Beginning January 1, 2013

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Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Wednesday Spotlight: Kelly Jamieson

Some of the advice in Why Men Love Bitches I already knew. Some of it I learned from my own mother, but perhaps I just grew up in the many years I’ve been married.

I love the advice about maintaining financial independence, something I have always been adamant about for myself. Ms Argov’s premise is that if a man has to carry a woman financially, he’ll feel as though she’s an added responsibility instead of an asset (note that she’s clear that if a woman is staying home to raise children, this is very different and she is doing the hardest work in the world). But times have changed. My mom never worked after she got married, and I wonder how much pressure my father felt to support the family, all on his own. I know there were some tough times for my parents, as there have been for me and my husband, yet when it came to finances, we were a team and it was a shared responsibility.

On the other hand, if you come across as too independent, and capable of doing everything, you’ll get stuck doing everything. Been there and done that! Men will do what they can get away with and if you do it all, they’ll let you - but there’s a price to pay. When he starts taking you for granted, he’s lost that feeling of wanting more, and instead he starts feeling like you’re his mother. You don’t want him to think of you as his mother. Trust me.

Tomorrow: More marriage advice

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Tuesday Spotlight: Kelly Jamieson

According to author Sherry Argov’s Attraction Principle #1, anything a person chases runs away. Have you ever had someone interested in you (could be a man or could be just someone seeking friendship) who came on too strong, who seemed too needy?

When that has happened to me, I have this feeling that if someone’s that needy and that interested in me, there’s something wrong with them and I should run the other way. So if it applies to women, surely it applies to men just as much.

More of what the book has to say: Men are competitive. They want to compete, they want to win. If he feels he has to win you over, he’s going to place a higher value on you. He wants to be the pursuer. So don’t chase him. Act like the prize he can win. Leave him wanting more.

Women want safety and predictability whereas men want danger and excitement. So don’t be predictable and that element of danger will attract him.

Why in this day of women being equal to men, should women NOT go after what they want? We can do that in our careers, in other parts of our lives, why not when it comes to men?

Also interesting were interviews with men, where they talked about “playing it cool “ so they don’t appear weak or desperate – with other men. So if men play that game even with other men, why shouldn’t women play it?

I think the key is not to “play games”. Don’t pretend you’re too busy to see him one night – be too busy to see him one night. Have a life. Have something you’re genuinely passionate about. Don’t just act like the prize he has to win – believe you are the prize he has to win. Love your life, with him or without him.

Tomorrow: Marriage advice

Monday, June 28, 2010

Monday Spotlight: Kelly Jamieson

This week I’m going to talk about bitches.

I recently read a book called Why Men Love Bitches by Sherry Argov. I read it mainly as research but found it had lots of thought provoking information I think many of us can relate to.

First off, though you have to understand her definition of a “bitch”. The title would make you wonder why on earth a man would love a bitch, the term bringing to mind a selfish, bad-tempered shrew who treats a man like dirt. Who would love that?

But Ms Argov’s definition of a bitch is basically a woman who places a high value on herself. A Babe In Total Control of Herself.

We all know those women who give up everything to spend time with a man, who give up their interests, hobbies, passions, even their friendships. We all know those women who stay in relationships where the man takes her for granted (or even worse is abusive) because she’s afraid to be without him.

Ms Argov outlines a “bitch” as a woman who maintains her independence, who doesn’t pursue him, who leaves him wanting, who stays in control of her time, who is passionate about something other than him, and who places a high value on herself. And that’s what I think it all comes down to.

Ms Argov outlines several “Attraction Principles” throughout the book that are difficult to argue with. I’ll talk about a few of them this week.

Tomorrow: Attraction Principle #1

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Torque by Mysti Holiday

Sandra kicked the flat tire and growled. Stuck out the in middle of nowhere on some unmapped dirt road was not exactly her idea of vacation. So much for trusting her GPS. She sighed and opened her trunk, reaching inside for the lug wrench and praying the mechanic hadn’t torqued the damn nuts too tightly for her to get off or she’d go back and torque his nuts.

She jammed the wrench on and twisted, to no avail. Before she could even register that she had company, two huge masculine hands covered hers and added their strength. The nut slipped and the wrench turned sideways quickly, knocking her off balance and into her rescuer. He fell back onto the road and she landed in his lap, an awkward position since she hadn’t even seen his face, especially since a swelling hardness began to grow underneath her ass.

“God, I’m sorry.” She turned to face him, planning to push herself up on her feet, but was mesmerized by ice blue eyes in a deeply tanned face.

“I’m not.” He grinned and shifted slightly, rubbing his erection against her. Instead of feeling threatened by his gesture, her pussy dampened and her gut clenched with arousal.

“Thanks. Do you think you can get the rest off?”

He clasped her hips and lifted her off his lap, rising slowly but not moving his hands. “Honey, you’d be surprised what I can get off.” Her turned her to face the car and guided her hands to the wrench. “Let’s get you all taken care of.”

Her blood hummed with arousal, but she positioned the wrench on the next nut, shuddering as he once again slipped his hands over hers, thumbs running up and down the side of her palms. He made no secret of his own state, pressing his cock into the crack of her ass and moving it up and down a few inches until she couldn’t help but moan, low in her throat.

He took one hand from hers and ran it down her thigh until his fingers found the hem of her skirt. With a slow deliberation that nearly drove her wild and did cause her to drop the wrench to the ground, he lifted the material up past her hips. “No panties? What kind of woman are you?”

When she would have turned to face him, he pressed her against the car and held her in place, raining warm kisses down her neck and nibbling her shoulder. The other hand reached around her to cup her pelvis, splaying out and pressing her ass even harder against his cock. She writhed when one finger dipped down to brush her clit, to moisten itself in her juices and then back up to flick the swollen nub.

She reached around behind, grabbing his hips and kneading with desperate fingers. “Please.”

His lips brushed her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Please what?”

She turned her head sideways to capture his lips with hers, parting them in need. Her tongue slipped out, tentatively reaching for his, but when they touched there was nothing tentative about it. His lips ground against hers, tongues circling in a fervent dance of sex. Little mewls of desire vibrated in her throat and she fought against being held in place.

His rock hard body didn’t move, but he pulled back from her mouth a scant centimeter. “Please what?”

“I want to feel you.” She tugged at his jeans, then pulled the T-shirt from the waist band, frustrated at not being able to touch him more.

He angled his pelvis away just enough to unbutton his pants and slide them down, returning immediately to his position against her, but this time his warm skin lay on hers and she rejoiced, indicating her pleasure by welcoming him between her ass cheeks and sliding up and down his hardness.

“You’re gonna finish things before we even get started if you keep that up.” His palms moved around her, under her tank top and up, finger tips dancing across her erect nipples and sending tiny bolts of electricity to her core. Her clit throbbed and she started to think she’d be climaxing without him anywhere near her cunt she was so turned on by him, his touch, his scent, his voice.

He played with her nipples, pinching them between calloused fingers and sucking on her neck until she knew she’d bear his mark. But she wanted more, needed more.

“Please...” She squirmed against him, her breath coming in short bursts.

“Please what?” She felt his mouth lift in smile against her collarbone.

“I’m so fucking close to coming and I want you inside me when I do. Please. Now.”

She heard a crinkle of foil and nearly cried with relief at the thought of having his cock in her wet channel, throbbing and thrusting until she was dizzy with pleasure. He grabbed her hips and tilted her pelvis up, then parted her ass checks and flicked the head of his cock down her wet slit and back up to her hole and down again, moistening every part of her.

“Hang on, baby.”

She leaned over the hood of the car just as he pressed his cock into her pussy. At the same time, he slid his thumb into her rectum, moistened with her own juices and the double entry sent her sailing over the edge with a cry.

His balls slapped against the back of her thighs as his thrusts became deeper, harder and faster. The thumb came out of her ass and his grasp tightened so much she’d probably have bruises on her hips but she didn’t care. Another orgasm started building and she reached for it, rocking her hips into his, begging for him to give her even more.

His breathing came in short gasps and she knew he was reaching his climax, so she reached one hand down to her clit and rubbed herself, wanting to come with him. Just as she began to shatter for the second time, he came with a groan and buried himself in her, letting her convulsing walls squeeze the last bit of juice from his cock.

He bent over her, letting his chest rest gently against her back and reached up to link his left hand in hers. Their matching wedding rings clinked softly as he did, and she smiled.

“Thanks for rescuing me, Greg. How’d you know I needed you?”

He laughed softly, his chest vibrating against her. “I was tired of waiting at the cabin, so I took a walk. The sight of you bent over that tire was more than I could handle.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Besides, I knew you wouldn’t have any panties on since we were meeting for the weekend and one look at that ass pressed against your skirt had me hard as granite.”

“Happy anniversary, honey.”

“Back atcha.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Let’s go for ten more years.”

