Back for Good with Justine Elyot!


Here’s a very quick introduction because I’m simply handing Superotica over to the simply divine Justine Elyot today.  Take it away, Justine,


Thank you, Tamsin, for letting me loose here at Superotica. I love the name of your blog – makes me feel I should be wearing my knickers over my tights. And, in fact, I am.


But I’m not here to talk about that – I’m here to talk about my new book, Her World of Submission.


The book is the last one in a trilogy, and perhaps the thought of saying goodbye to my characters, Jasper and Sarah, drove me into a bit of a frenzy because not only did I give them a grand finale, but I also brought back two characters from a previous book to be their friends and partners-in-crime.


Dimitri and Rosie feature in my book, Kinky. I’d never really thought about resurrecting them until I started thinking about how I was going to end Jasper and Sarah’s story and suddenly it just seemed perfect. What better way to help Sarah to come to terms with her new sex life than by talking it over with a like-minded friend? And who could that like-minded friend be? Bingo! When I remembered that Dimitri was an aspiring actor, and Jasper a film director – well, I wondered why I hadn’t brought them together earlier.


The delight of writing two very different dom characters, and three contrasting subs (because Rosie’s nemesis from Kinky, Trixietots, is also involved) was something new and special for me. From the nervous newcomer to BDSM to the seasoned old hand, all kinds of different types and traits could be mixed and matched.


I had a blast writing it. I really hope you might be tempted to read it too.


Here’s an excerpt:


‘Did we really order this much booze from Ocado?’

Jasper was filling the wine rack while I got the plates ready for lunch. Our guests were in the dining room, testing the first bottle.

He looked up.

‘What? It’s New Year in a couple of days. And we have guests.’

‘You’ve already got a cellar full of wine.’

Jasper barked out a laugh. ‘That’s vintage, love. It’s not for boozy lunches with kinky body doubles.’

‘Ooh, you’re a snob! I had no idea.’

Jasper straightened himself, giving me what I tended to think of as his spanking eye.

‘You’re really loving that dangerous ground today, aren’t you, my dear? I wonder why you don’t build a house on it while you’re at it?’

‘Just calling it as I see it,’ I said, dodging a little way back from him all the same.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ He crooked a finger at me. ‘Over here, missy. Now.’

I darted a quick glance at the kitchen door.

‘Jasper,’ I hissed. ‘We aren’t alone.’

‘I know that.’

His expression was implacable.

I stepped closer, still wary.

‘If I let you get away with things just because there are visitors in the house, what kind of master does that make me?’ he whispered. ‘Bear it in mind, Sarah. The rules stay the same, no matter if the whole bloody royal family comes to stay. Now turn and face the worktop.’

I put my hands on the gleaming surface, my nose almost in the bowl of salad leaves, watching Jasper rummage in a drawer. He brought out a wooden spoon and I made a horrified face at him.

‘You can’t,’ I mouthed.

‘Don’t talk yourself into more trouble,’ he said, completely unruffled. ‘Over that skirt, this won’t make too much noise at all. It’s you they might hear. So make sure you keep it down, eh?’

He patted the seat of my skirt with the rounded side of the spoon and ordered me to stick my bottom out as far as I could.

I consoled myself with the thought that I would be able to hear the dining room door open if anybody left. Their muffled laughter could be heard quite clearly from where we were.

15315266_s‘Do you have anything to say to me?’ he asked softly, rubbing the flat part of the spoon around my buttocks.

‘I’m sorry I called you a snob, sir. I’m sure you aren’t one really.’

‘Right. So why did you say it?’

‘Just…it just came out.’

‘So you spoke without thinking?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And is that a good idea?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Quite right. What if I speak without thinking at lunch? What if I’m casually reaching for the mayonnaise and I happen to mention that you might not be sitting too comfortably because you got a good spanking in the kitchen with a wooden spoon just now. How would that make you feel?’

‘Pretty embarrassed, sir.’

‘So I’d better think first, hadn’t I? And you’d better do the same. Yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Right.’

The first stroke fell. It wasn’t loud, though I’d been dreading a sound that would carry through the echoing, high-ceilinged rooms to the dining table. In fact, it was a muffled thud that wouldn’t be heard beyond the kitchen. That was a relief. The pain wasn’t.

He laid a dozen hard strokes on me and I had to try every trick in the book not to cry out. I bit my tongue, squeezed my toes together, tried breathing in instead of breathing out. In the end, I resorted to picking one of the salad leaves out of the bowl and chewing on it. I wondered if I was the first person to eat salad during a spanking. Perhaps this could be a topic for post-prandial conversation? But no.

Jasper put down the spoon and kissed me.

‘I thought you were going to bury your face in that salad and howl,’ he said. ‘We’d have had to make a fresh one. Your face, though…’ He laughed into my hair and kissed me again. ‘Come on then. What kind of hosts are we, leaving our guests hungry while we kink up the kitchen units? I’ll do the hot plates – you go and take in the bread and salad.’

I wanted to wait for my flush to die down – on my bottom as well as my face – but he was right; it would be rude to keep them waiting.


If you want to give Jasper and Sarah a whirl, the new book is available here:


And the first book in the series, His House of Submission, is here for those who want to start at the beginning:



Undone: A Dark, Dirty Treat

Undone Kristina Lloyd-580


Actually, I nearly didn’t bother to write this post because this ravishing cover just about sells itself! It’s so enticing I could stare at it all day long… But as I’ve volunteered to be a stop on Kristina Lloyd’s Undone blog tour, I don’t think she’d be too impressed if I left it at that!

Of course, now you’ve seen that cover, you’ll want to know what’s inside. A dark, dirty treat of a story that will leave you feeling hot and breathy over and over again. As always, Kristina’s writing is flawless – and if you’re new to her work, then you’re in for a delicious initiation. Kristina melds erotica and thriller to create a dark whirlpool, with  currents that will suck you under and draw you in. Like the heroine, Lana, you’ll become unsure of how to escape – or if you even want to… Nothing is quite what it seems. Accident. Murder. Suicide? Kinky sex games with a stranger. With two. When Lana wakes up at the beginning of the story, she finds herself in a world that’s shifted. And she no longer knows who to trust…



The story so far: it’s the morning after the night before. It was quite a night, and it’s quite a morning! Lana Greenwood enjoyed her first threesome at a weekend party in the country. Now, on the next day, one of the men has been found dead in the swimming pool.

Here, Lana and the other guy, Sol Miller, have escaped to nearby woodland, eager to avoid the police and any scrutiny into their private lives. Lana doesn’t quite trust Sol but that’s not stopping her. In this excerpt, the two of them are alone in a clearing, and Lana has just stripped at Sol’s request.


