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Here is wishing everyone on Hitting The Hot -Spot a very happy Christmas! If you got a new e-reader in your stocking (you lucky thing, you) make sure you check out Total-E-Bound's, FREE page. Here you can get a taste of author's voices without spending a penny, then if you enjoy you can get a longer read to snuggle up in front of the fire with. I've got a steamy short story nestled here too, Unhealthy Obsession, I hope you check it out!

And if you head over to Amazon you can download a copy of MORE for FREE (until 29th Dec) and whet your appetite with the first two chapters of  THAT FILTHY BOOK written by myself and Natalie Dae.

Also if you hit the button below you'll be able to find out about a clandestine project I've been keeping under wraps and a ton of other classic goodies to tempt you!

Eat, drink, read and be merry!!

Lily x


Fun, fun, fun!

Last night, at dinner, talk turned to New Year’s resolutions. People shared their goals about getting healthy, fit, organized, losing weight.

I think I shocked everyone by saying I’m going to drive a little bit faster, eat more chocolate, and drink a little more wine. (Obviously, I believe in setting realistic goals!)

My resolutions, which made people laugh, were meant seriously. Often, I take life too seriously. I’m in a hurry to get everywhere, get things done, juggle a million tasks at once. (I’m sure you can’t relate! LOL)

So for 2013, I want to have a little more fun. Read more. Relax more. Enjoy more. I’m not entirely sure I’ll have any more success with my resolutions than I have in years past, but for me, this intention speaks to the really important things.

Losing that last five pounds isn’t as important to me as spending time with my loved ones. Laughing is more important than washing the sheets. After all, I think, enjoying life matters most. 

Lots of love, Sierra


All I want for Christmas ...

... is peace on earth and a sex ed course. See, I recently read this article and it struck me that the writer is absolutely right: we know next to nothing about our own anatomy. I think, in the wake of the whole Fifty Shades thing more people are interested in the kinky side of sex - and that's good. However, it's also taking the second step before the first.

Woman in satin dress
Flickr: George Eastman House Collection

I mean, our culture is generally so uptight that, while we have images of absolutely everything available on the internet, much of the human anatomy is  still regarded as x-rated and kept hidden. So, how, I'm asking you, how is a person supposed to find reliable information? Because really, while the porn industry is selling us all kinds of information, much of it is just as fictional as the stuff I write.
That's why I want a sex ed class for X-mas. Preferably one for everybody.
What's on your list?

I know I've shamefully neglected this blog for months (sorry sorry sorry!), but hopefully I'll be back on the 19th of January. In the meantime you can frequently find me on Facebook or on my own blog.

Happy Holidays!


Holiday Wishes

It's been so busy I have missed my blog days here. Sorry. I'm back to blogging.

This is the holiday season and a time for family and friends. Spending time with the people you care about is a blessing and enjoy each moment of that time. This holiday season I wish you lots of love and time with your family and friends.

Have a great holiday and a wonderful upcoming New Year.

Taige Crenshaw
…increasing the sizzle factor

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My Christmas Blog Post

Well, the calendar tells me that we're only a week away from Christmas Eve. I did think about posting some memories of previous Christmases, or a timely recipe but I think I'll keep it simple this year.

Whatever your faith, I wish you joy and peace this holiday season. I hope that 2013 is an even better year for you than 2012.

Thank you to everyone who's supported me by cheering me on, buying my books, writing reviews. Without our readers, writers would be very lonely souls indeed.

Here is a Christmas cat for you. He is currently crawling all over my while I write this.

Wishing you love and peace and cats to keep you warm during the long, dark days of winter.

SA Meade


Free for all! Proving Santa Exits Free Christmas Story.

I've got a freebie for you! Proving Santa Exists is currently free at and

When Jonathan transfers from the U.S to the Manchester branch of Computers Inc., Jenny is the first person to make him feel at home. Finding out about his bleak Christmases as a boy, she makes up her mind to involve him in all her English Christmas traditions.

Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?

* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.


"Don't you just love the pine smell?" I inhale deeply as I rub my fingers over a prickly frond. 