About the author: Mysti Holiday is the pseudonym of a very busy SAHM who dreams of warm climes and hot bodies. Most people know she writes, but not what she writes about: sexy men and the wanton women who love them. She's married to a wonderful man who happily sacrifices himself for research, and she spends most of her days dreaming of interesting and unusual situations in which to place her characters. But most of all, she's a sucker for a happy ending. Visit her at or

Author Interview: Cherie De Sues

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Chérie De Sues whose books Tales of the Red Moon Clan and Lacy- A Bad Girl's Revenge are available from Noble Romance.

I asked her to tell us a little about Tales of the Red Moon Clan.

Neol Pallaton walks alone through the bowels of society as a bounty hunter, until he shifts into a cougar to save Assistant D.A. Sara Hughes from certain death. A relentless killer keeps them moving by day through the Oregon forest—and by night under the full moon, passion rules their hearts.

The rugged forest is no place for a beautiful and feisty city woman, but Neol’s determined to help Sara piece together why she's being hunted. Sara thought bounty hunters were brutal loners who stretched the law she’s sworn to uphold. But Neol proves that no one can hunt, track and protect her like a Navajo medicine man from the Red Moon Clan.

Neol is willing to anger the spirits to protect his one true mate. Sara will have to bend the law to keep Neol and her alive—and together forever.
Chérie told me she counts the other authors at Noble Publishing as among her very favorite erotic authors.

"I compete with some pretty incredible authors that make me stay on my toes," she admitted. "Our editor, Jill, is a consummate dragon lady when she's in edit mode. We have to give her the very best material."

Chérie tests her manuscripts by giving them to friends who read a lot of romance in different heat levels. Just like with a litmus strip, Chérie can gauge her audience and get important feedback. And just because they are her friends doesn't mean they treat her with kid gloves.

"I get sucker-punched with reality!" she told me.

Before Chérie became a full-time author she worked in an operating room as a First Assistant. Every day for years she would see three to seven undressed patients, so she has to push really hard in order to see the eroticism in a naked body.

"Wine and great music help," she said.

She wants her readers to feel romantically involved, not disconnected, so she writes sensual/erotic scenes between the hero and heroine that spark and sizzle with verbal foreplay.

"Men and women do a dance," she explained. "Some take longer than others, but they can be very erotic."

The sensual scenes need to be tied in with the emotions of the characters, Chérie believes. If an author writes greats sex, good for them—but if they lead up to that scene with lots of conflict, foreplay, and desire—good for their readers.

" How do you do your research for your books?" I wondered.

"I'm a full-time author and online most of the day. I research places, vehicles, objects, weapons…dear lord, I know how to reload a gun from my research. Finding new information online is great; I really enjoy that part of my work."

Chérie tried to write non-erotic romance, but it didn't work.

"I can't read it and should have known I would never write it," she admitted. "I enjoy lacing frisky sexual encounters with my protagonists. I write paranormal and suspense for the same reason—those are the genres I read."

She's not pushed herself hard with erotica, however, and so she's not crossed any personal lines between porn and erotic romance. The hero decides what he wants and she tries to work his sexual fantasies in with the heroine. And each character has their distinct personality.

"Just because 'Jesse' is promiscuous doesn't mean 'Sara' will be," she explained.

And, she's never written an embarrassing sex scene.

"Cute or silly maybe," she told me, "but I don't see sex as embarrassing. Bad grammar and poorly edited manuscripts would be embarrassing!"

On a personal note, Chérie admitted that if she could be anyone, she would still choose to be herself.

"Seriously," she said. "I like who I am and what I'm doing in life. I spent most of my adult life in an operating room, helping to save lives. Now I'm hopefully entertaining people with my words. I'm having fun and friends think I'm a much happier person as a romance author. They're right."

I asked Chérie what body part she would pierce if she had to choose one.

"I'm not young enough to stick holes in my skin and look sexy," she said. "But, if I had to, I would like a tiny diamond or jewel in my nose. Weird, huh? Yeah, I know the whole blowing of your nose can be a mess, but you asked," she added with a smile.

Chérie told me with a snicker that we didn’t have enough room on the website for her to tell me her most embarrassing moment.

"Working in the O.R., my embarrassment came daily," she said. "I've slipped on my ass more than once and had to rescrub and keep going."

"What is your favorite food?" I asked.

"Chocolate…. Um, chocolate and wait…. Chocolate anything."

When Chérie isn't writing, she spends her time promoting her novels, working on her website, talking to friends, or taking her Irish terrier, Reilly, to the dog park or to the pet store for goodies.

You can keep up with Chérie on her website,

Friday, June 25, 2010

Friday Spotlight: Lex Valentine

Why So Many Genres?

One of the other frequent questions I get from readers is why I write so many different genres and sub-genres. The answer is a simple one. I write what I like to read. Often, another author’s work will inspire me and give me ideas about something a topic or subject. For example, lately I’ve been reading sci fi rom. I’ve read some really good stuff. Hot, sexy, and filled with action. There’s something about sci fi that’s a step to the side of paranormal when it comes to world building. Sure, you can make it all up, but some things need to have a basis in the foundations of science. And sci fi is almost always a more action packed genre than paranormal. You’re more likely to find people being shot and killed in a sci fi than a paranormal.

As a writer who loves world building, dipping my toes into the pool of sci fi is a challenge. And yeah, I’m gonna do it. Because I love to write what I read. The same holds true for Regencies. I adore them and I can write them, but they’re a very different breed of book than the other stuff I do so I have to rein myself in and make sure I have my ducks in a row when I work on my novel. I can’t make stuff up here. This world really existed. Sure, I can take some license, it’s fiction after all, but the basics are pure history. Luckily, I love history. :-)

The things I’ve written and am currently working on include paranormal, sci fi rom, urban fantasy, historical (Regency), and contemporary. The sub-genres that are part of these stories include BDSM, M/M, ménage, and more. I don’t let anything hold me back. If I like reading it, I want to write it! And the plots and endings and characters are all the kinds I like to read about. So the more I read, the more offerings I can give to my readers!

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Thursday Spotlight: Lex Valentine

Behind the Pen Name

When readers discover that Lex Valentine doesn’t just spend her days writing, they’re often curious about what she actually does. The woman behind the pen name is a mother, an IT professional, and partner to a man who can still wear the same size jeans he wore in high school. (Doesn’t that just tick you off? LOL) All of these and more are combined into the harried person who dons the pen name every night after work.

My writing is a key part of me, but the other parts often interrupt the writer. There’s my daughter Nikki the art college student who needs another twenty bucks for poster board and materials and photo paper. One day, that kid is gonna draw the characters you see on World of Warcraft. Already, she’s an accomplished artist. Then there’s my significant other, Rott. He of the 30-waist 501 jeans. He’s not a guy I need to pamper much. He’s happy with $20 worth of incense, a new CD (most recent one was Stone Temple Pilot’s new release), and a carne asada burrito. Oh! And the NASA channel. He got so excited when I added it to our channel line-up. LOL I swear he’s such a homebody you’d never know he’s 6 years younger than me!

The other part of me is the woman who works sometimes 50 hour weeks and is on call every weekend. Being the sole network administrator for the largest privately owned mortuary/cemetery company in the area can be a very demanding job. Most people who find out where I work are stunned. “Do you really work at a cemetery?” Yes, I do. “Do you see dead bodies?” I have seen dead people, yes, but we’re very respectful of them. They are, after all, someone’s loved one. We treat them with dignity at all times.

It’s a demanding job and I often get phone calls on the weekend that necessitate me getting onto the server at work and boosting someone out of an application they’re stuck in or fixing a contract in the cemetery software because someone has messed it up and can’t get it to print correctly for the customer. At the office, my phone rings constantly. If it’s not an IT question, it’s a question about procedures. Since I do Accounting functions as well as IT, I get a lot of calls about how to do something. How do I get my toolbar back? Where do I find the code for this casket? As challenging as the job can be, I love it. I suppose that’s why I’ve been there more than 10 years.

It’s a good thing that the woman behind the Lex Valentine pen name can juggle because if she couldn’t, I don’t think you’d have any new releases from her to read!

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Wednesday Spotlight: Lex Valentine


What do you do when you identify so much with a character that you can’t change point of view? You write the whole thing from inside the hero’s head!
When I first started writing Insolence, the hero liked being in charge of the story. The words just spun themselves out onto the page. However, when the scene clearly could have – should have – shifted to the heroine…the hero wouldn’t step down.

Aric Calderwood is a Dom. And somehow he used that against me to take control of this story. Not once in the story do you hear what’s going on inside Ainsley’s head. The reader is left to discern her emotions from Aric’s reactions to them. Strangely, I think that made this a more powerful story.

As readers, we’re used to authors giving both the hero and the heroine head time. We’ve come to expect that balance of power and rely on it to give us the big picture. As a writer, showing the reader everything from a single point of view – and not a first person view at that – can be a challenge. I had to carefully consider every move and reaction that Ainsley had. On top of that, I had to consider what Aric would notice and what he would just surmise or dismiss. It gave me a unique perspective on the book. Hopefully, it will do the same for readers, putting a different spin on a romance for them.