‘C’mere, Cha Cha.’ He unbuckled his belt with slow, deliberate menace.

I strolled towards him, cautious, the carpet of old, broken leaves springy beneath my sandals.

He removed his belt, brown leather whistling through the loops and finishing with a faint crack. Oh, jeez, that sound, that lick at the air. Arousal raced in my veins, the beat of blood pumping me to hot, desperate sensitivity. My heart rate skyrocketed. As I moved, I felt encumbered between my thighs, my flesh transforming into a thick, sloshing weight that was almost too heavy to carry. How could I even function when I was like this?

Sol unbuttoned his jeans and edged them down his thighs, baring his pale hips. His erection sprang out at a gloriously fierce angle, poking up from his wiry pubes. He paused, motionless, thumbs in his pushed-down jeans as if intent on showing me his hardness in all its implicitly threatening, flattering glory. He wanted me, and he damn well wanted me to know it.

He heeled off his trainers and shoved his jeans to his ankles. He tossed his jeans alongside his T-shirt on the crippled tree and stepped forwards, cock bobbing, leather belt in hand. Muscles curved and flexed in his powerful, hairy thighs. I stepped out of my sandals, the leaf-carpeted ground yielding beneath my feet while offering random little stabs as I walked. We were Adam and Eve but mutually wary, significantly hornier, and eager to grab that sweet, tempting apple.

Face to face, we stood without touching. Sol’s eyes darkened with seriousness.

‘I reckon we both need to forget,’ he said. Tenderly, he hooked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded, jolted by the pain of remembering why we wanted our escape. ‘Do anything you want to me,’ I said.

He pinched his eyes shut, raised his face to the canopy and then gave me a hard, direct look. ‘Don’t say things like that.’

He was dazzling to me, his jaw unshaven, his hair unkempt, his eyes deep in shadow. And at that moment, when he appeared to be wrestling with demons, he was more beautiful and dangerous than ever.

I shrugged without replying. I meant it. I didn’t care. He was the beast, the poacher, the wolf in disguise, and I was small and defenceless, craving his destruction.

Sol took the belt in both hands. I almost forgot to breathe as he hooked the leather length over my head and positioned the strap across my back. He threaded the end through the brass buckle and pulled the belt tight below my breasts, trapping my arms by my side. The tug of the restraint forced a low grunt of need from me. Jeez, it gets me every time, that subtle imposition of dominance. It might be the press of bondage, the hint of bossiness in bed, the fist gripping my hair as we kiss goodnight in the street.

‘That OK?’ he asked. He ran a thumb over one taut nipple.

‘More than,’ I breathed.


If you’d like to know more about Undone, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt, and check out the other stops on my Sexy September blog tour.


Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. Her novels are published by Black Lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. She lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone

When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she’s spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn’t know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game?

Amazon UK paperback :: Amazon UK Kindle :: Amazon US Kindle :: Amazon CA paperback :: Amazon CA Kindle


Naked Ambition and Blissful Ingredients


Today I’m handing Superotica over to the brilliant Lisabet Sarai for the next stop on her The Ingredients of Bliss blog tour. I’ve long been an admirer of Lisabet’s writing and in her post today, she shows us a little of how the mind of a writer works… Over to you, Lisabet…


By Lisabet Sarai

 My crit partner Chris, who’s a whiz in the area of writing craft, tells me that every main character should have a governing characteristic. What does “governing characteristic” mean? As far as I can figure out, it’s some personality trait or deep-seated need that drives the character’s actions and thus sets the story in motion.

Now, I don’t usually analyze my writing at that level. I write more or less by instinct. However, my most recent conversation with Chris on this topic got me thinking about Mei Lee “Emily” Wong, the heroine of my new novel The Ingredients of Bliss. I’ve decided that if Emily has a governing characteristic, it must be ambition.

At the start of the prequel to the novel, my short story Her Secret Ingredient, Emily has just arrived from Hong Kong to do a series of guest shows with the renowned host Etienne Duvalier on the Tastes of France TV network. She already has a successful career as a chef in Hong Kong, but she appears to want more wide-spread exposure. Her goal is to have her own national or international TV show. Emily views the temporary job with TOF as a stepping stone toward that objective.

When she realizes that Etienne does not approve of her – or at least, of her cooking techniques – she sets out to seduce him in order to soften him up. Her motivations aren’t purely pragmatic –  she finds Etienne extremely attractive, sexually – but she wouldn’t have risked giving him an aphrodisiac just for personal reasons. Her plan backfires, throwing her into the arms of the surprisingly virile producer for the show, Harry Sanborne. Harry’s clearly smitten with her, and she’s tempted to return his feelings. However, her interest in her career still takes precedence.

In the follow-on novel, Emily finds once more that her career plans are at odds with her emotions. Rationally, she understands that the love triangle involving her, Harry and Etienne can’t possibly endure, and she worries that if their dalliance is exposed, the network will retaliate by firing her. At the same time, she can’t bring herself to break off with either Etienne or Harry. Unlike some romance heroines, who trust their hearts first and foremost, Emily is conflicted.

Harry recognizes her ambivalence, but he loves her too much to force her into a decision. Only when Harry’s and Etienne’s lives hang in the balance does Emily find the clarity she needs to transcend her ambition and unequivocally choose love over success.

I realize this probably makes Emily sound like a cold-hearted bitch. Nothing could be further from the truth. Her passionate nature is part of what attracts both Harry and Etienne. When she enters the bedroom, she normally leaves her ambition behind. Still, it nags at her, until a close brush with death lets her see that without love, success  is hollow.



The afternoon schedule called for a tourism segment filmed at the Château d’If. The sixteenth century fortress and notorious prison off the coast was now one of Marseille’s major attractions. A brisk sea breeze rifled my hair as our boat emerged from the Old Port into open water. Etienne and I stood side by side at the rail, watching the forbidding gray walls of the citadel grow taller as we approached.

He’d donned a tailored spruce green jacket for the trip, which brought out the reddish highlights in his hair. Meanwhile, wardrobe had me wearing a hyper-feminine, floral patterned summer dress that fluttered around my bare thighs. It didn’t suit me at all, at least in my opinion. In addition, it protected me from neither the ferocious sun nor the biting wind.

I wanted to cuddle up to the inviting male body next to me, to feel Etienne’s warmth and breathe in his citrus cologne. The cameras were trained on us, though, so I didn’t dare. I felt Harry watching, too, in the background. He wouldn’t mind if I gave in to temptation, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was picturing Etienne’s hand sliding under my ridiculous frilly skirt and cupping my ass cheeks, in full view of the crew.

