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Nectar of the Gods

I'm excited! My first Total-E-Bound release is coming up this month. My story FATE UNBOUND will be in the NECTAR OF THE GODS anthology. Sexy gods, yum!

Here's a bit about FATE UNBOUND:

Forced to leave her homeland of ancient Greece, Taryn must search modern day LA for the one man who will tame her wild heart. The Oracle has dictated that she must submit to all men who approach her. In doing so, she will find the single man who desires submission to her, then, and only then, may she return to her beloved home.

Adrian, frustrated by being forced live as an unrecognized son of Zeus, seeks his fate from The Oracle. The Oracle has a dictate for him as well, he must be patient, accept what comes to him, and never act on his own desires--especially those of the flesh. In doing so, he will, when the time is right, receive the recognition as Zeus’s son.

And here's an excerpt:

“The Fates have been cruel, casting me from Greece.” Adrian tossed the chisel from his calloused hand, watching it skid to a stop under the expansive window. Gazing across the private courtyard swimming pool towards the glittering neon lights of Los Angeles, he continued, “Sending me to this modern world, where I am nothing, no one, I—”

“Not even your true father, Zeus himself, can deny The Fates,” Linus said to his friend, trying as he had many times over the past several weeks to remind Adrian that he had no control over his predicament.

“Curse The Fates and curse—”

“Don’t. Have patience.” Linus’ tone was sharp but softened as he continued. “You will regret those words later, when you get the acknowledgement you crave.”

Running his fingertips over rough edges of marble that would eventually be two lovers, Adrian scoffed. “Patience?”

Linus set down the brown leather chest he’d just carried in. “Let me remind you, you sought your future from The Oracle. Besides, you will be getting what you want—if you only follow—”

“The dictates.” Adrian’s hand stilled where the woman’s waist would be. “It’s a trick. Commanding me to not seek the touch of any woman, then placing me here, where she is nearby.”

“And what would you do if you could touch her?” Linus asked. “Seek vengeance?”

Gliding his hand lower, he flattened his palm across the area where the lovers’ bodies would merge and pressed hard. There was no room for gentleness when it came to the unfinished business between him and his former lover, Taryn.

He turned away so his friend would not see that cruel truth on his face, but the concealment came too late.

“What good would such an act do? It certainly would not help you achieve what you claim to want. Single-minded revenge does not suit a god—or even a half god. Perhaps the Fates know you better than you know yourself.”

Adrian backed away from the mass of half-shaped marble, stepped down from the wooden platform filling the centre of the space he’d made into a studio and turned to gaze across the new series of sketches he’d started that afternoon.

He admired the outline of the naked woman with her full breasts then scowled as his eyes were drawn reluctantly to the unusually large cock of the man poised above her. Had that been him only a breath away from Taryn, he would have already been buried in her sweet cunt. In two thrusts, he could have had her writhing, begging and…


Disgusted that he, a son of the great Zeus, would bother to compare himself to a simple mortal man, he spun and paced across the dust covered floor of the room he hadn’t left in days. “What good can come of this isolation? Am I a child that I need to be torn away from the home I love and belong in to learn some…some…lesson?”

“The isolation is of your own doing. There is nothing in the dictate of the Oracle that keeps you within these walls.”

Adrian’s answer was quick. “What is the point of leaving?”

His companion’s reply was silence, the type of silence one man offers another when he is holding back words better left unsaid. Finally, Linus found something that might offer comfort. “She hasn’t seen you…yet. Perhaps you will accomplish what you must, then can return home with your cherished pride intact.”

The light sarcasm of Linus’s words went unnoticed. Adrian was strutting again, trying to avoid the table by the window where a few rays of moonlight that managed to cut through the skyline skimmed across the drawings. Pages and pages of the sweet Taryn, naked and exposed, submissive yet still in control, demanding that the man mounting her please her before himself.

Linus unlocked the chest and lifted the top. “You could have requested I send her away when she came about the job.”

Adrian had reminded himself of that many times but knew provided with the opportunity he would make the same choice again. Taryn was out of his life, but she would never be out of his blood—or heart. The images of them together were not simply a part of his mind, but his soul as well.

Turning away, Linus began putting away the clothing Adrian had insisted he bring over from the small apartment they’d been given upon arriving. “Do not think so little of yourself. She is here too, also torn from home, working as you are. And, most likely, battling with dictates as well.” He paused, catching Adrian’s gaze before continuing, “She is working for you. The Fates make no mistakes. There must be a rea—”

“There were not enough men in Greece for her to charm into her bed, that is the reason. She had come here to fuck every man who crosses her path.”