So for once, you get to see a romance unfold entirely from the perspective of the man involved. He’s got questions and issues to resolve while dealing with a libido that won’t quit where this woman is concerned.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Tuesday Spotlight: Lex Valentine

Lex Valentine’s Book Soundtrack

When you go to a publisher’s chat and the hostess asks questions, do you read all the replies? The last few chats I’ve been to the hostesses posed the question, “Do you need silence to write? Or do you put on mood music?” If you’ve ever seen my reply to that question, you’ll know that I can do either. What a lot of people don’t know is that even when I don’t have music on, I have music on. Every story I write has its own song. You can call it a theme song if you want. I just hear it in my head over and over as I write. The song becomes inextricably bound to the story for me. So I thought you might like to know the soundtrack to my work.

Some of the songs that bound themselves to my books in my head were used when I made the trailer. This happened with all of the Tales books to date. Shifting Winds is The Calling’s "Wherever You Will Go." Hot Water is Liz Phair’s "White Hot Cum." Fire Season is Evanescence’s "Forgive Me" and Breaking Benjamin’s "Without You" is Ride the Lightning. It also happened with the trailer for The Phoenix Prophecy. That trailer is actually for all three books in the series and I only wrote the last book. The song? "Afterglow" by INXS. The Wise Guy was Motley Crue’s "Kiss the Sky". Runaways was Dan Wilson’s "Breathless." Mating, The Calling’s "Anything."

I don’t always create a trailer for my stories, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a song. For my July release Common Ground, I heard the Backstreet Boys’ "Helpless When She Smiles." When I wrote Rousing Caine for MLR Press, Jet’s "Shine On" played relentlessly in my head.

Some of the WIPs I’m working on currently already have their songs in place in my head. The latest Tales book that I’m writing, Sunstroked, seems to be Godsmack’s "Love-Hate-Sex-Pain." My sci fi rom takes it title from the song I hear when I write it, Rob Thomas’s "Ever the Same." My next novel for MLR, Primal Urges is a Tool song, "Sober."

Quite the line up isn’t it? Maybe I should put together a soundtrack on my website of all the songs that bonded to a book in my head. It certainly might give the reader a sense of the story that they never expected!

Monday, June 21, 2010

Monday Spotlight: Lex Valentine

The People In My Head

Writing a paranormal series that spans several sub-genres (BDSM, M/M, ménage a quatre, etc.) means that I get readers maybe normally I wouldn’t. I have to make sure I can entertain those diverse readers and pull them into my world regardless of whether the story is gay for you or het with light BDSM. Part of ensuring that my world reaches my readers is creating memorable and unique characters. I like to think I have a flare for that, but the truth of the matter is that I work very hard at it. And in some respects, it doesn’t hurt that I have to live with these people in my head until I’ve committed them to paper.

People always ask me where I get my characters from. The answer is simple. Everywhere and everyone. Yep. People do inspire characters for me! Sometimes I see or hear a cool name and want to use it. I have a friend named Sair so I stole her name for the heroine of my latest Tales of the Darkworld book. In the Tales series, Colin Granville’s next door neighbor is named Jon for my boss. My boss loves cool stuff and so does Colin’s neighbor (who utters the immortal line “There’s a dragon in your yard”) so it was a perfect fit.

Sometimes the character is a little bit more like the real person than just a name. In Hot Water, Colin and Eden meet an elf at the vampire club Carpe Noctem. Karl with a K has a very snarky personality, drinks Guinness, and has an internet gossip show. I have a friend named Karl who is a blogger. Karl has a very snarky personality, drinks Guinness, and writes for an internet gossip website. I could just hear the real Karl’s voice in my ear as I penned Karl with a K’s lines. The black spiky hair and wry demeanor of Dave Forrester in Ride the Lightning matches that of my friend Dave from Blogography. The sunny disposition of wildling Corey Green echoes that of my Twitter pal Gooster SD. Each real person had something to contribute to the character even if it was only a name.

Other characters are a figment of my imagination from start to finish. Sean, the awesome head of the Antaeus family, may look like Julian Fantechi in my head, but that’s about it. No one I know could be Sean. A master manipulator. Fiercely loyal to his family. Sean would do anything to ensure his loved ones are happy. Even stuff that makes him appear the villain of the story! He lives by the credo that the end justifies the means. And somehow, it just works for him and readers love him. But no way, no how is he based on a real person.

He’s certainly hot enough to warrant his own story too. But I’ll make you wait until the very last Tales book to get it. :-)

Saturday, June 19, 2010

After the Harvest by Lindsay Townsend

Campania, AD 81

Aching in every limb, Corinna lay over her husband's lap. It was already twilight and moonrise and they were still outside their tiny farmhouse, surrounded by olive trees and by baskets and baskets of olives. When she closed her gritty, tired eyes, she could see only black, shiny, ripe olives, against a backdrop of bright mid-winter stars.

She wondered if Decimus felt the same, weary but exultant from their rich olive harvest. Was his mind, like hers, full of the tiny, dark fruits?

'Honey-cake, you are so tired,' he murmured, kneading the knotted muscles in her legs and the cramped muscles across her shoulders.

'I long for a bath,' she admitted, sighing as his fingers eased the burning in her calves and thighs.

'Soon, Corinna. I have a good fire going for hot water.' He caressed the back of her neck.

She wriggled on his knees, trying to rise, but he planted a palm in the middle of her back and held her fast.

'I must make our supper!'

'No need.' He kissed her ear. 'We can use the bread you made yesterday with cheese and olives and our new wine.'

'More olives,' muttered Corinna. 'We beat them, though,' she added, opening her eyes to glower at the baskets. 'We are victorious.' She knew Decimus would appreciate the allusion. As a former slave, like herself, and a former gladiator, Decimus had been bred for triumph.

'A win, as you say,' he remarked above her, his hands skimming over her back, pressing tenderly through her rough work-tunic. 'You worked hard today, as ever, and we shall do well this winter and spring. You make a good farmer's wife.'

His praise or her own weariness brought tears to her eyes and a sob escaped her.

'Weary, and yet so uncomplaining, and I have been forced to neglect you.'

Corinna shook her head, feeling her long, loose red curls brush across the dry, packed ground. She knew what Decimus meant by neglect but he had been working far harder than her, with the grape harvest and the wine-press, harvesting and pickling the green olives and now beating the ripe black olives down from the trees.

'That stops tonight,' he said, and rolled her over on his lap to kiss her trembling mouth.

He tasted of salt and his own sweet maleness as his lips possessed, conquered and teased. Raising into his embrace she wrapped her arms around his broad, muscular back and heard his breath stop as their bodies collided. He scooped a big hand into her working tunic, cupping one of her breasts, and cursed as the coarse cheap fabric tore.

'Rip it off me,' she whispered, reading that desire in his starkly handsome face.

'Do not tempt me,' he growled, 'or I will do more.'

She reared up, taking his mouth again, plunging her tongue between his teeth as she twisted her fingers through his iron-gray hair, taunting him. The heaviness of her limbs had been swept away by a sparkling desire, more heady than wine. 'Do your worst,' she whispered against his taut throat, rubbing her breasts against his hairy chest.

A shooting star, fleeing across the heavens, could not have been faster. In a dazzling blur of action, Decimus used the speed he had been famed for in the gladiatorial ring and, gripping both side of her tunic so she would not be scored, rent it top to bottom. As she gasped at his strength, he ripped his own tunic allowing both to flutter in a puddle of dull cloth by his feet.

Still perched on his knees, she licked at his naked belly but missed: he had seen her slight movement and anticipated it, swooping his own head low and tonguing her naval, then lower. He caught her hands and held them easily by her wrists with one of his own, chuckling deep in his throat as she drummed her heels against his legs. It was like striking warm marble.

'Shameless, you are,' he hissed against her. In a swirl of motion, he raised her off his lap, then lowered her onto the bench, kneeling down and keeping her in place by a warm, heavy arm. His other hand was already busy, running up her thighs as he blew a loud kiss into her belly, 'Here we are, out in the open -'

'No one comes after nightfall,' she countered, her voice raising as his questing fingers and now his tongue tracked over her shivering body, closer and closer to her hot, molten center.

'Honey,' he rasped, panting as he lapped against her nether curls. He embraced and kissed her in her most intimate place and she felt to be flying: soaring and expending while within her loins and womanly folds his tongue worked and plunged and ravished, at times slow and screamingly-nerve tingling, at times quick as a fluttering moth and so hot, so delicious.

Naked now, with her head and back against the bench and her flailing feet kicking against a basket over and over, she came, shrieking his name.

'Over you go.' Decimus cradled her off the rough seat and sprawled her into the biggest basket of olives.

Corinna felt the smooth fruits tumbling and rolling against her full breasts: her protest became a moan and her hands, buried in the black olives, reflexively gripped part of their yield.

'Such a lush and juicy ass.' Decimus was right behind her, fondling her bottom, smacking each cheek, each spank a little harder, a little faster than the last. Again, her desire surged and she begged him: harder, harder.