I tried to banish the provocative image. Instead, my overly active mind continued to embroider upon that initial scenario.

Etienne’s fingers steal under the elastic waistband of my knickers and down along my rear cleft, brushing across my rear hole before diving into my rapidly moistening pussy. He steps behind me, shielding me from the eyes of the camera crew. Surely they’ll know what is going on, though, as he flips up my skirt and rubs his erect cock over my silk-sheathed buttocks. In the real world, the submissive chef would never be so forward—would he?—but in my fantasy, he peels away my panties, unzips his fly, and slides into me without even asking permission.

And Harry? What does Harry do while Etienne is taking such liberties? Producer becomes director. Harry turns and positions us, so Etienne’s back is to the rail, his cock still lodged inside me from behind. When Harry has us where he wants us, he tucks my skirt into my belt, drags my knickers all the way to my knees, and crouches down to lap at my exposed pussy.

Oh, by the gods, I’m really turned on now! Etienne stretches my pussy, while Harry teases my clit. Is Harry’s tongue encountering Etienne’s cock? The forbidden notion just excites me more. And the crew, staring at this tableau? They’re aroused too. All of them, aside from Lisa, are male. Unable to resist the effects of our raunchy performance, they haul their hard cocks out of their trousers. They jerk themselves off as they watch the stars of Toutes Les Saveurs fulfill hungers of a more carnal sort.

Lisa acts shocked at first, but before long she has one hand thrust into her blouse, massaging her breast, with the other is buried in her panties. Harry brings me to the edge again and again, handling his own hard rod while he tortures me. The slick head grazes my thigh, letting me know that once Etienne has filled me with his cum, it will be Harry’s turn…



The Ingredients of Bliss By Lisabet Sarai

Contemporary BDSM ménage

Totally Bound, 2014



One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster?

Accomplished cook Mei Lee “Emily” Wong knows exactly what she wants—her own show on the Tastes of France food channel. But life is full of complications. First, her deceptively nerdy producer, Harry Sanborne, initiates Emily into the delights of submission. Then her boss, legendary chef Etienne Duvalier, begs her to dominate him. Emily just can’t resist—especially when Harry orders her to explore her inner mistress. Suave and sexy Etienne will do whatever she asks—in the bedroom if not in the kitchen. And Harry, her lovingly diabolical Dom, adores pushing Emily’s limits.

When the network sends the trio to France to shoot a series of cooking shows on location, Emily knows her career is on the upswing. Her plans fall apart in Marseille as a Hong Kong drug syndicate kidnaps both Etienne and Harry. The Iron Hammer Triad mistakes Etienne for notorious gangster Jean Le Requin, who has stolen their drug shipment, worth millions. Emily realizes she must find the real Le Requin, retrieve the purloined dope, and bargain it for Harry’s and Etienne’s lives. The secret she’s been keeping from Harry might prove useful. Still, what chance does one woman whose knife skills are limited to chopping vegetables, have against the ruthless cruelty of two criminal organizations?


Get your copy today! 

 The special VIP edition of The Ingredients of Bliss is now available from Totally Bound. This version contains a sizzling bonus chapter not available from other retailers. Totally Bound has the most advanced book selling site of any independent publisher on the web, with new One-Click ordering and direct delivery to all e-reader platforms.


Blog Tour Prizes

 First prize: $30 gift certificate to Sur La Table (

Second prize: $20 gift certificate to Whole Foods Market (
Third prize: Three-pack of ebooks from my back list, including a copy of Her Secret Ingredient, the prequel to The Ingredients of Bliss.
I’ll also be giving a PDF copy of my own original cookbook, Recipes from an International Kitchen, to everyone who leaves a comment. AND I have a bonus $10 Totally Bound gift certificate for the tour host who gets the most reader comments.

 To enter, simply leave a comment that includes your email address. You can enter once for each spot in the tour. For the full tour schedule, go to:


About the Author

 I started both writing and cooking at an early age, and I’ve continued to indulge both passions as I’ve matured. Usually I’m an improvisational cook; I’m not all that fond of following recipes, and when I do, I almost always introduce my own variations. My philosophy tends to be the more spice, the better.

You could say the same about my writing. Since the release of my debut novel Raw Silk in 1999, I’ve published lots of erotica and erotic romance in almost every sub-genre– more than fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. My gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

I have more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by my chosen genre. Widely traveled but still with a long bucket list of places to go, I currently live in Southeast Asia with my indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.



Goodreads page:

Amazon page:

I’ll have what she’s having! Stories of O


I’m very excited today as my lovely friends at Cleis Press have given me the opportunity to join the Stories of O blog tour. Which means I have been, quite literally, one of the first people to lay hands on this fabulous new anthology edited by Alex Algren. Actually, I’ve just checked on Amazon and it’s already available – so you could have all read it before me. But for the sake of this post, I’ll pretend you haven’t!

So what can I tell you about this delectable little collection? Algren has gathered in orgasmic stories from six incredibly talented writers – Saskia Walker, Kristina Wright, A.D.R. Forte, Sinclair Sexsmith, Donna George Storey and Thomas S. Roche. And, boy, are they hot!

Here’s the blurb:

intimate young couple during foreplay in bedThink back to the first time you came so hard you cried out. The first time you surrendered fully and spiraled into euphoria, every inch of your body consumed by pleasure. You didn’t care who heard your gasping, open-mouthed cries of passion—all you could focus on was the ecstasy. That’s what you’ll find in this collection—tale after tale of characters lost in the bliss of orgasmic perfection your mind (and especially your body) won’t soon forget.

Warm up with Saskia Walker’s steamy “Communal,” a story about a college girl who seduces other students in shower stalls. Next, a couple discovers a devious use for their spatula while cooking breakfast in Kristina Wright’s “(S)pan(k)cakes.” In A. D. R. Forte’s “Endymion,” two models with statuesque bodies succumb to their mutual lust inside an artist’s studio. A woman uses Kegel exercises to send her lover into sexual nirvana in Donna George Storey’s “The Big O.” In “Not Without Permission” by Sinclair Sexsmith, a dom considers allowing her submissive to orgasm, but not before she’s had some fun with her strap-on first. And finally, in Thomas Roche’s “Butterfly’s Kiss,” an inexperienced dom visits an underground sex club and discovers a new bag of tricks.


Add to that the fact that you get a free pancake recipe with Kristina Wright’s “(S)pan(k)cakes” – and you should be satisfied in more ways than one! And that’s the point of these stories – orgasms are hunted down and rounded up using water jets, spatulas and strap-ons, in an artist’s studio, with a Sexercise prescription and in a down-and-dirty sex club where the suction is fierce! Which one was my favorite? In truth, I loved them all, from the sweet to the spicy – and so, I think, will you!