"Yeah, it's kinda spicy, isn't it?" He passes the boxes of decorations over and I open them up. 

“So, there’s a particular way I do this.” I point as I recite the list. 

“Baubles first, big at the bottom, small at the top. Then we put on the lights and then finally the tinsel.” 
“Okay, boss.” He stamps his foot and gives a salute. 

“Ha, less cheek, more work.” I giggle. “You just can’t get the staff these days.”

I settle at the foot of the tree and begin placing the bigger baubles around the lower branches.

Jonathan stands beside me, hanging baubles from the top of the six foot spruce. I adore dressing my Christmas tree. All my decorations have stories behind them: some belonged to my mother, others to my Nanna, and a few I’ve purchased myself.  I retell the tales as I pull them out.

“Oh, I made this one.” I pick up the felt stocking and smile. “I was about eight, I think. It took me ages to sew all the sequins on. There used to be more. Many have fallen off now.”

The red felt is faded and worn, the white edging closer to grey, and the sequins that are left no longer sparkle. 
“My mum loved it. She always said it was her favourite.” 

“I can see why.” His tone is soft and tender. “You put a lot of love into it.” 

I nod and hang it on the tree. 

“And this one I bought last year. It’s an owl. I’ve got a thing for owls.”

“Kinky,” Jonathan quips and I slap his calf. 


“Never.” He grins. “Anyway, you started it.” 

“No, no. Your dirty mind started it. I meant I like owls and this one has a Santa hat on. How could I resist him?” 
I look up and I see mischief in the set of his mouth. I slap him again. 

“Ow! I didn’t say a thing,” he protests. 

“No, but you were going too.” 

He doesn’t deny it and we carry on loading the branches in companionable silence.

"Ooh, Jonathan, can you check those lights for me now?" I glance up, and find his crotch just above my eye height. I drop my eyelashes and quickly bend my head down. I try to not wonder about the bulge I'm sure I just saw there. 
"Sure." He steps around me, his legs rubbing against my back. "So, er, do I just plug these in then?" Obviously, Jonathan is a Christmas tree light novice. 

"Yeah, and if they light up, that's your job done. If they don't, you need to check all the bulbs and find the one—or ones—that don't work and replace them with those spares in that packet." I point as I speak. He follows the direction of my finger. 

"Ahh, I see." He nods and sets to work while I move my way farther up the tree. 

"Oh, now then, I need to find a good place for Fairy Mary." I hold up a small, old, porcelain fairy, her red dress flared, the sequins lost, only the little blobs of glue to show where they once were. Her blonde hair is more fuzzy than curly, and her gold glittering halo shows mostly silver now. 

"Fairy Mary?" Jonathan flicks the switch to red, and the lights come on, fizzle with a sad "plink," then fade to black.

"There's a bulb loose somewhere. You'll have to fiddle with them then screw it in." He raises a long narrow brow, and I realise how suggestive that just sounded. "And, yes, Fairy Mary," I quickly continue, avoiding eye contact. "She's been passed down from my Nanna's Mum—who might even have gotten it from her mother, though we're not sure. She always has the most comfortable branch to sit on. She's an old lady now, you see."

He nods and continues to turn the lights in his fingers. "So, do you have a lot of Christmas traditions?"

"Oh, a fair few: the decorations, baking my own Christmas cake from scratch, watching The Muppet Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve. After that, I go up to Tom Jenkins's farm and look at the tree and Nativity scene before going to church for midnight mass. That's before we even get to Christmas Day!"

"Do you have many people here on Christmas Day?"

 I nod. "Yeah, a few. There's my sister Marie, and her husband Mike, and their two teenaged girls. Aunty May comes over with her friend Queenie, and then there’ll be Uncle Charlie and his wife, their son, his wife and the newborn boy—what's his name—oh yes, Jake."