'Fuck me!' she howled, lifting her quivering haunches to his smarting, spanking hands, wanting more and longing for him; for him to drive his jutting cock into her.

Olives spilled everywhere as he entered her. His love-making wild and rutting, he slammed into her, their flesh smacking together in a blurring, fierce rhythm.

It was their own harvest, at last.

About the author: Lindsay lives in Yorkshire, England, where she was born, and started writing stories at an early age. The books Lindsay is currently writing for Kensington are medievals, but she is also fascinated by the ancient world, especially Rome, Egypt and the Bronze Age, and she writes historical romances and erotic romances for Siren-Bookstrand covering those periods. This short story is a follow up to her Siren erotic novella, 'Silk and Steel' and features the same characters. Her website is here:

Author Interview: Michelle Polaris

Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Michelle Polaris who has a brand new release, Magician's Chains from Ellora's Cave released on June 16.

Michelle told me she had always been told that pornography was simply about titillating sex, and that erotica focused on the protagonist’s individual sexual journey and personal development in light of that journey. Erotic romance, on the other hand, used the romantic and sexual relationships between the two or more heroes or heroines to resolve the characters’ internal conflicts, allow their growth, and let them reach a happily ever after.

"I’m of the opinion, however," she said, "that the really great erotic romances also show us characters facing their internal conflicts and growing as individuals outside of the factor of sex with their romantic co-stars."

Her favorite erotic book is Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill.

"The relationship is amazingly intense between Thomas and Marcus," Michelle explained. "These men are clearly soul mates and their struggle to figure out their shit and come out of their internal conflicts whole and together is amazing."

Joey is one of two of what Michelle calls her "absolute favorites" when it comes to writing erotic fiction. The other is Denise Rossetti.

Michelle admitted to being a fantasy/futuristic writer at heart and this is clearly evident in her book Bound Odyssey, set in a post-apocalyptic setting. She was trying to convey the most realistic effects of an extreme global warming scenario, so she interviewed three different people with environmental and scientific expertise to help in her research for that book so she could get the world building right.

"Barring the ability to speak with actual experts," she said, "the web is my research friend. I've frequently Googled the major muscle groups of the human body or even mountain climbing lingo to add layers to my stories."

Michelle actually first set out to write romance fantasy, but it kept getting hotter and hotter in tone. In the meantime, some writing friends introduced her to erotic romance, and specifically, BDSM erotic romance. Her muse was thrilled with this new sub-genre and Michelle's worldbuilding interests melded with the kink in a "what if" brainstorming session over dishes one night. And, so, Bound Odyssey was born.

Her latest release, Magician's Chains, is Michelle's first male/male romance and is also in the BDSM sub-genre. It's a fantasy set in contemporary Las Vegas.

"The idea for the novel came from a fairly erotic daydream I used to have years ago about a stage magician," she said with a blush. "Then I ran across some pictures of Harry Houdini and read some brief primer books about famous magician characters. I remember being seduced by watching those made for television magic performances as a youth. They were always somewhat sexy in tone. This topic seemed like perfect fodder for a story."

She told me that the writing of Magician's Chains didn't differ too much from the writing of Bound Odyssey because even in it the world building has a contemporary flare.

"Bound Odyssey is set in the near future so it has enough current day references to connect with readers," she explained. "That being said, Magician's Chains did not begin with a clear overwhelming sense of disaster and danger in the story universe, so it was challenging to find ways to build that into the story early on. I try to set my bar on tension pretty high, not only interpersonal tension between the characters, but tension from the external plot."

No matter whether Michelle is writing straight fantasy romance or erotic romances, the character development and world building are the important things.

"The sex is an added bonus," she admitted, "but even that is in the context of knowing my characters’ goals, motivations and conflicts inside and out."

I asked what her family thought about her writing.

"My mother prefers to talk about the non-erotic books I’ve written. She congratulates me very politely when I tell her about an erotic romance contract success, but her face and voice are tight. Believe it or not my grandmother insisted on reading Bound Odyssey. I tried to tell her she wasn’t old enough yet to read it, but she would have none of it. I don’t think she got more than a third of the way in, and called me up to ask questions about how I knew so much about BDSM." She laughed. "My grandmother is super cool and has always had a better social life than me, but I guess she’s never been to a fetish club."

Michelle is currently working on the sequel to Bound Odyssey, tentatively titled Bound Freedom. She's pretty excited about it because she introduces three new very alluring and appealing protagonists as well as revisiting Jace, Roman, and Mira and their ongoing adventure.

As a special treat for our readers, Michelle shared a sneak preview from the opening of Bound Freedom that has never been seen before.


Bast would rather taser himself unconscious than start this conversation. Rather crash his damn grav cycle on the Rauche Canyon’s toothy rocks. Or eat his council gavel whole. Rather do almost anything than unhinge his jaw and begin to speak. To him. Gavreal. Unfortunately, avoiding it was no option. Not if he wanted to keep his self-respect. Not if he wanted to be able to look into the eyes of the men depending on him to elevate their status above that of perverted freaks.

Ahead of him, the Movement crowd stomped in place, shifting with unease, barely listening to the speaker. Her gender kept them from calling out coarse insults--barely. But their mumbled criticisms bloated the air. The Movement was like a poorly tempered glass wall ready to shatter with a single tossed pebble. Didn’t anyone else see the galloping disaster coming?

Bast had fucked and bled his way up the political ladder to this position of influence. A glance over at the distant red-tinged spires and domes of the capitol’s skyline reminded him of his rough path up from a street scrub youth. After all that, no sorry-assed fear of a conversation would keep him from using his power now.

So why’d it feel like daggers skewered his lungs? Mother-all, he needed to visit the Underground later tonight and down one or two or ten shots of Bramhal. He’d earned them.

He shifted on the wood seat for the hundredth time, his hardening cock kicking with its nearness to Gavreal. Yeah, the conversation with him would go great. Bast shot a glance down at his crotch. You’ll be waiting a long forever before he’ll care about your wave for attention, my fine fellow. Forget about it. Relationships were no longer on Bast’s agenda. Only, his dick tended to ignore this fact.

Bast swallowed his bitter laugh. Screw this!

He rolled his shoulders to loosen knots and spoke to the man sitting next to him, low enough not to disturb the speaker. “We vote in a week, Gavreal. Tell me how you’re leaning, leastways, or will your usual obstinacy leave me guessing?”

Gavreal didn’t bother to turn his head to acknowledge Bast. “Leastways? Your backdocks origins are showing, Bastion. Control, councilor. Find some.”

The cords in his thighs were taut cables ready to snap with Gavreal’s condescension. “Just answer the question, councilor.”

Gavreal’s spine stiffened. “My decision depends. Are you planning to keep encouraging your constituents to stick their heads up their asses and flaunt their differences to every Mistress they meet?”

“Fuck you, Gavreal.”

“That’s old territory, Bast. Ancient history, in fact.”

Bast put a stranglehold on his temper. “You’d let Gailea throw away this chance? I know you don’t give Mother-all for the rights of these men, but we have to risk it. Earth culture can help us accept new customs. You of all people, with Pellia’s history in your marriage—”

Gavreal’s head whipped around to impale him, green eyes as compelling as Bast remembered. “Don’t!” his furious retort. “Don’t ever go there.”

A black rawness hung between them. Mother, he was sick of it.

Bast cursed his stupidity. Pathetic that he’d been willing to dance out that particular card. What other response had he expected?

Gavreal’s icicle mask clicked back into place as he smoothed the fabric of his trousers over his legs. He turned his gaze to the speaker and his attention to the edgy crowd. Gavreal’s black ink tattoos wound over most of his exposed arms and chest, the dense sworls of pattern and dashed marks of high status contrasting with pale skin over smooth muscle.

Bast remembered what it had been like to work down that chest, those sectioned abs. To lick the tiny nut-brown areolas and make Gavreal grunt under his bite as he pulled hard on his balls, the twisting pain Gav wanted. Soft moments after fucking when Gav relaxed the permanent stick up his ass enough to rub his cheek against the strands of Bast’s hair on the pillow. But that was a lifetime or ten ago. Or so it seemed. And Bast was deranged letting his thoughts wander in that direction. Acid hate was eating away at Gavreal, slowly melting the man to nothing. If it hurt Bast to witness, there was nothing to be done.

Sick of this obsession, Bast refocused on his purpose. “What about the chance we can breed with Earth stock?”

Gavreal’s thumb sawed back and forth over the cloth of his pants and Bast felt vindicated. The forced proximity bothered Gav, too.

“Mira Duncan refuses to allow harvesting of her eggs for study,” Gavreal said. “With nothing more than blood samples I’m not sure the risk is worth it.”

“Not worth it? Dammit, women aren’t conceiving. And when they do they only produce boys. It’s the plague all over again, but with no explanation.”

“I’m aware. But you’re not concerned about the fertility issue, Bast. You never have been. Its just manipulation to win me to your side. If Earth comes through this gate armed to decimate us, it doesn’t matter whether we can breed with them.”

Gav’s head nodded to the shimmering blue sheet of energy hanging in the air to the side of the crowds. The gate--on center stage for the masses. Provoking them. Stupid decision Dara had made to hold the speech here.

Bast shook his head. “Diplomacy isn’t dead. If we send someone through with a genuine offer, we’ll remove their need to attack at all.”

Gav only grunted.

Dara’s statement was winding down. He recognized the extra punch to her words designed to inspire listeners. She’d provided Bast the opportunity for this discussion by sitting him next to Gavreal on the dignitaries’ platform. She didn’t care whether he convinced Gavreal or not. Dara wove her own plans. She’d been throwing them together so often, he’d like to call up the contract he’d set with her on his scheduler, crunch the device it into tiny pieces and ram them down her throat. Forget how her compromise let him keep his status as he bucked tradition. That she was the most powerful political figure in Quintiq City was irrelevant. She needed to quit manipulating the two of them. With her, you never knew if you faced a friend or an opponent.

There was a bare smattering of applause when she finished, the dissatisfaction of the mostly male crowd too much for even Dara’s expert handling. Bast began to rise for his part in this calamity.

It happened then. No warning. A sudden static whine rose on the wind. Overpowering. Forcing his hands over his ears, and blanketing the crowd with a buzzing tidal wave as they called out in pain. Pressure pounded in his ear canals, enough to crush them flat and burst his head.

A flash of blue-green light exploded from the gate, strobing over the gathering. He stumbled and rocked back into his seat blind with the color. His and Gavreal’s chairs jostled together on the platform.

He counted breaths. When he was almost to the point he’d black out with overload, the whine cut off. Light died.

A fog of silence hovered over the clearing. Crawling foreboding ticked his shoulders. Then, a roar from the crowd jerked his head back in the direction of the portal and he shook his head to clear his vision.

A single body stumbled forward from the edge of the gate, tripping over the mossy ground with disjointed movement.

The collective gasp of the crowd was almost comical. The police, recovering quickly, moved toward the stranger, peace sticks raised with electric charge turned on.

Bast’s gut took a dive. A woman.

You can keep up with Michelle on her blog,

Friday, June 18, 2010

Friday Spotlight: Denyse Bridger

To wrap up the week here, and it’s been a blast – I thought I’d tell you a little bit about the latest releases, and what’s coming next.

I’ve been very lucky so far this year, I’ve signed with several new publishers, and over the past few months I’ve had no less than five releases. With Solstice Publishing, I have three eBooks. One is my first novel in ages, SHADES OF DEATH, and it’s just come out in print, as well as e-format. It’s a paranormal, with a lot of other things mixed in: some mystery, romance, vampires, and even a thread of horror, really. I’ve reinvented the whole vampire mystique here, and a couple of best-selling vampire authors were the ones who suggested that I really had come upon a new approach, and should consider publishing the novel. I was very pleased when the folks at Solstice not only liked it enough to publish it, but felt it was good enough to take to print.

Also from Solstice is my erotic pirate collection, ROGUES. A lot of people will recognize the handsome Jimmy Thomas on that cover! Just as handsome is the prince who adorns the cover of my fantasy adventure, ROYAL CONSORT. He’s a real-life partner from Rome, and he did that shoot especially for me. Dara England made a lovely cover from his photo, I think!

Then came the re-release of a short story – only it’s become a novella – a hot, extremely sexy novella, too! RETRIBUTION: SILENT DEATH has been published at Noble Romance, and because of the time and attention of the excellent editors there – it’s really one of my better books. I created a very cool trailer for it, and there’s a hot excerpt posted at my blog!!

My debut with Moongypsy Press is the erotic, passionate, very special GAMES OF SEDUCTION. It’s timely in this era of fast-moving communication, and internet dating. That it finds its roots in my real-life is just one more layer to the love story being depicted. The sex is sizzling, the story is breathless and highly romantic, so what’s not to love, right?

The rest of the year is already lining up for more diverse projects, a new fantasy novel is in the works, set in Sicily amid the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento; a new novel that is very, very romantic, set in Rome; more vampires; a werewolf Prince… so much going on, so many stories… I hope you’ll stay for the journey, because there is not end to the twists and turns we’ll take, but it will always be an adventure!!

Thanks to everyone here for a great week – and to all the people who’ve taken the time to come by and comment – you’re wonderful, each and every one of you! Thanks again.

Hugs and Blessings,


Thursday, June 17, 2010

Thursday Spotlight: Denyse Bridger

I thought I’d do something different today… I asked a couple of friends if they were going to ask three questions of me as an author – what would they want to know. Here’s the result:

Penny asked:
What gives you such passion?

I think the passion comes from the desire to communicate and tell people stories to entertain them and allow them as escape from day to day reality. It’s a chance to dream, and to see the possibilities… to view love with the magic that can really only come from fiction, where everything is a little bit easier, and little bit less fraught with the small stresses that make us all crazy every day of our lives.

Where do your story ideas come from?

The story ideas come from everywhere. A song lyric can inspire an entire story, or an image I see can start my mind creating. Even an overheard bit of conversation from strangers can become the basis of a new story. Every taste, every sound, every vision… each one has the potential to become something special for a new work.

If you could have a "do over" which story would you like to re-write and perhaps change the outcome?

I think the only book I’d “do over” is my fantasy novel, AS FATE DECREES – because I think now I could do the whole story more justice. Characters would be deeper and more driven, the story itself more detailed – because I’ve learned so much since I first wrote that book, and it’s still one of the accomplishments I am most proud of, really.

Lisa asked:

What's your favourite book, and how/why did you first choose it to read?

My favourite novel is GONE WITH THE WIND, and I read it first when I was 17. I chose to read it because I’d finally seen the movie for the first time, and I was in love with the film. I have lost track of the times I’ve read the novel, all 1036 pages of it – and watched the four hours of movie... It never loses its appeal. The history and drama of the Civil War, and the incredible strength and drive of Scarlett O’Hara, because you want to beat her senseless over her blindness, and yet you also want to cheer her on and believe she does win back the heart of her one and only, Rhett Butler!

What makes the perfect character/hero/heroine?

Strength, honesty, passion... Those are the key elements of both hero and heroine. The heroine has to believe in herself, but more than that, she has to believe in the hero and see the good in him that he perhaps doesn’t see in himself. For the perfect hero, he has to have the depth and drive to be whatever is needed. Each set of characters possess these innate strengths, then as you work within the context of each story, the individuality of the people you have brought to life emerges to enhance their experience and make them suited to each other and believable and accessible to the readers. You want your readers to fall in love, not just with a hero, but with his life and the life he’s building with the heroine.

The job of author is now banned. What do you choose to do instead and why?

I think I’d have to stay in some kind of creative art. I can’t sing, except to make dogs howl, and I am a crap artist, but I’d still be searching for some way to touch people’s heart and imaginations. Failing that, I’d bake! I’d be creative with food...

Very cool questions from two great friends – and I hope you’ve enjoyed this bit of fun! If anyone else has questions, feel free to ask, ok???

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Wednesday Spotlight: Denyse Bridger

So, as promised… a look at where the fantasy begins, a slightly naughty excerpt to tease you:

He said the Game never ends… and I wonder if my inability to open my soul to him has already ended it. I wanted to see what the second play would bring, but would there be a second chance?

Months have passed and we have grown to know each other in surprising ways.


I faced the screen, smiling as I considered what I was about to write. Our game had grown into a challenge over the months - each new seduction charged with eroticism that left me gaping in shock at the things I now casually gave voice to and the things I never imagined. Today, I had chosen to change the rules, it was now time to tease passion in a slightly different way.

“And how do I tell you what seemed so easy when I proposed this new game? We will do this for the next three days, and then, on day four, it will conclude in a way that you are not expecting. This year will end, and a new one will begin–with new possibilities and more exciting games to discover.”

The thought was threaded with uncertainty, and I forced myself to ignore it.
Fantasy… erotic whispers… banish fear and speak with total honesty and trust. It was a simple answer: Banish fear...

I write:

In my mind, I see you as you step into the shower… the water is pouring over your body, caressing your magnificent contours like the hands of a lover… and I want to be the water. Close your eyes, let the heat of desire go deep into your heart. Let your imagination create this fantasy with me.

The door to your shower opens and you know I am behind you now, but I will tell you not to look, only feel. Soap can become like silk against warm, wet skin and between my hands and your skin it creates a smooth glide over the perfect muscles of your back and your ass. When I drop to my knees, following the trail of soft lather all the way down the length of your legs, I will slowly move all the way back up, and when I reach your ass, I will stick my tongue in it, licking until you are shaking.

You want to turn around. I can sense it, and I tell you not to. This is about making you feel me with you. I stand up and wrap my arms around you, kissing your gleaming back, pressing myself so close we are like one person.

“Put your hands out, against the wall, and let me touch your chest, learning the shape of you, the beat of your heart.” All this time, my soapy hands are exploring you, but not touching what you want touched most of all.