And to tempt you a little further? Cleis Press is running a special offer – send your digital receipt for Stories of O to them and they’ll send you a Cleis print book absolutely free. How can you resist?

Stories of O exclusive excerpt

from “Not Without Permission” by Sinclair Sexsmith


“All right, up,” I say, then tug on her elbow when it takes her a moment to register. She scrambles to her feet. I shove her, hard, quickly, to the bare patch of wall next to the closet and pin her there with my body, one hand on the side of her face to press her cheek into the plaster. I hold her there a second and we both breathe.

“Ready?” I ask, at her ear again. She nods. “Hands on the wall.”

She reaches as I unbuckle my belt and whip it from the loops of my jeans. She tries to say, “Oh, God,” but it comes out as a whimper through the gag. I can hear the syllables, the vowels.

I let my arm be loose, let the leather be soft and supple as I warm up her ass and thighs and back. She gets supple too, her body relaxing and releasing already, muscles easing up their tight grip on her bones. She leans into the wall for support.

I get a little harder and see a thin line of drool start to fall from her mouth and chin. She tries to wipe it with her shoulder but keeps forgetting about it when my belt reconnects and snaps her into the sensation. She breathes deep. I widen my stance. Her back is striped with lines, her ass and thighs red and splotchy. I take a few full-winged swings with my legs spread, back spiraling, pulling up as I feel my cock’s extra weight pulling down between my legs. She gasps as it hits, once, then a pause, then twice, then again as I wind up and throw. She collapses a little into the wall on the third and I know she’s almost done. I press my body against her sensitive backside and she gasps, arches her spine like a cat, lolls her head back on her neck to rest against me.

She leaves her hands on the wall, never moving them. She must really want to come tonight.


Buy Stories of O at:

Amazon UK

Cleis Press

There was this time in Amsterdam… #TeamRem


There’s nothing I love more than watching a red hot rock star strutting his stuff on stage. And perhaps, in another lifetime, I would have loved to have been a groupie. It’s my fantasy and it doesn’t matter to me that the reality of it probably wouldn’t live up to the fantasy because…my life as a groupie? It’s all in my head!

6156297_sBut today, I have a guest on Supeortica who I think I would have ‘groupied’ (is that a verb? To groupie?) for big time! I have an exclusive interview with Alison Tyler‘s irresistible creation – rock god and Sandy-sub, Rem, from her latest release from Go Deeper Press, Those Boys! And, that time in Amsterdam he refers to later in the interview? In my little fantasy land, that could have been me!

T: Welcome to Superotica, Rem! First off, a question that I think a lot of people will be interested in knowing the answer to. Tell me about your name, Rem – it’s one I’ve never come across, so is it a nickname or short for something else perhaps?

R: Rem is short for “Remington.” It’s a family name. Well, that’s what I like to say. Actually, I’m named for a gun oil that my RemOilgrandfather used.

T: I’m starting gently with you, so bear with me. Your stage clothes are amazing. Where did you get your sense of style and how do you use it to express your personality?

R: I strive for a mix of Johnny Cash and Dean Martin. Elegant cowboy? Western Rat Pack. Class with a little edge.

T: I’ve seen you on stage – and you rock! Your stage persona is definitely in charge – you have the audience eating out of the palm of your hand. But when you’re off stage, you’re a sub. How does that work? Do you assume a different character when you perform?

R: The music takes me where I need to go. I wouldn’t say I’m truly a Dom on stage, though. I would say the beat is my master. I’m sub to the music. Or maybe I’m a conduit—the music flows through me, through every kinky permutation.

T: And this is the question I always have to ask musicians – tell us about the groupies.

R: Shhh. That’s one for the memoir. There was this time in Amsterdam…

T: Oh, yeah… (drifts off for a moment…) Sorry! I think I mentioned this earlier – in your private life, you’re a 24/7 submissive to everybody’s favorite Dom, Sandy. We know how you met but tell us what went through your mind the first time you saw him.

R: Even though I’ve written songs about love at first sight, I don’t think I believed in the concept. Not fully. But when Sandy spoke, I went weak kneed. I’d never felt someone’s strength like that—reach out and touch me without having him lay a finger on my skin. I had to know who he was. I couldn’t not follow him.

T: Have you always been a sub?

R: Kink has always interested me. I haven’t ever shied away from a new sensation. But with women, I was almost always in charge. I tended to draw to me the ones who wanted me to tie them up. To do things to them. Sandy flipped my switch.

T: Now, I have to ask this. Is there really a little part of you that’s a switch? You played hard to get with Sandy, teased him a bit when you first hooked up. Would you secretly like to dominate him?

R: Honestly, I wouldn’t want to try. Sandy has his own demons, his own secret fantasies—I’m sure. But me being in charge of him? No, Ma’am. No, thank you.

T: Sandy is, to my mind, a benevolent Dom. He works hard to give you and Vanessa what you need as subs and he obviously cares for you both. But is there ever a time when you’re just a little bit afraid of him?

R: Well, yes. He is fierce. When he’s in motion, he can seem dangerous. I’m never afraid he will harm me—but I have trembled at the power he possesses. He has no fear of playing with pleasure and pain. His fearlessness is intense.

T: Tell us, what would be your dream scene with Sandy and Vanessa?

R: Some sort of competition. With constantly shifting rules and a finish line nobody ever reaches. Alice in Wonderland’s game of croquet, I suppose. But with sex.

T: And finally, where do you see yourself in five years’ time? What does the future hold for you, Rem?

R: When I close my eyes, I see myself with Sandy and Vanessa. Five years. Ten years. Fifteen. Twenty. From now until the end. I couldn’t go back to the life I had before. I’m not his or hers. I’m theirs.

T: Wow! Thank you so much for the interview, Rem.

So if this sexy stud has got you a little hot under the collar, you can get a glimpse into his world with Sandy and Vanessa in Alison Tyler’s brilliant Those Boys.

Buy it at:

Go Deeper Press

Amazon UK


A Princess Bound – Fairy Tales Have Come of Age!


Who doesn’t love a fairy tale, with it’s ‘Once upon a time…’ and ‘…happily ever after’? (Yes, obviously there are some people that don’t – but actually that was a rhetorical question.) These age-old stories seem to stick in the collective consciousness, filling us all with fond memories of hiding under the covers as we suffered Little Red Riding Hood being eaten by the wolf and Snow White being poisoned by the apple. Many of them are terribly dark and a lot of them carry a deep sexual subtext. Even if we were too young to understand it, I think we somehow knew that the wolf wanted to ravage Little Red and that in Snow White, Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty everything hinged on an older woman’s jealousy of her younger competitor’s ripe and ready beauty.