“Rumours,” Linus muttered, reaching into the chest for another pile of clothing. “Don’t listen.”

“I have seen her play with her charms with my own eyes. In Greece—and here.”

“Here, you have seen what you yourself have asked of her.”

“I only told her to go through the motions of sex.” Frustration deepened his voice as he thought about both Taryn and his predicament with the Fates. “The job does not require that she enjoy it.”

It was Linus’s turn to scoff. “If you are thinking a woman like Taryn would allow herself to be mounted and used like some common slave, you do have a lesson to learn.”


I'm thrilled that my story will be tucked among 4 others written by these awesome authors:

Marianne LaCroix, Ashlyn Chase, Sascha Illyvich, and Annmarie Ortega



Research is a necessary part of the creative process that can be tedious, time consuming…or a whole lot of fun. I personally love researching a story – the characters, the setting, and even the occasional occupation of one of my characters if it is a focal part of the story.

I admit it! I am totally anal about having my research or at least most of it completed before I even sit down to write Chapter One, Page One. I have a book set-up folder with written details, photos and character profiles of my main characters. Setting photos and information. If a home or building features prominently, I have exterior and interior photos.

I tend to be very visual when I write and if I’m having a problem with a scene, going through my set-up folder and looking at photos is the best way to get my focus into the story, into the setting, the scene, and into the heads of my characters. As such, I’m going to share my new favorite writing tool – Flicker Photo Sharing! I’m addicted. You can find photos of almost anything on this site; animals in Africa, Victorian homes, a dark and stormy night, man in the fog, trees in the fall. You name it. Type in tag words and hit search and chances are you’ll find more than you imagined.

My first book, THE BOND UNBROKEN, written under my maiden name, Diana Grayson, is a time travel set in the Wild West, Abilene, Kansas, in the year 1871. Believe it or not, I began writing this book before I owned a computer. You don’t want to know the number of books I lugged home from the Library while researching this book. That part wasn’t so much fun. THANK GOD FOR THE INTERNET!!!! However, no matter how many books or photos you might have, nothing beats the excitement of hands-on research, of being there, of seeing where it all happened, exploring the countryside, etc.

It’s amazing how helpful people will be if they know you are an author working on a book. I phoned the local library and told them I was planning to visit the area to do some research. The wonderful lady I spoke with put me in touch with the head of the local historical society who I phoned when I arrived in Kansas. He gave me a personal tour of the city, highlighting the original area, and allowed me to go through their historical archives and to copy anything that would be helpful. I was actually able to hold an original Colt 45 revolver. Imagine my surprise. Those things are not only much larger than I expected, they’re heavy. It certainly put my perception of the quick-draw shoot-outs into perspective.

There is a mock old gun-town in Abilene where they stage shoot-outs for tourists. Are you ready for this? The person playing the sheriff let me wrap his gun belt and holster around me and stand in the middle of Texas Street as if I was about to face down some ornery outlaw who was gunning for me. If I had lived back then, I wouldn’t have lived long. The damn gun belt would have wrapped around me twice, and the only chance I would have had at living is if my opponent had laughed himself to death while I tried to tug the heavy Colt 45 from the holster. My friend who went on the trip with me nearly did as she stood on the sidelines watching me make a fool of myself.

Fun and exciting hands-on research doesn’t have to be as extensive as a trip several states away to research a location. I believe I mentioned in my Seduction Of The Senses series that I went to a lake and spent a night in a cabin so I could sit outside on the deck to listen to the night sounds for my story INDEPENDENCE DAY. I took a walk in the rain to get the feel and the sound of the rain on an umbrella for I’LL BE SEEING YOU and went to the river after heavy rain to get the smells. I went out one foggy night and took a drive in the country. I even went outside for a walk during a heavy snow, dressed as my heroine in DETOUR was dressed, to see what it felt like. I went to the county fair and rode a Ferris Wheel, something I hadn’t done in years. For SECOND CHANCES, I went out to a bar alone, something I do not do, just to get the experience my heroine would have. And, I shot a gun, something I’ve never done before, to get the feel and the kick of the weapon as if fired. How many of you have written about a character shooting a gun but have never done so yourself?

Those are just a few an examples of the kind of hands-on research that I love, the part that fires my imagination, a fix that will keep me going for weeks after I get back to the computer.

Now, being single, all I need is someone to help me with the hands-on research for the love scenes. I’ve said it before and will say it again - as a romance writer, those scenes are a necessary part of the job. It makes perfect sense to me that I should be able to hire a male research assistant and claim his salary as a write-off on my income taxes. Makes perfect sense to me.

So authors, how about sharing some of the things you’ve done for the sake of researching a book? Anything interesting, fun, maybe a bit scary, or something not particularly wise as I have been known to do?

I’m on vacation from my day job, all next week. It’s the first full week I’ve taken for myself in several years. And another week scheduled for the second week in October. My plan is to devote both weeks to my new novel, HELL ON WHEELS, that has been slow going due to work and some family health issues. Anyone want to guess what kind of hands-on research I’m planning while I’m off?
I'll be checking email when ever possible and will respond as soon as I am able to do so. Have a great week everyone.



Go For The Gold--

Although the Olympics are over, I’d like to take a minute to revisit those wonderful days with a little commentary. One of the delights I found was online at the Fourth Place Medal’s Investigative Unit. While the sports were great and I really enjoyed all the bouncing, running, throwing, tossing, flipping…you get the picture… the FPMIU had all the inside stories like why divers take showers after they dive, and all the controversy about things like age and uniforms. As a writer I am just as interested in the WHY of it, not just the WHAT. Here are a few interesting highlights –

Sex or no sex? – the women’s ping pong participants were told to it would help if they wore some skirts and shirts with curves, thinking that sexier outfits would bring on the crowds, while the women’s beach volleyball players could have managed with a tad bit more covering.

Accessorize or no? – The Spanish synchronized swim doubles were told they couldn’t wear their suits that had little lights sewn in to the fabric. Officials said they were accessories, which weren’t allowed. Have they not noticed the sprinters and all the gold they wear around their necks?

Do your undies match? – I have a real problem with someone knowing if my undies match my shorts, but that’s what happened with New Zealand’s field hockey team. Their manager was penalized because three of the guys wore black undies beneath their white shorts. And it was only because they didn’t have time to return to quarters and change after they had worn their black shorts for an earlier match. Can you imagine explaining to your grandkids that you didn’t win a medal at the Olympics because you weren’t color coordinated?

As I watched the competition throughout the weeks, I began to realize that as authors, we are Olympic trained competitors. While huge numbers of us are still trying to attain greatness, a select few have managed to have their names go down in the annals of history. I thought long and hard about what it takes to be an athlete (other than having matching underwear, that is). See if you don’t agree that authors have many of the same characteristics.

Endurance, strength & training – Susan Johnson (gymnast) trains 4 hours a day; Michael Phelps (do I even have to say?)many times that. But how often do you as a writer, spend ten to twelve hours a day at the computer; writing at night and sacrificing sleep to meet page counts and deadlines. We have the endurance to read the same copy as many as four times as we go through edits and print galleys. We have the strength to drag our bodies out of bed after little or no sleep to fix our family breakfast, go to a job, and write some more. And we have the fortitude to keep trying, like Susan Johnson, when the odds are against us and we get rejected time and again.

Grace, agility, cadence, rhythm – I am in awe of the synchronized swimming, gymnastics floor exercises, even the trampoline competitors. Their grace and rhythm remind me of the way my words flow across the page. What they create with their bodies – an invisible picture through their movements – I create with words. The ability to put those words down in a cadence that a reader can read and understand – that is truly a writer’s gift.

Team players and sharing the glory– Not all sports are individual; for example basketball and water polo. As authors, we have to be team players also. We work with editors, cover artists, publishers and promotion people. We could do our job – write – without them, but where would we be then? That would be like an athlete training all year, year after year, and then staying home and watching the Olympics on TV. We are part of a team in another way. Through our list servs, blogs and chats, we offer congrats on sales, praise for great reviews and commiserations for bad ones. We share our ideas and thoughts through chat times and blogs as we wish our “teammates” the best.

Sacrifice and Pride – Writing may be an individual endeavor, like diving, track and field or gymnastics, but the sacrifice isn’t just made by the author and the athlete. Our families give up their time with us. We sacrifice family vacations to attend conferences or to meet deadlines. But in the end, whether we win or lose, aren’t they there with us, applauding our efforts, beaming with pride because we completed the race, the tournament, our manuscript?

Like athletes, we work hard to win competitions – the Golden Heart, the Rita, the EPPIES. We want more than one medal too. We want multiple contracts; we want eBook publication, print, audio books, movie contracts! For athletic hopefuls, the next Olympics is four years away. For those of us whose passion is writing, on a daily basis we have the opportunity to –


Bobbie is constantly striving for the best. Check out her stories at


Sexy Fifteen Year Olds

Make you squig a little? Yeah, me too. In this month's issue of a tabloid magazine, right beside stories of Branjalina's twins, Jen's engagement to John, and all of the other celebrity gossip, was a story about Miley Cyrus, age 15 and the end of her relationship with Nick Jonas. She talks about how he broke her heart, how she changed her hair and her image, and how she is going to just be alone for a while. Why? Because it is sexy to be on your own. Excuse me? What was that 15 year old child star Miley Cyrus? Did you just refer to your adolescent self as sexy?

And what the hell is said rag-mag doing reporting on the relationships of children? They are children. I don't care that Nick and Miley broke up, and I don't care that he is now dating 14 year old Selena Gomez. Speculating on whether or not these children are engaged is just irresponsible.

Remember when Disney was for kids? Yeah, me too. But now, it seems that the jokes on the show are geared more toward adults. I have a nine year old daughter, and we watch Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zach and Cody, Wizards of Waverly Place, etc. I watch them with her because they are funny, to me, an adult. There are jokes that just go over her head right now, even though the shows are supposed to be made for her age group: Tweens.

Ah the Tweens, not a child, not a teenager. Caught in the middle of toys that are too young and activities that are too old. These kids just don't have anywhere to fit for 3 to 4 years of their lives. It is such an awkward age, and you just feel so bad for these kids because there aren't many places for them to turn.

What's my point? I guess I don't have one. I was just WAY squigged by the child's "sexy" comment. I worry about our children, the ones who are not famous, who do not have millions of dollars, and what they are going to think they should be like. What happened to the Partridge Family? The Brady Bunch? Hell even the Adams Family and The Munsters? There are no warm, fuzzy messages attached to the barrage of television images these kids are subjected to anymore. Today's kids are running out of role models. Yes they have us, but we do not exactly remember what it is like to be their age. Our childhoods are like child birth. We remember the pain, but we don't feel it anymore. Thank goodness for us.

Remember when you were young and your parents would say things to you that you swore up and down you would never say to your kids. How many of those have you said? I have been pretty good about it, though my favorite reasoning behind everything I say and do is "Because." I have never told my daughter to stop crying, for any reason. I don't know if it is because I am such an emotional person myself, or if I just remember how hard it really is to stop crying. It's not a switch that turns on and off. It is a human response to anger, fear, pain, happiness etc.

What is my point? Again, I don't really have one. I am just rambling today because I have nothing of much value to share with you all.

Dakota Rebel



Since I live in the Democratic National Convention host town of Denver, Colorado, things are pretty exciting on this side of the pond. 15,000 members of the press are here, along with movers and shakers, people with a dream. (Hey, and some people are just dreaming of having our roads open again!)
As if that weren't enough, we've enjoyed the excitement of the Olympics.
No matter who you root for, or where you stand, you can't help but be touched by stories of inspiration. From the runner who finished dead last, but still finished, to the athletes with world class record setting time, we've been touched. Stories of triumph over adversity, of having laser-like focus, of achieving remarkable things, against all odds.
And guess what? You have, too. I have, too. My mother was a parlour maid, my father a sign painter who dreamed of better things.
From the moment I could talk, I wanted to write. And it took ten, long, brutal, heartwrenching years before I sold my first book. And then, I wish I could say it had been easy from there. But it hasn't. Every day, a new challenge, and I still collect as many rejection letters as I do contracts.
Last year came the biggest challenge of all...I'd just gotten my son through school to hear the diagnosis we all dread... Cancer. At 22. What? How??
And still... Inspiration.
I wake up and dream of a new idea. I hear a snippet of conversation and think, What if... And I'm inspired all over again, even if I've just had a rejection.
And my son... Am I humbled by him... He dreamed of returning to the fire line to fight wildland fires. That inspired him through a gruellling winter. He never lost faith. And this May, he reported for duty.
What do you dream of? What do you think of? What makes your heart beat? What's your success story?
We are not who we were, but rather, who we can become.
I dare you to focus on your dreams, and, breathing in a little of that energy and excitement, to be inspired to go for the gold in your life.
What could you accomplish if only you dared try...?

Best wishes....


DIARY OF A MAD erotic thriller

DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT is a steamy, erotic thriller.

With all this talk of festishes here at Hitting the Hot Spot, I thought I'd give you a sizzling excerpt treat...


Grace tipped the slats of the bedroom window’s blinds and watched as a black sedan pulled into the driveway that night. She smiled as Alex’s tall, golden form exited the car, his sprint quick and light as he strode up the small walkway. She let go of the blinds, heard him come through the front door, murmuring something to Moira and Sam. Then she saw them both leave.
And heard Alex’s footfalls as he strode down the hallway towards her room.
She straightened her blouse and adjusted the band that held her ponytail in place. Running a hand over her skirt, she stood in the centre of the room and waited for him to enter, her heart pounding in her chest.
Grace had dressed like this hundreds of times, for lots of men, but never for one she cared for like Alex.
He strode in, shutting the door behind him. Then his eyes settled on Grace. For just a second, he wore a puzzled frown, then he smiled, one corner of his mouth kicking up. “Well, well, what do we have here?”
“Hello, Professor.” She made her voice sound innocent, yet…seductive.
He raised a brow. “Professor, eh? And just what am I teaching?”
“You never finished that class on…aphrodisiacs.”
He laughed. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it.” He strode further into the room, her Norse god, her Iceman. “You’re looking for extra credit.”
She nodded, but her head shook just a little. In fact, her body trembled too, as he approached. Grace thought she’d turn him on, instead she’d lit a sensual fire in her belly and groin that threatened to burn her alive.
Alex loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. She watched, fascinated, as he rolled his shirtsleeves up his arms, the white face of his gold and silver watch gleaming against his bronzed skin. He took a seat on the bed, and crooked his index finger in her direction. “Come here.”
She took a tentative step forward, her black, patent leather Mary Janes squeaking as she moved. Cool air blew up the short, plaid skirt she wore. Her knee-high socks had tight elastic bands at the top—thank God, she thought wryly, it would ruin the whole damned effect if they slipped. She fingered the collar of her white blouse and licked her lips.
“Don’t lick you lips at me, young lady.”
His stern, mocking voice held just a note of wickedness.
Grace revelled in it.
She toyed with the master, the wizard of erotic love-play, and now she had the chance to turn him on, to be the aggressor.
He patted the bed. “Lift your skirt and come here.”
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“It seems to me,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “That you didn’t complete your last two homework assignments.”
She grinned. She couldn’t help it. “I, uh, was busy, Professor. And a little sad.”
“Oh?” He raised one white-blonde brow. “Why was my best student so sad?”
She shrugged, looking down as she toyed with the ends of her blouse in her hands. “My professor didn’t come to see me.”
“For that,” his voice became deep. “I’m truly sorry
“Are you?” she murmured, looking up at him.
“Very sorry. And your professor wants you to know you’re on his mind every waking minute of every day. You’re never far from his thoughts…or his heart.”
His heart? Had she been hearing things?
He angled his head. “We still have to discuss this bad habit you have of skipping homework assignments.” Patting the bed again, he repeated. “Now, raise your skirt. And come sit next to me.”
She did as he bade, walking slowly towards the bed. Stopping in front of him, she lifted her skirt, revealing a pair of simple white cotton panties.
Fire leaped into Alex’s eyes. He gave her a cheeky grin. “Well, I see you’re wearing underwear today, Miss Barry.” Alex reached out to run a hand across her mons. “But they have to come off.”
Her panties became wet when he told her that. Grace’s knees turned to jelly. She had bared her body to other men, but removing the pair of simple, cotton underwear in front of Alex’s cool, silver gaze made her body vibrate.
Alex reached out and slid the panties down her hips and belly, tugging them past her smooth-shaven labia. He rose from the bed and bent his tall frame, tugging them down her legs until the lay wrapped around her ankles.
That’s where he left them. Rising to his feet slowly, he placed kisses on her shins, on her knees, her thighs and the twin folds of skin covering her nubbin. Grace shuddered pleasurably at the feel of his tongue as it flicked over skin.
Alex resumed his seat on the bed. She stood there, still as a board, her skirt raised, the panties draped around her ankles.
He gave her a cool, level look. “What do you think happens to students who don’t do their homework, Miss Barry?”
Grace let go of the breath she’d been holding. She shrugged. “I’m not sure, Professor.” Her pulse quickened.
He grasped her around the waist with both hands. “Step out of the panties.”
She let go of her skirt and did as he instructed, kicking them aside.
Alex reached around and tucked the hem of her skirt into the waistband in back. Cool air swirled around Grace’s bottom but her body temperature rose at least ten degrees.
He leaned back and patted the bed. “Come sit.”
She saw his cock swell, the outline of his stiff member pushing against his trousers.
Grace lifted her leg and placed one knee on the bed, Alex’s silver gaze focused on her mound. She climbed up and settled next to him, dangling her feet over the side.
He smiled, a wicked, rogue’s grin. Again, he patted his thighs. “Lay across my lap, face down.”
Grace’s eyes grew wide, her look all innocence. “Why? What are you going to do, professor?”
“You’re the only student who doesn’t do her homework, Miss Barry.” His breathing became short, shallow and ragged. “And you’re the only student who’s ever turned me on like this.”
She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. “How about that? Am I the only student who does that?”
He grasped her around the waist again, tugging her forward until she lay across his lap. Grace turned her head, trying to get a glimpse of his face as he ran a hand across her bottom.
“And you’re the only one of my students with a bottom like this.”
Grace caught her breath as his hand connected with her backside.
She gripped the bed covers, feeling the sting of his palm and the delicious throbbing ache from deep within her pleasure zone.
Heat spread across her bottom. It flowed between her legs, settling in the juncture between her thighs.
That last smack sent her over the edge of that great wide sensual abyss, the one that only Alex could bring her to. She dangled on its edge, not wanting to fall yet, not wanting to slip down. Grace wanted to savour this time with Alex.
His hand collided with her bottom again. She held her breath, waiting for the next one to come. Grace felt giddy, knowing that her essence, her moisture, must be all over Alex’s trousers by now. Each time his hand came down on her bottom, she felt moisture seep from between her legs.
She gripped the bed covers again, the delicious heat and sting of his palm acting as the headiest aphrodisiac.
Alex eased her off his lap, pulling her tight against his chest, kissing the top of her head. He ran his hand over her bottom, cupping it gently and crooning in her ear.
“Now, Miss Barry, I’m going to give you what you really deserve.”
He flipped her onto her back, easing her stinging bottom onto the bed. His movements became restless and urgent as he undressed her, then himself. Trailing kisses across her face, his lips travelled down, waging a tender, sweet assault on every inch of her.
“My little china doll,” he murmured as he kissed her navel. Alex looked up, his cool gray eyes meet hers. “You are exquisite.”
He continued to kiss her body. Grace trailed her fingers through the pale, blonde hair on his head, revelling in their silky soft feel and his new pet name for her.
My little china doll.
Her father had called her that.
Tears stung her eyes at the memory. As Alex traced a sensual, fiery path of kisses across her body, she closed her eyes, enjoying Alex’s tender ministrations.
“You should be kissed like this every day…always,” he whispered as his lips caressed her labia. He started a slow erotic campaign on her clit, kissing, sucking and nibbling until Grace couldn’t catch her breath. She lifted her bottom from the bed, pushing her little nubbin up and into his mouth, eager to receive Alex’s kiss. His tongue flicked her little bud, sending Grace into a tailspin of need.
She clutched his white-blonde head full of hair between her hands, crying out as her orgasm hit. Grace felt boneless, her body a melted puddle of sweet sensations. She couldn’t move, even though she tried. Alex helped her, easing his big body over hers, helping her to turn over. Again he trailed kisses across her back, on her shoulders blades, trailing down…down…down to her bottom. When he kissed her bottom, her eyes rolled back, for he also trailed a finger down the separation between her bottom cheeks, ending that path between her legs.
“The professor has to finish his lesson,” he whispered near her ear.
She nodded, a smile on her face.
He grasped her around the waist, lifting her up, inserting his cock inside her from behind. The tip of his penis caressed her entrance, begging to be let in. Alex pushed, easing his way inside, using the fingers of the supporting arm he held around her waist to taunt and tease her breasts. He used slow, even strokes, bringing Grace to the height of fevered passion again. With no condom, Grace felt his every stroke. As he rubbed his cock against her clit, Grace felt that wonderful pressure build inside her, and when her orgasm hit, it felt like a thousand shooting stars rained down.
They lay on the bed, fused together, not moving.
Finally, Alex pulled away, crawling up to the head of the bed. Grace followed behind, and settled next to him as Alex pulled the covers over the two of them. He wound an arm across her shoulders, pulling her against him.
“My china doll,” he whispered again, placing a kiss on her head. “Have you learned your lesson?”
She grinned up at him and kissed his jaw. “I might have to stay after school for extra help.”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Ah, honey, you don’t need it.”


copyright 2008 by Catherine Chernow

DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT is available for sale from Total-e-Bound.


Just plain Vanilla...

Wow - I do not know how to follow up the previous posts. Those Fetish pictures are downright inspiring!

Here's a bit of my own inspiration! It's the cover from my upcoming LustBite! Yummy!

An amnesiac woman looks to the future and finds more than she bargained for -- her past.

September 11, 2001 was a momentous day in history. It was also the day Letitia Davies lost her memory and began seeing ghosts. Despite the loving care of her husband, she never regained any memory of her past. When he unexpectedly dies of cancer seven years later, Letitia travels back to Napa, California, to celebrate her birthday and plan out her future. There she encounters a sexy man who claims to be her real husband. Although her mind doesn’t remember him, her body does and his touch inflames passions she’d only dreamed of before. In order to take her mind off her lust for the handsome stranger, Letitia investigates the death of a ghostly beauty. However, the series of clues she finds leads Letitia right back to her past and could either unlock her mind or destroy the only memories she has left.

Coming to Total E-bound September 8th!


F/F Loving – The Flip Side

Marie Harte wrote a wonderful blog post yesterday about male/male erotic romance. I’m another one who never thought I’d enjoy reading it, let alone writing it. But now, I love it.

I started much like Marie, writing ménage stories then slowly slipping into the gay stuff. But while m/m is wildly popular, there’s another genre that’s fun to write but much slower to make waves in the publishing world- female/female.

My first f/f story for TEB was the Lust Bite Carnal Collision. It got some wonderful reviews, including a Recommended Read from the lovely Amanda at Dark Angel Reviews. But I have to admit, the f/f novel I’m most excited about comes out Sept. 15 from TEB, Cattle Valley: Truth or Dare.

Cattle Valley is the wildly popular series of books created by the talented Carol Lynne. I’ve read each and every one of them, all m/m, and loved them. In case you just climbed out from under a rock, I’ll tell you that Cattle Valley is a fictional town in Wyoming, where alternative lifestyles are the norm. The community welcomes gay people. They can walk openly hand in hand or even dance and kiss in public without fear of reprisal.

I love the attitude of the community and the whole general feel of the books. I’m very excited to have my own Cattle Valley novel coming soon, and I hope everyone will check it out. Don’t let the f/f scare you. I’m prejudiced but I’d say it’s tastefully written, and the book is a fun Cattle Valley read.

I write erotic romance. My books always have a feel-good, happy ending. Personally I don’t think it matters if the relationships are male/female, male/male, or female/female. Love is love. Period.

Now, for the good stuff!

Coming Sept. 15 from TEB, Cattle Valley: Truth or Dare

Naomi Rivers loves living in the quiet community of Cattle Valley. She has the book store she's always wanted, and good friends to fill her time. She doesn't have one special person to share her life, but everything changes when a sexy blonde author walks into her store.

Courtney Cross is a renowned novelist whose latest book features characters with alternative lifestyles. She's on a book signing tour, which winds to a close at Booklovers in Cattle Valley. Worn out from her hectic schedule, Courtney decides to vacation in the rustic town for a few weeks. The beautiful countryside and laid back atmosphere provide exactly the calm get-away she desires, and quite possibly the backdrop for her next novel. The cute red-head at the bookstore doesn't hurt, either.

They fall in love, but while Naomi thrives in Cattle Valley, Courtney has her own life in Chicago . In the end, it's the ultimate game of Truth or Dare that helps them decide. (f/f contemporary erotic romance)

Note: This novel is a stand alone title which includes characters created by Carol Lynne in the Cattle Valley Series. Visit the Cattle Valley website for more information on this bestselling series!


Chapter One

The only woman she’d ever loved had just walked out the door.” The author closed her book and looked up, scanning the standing-room only crowd. “Thank you all for being here.”

Naomi Rivers started the applause then wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She’d read Destiny’s Choice soon after she’d confirmed the book signing event at her store. It was much more poignant hearing the words in the author’s resonant, sexy voice. She glanced around. Her friends and fellow townspeople must have agreed. They jostled around the book display, reaching for copies.

“There’s a table off to the side.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the noise, pointing to her left. “As soon as I can get Ms. Cross to it, she’ll sign your books. There are refreshments too.”

Weaving through the group, she reached the front where Courtney Cross stood chatting with the other bookstore employee, Melissa Danes. “That was great!” Naomi smiled at the gorgeous, well-known writer. “Everyone loved it. Looks like we might sell out.”

“I brought a few extra copies, just in case.” Courtney brushed her blonde bangs off her face. “I’m amazed at the turnout. I heard Cattle Valley was a small town.”

“It is. Less than three thousand people, actually. But lots of folks here have what they like to call alternative lifestyles. The subject matter of your lesbian novel has been a huge topic of discussion since everyone found out you were coming. People were very excited.”

Courtney shook her head. “I can’t believe that either. A gay town. It’s unheard of.”

“Not everyone’s gay,” Melissa said. “Some people moved here to be with gay family members. Some just wanted a peaceful, non-judgemental place to live.”

“Speaking of peaceful…” Naomi scanned the crowd, some of whom seemed to be getting restless. “We’d better get the signing started. I’ll take her over there, Mel. Would you make sure the display of her books stays stocked? There’s another case of her first title, Destiny’s Rule, in back if we need it.”

“Yep.” Melissa left the author’s side reluctantly, making a face behind the woman’s back at Naomi.

Naomi smiled sweetly at the young brunette then took Courtney by the arm. The softness of her skin jolted Naomi for a moment, and she paused to control her breathing. Keep it together! she chided herself. With a store full of customers, she had no time to melt into a puddle of lust. “This way, Ms. Cross. Get your fingers limbered up, looks like you’ll be doing some writing.”

“My favourite part.” Courtney settled into the padded chair behind the table. “Next to the writing, that is.” Picking up a pen, she smiled at the first person in line and the small talk began.

Stepping back, Naomi watched with interest. She’d always been an avid reader but could only admire someone who put words to paper the way Courtney did. And facing a crowd of strangers— Naomi shuddered. She’d rather spend time in a room full of books than people.

“That’s one poised woman.” Sheriff Ryan Blackfeather stepped up behind her. “Making nice with one person after another, smiling like there’s no place she’d rather be.”

Naomi looked over her shoulder and up at the tall man. “She said it’s her second favourite thing to do, after writing.”

Ryan scanned the crowd. “I can think of several things I’d call my favourites, and none of them include books.”

Naomi saw him making eyes at one of his handsome partners, Nate Gills, who waited in line for an autograph. Straight or gay, most people in Cattle Valley agreed—Nate was about the prettiest thing west of the Mississippi River. Naomi concurred, but also knew what a great friend the man was.

She swatted Ryan’s arm. “I wasn’t talking about that. We all know how good you’ve got it at home. Speaking of which, where’s the third partner in your man sandwich? I haven’t seen Rio in here.”

He snorted. “Rio’s at The Gym. He said he’s not into lesbian book readings but asked you to save him a cookie.”

“Tell him to forget it,” she teased. “They’re lesbian cookies.”

“Yeah, well, we happen to know you got them at Brynn’s Bakery. Kyle Brynn may be many things, but he’s no lesbian.”

“Smart ass. I bought them, so they’re mine now. Lesbian cookies, get it?”

Ryan smiled. “Nate’ll take him one. Nate looks out for Rio.” He watched his lover talk to the author.

“I know he does.” She looked from one man to the other thoughtfully. They were an unusual trio. Ryan—tall, dark and handsome, massive tattoos and flowing long hair—made a wonderful, yet atypical, town sheriff. He lived with two partners, Rio Adega, also tattooed, with multiple piercings and hair to die for, and the metro-sexual Nate, who along with Rio had opened a fitness centre and called it—thinking like men—The Gym. Nate and Rio spent lots of time there, and where they could be found, Ryan usually wasn’t far away.

Glancing from Ryan to Nate, Naomi wondered how they did it. Not the physical how—she made herself blush thinking about that—but the mental how of loving two people. Didn’t they get jealous? What if one of them wasn’t in the mood? Though judging by appearances, that wasn’t often a problem. When they weren’t working, the men were all over each other.

Nate finished up with Courtney and walked towards Naomi and Ryan. After planting a kiss on the lips of his tall lover, he smiled at Naomi. “Courtney’s one nice lady. You should get yourself some of that.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked. “Just because she wrote a lesbian book, doesn’t make her a lesbian.”

“She is.” He nodded with authority.

“How do you know?” Naomi scoffed.

Nate shrugged. “I asked her.”

“You did not!”

Ryan laughed. “I’m sure he did. Why does that surprise you? You know him well enough, by now.”

Copyright (C) 2008 Jamie Hill