I can feel the tension in your body now. Your wanting, your passion is as awake as your imagination, and it wants to be satisfied.

I tell you to spread your legs, just enough so that I can touch you. I can hear the sound of your approval when finally my hands are between your thighs. One hand cups your balls, squeezes carefully, almost pain, while my other hand is stroking your dick, making it harder with each slow motion. Over and over, until I can feel the wobble in your legs. Only then do I allow you to turn around and look down.

On my knees in front of you, I wait for you to put your lovely dick in my mouth. I suck it while my finger slides in and out of your ass, fucking you and sucking you while the water pours over us. My tongue makes circles over the head of your cock, stroking that tiny little slit that wants to explode right now. I can suck your hard cock so hard it almost hurts, but it will be sweet pain to you, and when you can’t stand it anymore, I will stop…

The premise of the story is four days of fantasy – to find out what happens next, and for the rest of the days… you’ll have to consider popping over to pick up a copy… I hope you do, and please DO let me know what you think of the story if you buy it, ok?

Available now from Moongypsy Press

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Tuesday Spotlight: Denyse Bridger

So, today I’ll chat about the insanity that is my mind at work. Since it never appears to quite go silent in this head, there’s a lot of talk about. I wonder if this is where you should all be afraid?

Ok, seriously, where do the ideas come from? I get asked that a lot in interviews, so I find it a good place to begin. This particular title, which has become part one of a set of three, has a personal story behind it. I have a friend in Italy – he’s very special. At Christmas, we wanted to spend some part of the Holiday together, even if it was visiting via webcam and email. So I decided that my gift would be a story for him. He’s studying for a doctorate, and I was supposed to be working, but I don’t know that either of us was really focused on what we were supposed to be doing. This is how a long distance love affair begins, I think… with a desire to be together in whatever way it’s possible.

So, working from the reality of our situation, the conversations that were honestly so outrageously flirtatious, the idea for a “game” was born – The Game of Seduction. It’s easy to “be” anything you want when you talk to people online – we all know that. We can become whatever we want to be. But, I also believe that if you feel an honest and real bond with someone, what you want to be is who you really are, not a fiction. In that way, as a wise friend of mine pointed out – because of the internet, for the first time you have the opportunity to fall in love with a person’s mind long before you actually meet them… and I think there’s a lot of truth in that. You get to see how a person thinks, and how well you connect in the only way that will really matter over time.

Games of Seduction is the first part of a three part story that will watch this love affair go from being a fantasy from far away to a solid and enduring love. I’ve done a video for can see it here:

Part One is: GAMES OF SEDUCTION, which is available as of May 25th at Moongypsy Press. You can find the details at my website, or my page at the publisher website:

Part Two is: CANDLELIT SEDUCTION – inspired by a gorgeous photograph I saw. (I’ve used it in the video)

Part Three is: THERE IS ONLY YOU – and it’s the HEA that is the stuff of dreams!!

Tomorrow, I’ll post a sexy excerpt from the book!

Monday, June 14, 2010

Monday Spotlight: Denyse Bridger

To kick off this week long visit with everyone here I’ll introduce myself and let you know where you can find me in cyberspace! (This could be your chance to learn where to avoid me, too, couldn’t it?? LOL)

So, quick bio: I am Canadian born and bred, and a lifelong dreamer – head in the clouds for as long as I can remember, really. I began writing at an early age – won my first essay contest at the tender age of 8, I think? And, I really can’t recall a time when I wasn’t creating in some artistic form. My life has had several on-going love affairs that shape much of what I write, the American West, Victorian England, cowboys, a passion for pirates, Greek Gods, and Ancient Egypt. The other endless love affair in my life is Italia and all its magic, beauty, and dazzling culture. That passion spills into all aspects of my life. My next major fantasy novel is being set in Sicily.

My first major fantasy novel was AS FATE DECREES. (Available in bookstores everywhere, and on Amazon’s international sites.) The novel relies heavily on Greek Mythology, and is set in Ancient Greece and modern Athens. If you enjoy a tale of Gods, Destiny, and the battles of an Eternal Champion, this is the book for you! (Less than six months after publication, it was a finalist for the 2008 Aurora Award.) Not surprisingly, there’s a touch of romance throughout, of course! A visit to my website will show the diversity of what is currently available, and the mixing of genres and styles that will be employed in many up-coming projects as well. And there are always tons of stories in the works!! No less than 8 at the moment, and I wonder why my brain hurts some days. Maybe it’s all the voices wanting to be heard??

So, where to find me or run from me:



Amore Senza Confini:

Sensual Treats Magazine:

Romantic Moments (FREE reads site):






Fan Page:

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Pitting the Georgia Peach by Giselle Renarde

My guy is finally learning how to take care of me. No more wham, bam, thank you ma’am with Junior. No way! The other night, I came home late from work—empty-handed—after totally forgetting I’d promised to pick up dinner on the way. He looked disappointed, of course, but he just shrugged and said, “It’s okay. I’ll put on some soup or something.”

I never could resist Junior when he got all domestic on me, so I was a big meanie and sent him to his room without dinner. I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and said, “No time for food. I’m taking you to bed!”

He seemed pretty happy about that, if his adorable smile was any indication. I hopped on top of him and we went at it like bunnies—as usual. It was that sort of shag where all our energy surged forth in one big burst. About three minutes later, we collapsed in a heap. He’d come like crazy. My thighs were aching from riding him hard. It was seriously cathartic.

After catching my breath, I realized how hungry I was. Lunch was a long time ago, and we had sex instead of dinner. Junior looked pretty dead to the world, as he always did after a huge orgasm, so I climbed over him and nearly fell off the bed. My legs were jelly, but I hobbled to the kitchen and grabbed the first edible thing I saw: a big, juicy peach.

I was so wobbly and weak-kneed I figured I’d gobble it up in recline. When I got back to the bedroom, I was seriously surprised to find Junior awake. Usually after a good go, he was out for hours. Not this time. He was alert, alive, and lying on his side, looking me up and down with a sexy twinkle in his eye.

As I climbed over him, he turned to me and waggled his eyebrows. I lay on my side of the bed and got good and comfy with my head propped up on my pillow. Junior looked at my naked body and said, “Eating a peach, are we?”

I laughed as I took the first bite. Obviously! My fruit was so lusciously ripe its nectar dripped down my wrist. Junior growled. He lunged at my arm and licked the juice from my skin. Not only was he awake, he was raring to go! As the sweet liquid from my peach dripped onto my chest, he kissed a path between my breasts. I took another bite while Junior sucked on my nipples, and the peach juice dripped all the way down to my stomach. As soon as he noticed, he leapt at it, licking lower and lower along my tummy. He didn’t stop when he ran out of juice; I was plenty wet below.

Perched between my thighs, he asked, “How’s the peach?”

“Very juicy,” I said as he leaned in to give my pussy a good lick.

“Well, you’d better make that thing last,” he warned between long laps at my lips. “Because I’m only doing this as long as you’re eating that. When you’re done, I’m done.”

Of course, I didn’t believe him for a second, but it was strangely sexy to think his prowess was tied to a peach. Just as I took another bite, he dove at my clit. With a big piece of sun-ripened peach in my mouth, I had to try very hard not to gasp. The last thing I wanted was to choke the very first time Junior managed to stay awake. I could get used to his purr jobs after sex.

Even on an empty stomach, my pleasure was Junior’s central concern. I savoured the sweetness of fruit flesh in my mouth while he sucked my pussy flesh into his. My wrist was getting sticky from all the dripping juices, but I much preferred Junior working away down south. As his passion built, he ate me harder. It felt so incredibly good I forgot to keep on taking bites of my peach.

When Junior looked up at me, he scolded, “Hey, that’s cheating. You have to keep eating or it’s not fair. I could be down here forever, and when would I get my dinner?”

“You’d starve,” I said with a naughty shrug.

He went back at it and, when I pressed my lips to my peach, I realized it was so deliciously ripe I didn’t even really need to bite it. It was so soft, I could suck on it while Junior sucked on me. I was sure my fruit was much sweeter, but he seemed to enjoy the taste of me. He made all sorts of noises to indicate he loved what he was doing.

His lips on my lips felt so awesome, I started rubbing mine against his. It seemed almost cruel to press my pussy into his face, but I couldn’t help myself. I was a mess, with nectar dripping down my chest, but all I cared about was the sensation of Junior’s warm mouth. Sucking my peach pit dry, I set it down on the night table right before I totally lost it. I grabbed his hair until peach juice ran through it. I forced his mouth on my mound. He sucked my clit until I screamed and rolled around on the bed and couldn’t take any more.

When I let him go, he looked at the pit on the night table, and then up at me. Our chins were both wet with juices, and he hadn’t even eaten yet.

I don’t know if the peach is considered an aphrodisiac or not. All I know is the wonder it worked on my love life. Now we always keep a few ripe ones on hand.

About the author: Giselle Renarde is a proud Canadian, supporter of the arts, and activist for women’s and LGBT rights. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head. For information on Giselle and her work, visit her website at or her blog at

Author Interview: Katalina Leon

The Long and the Short of It: Whipped Cream is pleased to welcome Katalina Leon, whose two latest books, Owned by Rome and Beautiful Stranger, are now available from Ellora's Cave.

Katalina was a fine art painter—the butterfly avatar she uses as an author picture is one of her original works. In fact, she had no skill or interested in being a writer. So, how did the writing come about?

"It literally came as a gift from beyond from a loved one," she answered. "One summer day several years ago we were called to be pallbearers at a friend’s funeral. The funeral got pushed back several hours to make way for the huge funeral of a city dignitary. In hundred+ degree heat, I sat under a shady tree in the cemetery, and an entire book popped into my head—plot, dialog and all… I grabbed a pad of paper and started writing notes that became my first epic 800 page, historical, which," she added with a laugh, "will never be published!"

Katalina told me she sees a huge difference between erotica, erotic romance, and pornography.

"Pornography throws bodies together with no emotional connection or bonding as human beings. No thank you," she said. "Erotica appeals to our deepest primal desires, at its best it’s a wake up call to our true nature. Erotic Romance calls to our desire to combine primal drives with love and share those intense feelings with someone worthy. In my opinion Erotic Romance is the jewel in the crown because it throws personalities together for the bliss and betterment of all concerned." She laughed. "You can’t beat that!"

"What do you think is the biggest public misconception about erotica?" I wondered.

"That it’s subversive, shadowy and somehow immoral. I think that couldn’t be farther from the truth. As women become more responsible, honest and expressive of their sexuality, expect creativity in our culture to boom."

Katalina told me she strongly recommends that writers, especially those who are starting out to write erotica, connect to their own sexuality and emotions whether they have a partner or not and learn to express it in a creative way.

Other than that, she doesn't recommend "research" from books with the exception of safe sex practices, especially within a BDSM relationship.

One thing she will never write about is underage or emotionally unprepared characters.

"The emotions and situations involved in erotica especially BDSM erotica should be for informed adults and volunteers only," she explained.

From the time she started writing, Katalina set her sight directly on erotic romance. "I knew it was the best venue to reach readers on the visceral level and connect with them," she told me.

Curious, I asked Katalina what her family thought of her writing.

"I have a big-blended Brady-Bunch family who are wonderful. My husband reads my books and does my book trailers. My sisters test-read and help with content, but my loving, supportive, curious as hell Father is absolutely banned from ever reading my books!"

On more of a personal note, I asked Katrina which body part she would pierce if she had to pierce something.

She laughed and told me that she already has ten piercings—each of them done to commemorate special occasions and have special meanings attached. They were also performed by special friends—but they are private. She wouldn't "show and tell."

She did agree, however, to tell us about her most embarrassing moment.

"It happened on our honeymoon in Acapulco. I wanted to try parasailing. I got buckled into the harness and I was waiting for the speedboat to race away from the shore. I turned and waved goodbye to my husband but as I did the speedboat took off, the harness yanked me down onto the beach and I was pulled face down across the sand until my bikini bottoms slid off and then and only then did I lift into the air and sail above a beach full of laughing people… If God had taken my life at that moment I would have said thank you."

In addition to Acapulco, Katalina has traveled on the cheap through South America and Asia and learned to "get grateful and get over it" when it comes to strange food, so there's nothing she won't eat.

"I eat what's offered," she said, "often with a little whispered prayer—please don't make me sick."

However she does have a favorite food: grilled anything. Her favorite of the favorites? Hot peppers.

"When we’re in the mood for punishment we go for the extremely, painfully hot peppers just to get the endorphin rush," she explained.

"What is your strangest habit?" I asked.

"I sniff sweaty men at the gym… Really," she assured me. As a matter of fact, when I asked Katalina what she did when she wasn't working, she told me she'd been a gym rat since she was seventeen.

"It feels good to be there, I always leave feeling happy. Weight training is a natural mood elevator. Many psychological studies have been done exposing women to small samples of male sweat. One study found male sweat to be a mood elevator to women and postulated that women felt happier and more optimistic when the men around them were 'working hard'," she explained. "Duh! Someone got a grant for that… I just wish they could bottle the scent of a man cleaning out the garage." She laughed.

Finally, I asked Katalina, "If you could give a new writer one piece of advice, what would it be?"

"Start writing and keep writing. Divine intervention or not, most of us have to write a lot before we write anything worthwhile but by that time you’re a much better writer with skills that will last a lifetime. I would also add be as honest and nurturing with yourself as possible."

You can keep up with Katalina on her blog,

Friday, June 11, 2010

Friday Spotlight: Jennifer Mueller

Excerpt from Footnotes to History

A few doors down from her bedroom Rowanne found a beautiful sitting room to admire before she headed for breakfast. Painted a pale over-saturated blue with plaster cameo medallions set between each window, the room might have been an overgrown Wedgwood plate, but the plaid carpet kept it from being stuffy. Across the hall as she came out there was no missing Duncan jumping on the bed in Lorne’s room.

“Duncan stop it now!” Lorne’s yell carried down the hall, loud. “Go find your uncle Hunter and get the bag he picked up for me yesterday and one of Mary’s scones.” Duncan just kept jumping. Lorne looked ready to grab the boy and throttle him.

“Duncan, go get what your dad asked and then have Lorne show you the tunnel we found last night,” she called.

“Tunnel?” He was up in the air when he turned suddenly, barely hitting the bed he scrambled off and was gone.

Rowanne expected him to say thank you, but he just lay there. “Are you all right?”

Just a growl of a noise. “No.”

He might as well have been a stranger, she met him yesterday, but she walked in. Something just said it had to be bad if he actually said there was something wrong.

“Are you sick?”


Thunder outside rattled the windows and she looked back down at the man. A man that could snap her in two if he wanted. Wearing only a pair of boxers, Lorne Sinclair wore a tattoo on one shoulder, the Sinclair crest, no both, the other held the Marine crest. Just like Hunter. Ayda had said only his was the RAF crest, a good guess that Broderick had them as well only substituting the Navy.

“Arthritis acting up with the storm.” She said it quietly. It wasn’t a question. Somehow that’s all it could be. “You said you broke your back.”

He opened his eyes at that for a moment staring before they closed again. “Three months in traction, I’d hardly seen her more than a few times and Ayda sat there with me every day. 3 months pregnant, she wrote her thesis on a laptop next to me. Yelling at me to stop tormenting the nurses, reading, and god did we flirt. Even when Hunter was in the room. She just told Hunter to get the distillery built, and she saw him on weekends when he brought Duncan to see me. She got her paper done without Hunter taking her to bed, he got the building done without her taking him to bed. You have to watch those two, knock before you go in a room looking for them. First time I was really out moving on my own was for her graduation and their wedding.” He let out a deep breath. “Ayda was family the day she came in and started giving me hell to take my mind off of it, not because she married Hunter. That just makes us related.”

Duncan ran in finally, the pills rattling in the bottle as he jumped up on the bed again. Lorne’s jaw clenched and Rowanne grabbed hold of the boy. Taking the bag and scone, she all but tossed him out. He didn’t even notice he was being dumped as he ran off yelling to see the tunnel. Without asking, she went and found a glass in the bathroom before handing it all over. It was painful watching as it took him minutes to sit up. A man looking like he could pose for any statue, Greek, Roman, renaissance, a master had created every muscle, and now that master had created pain as well. Not gulping the pills though, he ate first.

Finished eating, finally he downed several pills and leaned back. “Go work on the room, there’s no need to put up with me being a pain in the ass.”

Rowanne did something she never thought she would do. She was distracted from the find of the century, not to mention the mystery of how someone from the Holy Lands ended up in Scotland. She sat down on the bed instead and leaned back against the bedpost facing him. “Then flirt with me, who knows, by the time the storm is passed and you’re not a pain in the ass I might just be swept off my feet. I’m no man’s fiancée like Ayda, or have you forgotten how to flirt with a woman that isn’t married.”

“Very possibly.” Lorne grimaced. “So what is this I hear about a tunnel?”

“After you vanished Hunter returned late last night and he seems to be quite the lock pick. He had the door open in moments. Just like the book said there was a well and an opening hidden on a small beach for escape. Hunter said because the well is outside the main castle in case the sea wall was breached.”

“It’s a wonder they blocked it off then.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Ayda and I have all the pottery dated last night and it would seem nothing is newer than 1300-1310 even the local pieces. There was definitely the need for the protection still.”

For a moment Lorne lay there silent, his deep breaths forcing back the pain all that broke the silence. “Perhaps that is why it was forgotten.”

“What do you mean?”

“The castle was forfeit to the English only a few years later, if I was in charge and knowing the enemy could be here in the mean time I wouldn’t leave those defenses to be found out. You’d have to check but I think the Duke died in that time, maybe the secret was never passed on before that generation died. I’d think the man that used the room would have opened it back up too, if he was alive.”