So it makes sense, doesn’t it, to rewrite them for grown ups? To make explicit the dark sexual undercurrents that we all know are lurking there? Kristina Wright’s beautiful new anthology, A Princess Bound, does this and more – exploring the ‘Once upon a time…’ of BDSM. Enter a fairy kingdom in which princesses beg to be bound and princes demand complete submission. What could be more thrilling than an encounter in the blackberry patch with the Thorn King? In Jane Gilbert’s story of the same name, the sharp barbs bring both pain and pleasure. In Kristina’s own tale, The Last Duchess, Esmerelda begs to be bound, tied and held down… While in Rose de Fer’s Out of the Waves, the Little Mermaid is bound and whipped as she experiences pleasures she could never have imagined.

It is indeed a very grown-up collection of fairy tales – and I thoroughly enjoyed it!


Why is it that Goldilocks climbed into so many beds? Face it, fairy tales have always been kinky—from beautiful queens tied up in knots to the wolf that makes Red Riding Hood blush. In this distinctive collection of racy romances, Kristina Wright seduces us with tales that are playful, supernaturally sensual and very, very naughty. The beauty in “The Seven Ravens,” by Ariel Graham, uses a series of magic keys to finally unlock the door to her secret wish. A lonely maiden sneaks into the Winter Ball in Valerie Alexander’s “Mine Until Dawn,” and binds her new love in a devastatingly erotic story of dominance. A brawny beast of a man sweeps an aristocrat off her feet and right into his bed in “Black of Knight,” by Victoria Blisse. Submit to the spell of A Princess Bound.


From “Your Wish” by L. C. Spoering

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong.” I can’t decide if he’s talking to me, or musing to himself, and so I stand still, measuring my breaths, the hair on the back of my neck stiff and sensitive.

“Maybe it’s time to let you go.” That is the feared answer, another thing I don’t understand. I’ve been released before, over and over, but it’s not in the way that is imagined. It’s back in the bottle and off to the next, to bend to his will and serve, for many eternities.

I bite my lip and drag my gaze from his hands, wide and powerful. “And if I don’t want to go?”

He looks surprised. He has dark, thick eyebrows, and they raise along his forehead, creating great furrows and deep lines between his eyes. “Why would you want to stay?”

That, I can answer, and I find myself smiling before I can stop the expression. “You.” It’s as simple as that, and his face grows more baffled, and, like it’s a joke, he looks down at himself, as though the answer is in his sloppy morning dress, his bare feet, the slight paunch of his belly.

“Me,” he says, looking up at me, doubtful. Surely he’s thinking of the women he’s brought home, the one from the night before who said please over and over until it stopped sounding like a real word.

I nod. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes go to the bottle on the mantle, long-necked and worn smooth, brass and shining silver, the handle seemingly delicate enough to snap. I follow his gaze, and we stand there for a long, silent moment.

“There’s one wish left,” he points out, and I shrug.

“That one’s always the undoing,” I say, gently. “Fairy tales get that one right.”

He laughs, just a little, and I glow. He puts aside his coffee cup and crosses to the bottle, lifts it from the surface; the motion makes me feel seasick, and the taste of blood invades the back of my throat as he turns it in his hands.

“What if I make a wish for you, instead of me,” he muses, and I shake my head. He expects that and gives me a heartbreaking smile.

“All right. What if I wish, for me, you.”

I feel a tingle at the back of my neck, down my spine, along my sex. “Then that would be your command,” I say, though, truly, I can never quite predict what might come of a wish. Like most, he wished for success first, and a company bore fruit around him. He wished for riches, and found himself waking in a vast apartment, driving down the canyon to his office in a luxury car. There was nothing unexpected, but, of course, isn’t that when the guard is let down?

His thumb moves rings on the warm curved surface, and I press the crest of my thighs together in longing.

“Maybe I wish for you to stay forever.”

I consider this and shrug delicately once more. “Then I’d have to stay.” Would I be freed of my duties? Would the bottle shatter?

He sets it back down and my stomach clenches. “Or maybe I just never make that wish at all,” he says, and holds out his hand.

“I could make you,” I point out, but already I’m moving, already I’m smiling.

“You wouldn’t,” he predicts, and I shake my head, and mymouth opens easily under the warm pressure of his.

What is different about him that makes me cling to him now, fingers curling at his shoulders, toes clenching at the wool rug on the floor? I’ve been had by most of them, these men, but rarely have they had me. Truly, who can have an idea, a wish—who can possess a desire?

He does, he does, and the shackles he cannot see but I can feel, there around my wrists and ankles, they dissolve as he paces me back from the bottle, back from the room. I am feeling my way in expectation, heels lifted for the slick board that divides the doorway of his room from the hall, but he steers me, instead, past the long kitchen counter, out the open door.

The patio wraps around the house and, there, in the morning, the hills look parched and sparkling, as though the stars landed there for their daytime slumber. I can open my eyes and see the traffic stuck along the snaking roads, but he catches my chin before I can, thumb and forefinger, before his pinky rests at my windpipe. I’m held suspended in that position, and each breath pushes my throat against his finger, against that tiny pain, and I shiver, focusing my eyes on him.

“Say it,” he commands, and my mouth parts again, the skin around my lips now burning from the roughness of his stubble.

“Say it,” he repeats, and whatever sweet nothing might have been in his voice before is gone with the second demand; I feel weak, shaken, and my thighs slip against each other of their own accord.

“I’m yours,” I say, without drawing my breath; it makes my chest hurt, a sort of dying exhalation—I wonder if that is what this might be, release from one world into another.

“Say it again.” His hand moves from my chin, down my throat and over my bare chest. He parts the delicate buttons of my shift, and the fabric slides off me without protest.

“I’m yours.” My head feels like, a balloon bobbing in the hot breeze. I can feel the same stir in the air at my ass and cunt, just before his hands, sliding over my hips and thighs to part my legs, spread my cheeks wide.

His finger toys with my asshole, and I let out a whimper.


“I’m yours.” My voice is high and strained, and I must lean against him in order to keep myself upright.

Available from Cleis Press and


Slave Girls – Craving To Submit…




Ahhh… Sorry just had to get that out of my system – this cover is so spectacular that I couldn’t make you wait till later in the post. I just had to go for it straight off – and truth be told I’m half tempted to leave it at that. What more persuasion would you need to buy this glorious book?