"They'll all fit in here?" He has very expressive eyebrows; with the tiniest movement, he conveys great scepticism. 
"Well, not all at once. Charlie and his lot come over at teatime. He had a falling out with his sister some years ago, and I've just found it easier to have them round separately." Just then, Jonathan tries the bulbs once more and the trailing vine lights up. Reds, greens, blues, and pink grapes shine with gaudy Christmas symbolism. I squeal in delight and clap my hands. "Just in time, too! I've just finished the decorations." 
The lights are easily trailed through the forest of baubles, Santa's, fairies, and hanging toys. "Right, just the tinsel now. You start at the top, and I'll go from the bottom, and we'll meet in the middle."
Tinsel trails through my fingertips as I twirl around the tree, stooping low, then bending at the waist, then almost standing straight with just my shoulders stooped. As I raise my head to see how Jonathan is doing, I crack against something hard.

"Oh, I am sorry." I reach out automatically and rub my hand against Jonathan's bumped chin, cupping his cheek in the palm of my hand, like a parent comforting an injured baby. However, the slight prickle of his end-of-the-day stubble reminds me in a powerful way that this is a grown man I'm handling so intimately. 
Then, there are lips: softly demanding lips pressing gently against my own. They have to be Jonathan’s as he’s the only other person in the room. They form a kiss. They don't apologise or ask permission; they take possession of my mouth. Brooking no argument, confidently they mesh with mine, moving sensually as his hands come round me, sheltering me, cradling me close. 

I want the kiss to deepen, urge Jonathan forward by stroking his cheek. I’ve forgotten everything else but him and me joining so intimately. His touch has made me a mass of tingling anticipation. His kiss makes electricity flow through my veins. I feel like an extension of the fairy lights. I must be lighting up, I’m so turned on. 

But no sooner has the kiss been created than it is torn apart. We are red-cheeked, unable to meet each other's eyes. 
"I'll, erm, turn off the lights then so we can see the, er, lights." Sentences just aren’t forming. My lips are still in kissing mode and my mind is in turmoil. Why did he pull away from me? I scurry over to the switch and flip it. "Ooh." I gasp as the glaring main light dims and the Christmas tree comes into its own, bathing my room in festive cheer. "It looks just about perfect." I walk back to the tree and tweak the tinsel here and there, so the lights come through a bit clearer. Jonathan says nothing, just stares into the softly glowing tackiness. 

If you want more pick Proving Santa Exists up now compltely free at and


All I Want For a Hot Man!

Of course, my hubby is the hottest one of them all, but I couldn't convince him to take even one stitch off for you. Now where has the giving spirit gone? Oh well, I didn't show up to the TEB Christmas party empty-handed; I did find a few willing hunks to show off their, er, holiday spirit. So the following gorgeous specimens are my gift to you  - enjoy!

This guy is very worried that he might be late to the party - I appreciate his enthusiasm!
Now we don't want this cutie to feel left out. I say we go over and cheer him up a little! I can think of a few ways...
As you know, it's very important to have a celebrity presence at a party - and what better contributor than David Beckham in his undies? Yum!
I hope everyone has a naughty Christmas, and I'll see you next year when I'll be telling you all about Book One in my upcoming Uniform Encounters series: Set Ablaze. Set in Mesa, Arizona it tells the story of Eric and Tom, a fire chief and firefighter battling the odds - and a serial arsonist - to be together. Also - be sure and catch my free menage story in the January newsletter from TEB. Not signed up? Do it now, and also be eligible to download books at a discount before they're available anywhere else!


With Tats

I have a thing for men with tats. I don't actually want a tattoo. Why? Because I can't decide what I want for it. But I do like a nicely tatted body. This one is a very nice one:

Then again, this is sort of neat and it's on a girl. Gives me plot bunnies, too.

This one, too inspires some plot bunnies. Heck, a whole series of plot bunnies.

What about you? Are there favorite Tattoos you like? What about ones you want to get? If I were getting, I'd get a dark horse. Not sure where, but I think that's what I'd get. So, since I won't be blogging here til after the new year, have a Happy Christmas, a Fantastic New year and happy Reading!!

Here's a little bit from my latest release, and yep, there's a warning label on it. Grin

Say you’ll haunt me, since I’ll never stop loving you.

