her ass on the edge. Nadine supported herself on her hands as Hudson tore her shirt open. He lifted each full tit in turn, sucking and biting on each nipple until she nearly screamed with frustration. She wiggled closer to him, looking for the feel of his cock against her clit once more.

With economy of motion, Hudson divested himself and then her of the few clothes they wore. He knelt down between her legs and, with one hand tweaking her nipples, he slowly drew his tongue around her throbbing clit...teasing the tip of it before sucking it into his mouth.

Nadine bucked against his face, weaving her fingers into his hair and pressing him hard to her as her orgasm swept over her.

He stood up and pulled her to him, thrusting deep inside her. Her pussy clutched around him as she tasted herself on his lips. Movement met movement as their passion built. And, just as their bodies meshed together in climax, so too did their souls.

About the Author: Jennifer Katherine (JennyKat, to her friends) Shepherd writes erotic romance for the fanciful in mind. Her stories are seldom set in the everyday world, but in worlds far away. No matter how far away the worlds are, though, romance is romance. Passions ignite when Jenny Kat’s characters get together. Check out the wild women of The Menagerie at and see what they are talking about at

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Author Interview: Amelia June

Whipped Cream is excited to welcome Amelia June, author of steamy erotic stories and novels who never uses words like “flower” or “manhood.” Her first story, “The Scary Ghost,” was self-published when she was five and she’s never looked back.

She finds herself outnumbered in the desert southwest, though, where she lives with seven—yes, seven—male creatures including two children, one husband, and an array of critters. She’s a self-confessed eavesdropper, fiber-aholic (but not the whole wheat kind; the yarn kind), and she gets weekly pedicures from her husband.

I asked her, as an erotic fiction author, what some of her favorites are. “I’m a big fan of erotica that is more than sex scenes strung together with a loose part,” she said. “I'm a huge Megan Hart fan. Lauren Dane's Witch's Knot series is a wonderful one as well. I also absolutely love Jacqueline Carey's books, and while you can't call them ‘erotic fiction,’ they are some of the most sensual, well written books I've ever experienced. And they're super hot, too.”

Amelia told me she had wanted to write erotic stories since high school. “I didn’t set out to write romance,” she said. “As it is, my stories skirt the boundary between romance and other genres--science fiction, or fantasy, or thriller, etc. But I discovered that I really enjoy a love story (or two, hee hee). So I guess I came to erotic romance backwards--I came from the erotica side of things.”

We discussed the difference between porn and erotic romance and Amelia made the point, “Stories written to turn someone on are just that, and I don't think erotic romance is all that different.” Personally, she doesn’t have a problem with porn. “The reason I enjoy writing erotic romance,” she told me, “is that I can take erotic scenes and add them to a greater context of story. I know many romance readers have expectations of their stories--the HEA and various other conventions of the genre that make the story enjoyable to them. But for me, the difference between written "porn" and erotic romance is pretty slim when you get right down to it. What I try to do is incorporate the sexuality in a larger context, so that fans of erotica and fans of romance both get what they're looking for.”

I asked Amelia how her writing path evolved. “I would say my path is still evolving, probably always will,” she replied. “But how I got from there to here is summed up in one word—NaNoWriMo. Is that a word?” Her first novel, Triple X, was written during National Novel Writing Month in 2005 and was an Eppie 2008 finalist. She told me, “I wanted to write a menage story, because I loved reading them and I find them uber hot. I also wanted to write about a subject that was important to me. I never really considered pursuing epublishing until I read a few epublished novels and thought maybe I would have a market for my work after all. I love epublishing, I love the freedom it gives me to explore concepts and ideas that traditional publishing might not be open to at this time. Plus, my writing skills have been honed and shaped since then as well, each story I write gets better in terms of skill.” She added, laughing, “I mean, I hope so anyway.”

Amelia has had many books published so I asked her what advice she would give to new authors. “In the immortal words of Dory the fish,” she said, “Just keep swimming. Writing is a hard, hard process and that is before you even attempt publication. So just keep going.”

Just for fun, I asked her, “If you had to pierce a body part, what would you pierce and why?” She answered, “Apart from the three ear holes and nose piercing I already have? Probably my eyebrow, because I really think that is a hot piercing. I love it on pretty much every face type. Piercing is a very painful, if brief, process, but I discovered that the endorphine rush you get from the experience is quite erotic (and I'm not much of a pain person, usually!). As for the look of piercings, I think a pierced-up person gives an air of ‘off the beaten path’ that is hot. Plus, you know they can take a lot of pain.” Imagine an evil laugh here. :-)

And, she shared with me that her dad can tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Then she said, “Ew. Why do I know that?”

You can see more about her books and her fiberholicism on her blog. She told me she learned to crochet as a stress reliever and “I became completely hooked.” She also added, “I absolutely love the patterns that are out there these days--knitting and crocheting are not just for nanas anymore (until I am one, anyhow). Knitting is something I'm still learning, but hand me a hook and some yarn and I'm happy for hours. You can see some of my projects on my blog, because I like to torture readers with my other hobbies as well as my excerpts and general rambling!”

You can read more about Amelia and her works at her website,