But I wouldn’t be playing fair if I didn’t tell you a little more about it…

Have you ever felt the urge to submit? To pledge your body and mind to a master? To give a stranger complete control over your pain and pleasure? Intense pain, shattering orgasms, souls laid bare and skin burned with belts and canes…you’ll find it all between these covers in a collection of stories that are deliciously intense and divinely decadent. The stories D L King has curated in Slave Girls are hot and dirty – and if you’ve been harboring a secret desire to submit, somewhere deep down inside your soul, this is a book that will make you tremble…



Forever in an electric dance of give and take, pleasure and power are inextricably linked. In Slave Girls, award-winning eroticist D. L. King pulls back the velvet curtain to reveal a world where every sexual fantasy is realized, a world driven by women devoted to their own desires and their dominants. These Slave Girls want nothing more than to willingly relinquish control to the capable hands of the right Master. Trained and tested to suit every sexual taste, these women learn the ropes—literally. A hassle-filled day turns on a dime when a strong Dom takes charge in Victoria Behn’s “Hell-Bent for Leather.” In Giselle Renarde’s “Postcards from Paris,” one good girl lives for her daily dose of discipline and tough love. The thrill of being in service to a stranger compels the lust-filled sub in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s “Out of Sight.” Your own desires may surprise you after finishing the submissive exploits of Slave Girls.


From “Savoring Little One” by Graydancer


         Slow. Savor.

Her thighs came into view, the seam going up to be lost in the dark lace that bound each leg. I swallowed. There must be some atavistic trigger that makes the sight of a garter fastened to the top of a stocking rouse a primitive hunting instinct. It’s like a crosshairs laid over a particularly delectable prey. Almost irresistible.

The straps of each garter climbed the curves of her ass, one on each side, neatly framing the beautiful cleft between two graceful hemispheres. Her skin shone silvery pale, and again I flexed my fingers. Then I saw the dark fishtail shape of a lace thong flowing from the top of her ass over each hip and disappearing under the garter belt.

I frowned.

“Little One, was I mistaken in the purpose of your invitation?”

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes surprised. This wasn’t how the script in her head was written. “Um…what?” she murmured, and then caught herself, maintaining her demeanor. “What do you mean, Sir?” She looked confused, a little lost, and my heart beat a little faster at the adorably sweet expression.

I stepped closer behind her, deliberately, keeping my face stern as I met her eyes. “I asked”—my hand went to her neck, caressing the smooth skin there—“if I was mistaken”—fingers curled up into her hair—“as to why”—tightened, her breath hissing as my fist clenched, tilting her head up and toward me—“you invited me here.”

My face was centimeters from hers, and I could feel the warm skin of her ass pressed against my trousers, her skirt still held up in tight shaking fists. She knew I wasn’t actually upset—the swell of my cock pressing through my trousers against her buttocks was evidence of that. However, arousal did not translate into kindness in our particular dynamic. In fact, it often resulted in the opposite. She knew that. I felt her tense with fearful anticipation and grind her ass against me in spite of it. Because of it.

“You asked me to come here and take you,” I growled, my eyes locked on hers. “You were quite specific about your desire for fucking and sucking and beating and kneeling and having me, for lack of a more convenient term”—I tightened my grip slightly—“fuck your shit up.” Her pupils dilated slightly with the added rush of endorphins.

“Yes, Sir…” she breathed out, an eager, trembling sound.

“And I, in turn, was quite specific as to the manner in which you were to present yourself.”

“I thought…that is, I mean, I did, Sir, I thought…” I could see her mind racing, comparing the inventory of what she was wearing with the emails and chats we’d exchanged, the many flirtations that had led to this evening. I knew she would go over and over them in her mind, looking for something she’d missed or added, round and round in her head, and I let her wheels spin.

The fact was that she was perfect. She was wearing exactly what I’d requested, from the long skirt to the thin white cotton blouse. Heels to hair and everything in between, lovely and luscious and a feast for my eyes to savor.

But beauty is only part of this kind of play. The spice comes from the fear and the sweet dissonance of conflicting desires, to please and to be punished.

My part was, in effect, to season the experience. To taste.

“It’s not the ‘what,’ Little One. It’s the ‘how.’ Do you recall my views on the proper deportment of thong and garter belt?”

“Yes, Sir…you prefer the thong over the garter belt.”

“Yes, Little One, that’s what I said. And you responded with a very particular statement, one that I never forgot.” I turned her head slightly so that my warm breath tickled her sensitive ear. “You said you’d never had occasion to dress in such a slutty way.”

She didn’t reply, but I felt her body react to the words.

“So I’m forced to wonder if perhaps I was misled as to the nature of this occasion. Perhaps you don’t want to be on your knees. To feel my cock fill your throat till you gasp but still want it deeper. That sopping cunt of yours slam-fucked till you can barely walk, forced to cum for me till you’re hoarse and still beg for more.” I made the words guttural, growling, letting the monosyllables strike her desire with physical force. She was grinding against me harder now, and it took every bit of resolve I had not to push back.

But no, I was a rock of will upon which her growing lust crashed, and I continued. “That’s how I remember our conversation. That’s what I thought you invited me for.” I hissed angrily in her ear. “Was I wrong?”

She whimpered softly. “No…”

“Then say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I…I want you, Sir.”

“That’s all? Simple enough. I’m here.” I tightened my fingers again, eliciting another soft, high moan. “Your ass says you want more. Tell me what you want, Little One.”

She made another keening sound, and I shook her slightly. “Tell me!”

“I…I want you to…to fuck me, Sir.” Suddenly the barrier was broken, and the words poured out in a rush. “I want to taste you…I…I want to suck you hard and cum on your hard…c—” She paused for a moment, and I thought I might have to pull the word out of her, but then she swallowed, licked her lips, and forced it out. “Your…c-cock over and over and feel your hand on me, in me, taking me, I want you to take me, Sir, use me…” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips again, and one more word whispered out. “Hard.”

Available from Cleis Press and Amazon.

I have a naughty, dirty fantasy…and a book by Violet Blue!


Yes, that’s right. I have a dirty, sexy, secret little fantasy. But no. I’m not going to tell you what it is. Remember, I’m the famously buttoned up erotica writer (if you don’t remember, you can read all about that particular issue in Alison Tyler & My Top Button!) However, when my favorite publisher’s, Cleis Press, sent me a copy of Violet Blue’s Ultimate Guide to Sexual Fantasy, I immediately had to flick through the pages to see if my little ‘thing’ was featured. And it was!