Rowanne shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with your mind even if you’re incapacitated. That is the first thing I’ve heard that makes sense, all my own ramblings started sounding more like a romance novel than what could have actually happened. How long was it forfeit?”

“1305 to 1328. You read romances do you?”

It was Rowanne’s chance to laugh as she fingered the curtains hanging on the bed. Dark green wool as soft as silk. “I like reading the historicals to see how much they get wrong.”

“I should hate to think you hold any of our cooks’ tales to a history book. They are amusements not meant to be scrutinized.”

A knock at the door and Ayda came in. “Entertaining in all your glory I see. The Sinclair men always were the best art in the house.” Ayda let out a sigh. “I should have known when you vanished yesterday. Like you ever went to bed early.”

Lorne smiled wide. “I do all the time if I have someone to entertain in my bed. For sleep never.”

“Do you have classes to teach in the village or did I hear wrong last night?” Rowanne asked.

“I’m on my way now. I’ll have Mary bring you both breakfast on my way out. Hunter has Brendan and Duncan with him, Gemma called, the house in Edinburgh has a roof leak. He took them with him to play with their cousins while he sees to the repairs. I’m afraid you’re stuck with getting over jet lag unless you want to spend your day alone in the dank dungeon.”

“I think I’ll keep Lorne company, with the date of 1300 or so, he wonders if the room was closed up so no one knew of the entrance when the English took it over and then those that did it died before they could return without telling.” The medicine must have been getting to work, for there was an actual smile on Lorne’s face without any sign of a grimace.

“Very likely.”

Rowanne looked over at Lorne to find him staring not at Ayda but her. Not leering just looking. “If I can convince Lorne with the idea could I move some paintings about? Scottish landscapes. If he’s stuck in his room he can at least see the countryside.”

Ayda’s smile said far too much as if she knew that Rowanne’s eye kept drifting toward the chiseled bare chest opposite her. “If you can convince him you have my approval, but you have to convince him.”

“No woman’s changing my life around unless I get anything out of it. When you see paintings moving about, Ayda you won’t have to ask what’s happened.”

Ayda was laughing as she left. When Rowanne turned back to him, her breath stopped for a moment. Damn it how could a man be so damn good looking? “Now you can go change what ever you want, just no frilly dresses.” The burr to his voice rolled over her slowly and her breathing started back up.

“Of course you’d say that now.”

Lorne smiled, but there was no laugh.

As a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya a few years back I traveled quite a bit and now I just wish I was. A lot of the places I've written about I've been to, a lot of them I haven't. Rafting on the Nile in Uganda, living in a Montana ghost town, Puerto Rican beaches, African safaris, Mayan ruins, European youth hostels, the Black Hills of South Dakota all fill my scrapbooks. Now a daughter takes up most of those pages, but I still travel in my head every time I write.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Thursday Spotlight: Jennifer Mueller

Footnotes to History

When Ayda and Hunter find a stoned up staircase leading to a hidden room it doesn't take long to realize that there is more than one story forgotten to the ages. But with no art to drop the clues for Ayda she calls in a long time friend for help who just happens to be an expert in medieval history, and it's Hunter's brother, Lorne's, chance to be smitten.

Despite six tales of the castle, more ideas kept coming to mind after History Lessons was published, one from an old Scottish song I heard even. Another from a book on old Grand Tours around Europe. Even to some degree that I found out a few facts might be wrong with my history. Not to mention all the shows about the Crusaders out lately. All of the them had a reason to be told when a hidden room is found in some recent renovations. Rowanne Duquesne is an old friend of Ayda's from college, with a find like a book in Arabic in a Scottish castle some local historian just won't be much of a help. When she comes face to face with Duncan's father, finally discharged from the military, just hearing the stories he can tell about the family is all the flirting she needs and Lorne's not content with that being all.

It's a historian's dream wading through centuries of history for a room no one has seen in 800 years, but is it enough to give up her plans for a man that she just met?

As a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya a few years back I traveled quite a bit and now I just wish I was. A lot of the places I've written about I've been to, a lot of them I haven't. Rafting on the Nile in Uganda, living in a Montana ghost town, Puerto Rican beaches, African safaris, Mayan ruins, European youth hostels, the Black Hills of South Dakota all fill my scrapbooks. Now a daughter takes up most of those pages, but I still travel in my head every time I write.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Wednesday Spotlight: Jennifer Mueller

Excerpt from History Lessons

There were gaps on the walls, and pictures sat around the floors of many rooms for Ayda to pore over before announcing they were in no need of repair. Each night she wrote up more notes than she ever would have if she had just kept to slowly cleaning.

“Hi, Ayda.” Duncan called running in to the workroom. She had hardly seen the boy, so it was a bit of a surprise. He was in preschool during the days, and he seemed to be attached to Charlie’s hip when he was in the castle.

“Hi, yourself.”

“Can I help?” he asked, peering up at her with big green eyes.

Her blood ran cold; she was working on a painting worth a hundred thousand pounds.

“Umm. Can you hold the swabs right there until I need them?” she blurted out, trying to think of the most harmless thing around.

“Sure.” His eyes sparkled as he picked up the pile, she could see he was trying his hardest not to drop them.

“Am I going to get to meet your mom soon?” Ayda asked as she took one from him.

“She left on a long trip and we won’t see her anymore.”

Suddenly Ayda knew exactly what the incident at the pub was about. “When he wakes up, remind him his sister didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do. The woman was old enough to leave,” Hunter had whispered. Looking at the boy, she should have recognized the red hair before. So, the red head was Duncan’s uncle and warned her about ending up a Sinclair whore. Not an amicable split by the sound of it.

“Duncan!” Hunter could be heard yelling from the hall. The boy jumped at being caught. “Now why are you hiding? Mary made a cake and she needs help cleaning the frosting bowl.”

Duncan thrust the swabs back at her and vanished out of the room. Ayda was laughing until Hunter appeared, wet and shirtless, with the squirming Duncan under his arm. “Thought you got away, didn’t you? This is what you get when you push me in, you little stinker.” He started tickling the boy, and laughter echoed through the stone halls until Charlie took him away.

Hunter was behind her, seeing what she was doing. She had a clear view of his chest in the reflection on the magnifying lens. A tattoo graced one shoulder but she was too distracted to see of what. “Oh, God.”

“What was that?”

Hell, she had said it out loud. “Keep back, this one can’t afford to get wet from you drying off like a dog,” she snapped as he shook his head. Ayda almost groaned when he moved out of view of the reflection. “How long ago did Duncan’s mother leave you?” she muttered, finally trying to change the subject.

“Duncan’s not mine.” Surprised, she spun around on the stool and regretted it. He stood closer than she thought. Images of him next to her in bed ran through her head. “Lorne, the youngest, and the sister of that bastard I hit had been together since early secondary school. The summer after he graduated military academy, they had a little accident. They hadn’t gotten married yet, but he took her with him to his first posting.” Hunter’s jaw tightened. “Duncan was nine months old when she just walked out the door. Left him there alone. No one’s sure how many hours Duncan sat there crying, wondering why she never came, until Lorne got home. She’s never been seen since, probably because there’s an outstanding warrant against her for endangering a child. He’s in the Royal Marines. Instead of Duncan being raised by a stranger, he brought him here. He’s with him every leave he can get. Two years now. Every time her brother sees one of us, he acts as if Lorne destroyed her life. She was twenty-one when she got pregnant, not what you’d call an innocent virgin. Lorne didn’t just get her pregnant; he worshipped the ground she walked on. They were to be married in three months, and she would have been a lady, had an apartment in the castle, wanted for nothing, but for her it wasn’t enough.”

Ayda hadn’t been able to keep her jaw from dropping. “Wasn’t enough? Was the woman mad?”

Then he ran a finger along her cheek and she just about lost it. Take me now please.

“Not all women are art sluts. Alice was a fisherman’s daughter. The only explanation we can come up with was it was too much for her. Lorne’s learned to live with her choice, but he’ll never forgive her for leaving Duncan like she did. She could have left without endangering him.”

“If your brother looks anything like you, she’d have to be mad.” Oh, god, had she just said that out loud?

The corner of Hunter’s mouth turned up. “With that look in your eyes, I guess I should go get another shirt on before you have me for dinner.”

“Leave it off. I’ll just hang you up on the wall for inspiration while I work.”

Biting his lip, Hunter never the less was laughing. “Surest way to get lucky with you, it sounds like. However, while I would love to become the decoration for you, Duncan’s getting a bath as we have guests coming in an hour. The fifteen-year-old girl would be rather amused to see me up on the wall, I would imagine. You’ll probably want to keep in here. It will be dull to no end; you at least can escape the torment.”

As a Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya a few years back I traveled quite a bit and now I just wish I was. A lot of the places I've written about I've been to, a lot of them I haven't. Rafting on the Nile in Uganda, living in a Montana ghost town, Puerto Rican beaches, African safaris, Mayan ruins, European youth hostels, the Black Hills of South Dakota all fill my scrapbooks. Now a daughter takes up most of those pages, but I still travel in my head every time I write.