Felicity Black never quite understood love. She worked her assets to get what she wanted and didn’t care who got in the way. Until she met John. He saw past her superficial self to the woman inside. Death separated her from John before she could tell him how she truly felt. Now she’s got her chance...just not in the way she expected.

John wanted Felicity to haunt him. She had been the only woman to stir not only his heart but his soul as well. But the woman claiming to be his lost love can’t be her... Felicity was dead. He has to decide whether to trust his gut or walk away from a new start.

Can a second chance at a first impression lead to love or a lifetime of heartbreak?

Reader Advisory: This story contains an out-of-body experience, voyeurism, spanking, rough sex, masturbation, and a chance for love to strike twice.

Available here!

Want to know more about Wendi Zwaduk? Here you go:

I always dreamt of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line. I earned a BA in education at Kent State University and currently hold a Masters in Education with Nova Southeastern University.

I love NASCAR, romance, books in general, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, and my menagerie of animals. I also write under the pen name of Megan Slayer.

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It's Christmas!

Christmas has come round again, and it's my favourite time of year - and since it's been a rough few months, I'm making a point of celebrating as hard as I possibly can. After all, while I may have plenty to complain about, I also have plenty of things to be proud of.

This year I had two short stories in anthologies, one paranormal novella (which Amazon, for some reason, is advertising as the next Bared To You), one freebie with a title that everybody loves ("I Can't Believe You Used My Butter") and one project which I've just submitted and am crossing all my fingers, toes and everything else for. Which makes it quite hard to type.

It's not much compared to some of you, I know - I've watched your lists grow with wide eyes and only wished I could manage that kind of output. But I'm happy so far, and have a long list of stories ready to go for the New Year.

So I wish everyone a very merry Christmas, a happy New Year and all the best for your future writing!


Celebrate Today

Having been raised Catholic, I am well away that today is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, declared by Pope Pius IX in 1854. This feast celebrates the conception of Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus, who was conceived without the stain of sin. Not to bring up religious controversy, but am I the only one who takes issue with this? Then whole idea of “conceived without sin” seems to imply that the very act of sex creates sin. This premise strikes a discordant reverberation in my very soul, but, as I said, I don’t want to bring up any religious controversy, so I’ll go with it.

Other interesting facts about this date:  In 1952, the I Love Lucy show made a direct reference, for the very first time, to a pregnancy on national television.
In 1984, a jury found Hustler magazine publisher Larry Flynt innocent of libeling Reverend Jerry Falwell with a parody advertisement. 

Birthdays associated with this day include Horace (65 BCE), James Thurber (1894), Jim Morrison (1943), and Anna Louise Osmon (1913).

Okay, so that last name probably stumped you. I understand. She is a relatively unknown woman, but important nonetheless. She was born in a log cabin about 10 miles west of the Wabash river in Illinois.  She married in 1929 to a man 10 years older than she and gave birth to her first and only daughter in 1931 at the tender age of 17. She cared for a family which included her husband, child, two sister-in-laws and two brother-in-laws. Eventually, she also gained and loved two grandchildren. She was the youngest of 7 children. She could stretch one chicken feed 10 people, embroider the most beautiful pillow cases you have ever seen, hoe a garden, chug a beer, explain Shakespeare (despite an 8th grade education) and cut a person down to the quick without the use of one curse word while a graceful smile danced across her face. She was my grandmother.

Lately, I’ve been working on a book set in the 1930’s and I have used her as the inspiration for my heroine. Granted, my grandmother never (at least to my knowledge) was "lost" by her father in a poker game, worked as a prostitute or ran a boarding house, but the spirit of Alma certainly mirrors that of Anna. I’d like to think this would please her. Actually, I know this would please her. She’s the one who introduced me to intricacies of romantic literature.

So – MeeMaw – this is for you. I love you. I always will. You inspired me to stand up as a woman for what I believe in, to not be ashamed of myself or my actions if those actions were done for the best of intentions, but to learn from my mistakes. You taught me to apologize sincerely, to love unconditionally and to laugh as much as and as often I could.

My Christmas wish – that we appreciate those who came before us. Those who fucked and laughed and fought and voted and wrote and loved and hated and survived and paved the way for us to live as we do.

Thanks MeeMaw and Mary and Lucy and Horace and James Thurber and Jim Morrison. Without you and so many more, my life would be far less full and satisfying. You are all my heroes.


Medievals are like a box of chocolates! Things up with which I will not put!

I'm into medievals lately and while I can say there are not many out there that truly meet the historically accurate litmus test, enough do that I have gotten my taste of:

  • skullduggery by villain, clerics, moneylenders, bands of forest creatures (!)
  • piety by evil nuns (?)
  • heroes who truly are the cats' meows (!!)
  • heroines who know how to wield a knife, a bow, a spoon (yeah, baby)
  • heroines who know how to satisfy a lusty hero, get up and catch a thief or find a murderer
  • heroines who can take a bath gracefully, survive deprevation of many kinds and still climb into bed, a bit sore for the efforts.

Like most historicals, medievals appeal to me for the escapism. And for the verisimilitude.
But there are some things up with which I will not put:

  • heroes who don't take baths
  • heroes who don't take baths before taking their ladies to bed
  • heroines who don't seem to mind that he just took off his chain mail that he's worn for...oh...months!
  • dinner that is eaten from plates (anachronisms R US)
  • appointments that are so lavish, the mind reels (ex: carpets in the castle, glass in the windows)
  • men who are very tall (Vikings, anyone?).

Got any you want to share?


What noise does an orgasm make?

“What’s this rhythmic thumping against my wall?”

That’s me, awakened in the middle of the night, by some unexplained rat-tat-tat coming from the neighboring apartment.

And if your mind is as dirty as mine is, your imagination probably leaps to one spot lickety-split: Hot. Sex.
Yet this is my modus operandi. I enjoy finding inspiration in what are normally banalities. The van rocking minutely in the parking lot at work? Probability is, someone’s getting lucky inside.

Someone ignores my call? Carnally engaged. And no other explanation will do.

At least in my overactive imagination.

Or, ever look at building at night, counting the lights that are on? How many of those people are shrieking with pleasure at the very same moment you’re surveying from the outside?

Voyeuristic? Slightly, I’ll admit.

But each and every one of these people has a story to tell. It’s my job—and your job—to find it.

What other scenarios have inspired you?


Things for housewife, mother, goddess to do before sex er bed

1. Have a long leisurely bath to wash away aches, pains, grime, dog slobber. Nothing more inclined to get you in the mood than relaxing in hot water. Provided you have more than three inches of hot water. Three inches of anything is no good at all. Yell through door at Daughter for emptying hot water tank.

2. Get out of three inches of bath water after 5 minutes because Son knocks on door to tell you Daughter is using her mobile to call boy in Australia.

3. Confiscate Daughter’s mobile and return to bathroom. Reach for shaving gel to rid legs of wolf-like fur and find Daughter has emptied container. Use Husband’s and empty his. Attempts at being creative with pubic hair fail. Rather than look like dog with mange, try to remove all hair and curl up into prawn shape in tub to get at bits where the sun doesn’t shine. Nearly drown. On the upside, Husband will be thrilled with his Sphynx pussy. Hopefully.

4. Cover body with moisturizing lotion scented with vanilla and coconut – regret that gorgeous hunk not in there with you to apply it. Pick up Daughter’s mobile only for it to slip through your fingers and fall into toilet. Spend next fifteen minutes trying to dry it with hair dryer by which time hair has curled uncontrollably into bird’s nest. Think Condor. Spend thirty minutes taming it into submission.

5. Search for sexy red negligee bought as gift from optimistic Husband a year ago. Discount price explained uncharacteristic purchase. Husband never buys anything full price. Negligee hidden from kids and now missing. While ranting at Daughter, Son admits he took it. Have to sit down when blood rushes from head. Feel marginally better to discover he needed it to strain some science experiment. Hunt through underwear drawer for sexy skimpy revealing provocative bra and panties and settle for clean. Put on under dressing gown to await arrival of stud gorgeous hunk  husband.

6. Husband phones to say he’ll be late. AGAIN. Suspect last minute deal is business speak for going for drink with mates. Make use of extra time to persuade, bribe, threaten offspring with no more mother-chauffeured late night pickups if they don’t go out, retire to their rooms, leave their mother the hell alone to tidy, clean, hoover to ensure house resembles normal family home rather than aftermath of Armageddon. After which intend to lie on couch and think sexy thoughts.

7. Distracted by paw prints on kitchen floor. Dog has been allowed back in from muddy yard by Son without having his feet hosed down. Note to self to hose down Son too. His footprints alongside dog’s. Dog currently looking angelic in basket. Suspicious. Find empty packet of cookies underneath him. Clean kitchen floor. Get hot. Take off dressing gown. Freak out neighbor who shouldn’t be putting his garbage out and taking opportunity to look through your window. Might not be so bad if he was stud. Seventy year old doesn’t count. Even if he smiles and has all his teeth.

8. Put dressing gown back on. Open wine. Doesn’t count as drinking alone if dog is with you. Nice doggy. Cut chunk of cheese to nibble. Recline on couch and put small piece of cheese on floor to train dog to wait.

9. Bad doggy. He ate small chunk of cheese AND rest of cheese before leaping on couch. Wrestle with over-excited dog convinced more cheese is hidden somewhere on person. Dressing gown covered with muddy paw prints, wine and slobber. Put dressing gown in washing machine. Ignore pile of ironing and go to bed to practice looking sexy for stud gorgeous hunk husband.

10. Switch on ereader to find suitable erotic book. Can read anything, anywhere on this machine and pretend to be immersed in highbrow literature. Wonderful. Wish life was like it is on planet Zog. Endless orgasms, men who know what they’re doing in bed and can keep doing it time after time, no fingers in wrong place, no cramp at inopportune moments, no unfortunate noises, men with two penises. Note to self – look up plural of penis.

Backtrack. Two penises?

Stop thinking and slide fingers down to valley of desolation to REALLY get in the mood. Obliterate idea of two penises from mind and go for two hunks instead. Four hands stroking. Two mouths caressing. Four penises… Oh hell.
Jerked from imminent orgasm by sound of door slamming, briefcase hitting hall floor, keys hitting table, feet pounding upstairs, bathroom door opening, toilet flushing. Throw back duvet and pose as seductive vixen.

Husband bursts into room. “Why’s the tub full of hair? Know why there’s an ambulance next door? Think neighbor has had heart attack? God, I’m shattered. What’s that look on your face? Indigestion? What’s for dinner?”

Sadly not me.
My first story with Total-E-Bound comes out in January - entitled Starting Over. If you can't wait until then to feast on my wonderful, brilliant, sort of average sense of humour - you can find more about me  at


Do Erotic Romance Authors Have More Fun?

     A male friend of mine asked if people (male people specifically) look at me differently when I tell them I write erotic romance. I suppose some do, but people who really know me are never too surprised. It's not because I constantly talk about sex, or act overtly sexual, or even dress particularly provocatively. I think it's because I've always done my own thing and never worried too much about what other people think. If something is right for me, it's right.

     That's not to say that I don't care about others' feelings. I do - probably to a fault, but their opinions of my personal choices matter very little to me. So, the idea that I'd choose to write in a genre that some people find shocking or scandalous neither shocks nor scandalizes the people who know and love me for who I am.

     The question remains, do they look at me differently? Maybe in the sense that they wonder how many of the things I write about I've actually done. Am I writing from personal experience? Do I think about sex around the clock? Am I an insatiable nymphomaniac? 

     I wonder if anyone ever asks science fiction writers if they've actually traveled outside our solar system or interacted with aliens. My guess is they have not, but I'd be willing to bet they sure do dream about it ;-)

                                                                                  xoxo ~Gabrielle

I thought a lot about sex when I was writing "Soldier of Love," Book One in my new paranormal erotic romance series GHOST ENCOUNTERS. You can buy a copy today, exclusively from Total-E-Bound.

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