So if you want to take a guess as to what it is I’m jonesing for, feel free to leave a comment. Naturally, you won’t win a prize. Because, believe me, I’m certainly not going to confirm it if you get it right! But guess away – just for fun. That’ll be my fun, as I see if anyone actually gets it right…

But back to the book…

And isn’t this a beautiful cover? (I love Violet’s covers – always pretty in pink! Remember the cover of Kissing: A Field Guide?)UltimateGuidetoSexualFantasy2e_hires


Join the legions of couples and singles who are making their hottest sexual fantasies come true. Whether you’re looking for an endless supply of fantasy ideas or expert advice for a playful, imaginative sex life, this information-packed book will tell you exactly what you need to know. Forbes web-celeb Violet Blue has compiled comprehensive lists of the most popular fantasies and fetishes, complete with suggestions for props, toys, and costumes (and where to buy them). Blue takes a nuanced approach to helping you decide just how far to take your fantasies. Whatever your desires, The Ultimate Guide to Sexual Fantasy: How to Have Incredible Sex with Role Play, Sex Games, Erotic Massage, BDSM Play and Much, Much More will help you create the scenarios of your wildest dreams.
Discover how to:

  • Uncover your lover’s secret fantasies
  • Role-play without feeling silly
  • Navigate your first threesome—where DOES that sixth arm go?
  • Have sex in public
  • Create thrilling S/M scenarios
  • Strip, lap dance, and talk dirty

And here’s an excerpt…

Threesomes, Foursomes, and Moresomes

Is a threesome your number one fantasy? You’re not alone— in fact, you’re in the majority. When top-ten-fantasy lists are compiled, sex with multiple partners always tops the charts. Online surveys like, glossy magazines such as Men’s health and Cosmopolitan, and popular women’s true fantasy compilations, such as Nancy Friday’s collections, all consistently list sex with more than one person as a widely popular fantasy.

Sex with multiple partners, in an array of alluring combinations, can be a mind-blowing experience for everyone involved. But despite its extraordinarily popularity as a fantasy, few people know how to make it happen in real life. Most threesomes and other unconventional groupings tend to be unplanned. A multiple-partner fantasy that “just happens” can be incredible—or it can be disappointing, or worse. It can bring you and your partner closer—or just rock the boat. Making a threesome happen, and having hot sex during the experience, all in a spirit of safety and fun, takes a bit more than chance and luck. For some couples, this is the ultimate sexual adventure, one where a bit of planning leaves everyone spent, satisfied, or hungry for more.


Violet Blue is the best-selling author of numerous sex-instruction books, including The Ultimate Guide to Cunnilingus and The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio. She also writes about erotica, pornography, and sexual pleasure and health for magazines such as O: The Oprah Magazine, Newsweek, Cosmopolitan, Esquire, Glamour, Maxim, Marie Claire, Men’s Health, Penthouse, Redbook, and more. She lives in San Francisco. Find her online at and on Twitter @VioletBlue.

Available from:

Cleis Press




Sommer Marsden – Poster Girl for Extraordinary!


Sommer Marsden’s latest release might be called Poster Boy for Ordinary, but Sommer herself is anything but! In fact, she’s a legend in erotica writing circles, so I’m delighted to welcome her to Superotica today, along with that ever so cute guy on her cover! Goodness, he’s cute…

Over to you, Sommer…

A naughty excerpt please! That’s what Tamsin said. So…I aim to please. Well, almost. I guess what I should say is, I aim to tease which is where this scene comes in. Aubrey and Mike’s first time truly up close and personal. Well, some of it…
There’s something to be said for just a taste. Don’t you think?

“Why are you nervous?” His kiss traveled from her mouth to her jawline. From her jawline to her neck. From her neck to her collarbone and that was when all the air seemed to whoosh out of the room in a great vacuum, leaving Aubrey pinned to a half-done wall trying desperately to breathe.
Mike stroked a gentle fingertip from the buttons of her top to the small, hard knot of her right nipple. He stroked it through the cotton with the tip of his finger, kissing her again more deeply, his tongue invading her mouth, his scent invading her mind.
Aubrey found herself arching her back, pushing against that finger, seeking the feel of his whole palm on her.
He pulled back and a panicky bird seemed to spread its wings in her chest. But he was just removing the camera and placing it on the bookshelf by the door to the stairwell.
“There,” Mike said, pressing back against her. She could feel the heat of his bare chest and the smell of sunscreen grew thicker around her. “Now I can get closer.”
He cupped her face in his palms and paid close attention to her mouth. Stroking his tongue over hers, licking softly along her lower lip and then nibbling so she felt the rush of excitement low in her belly. The rush of it quickly spread to her pussy and Aubrey knew if he so much as suggested sex, she’d be in. One hundred and ten percent. It had been quite a while since she’d gotten laid and there was no doubt in her lust-scrambled mind that Mike Sykes would be very good at it. And very generous to his partner.
She sucked in air like she was drowning and his big hand splayed along her rib cage. The heat of his touch seeped into her skin and then he was pushing his fingers up beneath her shirt and the direct contact was surprising.
A rush of fluid escaped her and puddled in the crotch of her jeans. If they got that far there’d be no playing it cool. She’d never be able to hide how much she wanted him if he saw that. And somehow the knowledge that she would be so easy to discover made her urgent lust a million times better.
Mike swept his hand higher, pushing her top up as he went. When he reached her bra, her body trembled. She shook beneath his hands though she was desperately trying to still herself.
“Are you okay?” he asked conversationally as he pulled her bra cup down and exposed her right breast. His lips captured the already taut bit of flesh and he sucked.
More fluid, more heat, more need. A shuddering sigh slipped free of her even as she tried to convince him she was fine. “I’m perfect,” she said.
He bared her other breast, raked his teeth along her skin. Her whole body responded with bright pleasure. Before she could stop herself she sighed, “Yes.”
Indie photographer and book cover artist Aubrey Singleton is living up to her last name. A long summer at the lake has cured her of her recent breakup, and she’s embracing life as a single woman. What she’s not prepared for is to come back home to find she has a handsome new single neighbor.
Mike Sykes is a roofer—though he’s afraid of heights—a father of two and recently divorced. Oh and one might classify him as smoking hot.
The photographer in Aubrey is smitten, the single woman in her is breathless. She’s ready to make Mike a star—on book covers and, though she’s wary of a broken heart, in her life. He’s not so sure. Mike sees himself as a life complication due to his younger son’s illness, and not hot by a long shot. In fact, he thinks he’s the poster boy for average.
But a “business” trip to Key West, rife with hunky models, sets a backdrop for a shot at true love…

Buy links:
Ellora’s Cave



About the Author:
Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called “one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre” by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora’s Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She’s the author of numerous erotic novels including Poster Boy for Average, The Accidental Cougar, Lost in You, and Learning to Drown. Visit


The Furious Temptation of Elise Hepner!


I’m very excited today to have a new – never been on Superotica before – guest for your delight and delectation: the wonderful Ms Elise Hepner! And she’s brought with her a very saucy little excerpt from her latest title, The Furious Temptation from Secret Cravings Publishing.


For millennia Megaera, a Fury, has functioned as Hades right hand by passing judgment on demons who break the sacred laws. Stalwart in her moral compass, but harboring a curse triggered by rage, she walks a thin line between perfection and destruction. But when she digs into a case uncovering a string of demon rapes, she incites a war with Mount Olympus that could ripple chaos throughout the ages.

Omen Cole was demon made during the Civil War after repeated torture at the hands of his enemies. Sentenced to an eternity as watchdog over his emotionally frail, once human ex-wife, he’s haunted that he couldn’t save her from a brutal assault.

Now it’s happened again. And Megaera needs his testimony. Omen will sell his body—and anything else—to avenge his fragile ex-wife. If that means an alliance with Megaera, he’ll make it the most memorable of their eternity.



Omen Cole would get nothing from me. Not when we’d be working together for Goddess knows how long. His grip on my bicep tightened imperceptibly, as if he wasn’t aware of his strength. Heat washed up my arm, as bitingly painful as any burn. But I didn’t flinch, tense, or move a muscle. Let him unleash his rage on me, at least then we’d be working with a clear-headed demon instead of one clouded by unbelievable rage.
“What do you want?” I narrowed my gaze, tongue easing across my bottom lip.
It wasn’t really a question, not as he backed me against the hard press of marble. Nowhere to go and no one to see us. Adrenaline pounded at my temples as his other hand took a hold of my other arm. I was as good as pinned by his body and his stare. I cocked my head, a subtle dare. The lift of my lips, only at one corner—come and get me.
“A distraction.”
Before I could make another comment, the small inch of space separating our bodies dwindled to nothing as he shoved himself on me, his lips bruising against mine as my whole body went limp with acceptance. Take, take from me for the good of our cause—a cause that suddenly outweighed all of my common sense once I’d convinced myself on the walk to the elevator that this form of distraction was exactly what he needed to keep himself on track. Not as though our plan benefited me in any way at all. Gave me an excuse. The excuse.
His tongue pushed against my mouth without invitation and I opened for his perusal knowing that, as his fingers tightened around me and pain spiked up to my shoulders, he wouldn’t give me a choice. Part of me—the beast, the anger—coiled inside me. An innate reaction to a predator as my hands slid up through his button down to have skin on skin. His first few buttons burst because I couldn’t get to him quick enough. I let myself dabble in the freedom of touch. In the longing for unshackled emotion of any kind—and my beast was sated, even as I yearned for more of him.
Our bodies molded together and he groaned in my mouth, easing his other hand to my left breast before he cupped me. His possessive touch was an electric shock to my system and I jerked against him. His laughter as he tugged my lower lip between his teeth and brought my nipple hard against his palm. A yearning unlike anything I’d ever acknowledged, nothing and everything shifted for me all at once as if a part of myself was merely waiting, dormant for the pleasure that would calm me and piece together my tormented puzzle.16727266_s
When my fingers skimmed the line of his pants, he let out a satisfying hiss that made my panties damp as my stomach plummeted to my sensible heels. In kind, Omen brushed his thumb across my nipple, earning my small shift as if to get away from the torment despite the wall at my back. On the second pass, I did the next best thing. I left the teasing to amateurs. My hand slid past his pants and found his hard, long length hot against my palm. I squeezed him, unable to suppress a noise in the back of my throat that ricocheted inside my bones.
Omen moaned and mumbled something I couldn’t make out with the sound of my need pounding against my temples. As his hand moved from my bicep I tried to pinpoint his next move. Oh, so wrong. His nimble fingers tipped my head back with his tight grip in my hair so it stung enough to get my attention. He underestimated me. I wasn’t losing this battle.
Despite my small groan, lips partway open, eyes slit while I watched his expression flit from one emotion to the next. Nothing stopped my progress when my palm slid from the base of him to the tip, one hard, long slide that made him quake against me. He yanked my head back even further. His grip on my breast was relentlessly hard and he bared his teeth in a smile that rocked me to my core.
“You haven’t gone for the obvious point yet.” I struggled to exhale, every bit of me trembled, and my voice was gravely with lust.
“Unlike you, I don’t need to cheat.” He drew close to my cocked back head as our lips almost pressed together, our body heat mingling as he ground himself against my palm. “For another time.”
His light kiss caught me by surprise—but the swiftness with which he entangled from me must have hurt, as I was still very much attached to him. Even from practically across the room he showed no pain. Though his pants were a bit constricted at the fly and that bit of discomfort was enough of a hit for me that I was satisfied.
“I wasn’t distraction enough for you?”
“No, you were perfect. I simply can’t stand the idea of using you up so quickly. Even if I do want to fuck you into the wall behind your back until you can’t walk straight for a week. But a gentleman doesn’t tell his superior that, especially when she’s a lady of good breeding. So you think on that, and I’ll pretend I didn’t say it out loud. Wouldn’t want to give you any ideas you couldn’t handle.”
“I can handle far more than you know, little boy.”
“Oh, now, come on.” He gave me an incredulous, cocky look. “We both know I’m not little. The warmth tingling on your palm speaks for itself.”
Thankfully before I had the chance to lick my lips and tip my hand, the elevator’s telltale wind pushed us both a bit to the side. The car came to a standstill with barely a screech of effort and the golden, shimmering doors pulled back as I fought to regain some kind of composure. I was buzzed from the tips of my toes to the top of my scalp. It took everything in me to wipe the dopey grin off my face that would have proved it as I moved into the elevator car without another glance or word to Omen. I only knew he followed me because he greeted Hermes and told him to take us to the archival room.
Point. Set. Match.
And there would be no rematch.

Buy Links:


Barnes & Noble

Bio: Elise Hepner lives with her husband and two eccentric cats in Maryland. She spends the majority of her free time in her basement office concocting smutty characters and sinful situations that leaves readers satisfied. When not writing, she researches everything from automatons in the 18th century to gladiatorial rules in Ancient Rome. She prides herself on being an avid information hound as well as a blog reading addict–which is her favorite way to procrastinate. Her previous publications include books and stories with Entangled, Excessica, Xcite, Ellora’s Cave, Secret Cravings Publishing and Cleis Press.
Author Links: