Lust Bites

CHANCE OF A LIFETIME - Portia Da Costa

Wahey, today sees the publication of my first Spice Briefs ebook CHANCE OF A LIFETIME, a contemporary BDSM erotic romance novella.

CHANCE OF A LIFETIME is the story of Rose, who's doing some temporary work in a dilapidated stately home whilst waiting to take up a dream job - a chance of a lifetime - in the Caribbean. But working at the Manor isn't quite as dull and routine as she expected, especially when she finds out about the wicked sexual preferences of her delicious boss, the tall dark and mysterious Marquis. Pretty soon she's wondering if the real chance of a lifetime is actually experiencing kinky delights at his skilled and aristocratic hand.

This publication day sees a long held dream of mine coming to fruition. When I first started writing, my dearest wish was to write romantic novels for Mills and Boon [the Brit division of Harlequin] and my first attempts at crafting fiction were aimed towards that goal. I sent several manuscripts to M&B and got some great feedback, but I never quite got it right. Writing short romance is an extremely tough discipline and takes enormous skill and writing talent. It's not easy getting a hero and heroine's complete love story, with all its ups and downs and conflicts, into such a short wordcount!

I kept on trying to write for M&B, until one day a writing advisor said that as I wrote good sex scenes, I should try writing erotica instead, as a different path towards publication... and the rest is history. But who knows what might have happened if she'd told me to stick with the category romance?

So, to finally fulfil my dream of writing for Harlequin means the world to me. I'm now published by the world's best known romance publisher, and at the same time, I've had the fun of writing the spicy erotic scenes too!

Chance of a Lifetime is available from eHarlequin, Books on Board, and Fictionwise, in a variety of formats, and here's a naughty taster of it if you'd like to see what I've been babbling on about it.

And if you choose to take the plunge and buy Chance of a Lifetime, why not pick up the other November Spice Brief too! It's a fabulous novella by Saskia Walker, called Hot on her Tail, which is part of her Loving on the Edge trilogy... all of which are fab!

Hot on Her Tail is also available from eHarlequin, Fictionwise and Books on Board.

To celebrate our Brit Brief Bonanza, Saskia and I running a TWICE AS SPICEY competition with a giveaway of print books from both of us as the prize for lucky winner!

Click here to zip over to Saskia's Blog for details!

STOP PRESS!

If you buy CHANCE OF A LIFETIME from the AFTERNOON DELIGHTS web page, between noon and 3pm EST on Monday 3rd November 08, you'll get it for the stunning bargain price of only 99 cents! It's a snip!

MANY AFTERNOON DELIGHTS HERE!

IN TOO DEEP - Portia Da Costa



Blurb

It's all in the mind...

Librarian Gwendolynne Price starts finding indecent proposals and sexy stories in her suggestion box every morning. Shocked that they seem to be tailored specifically to her own deepest sexual fantasies, she begins a tantalising relationship with a man she's never met.

At the same time, she's fast getting involved with a man she has met. Superstar historian Professor Daniel Brewster is on sabbatical, researching in the library. The glamorous academic sets women's hearts thudding all over the country, but Gwendolynne is the one he quickly shows an interest in...

Pretty soon however, a relationship of erotic letters and toe-curlingly sensual emails collides with kinky games played in the all too real flesh.

Can Gwendolynne decipher the identity of her mysterious correspondent Nemesis, and will he still be as exciting when unmasked? Can she survive the pain of loving then losing Daniel when his research is over and leaves and moves on?

Or is she tangled in too deep with both men?

In this excerpt, Gwendolynne, becoming increasingly more besotted with Daniel, succumbs to jealousy and picks a fight... while they're in the middle of making love... er, shagging on an old settee in the library's basement!

‘Who was that woman?’

I can’t believe I just spoke. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m drowning in the most sumptuous sensations, yet still my stupid jealous brain is screwing things up.

Daniel’s eyes fly open, and for a moment, they’re unfocused and hazy. He blinks as if he’s not quite sure who he’s seeing - but I see red. Maybe he’s even fantasising about her? ‘You know, the one with the suit who you were snogging in the lobby.’

He frowns, still scrunching up his eyes, then seems to focus. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he grips me hard around the waist, bucks up his hips, and jams me down yet more firmly on his erection.

I let out an ‘Oh God!’ and feel as if steam is coming out of my ears. My body is stretched around him, the tension tugging hard on my clit. I forget that any other woman on the earth even exists. There’s only me sitting on Daniel, full of his cock. He thrusts up again, and pulls me down, and it’s not just the decrepit settee that creaks and groans.

‘That woman…’ His voice is low and thrilling. His grip still hard. ‘That woman is my cousin Annie, and she’s the co-owner of the Waverley Hotel. Which is why I’m staying there.’ Consolidating his grip with one hand, he swivels his wrist and slips his other between our bodies, finding my clit and flicking it. My pussy ripples around him and I see stars, my own eyes closing. He flicks me again and I start to come, still confused, still angry.

‘Satisfied?’ he growls, and taking my clitoris neatly between finger and thumb, he squeezes. When he gives my bottom a little slap, I am satisfied… and I come.

A scream bubbles in my throat, but at the last second, I jam my fist in my mouth. Waves and waves of pleasure radiate from my clit where he grips it, holding on delicately even though I’m jerking and writhing all over the place.

He slaps me again, my orgasm surges… I half black out.

I slump forward and for a few minutes, I just crouch over him, draped against his body, my chest heaving, my entire sex fizzing with aftershocks. His arms fold around me, cradling me, exquisitely gentle and tender where before he was domineering. It’s like I’ve been shot into space and now I’m floating down gently on my parachute.

Sex was never like this before.

Maybe I’ve never even had sex before, just some pale and ineffectual simulation of it?

Eventually, I haul in a deep breath. I’ve touched down again. And the most pressing matter I have to deal with right at this moment is the fierce erection that’s still hot and hard inside me.

How on earth can this be? Does the man have superhuman powers? My ex or indeed any of my previous boyfriends would have been finished long since. No way they could have withstood such an exciting ride, because surely it must have been just as hectic for him as it was for me.

And yet here he is, like a rock inside me, but a warm, blood-filled rock that pulsates with the force of his life.

I straighten a little, and look down at him.

The devil!

His smile is a picture. There is the tenderness, I wasn’t mistaken - but shining through that is an infuriating male smugness. A ‘look at me… look at my powers of endurance… you’ll never beat me’ expression, which makes me want to do just that, beat him. I want to overwhelm him into shooting inside me, my helpless slave.

I shove back on his chest, bracing myself, adjusting my position. Then I lift, and crash down again, taking him deeper. My pussy flickers dangerously again, another orgasm only a whisker away, but I get the satisfaction of Daniel’s eye flying wide open. And when I do it again, he lets out a curse that’s more appropriate for a merchant seaman than a highly educated and sophisticated academic.

‘Shush!’ I command him, leaning a little forward again and covering his mouth with my hand.

Then I ride him, I really ride him, lifting up and pounding down on him again and again. Within seconds I’m coming, in a sudden, violent encore, but I work on through it, my body moving on auto while my mind sails among the stars.

And still he resists me, the bastard.

Enough already. I hunker down, squat down really hard on him and clench my glowing sex around his cock. It makes me see those stars again, but I grit my teeth and grip him and work him like I’ve never gripped and worked a man before.

His hands grip my hips, digging into the too, too abundant flesh there, and I feel the tips of his nails threatening my skin. The fuck, he’s still holding out on me! His beautiful face is an icon of strain and stubbornness, the line of his jaw hard as iron, his teeth clenched.

Bugger this!

Still tight on him, I rise up and crash down again.

And two things happen simultaneously. No, three things. No, actually, four…

Daniel snarls another seafaring oath.

He comes, his hips pistoning crazily.

I come again, the pleasure wrung from me almost as if it were pain.

The ancient settee finally succumbs to the punishment we’ve inflicted on it… and the whole thing collapses under us with an almighty crash!

IN TOO DEEP is available to preorder from Amazon.com and NOW from Amazon.co.uk

So, back on Friday 5th September when I did a promo thingie for this fine publication, I said that everyone who commented then *and* today would go in a draw for a copy of ENTERTAING MR STONE and one of SUITE SEVENTEEN... However, have decided to extend the draw to anyone who commented then *or* today ie. more chances to be the winner! If the person whose name comes out of the hat did actually comment on both days, there will be extras though... ;)

So let me know what you think of this slice of simultaneous argument and make-up sex! LOL

Finally, I'd like to thank Wendy the Superlibrarian for pointing me in the direction of the splendid 'Naughty Librarian' pix I've used in this post. Thanks, mate!

I'd also like to thank David Krumholtz aka Professor Charles Eppes from Numb3rs for being so deliciously cute and inspirational.

by Anne Tourney

This isn't just a crush -- it's a manifesto. Not to diss the Alpha Males that make many of you so hot and bothered, but I'm here today to speak up for every horny foot soldier who never showed up for the battle because he was back in the tent practicing his cunnilingual skills on some mighty warrior's concubine.

So you've never heard of that elusive species, the Lambda Male? Probably because he's hiding behind a frieze of networking cables or a stack of amplifiers, or just wandering around a parking lot trying to figure out where he left the van he's living in until he sells his first collection of poetry (even then, let's face it, he'll still be in the van). In a discussion of hero archetypes at All About Romance, a group of romance reviewers and authors discussed the fine distinctions among Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Males. Alphas are the traditional heroes: strong, dominant, with a natural inclination to protect and rescue, when they aren't conquering and beheading. Deltas (the dangerous heroes) and Thetas (the wounded heroes) also come up in the discussion, but no one mentions my favorite: the Lambda Male.

Lambda is my all-purpose category for nerds, geeks, and misfits -- in short, guys who are too strange, too smart, too nice, or all of the above. If you peer back into the annals of classic American cinema, you can't miss the 1984 movie Revenge of the Nerds. Lambda Lambda Lambda was the brotherhood of outcasts caught in a dualistic struggle against a fraternity of hunky jocks, Alpha Beta. I'll never forget the immortal line uttered by Robert Carradine's character, Lewis Skolnick, when he was asked by his blonde cheerleader lover why he was so good in bed: "All jocks think about is football. All nerds think about is sex."

And for me, that's a big part of the Lambda Male's appeal, aside from his vulnerability, his quirkiness, and his mismatched socks: a constant preoccupation with all things erotic. Not that Alpha Males don't think about sex, but there are too many other things that clutter their leonine heads, like winning the Super Bowl, or saving the world. All that heroic activity prevents them from focusing on the most important thing on earth, which is, of course, right between your . . . eyes. Yes, Lambda Males are interested in your brains, too. They like to know what you're thinking. They might even (gasp) ask you what you're thinking, or reading, or listening to on your iPod.

If you doubt my enthusiasm for Lambda Males, here's a roll call of the "heroes" in my recent novels: Jeremy, the bipolar art geek who falls madly in love with his therapist (Taming Jeremy); Daniel, the has-been rock guitarist who drives across the West in search of the Epiphone that inspired him when he was fifteen years old (Head-On Heart); and Joel, the womanizing photographer who 's always stumbling over his own, uhm, tripod (Lying in Mid-Air). Then there's Nolan, the hero of my most recently hatched novel, Kiss Between My Lines. Nolan works as a clerk at the public library, while secretly inflicting his vision of "information anarchy" on the world by shelving all of the books out of order. On his nights off, he works the lights over a mosh pit. Nolan never ends up saving the world, but he does save the heroine from a life without orgasms.

These guys aren't just outsiders; they're so far off the radar screen that they don't even have checking accounts. Not only do they not drive racecars, a lot of them take public transportation. And God forbid they should work for the DEA; Lambda Males are more likely to be found firing up a bong than shooting up a crackhouse. Not that Lambdas aren't heroic, or brave, or bursting with testosterone . . . well, maybe they aren't. Maybe they're just slightly below average oddballs, with an intensity that makes them sexy, and a self-deprecating attitude that makes them irresistible. These are the sweet, skinny guys who wore Iron Maiden t-shirts in high school and smoked Camels behind the gym, then went home to practice the oboe in secret. They're the guys in the next cubicle at work who write you epic love poems that you'll probably never read. They're passionate about something -- an eccentric idea, a top-secret software program, the lyrics to the song that's going to make the world forget "Stairway to Heaven" (oh please, someone write that one soon). But most of all, they're passionate about you.

So now we come down to the nitty gritty, the question that underlies all this discussion: Come on, Anne, aren't these guys just garden variety losers? I mean, they don't actually win anything. They don't really rescue anyone. Most of the time, they can't even walk a city block without their shoes coming untied.

My answer is yes, on the spectrum of masculine sexuality, Lambda Males are definitely on the "loser" end, opposite the muscle-bound Alphas. But in my opinion, that only suggests that the spectrum of masculine sexuality needs to broaden its array of colors.

Here are just a few of my favorite Lambda Males. Who are yours?

by Portia Da Costa


I always wanted to write a vampire story. I wanted to write one way back in 1996, when I had the idea for GOTHIC BLUE. But at the time, I was advised that vampires=erotic was a bit of a cliché, and that Anne Rice had just about cornered the market in sexy vampires anyway... How bizarre does that sound nowadays, when vampires are one of the most popular themes, perhaps the most popular theme in paranormal erotic romance writing?

Anyway, knowing that I was tackling the vampire genre, my Black Lace chum Janine Ashbless was curious to know how a lover of nice guy heroes and Happily Ever After like me would portray an undead bloodsucker who preys on humans. So she sent me a bunch of questions about BUDDIES DON'T BITE...


Janine Ashbless) How long have you been writing paranormal erotica? Is it something you've always been interested in, or is it a taste that has evolved?

Portia Da Costa) I’ve actually been writing paranormal erotica since the early 80’s. The very first things I ever wrote were a quintet of erotic romance short stories in which the hero was a zombie. When I eventually reached publication standard, the first short story I ever had published – The Man in Black, which appeared in Forum – was a ghost story. My first full length paranormal novel was Gothic Blue, published in 1996. So you could say I’ve always been interested in the juxtaposition of sex and the supernatural.

JA) "Buddies Don't Bite" is the gentlest take on Vampires I think I've read - very romantic and emotional. What made you decide to reject the normal "arrogant predator" type?

PDC) It wasn’t so much that I rejected the ‘arrogant predator’ type, it was more that I was drawn to a different kind of vampire. I was interested in what would happen if a decent, noble, humane man became vampire and was able to retain those qualities of humanity. I wanted to write a proper romance and I used a classic category romance device, the ‘friends to lovers’ story, only where one of the friends just happened to be a vamp.



JA) Why do you think Vampires are so popular with readers? What is it about them that appeals to you in particular?

PDC) That’s hard to quantify. I think it must be something to do with the eternal youth and beauty, the preternatural strength, and the sensuality of taking blood at the neck. I think I probably like vamps for pretty much the same reason as the next reader, the unique blending of danger and sex.

JA) Is there a real life model for your vampire Zack?

PDC) Well, I’ve been going through a phase where many of my heroes are inspired by different faces of one of my favourite actors, Vincent D’Onofrio. Zack is very much a young, romantic Vincent, much as he appeared in the early scenes of the movie Salt On My Skin.

JA) I have a theory that people who like cats like Vampires. They're so much in common: the nocturnal lifestyle, the grace, the aloof independence, the recreational cruelty ... So, are you a big cat fan?

PDC) I’m totally devoted to cats. I’ve lived with them for nearly 30 years and I dote on them as my constant companions. Yes, they are cruel sometimes, but it’s simply a part of their nature, and because they are beautiful, I excuse them. I’m not keen on having to deal with the mice they ‘release’ into the house though!

JA) Zack's a virgin - is the experienced woman/uninitiated man a favourite theme of yours?

PDC) Yes, I think this must be a favourite theme of mine, although I don’t know why. I’ve had ‘innocent’ men in several of my books, including The Tutor, Lessons and Lovers and The Stranger. But my ‘innocents’ are always extremely quick studies and have great instincts where sex is concerned. ;)

JA) How do you feel about writing to novella length?

PDC) I thought it would be hard to write novellas. Too long for a short story, too short for a novel… But actually, I’ve found it quite easy. Almost second nature. It’s possibly because I’m not a great plotter, and the short length means there’s no space for a complex plot, so one of my simple ones works quite well.

JA) What gave you the idea for the wedding setting?

PDC) Well, it’s a classic setting for a romance novel or story, and I think I may perhaps have watched ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ around the time I was cooking up the idea.

JA) Who's your favourite TV/movie Vampire?

PDC) I think my favourite TV vamp will always be Spike, although I didn’t really start to like him until he began his long, tortuous struggle towards being a good human man again, despite his vampire state. He had many false steps and setbacks, and fell prey to his demon nature again and again, but in the end, he became a true hero. As for movie vamps, my favourites are the diverse Count Draculas of Gary Oldman and Frank Langella. In Gary's interpretation, even though the Count is a ruthless killer, some justification for his actions is offered in the story and in the nuances of his performance. In Frank's there's not quite so much of this justification, although he does give hints of the loneliness of his life and the persecution of his kind...


JA) If you were offered eternal beauty and youth in return for becoming one of the Children of the Night, would you be tempted?

PDC) Yes, I’d be tempted, but only if I could be one of my ‘good’ vampires, and had a like‑minded companion to walk beside me in the eternal night.

JA) Please give us an excerpt from Buddies Don't Bite...

PDC) Here you go, Janine... Teresa and her house buddy Zack are in the kitchen discussing a wedding invitation... and somehow they find themselves kissing!

He had the most glorious backside. Tight and hard and round like a brace of ripe apples. And when she grasped it, he growled in his throat in a most astonishing way. Deep and fierce, like the call of a jungle animal, it bounced off the kitchen walls and filled her ears. If she hadn’t had his tongue in her mouth, Teresa would have said, ‘What the fuck is going on?’

But their tongues were dancing and she felt like growling too.

Deep in her belly, a famished hunger was gnawing at her. It was a long while since she’d had good sex. A real, hard, long wonderful fuck. She’d held back with Steve, and had been hoping this weekend would be their romantic first time. But now, she thanked every lucky star in heaven that she hadn’t succumbed.

She’d never articulated it to herself, but she’d been waiting and saving herself for Zack, sure in the knowledge that her abstinence would be worth it.

Oh, I want you, she cried silently to him, massaging his sensational bottom, and squirreling herself around against his cock.

Zack’s answer was to growl again, a low feral sound. His lips crushed hers, his tongue thrusting, thrusting, just like the sex act. Where the kiss had been gentle and controlled at first, it was clear off the rails now. His mouth started to rove, moving roughly, messily, thrillingly over her face, along her jaw, as his hips rocked and jerked in that explicit rhythm that met and matched hers.

It was like being a horny teenager all over again, but magnified to the n’th degree. Every part of her was hot. They were rubbing against each other like crazy animals, and Teresa was the one making moaning noises now, unable to contain herself as Zack’s hands went all over the place. Her breasts. Her thighs. The cleft of her bottom. He was surveying her physical geography, and he was impatient. His fingers wriggled between their bodies, tugging at her skirt and searching for access to her sex.

And all the while he was kissing, licking, tasting… and nibbling.

Nibbling? More than that… as his mouth reached her throat, she suddenly yelped and jerked beneath him.

Dear God, that is so hot! He’s biting my neck!

It was pure sex… shocking and primal… Painful but in a way that made her hips lurch against him of their own accord, seeking the touch of his fingertips where they pressed against her panties.

Am I flying? This is weird…

She wriggled and parted her legs, not sure where the pleasure was… only knowing that it was like melting, dissolving, expiring… coming?

And then…

The rail-backed kitchen chair was hard beneath her thighs, and the glass cool in her hand. Her heart was thudding, and there was a silvery hum ringing in her ears. But despite this strange physical phenomenon and an accompanying sense of dislocation, she felt calm, almost serene… apart from a vague prickle of curiosity. She’d been panicking and fretting about something, but it was okay now. Zack had come up with a solution, hadn’t he?

Looking up, she was surprised to see him standing by the sink. His mouth was uncharacteristically tense, his lips tightly pursed and his eyes looked huge and very dark. She felt a jolt of worry. Had her silly invitation distressed him?

‘Are you okay, Zack? You’re not sickening for something are you? You don’t have to come to the wedding, you know… It’s wonderful of you to offer and God knows I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl. I think I’ll be okay.’

There was a long pause. Zack’s eyes seemed to skitter a bit, and he pressed his knuckle against his lips, as if pondering.

What’s the matter with him? He’s not usually like this.

As she watched, Zack gave one long, fluttering, almost slow motion blink, squared his shoulders and lowered his hand to rest it on the forearm he had wrapped around him, reacquiring his stillness.

'I’d like to go to… I need to get out more.’ He gave her a cautious smile, his white teeth glinting. ‘It’ll be a change for me… all this studying and researching. I need to kick over the traces and have some fun.’

Um… yes, I suppose so.’

But later, when he’d returned to his books, his research and his computer, Teresa was left wondering about Zack’s sudden decision. Wondering about that, and a few other things…

Like… why were her lips so tender, as if she’d been kissed to within an inch of her life?

And what the hell was that bright red mark on her neck?

BUDDIES DON'T BITE is part of the Lust Bites anthology along with two other stunning vamp novellas written by awesome Lustbiters Kristina Lloyd and Mathilde Madden. It's published on 8th Nov 07 in the UK and on 1st Jan 08 in the US. If you'd like to win a copy of Lust Bites and a copy of my vintage paranormal erotic romance, GOTHIC BLUE, please leave a comment on this post and you'll go into a prize draw.

And finally here's a treat for Janine in the form of another Count Dracula! ;)

Images of Zachary Trevelyan courtesy of The Velocity of Vincent.

'Vampire Pleasure' image by 'betterthantheworst'

by Jeremy Edwards"How do I love you?" a composite character from my stories could hypothetically (and rhetorically) ask another composite character.

I love you letting me talk obsessively about your ass, though the subject bores you: "That's why it's my job, and not yours, to appreciate this ass we speak of." [Any Day of the Week at Oysters and Chocolate & Sex and Satisfaction]

I love you inviting me to masturbate with you, despite the fact that we can never be a couple: "Oh, but it is a compliment . . . . You obviously have no idea how much I love masturbating alone in my bedroom." [If We Were at Clean Sheets]

I love you dressing up as your three best friends, one after the other, because you know I fantasize about fucking each of them: “Last I knew, this was a monogamous relationship.” I looked around from left to right, as though expecting extraneous women to emerge from the pantry or laundry chute. [Any Friend of Hers at The Erotic Woman]

I love you deliberately, sensuously pissing your panties for me: Ah, to hold her hand across the table and watch her features relax as she gave in to her wetness. [Slightly Ajar in F is for Fetish]

Am I a "romantic"? I think I am – though Hallmark hasn't approached me just yet in re. of their Valentine's Day line. (Hmph. I thought "To my lover/Golly gee/It turns me on/To watch you pee" was rather inspired. But I guess "golly gee" is a bit outdated.)

During college, I was in a brief, ambiguous relationship with a woman who was sort of breaking up with her boyfriend – or maybe not so much. (You get the idea, probably a lot faster than I did.) One evening, I showed a lack of interest in something she said along the lines of long-stemmed roses. "Don't you have a romantic bone in your body?" she asked. Leaving aside the question of which bone, when properly stimulated, might be the romantic one, I protested that my university punk-rock ethos was romantic – by which I basically meant idealistic, with extra hormones. She seemed impressed by this (but, then again, the boyfriend was out of town).

Now I'm going to step back even further and, since you insist, tell you the details of my first wet dream. It simulated a chaste encounter with a sexy high school teacher, who was based loosely on a real-life sexy Latin teacher. (Yes, I had the good fortune to learn early on that the world was replete with counterexamples to debunk every unjust stereotype. As an adult, I would be cavorting with librarians long before it became fashionable.) In the dream, the teacher was giving us a tour of "ROMA ANTIQVA". (She wasn't shouting, she was merely conforming to ancient Roman typography.) Just before debuting my virginal seed, I noted that the above phrase sounded sort of like "romantic-a" – decades before Ellora's Cave had their own wet dream and trademarked the term. Other writers may boast of their masturbatory proclivities for wordplay, but I may be the only one who doesn't mean it metaphorically.

And if only I'd thought to mention this piece of personal history when my bones were accused of being 100% unromantic: "It just so happens you're looking at a guy who's had wet dreams over the word 'romantic.'"

I continue to invoke a broad personal definition of what's romantic. As a reader and writer, I find there's a special kind of erotic electricity to be enjoyed in romantic synergy that crystallizes around the mundane, the absurd, the incongruous, the funny, the awkward, the silly, the strangely compulsive, or (last but not least) the ass-in-your-face raunchy.

My enthusiasm for the offbeat romantic doesn't mean that I think modern or even postmodern life has rendered rose-giving and other traditionally "romantic" experiences obsolete (except, perhaps, those that depend on modes of transportation that are no longer extant; it really is hard these days to make love, in either the archaic or contemporary sense of the term, atop a penny-farthing bicycle, and don't think I haven't tried). Nor do I assume that the offbeat romantic is a modern invention. I don't know my Sappho or my Catullus, and it's been a long time since I dipped into your Flaubert or the neighbor's Stendhal . . . but, surely, the entire history of good literature must be full of unique, unpredictable, and surprising romantic images.

However, I'm not here to speculate about the classics; I'm here to excerpt some hot contemporary erotica. So let's all open our textbooks to a scene from Stan Kent's My Finest Hour, one that makes my toes curl with joy. At this point, the narrator has been watching his wife fuck another guy for page after luxurious page:

They're on the shower floor. He's eating Lizzie. With their splayed bodies blocking the drain the water builds up in the shower, but they don't mind. They're like some primeval amphibious creatures writhing in a stream, struggling for the land so they can multiply or die. He has his hands on Lizzie's hips, and he's working her on his face, and she's pressing down on his back with her legs and they're squirming around. Lizzie wedges herself in the corner and sits up facing me. This is the first real eye contact we've enjoyed since she began fucking the sharply-dressed man, and she smiles and blows me a kiss.

Sigh.

Our Kristina Lloyd's Nothing But This is a bizarre, mysterious, enchanted tale of refined sensuality and transcendent eroticism – and, dare I suggest it, of love. My favorite moment in the story is one in which the romantic connection between the characters reveals itself through mutual knowledge and understanding, cutting through the haze of unreality and disorientation that KL has masterfully created:

"Hey, brother," calls Uncle, addressing Tom, "does she like it in her ass? Huh? A big prick in her tiny little asshole?"

Tom's too zonked to reply immediately. He just sprawls there, half-dead, before his head rolls sideways, eyes still closed. When he finally speaks, it sounds as if it's costing him an enormous effort. "Probably," he croaks.

Like Kent, KL evokes an erotically convincing emotional connection between lovers at the very moment that one of them is physically rather connected to someone else.

Anyone for Alison Tyler? As if I need to ask! Other People's Panties, for instance, is a showroom showpiece of kinky romanticism. The structure of the brief story is such that to excerpt it might risk spoiling it – so I'll just link and insist that you scroll down and read it. Now.

Personally, I can't think of anything more romantic than what happens in the AT story you just read. And yet, I'm told, Hallmark still hasn't made an offer on this one.
In Christopher Hart's Drift, two jaded characters are whisked away from a glitteringly sordid reality by an impossible, inexplicable, externalized romantic force that is literally beyond their control:

Her feet too were dangling free in the air, and kicked lightly against mine. We were six inches off the grass, a foot, two feet and rising. We were also drifting dangerously towards the house.

"Um . . . " she said, cautious, English. "Is this . . . ?"

I was cool about it. "Gravity seems to have failed us." I didn't feel cool about it all. This was supposed to be a hollow seduction, nothing more.

Perhaps this externalization is an example of an antiromantic's romanticism that is quintessentially postmodern. Whatever it is, I find the description of the cynical couple's absurd ascent into a magical mingling to be – well – truly uplifting.

Now I look forward to hearing about your favorite offbeat romantic moments. And shameless plugs are encouraged!

***Kristina says: Add a comment and you could win this sexy little quartet of books featuring Jeremy's work and some of his hot picks: A is for Amour, F is for Fetish and Caught Looking, all from Alison and Cleis Press, plus Quickies 3 from Black Lace which includes my enchanted tale of – ahem – my story, Nothing But This, reprinted from Sex and Shopping.

In which a group of Lustbites authors share their wanton adventures, and some juicy publishing tidbits, from the Romance Writers of America conference in Dallas, Texas, 2007.

Deanna Ashford: I find writing a particularly insular occupation, so my arrival at the RWA National Conference was somewhat of a culture shock for someone from 5,000 miles away across the pond. The Dallas hotel contained at least 2,000 attendees, about a quarter of whom, so I'm told, were published writers.

There were a multitude of workshops to attend on every conceivable aspect of writing and promotion, as well as panels which gave the attendees an insight into the heady world of publishing itself. Publishers held signings for their various authors, which meant lots of freebies for one and all. There was also a huge literacy benefit signing by at least 400 authors, which the general public were invited to attend. Aspiring writers could request meetings with editors and agents in order to pitch their books or themselves. Lastly on the final evening there was a glittering awards ceremony.

It was the perfect place to meet fellow authors, especially those I had corresponded with or who shared the same editor. I met, and hopefully got to know a little, some charming and entertaining people, including a number of US members of our blog. Also I met my editor, Adam, in the flesh at last. Not surprisingly at such an event he was totally outnumbered but appeared to remain charmingly unfazed by the proceedings.

Not surprisingly just about all the Black Lace authors attended the publishing panel entitled “Never Underestimate a Lady,” which had our editor Adam Neville and two Virgin Black Lace/Cheek authors, Michelle M. Pillow and Anne Tourney discussing the erotic market. They all spoke brilliantly on the subject. Adam mentioned Lustbites and the forthcoming short story anthology of the same name, which he said was deliberately named after our blog.

The following day there was another publishing panel on which Adam participated, along with editors of three other erotic romance lines--Avon, Harlequin and Kensington. It was there Adam made an amusing comment about where he'd found Black Lace books placed in bookshops. Not only are they in the romance section, they can sometimes be found in self-help and even zoology!

Not surprisingly, after travelling such a long way I couldn't resist sneaking out for some sightseeing. I just had to see the book depository where the Kennedy Memorial is situated, which of course overlooks the infamous grassy knoll! Also with 2 dollars to the pound how could a girl resist shopping. I did quite a lot and can highly recommend the North Park Mall.

All in all it was a wonderful trip where I met some great people, hopefully made a few friends and last, but not least, learned a lot more about the profession I have chosen to belong to.

Dayle A. Dermatis: "New Erotic Romance Lines - One Year Later" was exactly as advertised--editors from Avon, Harlequin, Kensington, and Virgin (as well as two authors) discussing how their year had gone, what they were looking for, what the trends are, etc.

The best news: They all agreed that erotic romance was here to stay!

Avon Red does paranormals and historicals as well as contemporaries, 85,000-90,000 words. They also do novellas of 25,000 words and short stories/e-books are 5000 words. They want HEA* (happily ever after), but the characters can have multiple partners on their way to romantic bliss. Full guidelines can be found here.

Harlequin Spice is looking for erotic fiction; HEA is not required. Strictly M/F is also not required. That said, they're also interested in erotica romance as well. 90,000-150,000 words. They also have the e-spice line, which are online stories from 5000-15,000 words. Click here for novel guidelines and here for e-spice guidelines.

Kensington Aphrodisia wants single-title books of 80,000-100,000 words and novellas of 20,000 to 25,000 words. While darker themes are okay, hardcore BDSM and strong fetishes are discouraged. They handle gay and lesbian erotica as well, but both "within the context of a freewheeling, generally heterosexual storyline." General guidelines for submission are here.

Virgin Books (Black Lace and Cheek) is interested in manuscripts of 70,000-75,000 words for both lines. Black Lace requires a non-contrived, non-wish-fulfillment HEA, and Cheek definitely requires an HEA. Black Lace books can be contemporary, historical, or paranormal, whereas Cheek is contemporary only. Links: Black Lace guidelines and Cheek guidelines.

The editors agreed that their research indicated that readers preferred the trade paperback size. However, few erotica romance publishers are offering their books in mass market, so it's unclear how they were comparing trade paperback sales to mass market sales. Black Lace is one of the few mass market-sized left, and Virgin is contemplating moving them to trade paperback.

The final thing I wrote down in my notes was Big Spank able Asses, which is an anthology from Kensington. Because how wonderful a title is that?!

Dayle Dermatis/Sophie Monett/Sarah Dale/Andrea Dale

*Note: Most publishers say that HEA does not automatically mean marriage and a baby on the way, or an epilogue showing them ten years later. It means that in the end, the reader believes the characters will make it together, that they belong together.

Dayle A. Dermatis, Adam Nevill, Teresa Noelle Roberts
(Dayle and Teresa write together as Sophie Mouette)

~ ~ ~

Teresa Noelle Roberts: While I attended the literacy signing last year, I'd just gotten off the plane and was too weary to take in the full impact. This year, I'd had had at least some sleep and so I can say with authority that it's surreal. This is frenzied author- and book-worship, like unto teenage girls in the presence of their favorite boy band, and it makes me happy to see. Hundreds of authors. Probably a thousand or more readers. I was on line for about 20 minutes to pay for my books. The line for Nora Roberts snaked around and around the room. Sherrilyn Kenyon was wearing this insane and very fun Victorian-Goth outfit, fangs, sparkly face paint, and a fabulous hat in the shape of a black swan. People had wheely suitcases to haul away their purchases. And in the end, we raised over $55,000 for literacy charities. (Grumble . . . would have probably hit $60,000 if everyone's books had arrived!)

One very cool thing is that happened at the signing, as a cosmic compensation for our books not arriving, is that Dayle and I had a chance to talk with Emma Holly. (Emma, of course, got her start with Black Lace.) I somehow managed to avoid doing a complete Fangirl Gush (while, I think, getting across that I'd like to.) Dayle, who is less tongue-tied than I tend to be, managed to suggest we sit with her at the PI lunch and she agreed. Emma, it turns out, is not just a very talented and hot author, she's also a sweet person. (We did sit with her at the luncheon, although it turned out not to be the best atmosphere for much chatting since there was a pretty full program of speakers and it was one of those hotel function rooms with odd acoustics; you could hear the people in the back of the room better than the people next to you.)

Most of the workshops I attended involved either plotting/structuring your story or sparking creativity and overcoming blocks, because I freely admit these are areas where I've been struggling. Got some great insights in the structuring and plotting workshops. The sparking creativity stuff was more reminding me of tricks I already know but tend to forget when I'm hitting a rough spot. One interesting thing was that during the interactive part of the workshop, I was hitting a theme about rest and reenergizing. At the end, we had a chance to pull an inspirational card--I got one with a lovely picture of a woman napping and a message about giving yourself time to recharge. Hrrm, might be that my subconscious is on to something here! Perhaps I'd actually get more done if I let myself get eight hours of sleep a night? Could it be that I'm not twenty anymore? No, say it isn't so!

~ ~ ~

Kate Pearce: This was my third RWA conference and the busiest one I’ve attended so far. Being published means you have commitments. I find its best to become ‘Kate Pearce’ rather than be boring old me. She is so much better at socializing and selling books!

I had a great time signing books at the Literacy for Life book fair and was near enough Nora Roberts to envy the long line that snaked around 2 sides of the hall. It’s still weird when people come up and ask me to sign a book for them. I always wonder if they really mean me.

Best things were meeting my online writer friends, all the Virgin authors and discovering strawberry lemon drops at the bar. I even managed to attend some workshops and learned a lot about the business side of things. Another highlight was a workshop by script guru Michael Hague entitled “From Identity to Essence: Love stories and Transformation.” We cornered poor Michael in the bar later and had a great chat with him. He nicknamed me Miss Erotica and was fascinated by the difference between my classy identity and my smutty essence.

I came away with 2 cowboy hats, one red, one zebra strip, a flashing white feather boa, sore feet and the desire to lie in a darkened room for a week and speak to no one!

Bad things? 2000 women, eight elevators and a limited amount of time to get anywhere caused a few interesting moments. I also moderated a workshop for some friends of mine and got stage fright when I stepped up on the podium. I announced my name and the workshop as “Writing the ‘hysterical’ erotic romance.” (Instead of historical)--TWICE--ON TAPE. This wasn’t quite the name recognition I was hoping for . . . .

~ ~ ~

Anne Tourney: It was enlightening. Inspiring. Utterly terrifying.

This was my first RWA conference; in fact, I’m not only a conference virgin, I’m a newly minted member of RWA. I hadn’t even made it through the paperwork by the time I landed in Dallas last Wednesday. I knew where I was supposed to be, and when, and I had a vague idea of why, but I was never quite sure how to get there. I went straight from the airport to the Bookseller’s Tea, which was in full swing when I arrived. There I met Jo-Ann Power, of Power Promotions. She kindly made sure I wasn’t going to faint, then gave me the task of handing out Virgin goodie bags to a roomful of strangers. It was kind of like reverse trick-or-treating, en masse. I wasn’t quite sure who was a bookseller and who wasn’t, so I handed out the bags to anyone who made eye contact with me. I also met co-authors Michelle Pillow and Mandy Roth, two inventive and prolific writers of erotic romance and paranormal erotica. They helped me get over my nerve attack, and showed me how to work the room.

Friday afternoon, I participated in a workshop panel (“Never Underestimate a Lady”) with Jo-Ann, Black Lace/Cheek editor Adam Neville, and author Michelle Pillow. We talked about the distinction between erotica and erotic romance, the future of erotica publishing, and the challenges of being an erotica writer while maintaining a “mainstream” identity. It was an interesting, thoughtful discussion, and I didn’t even choke on my water.

Saturday night, as I was recovering in my room with a cheeseburger and a horror movie, I realized that I needed this first experience just to learn how to make the most of future conferences. Here are a few of the tips I’ll use to make my next adventure more productive:

• Bring business cards. I was advised to make business cards before the conference, but I didn’t know what I’d put on them. “Anne Tourney: Geek (and Writer)” seemed the most appropriate, but I wasn’t sure why anyone would want to know my email address or phone number, so I came cardless. I soon regretted this; everyone was handing out cards, and they’re a wonderful way to keep in touch with editors, agents, and other writers, not only after the conference, but while it’s going on.
• Don’t be shy about self-promoting. I’ve come to the conclusion that self-promotion is kind of like masturbation: everyone does it, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, and since it’s an absolute necessity in certain cases, you might as well throw yourself into it with creativity and joy. I got all kinds of ideas about promotional goodies to bring next year (I think I’ll print my name and the cover of my new release on trail mix bars, since food is terribly expensive and I always seemed to be hungry), and I’ll definitely bring a few extra copies of my novels to swap with other writers, or give away to readers, editors, or agents.
• Talk to strangers. As a diehard introvert, this was one of the toughest hurdles for me to overcome, but I did manage to introduce myself to a few people I’d never met. It was well worth the effort, not only for the professional contacts I made, but for the inspiration and sheer fun of meeting other creative creatures.

Next year, I'm going to find a chandelier like this one in the Pan Lounge and swing from it.

SUITE SEVENTEEN by Portia Da Costa

As a change from all the kink, I thought I would offer something a little more tender...

Valentino, the prince of perversity, has been felled by a migraine, and Annie has put him to bed in a darkened room with an Imigran and a bit of soothing body heat...

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My dream seems to be about Dracula, only the seductive count has Valentino’s face, and I can actually see him in the mirror as he stands behind me. But as his hands come around my body to caress my breasts and his uncharacteristically warm mouth settles on my neck, I wake up.

I don’t know how long we’ve been in bed, but somewhere along the line, we’ve both turned over and now Valentino has me cradled spoon-style against him. Just as Drac was doing, he’s kissing my neck and fondling my breasts though my bra, but the phenomenal erection that’s prodding my bottom is very much from the land of the hot-blooded living.

When I open my eyes, I discover light in the room. It’s muted and smoky somehow, but the fact that it’s there at all is significant.

‘Is your head feeling better now?’ I back up my question with a little wriggle that indicates I’m well aware of his improved condition in other areas.

‘Much better now, thanks to you.’ He mouths my neck hungrily, and as I feel the touch of his tongue, he pushes my bra aside and begins to play with a nipple. After a bit of shimmying around, he shifts our position slightly and slides his other hand into my knickers and searches through my pubic hair to find my clitoris.

Oh bliss! This is my reward for my kindly nursemaid act. I sigh and wriggle again as he fondles me, strumming my nipple gently and touching my sex with a slow, comfortable yet infinitely delicious precision. No pleasure-pain games now, just glorious, mind-melting sensations and a sweet generosity of touch. I hook my feet around his ankles and arch like a bow, as a soft glimmering climax gently blooms. I clasp my hands over his as I hit the peak.

‘There… are you feeling better now?’ he purrs as I come back down to earth.

‘Considerably… but I think there’s still a small matter to deal with before we have a conversation.’

‘Small?’ His voice is full of mock outrage as he grinds his erection into the groove between my buttocks, the rolling pressure exciting me all over again. I’m not quite sure if I want to go down that route right now, but I probably wouldn’t take much persuading…

‘Well, a big one then… I was only speaking figuratively.’

Valentino chuckles, gives my erogenous zones one last affectionate squeeze, and then rolls away from me, presumably for one of the condoms he keeps stashed in his bedroom drawer.

I roll too, squirming out of my bra, knickers and my trouser socks as I go.

The lamp is draped in a dark, silky scarf, which explains the subdued lighting. But even with its glow tamped down I can see that Valentino appears 100% better. His handsome face has lost that pinched look, and his skin shines again with the soft, honeyed glow of relaxed health. It’s disgustingly easy how a young fit man recovers.

‘Let me,’ I insist as he turns back to me, foil packet in hand.

Valentino throws back the quilt to give me room, and I find my fingers shaking in anticipation as I roll the rubber down over his marvellous penis. He’s beautiful, sumptuous, utter temptation – and for a moment I toy with the idea of scooting down the bed and taking him in my mouth. But my sex flutters and clenches imperiously, demanding attention.

Mindful of my lover’s preferences, I roll over ready to offer him access from the rear.

‘No, amore mio, not this time…’ His hand on my shoulder is unequivocal, and strong. He puts me on my back and looms over me, his eyes huge and dark in the soft light, ‘Face to face now, Annie. I want to see your eyes and your beautiful face as you climax.’

Emotion surges through me like a sea fret driven by a great and significant change. I sense we’re at the beginning of a very special journey, and maddeningly, my eyes fill with tears at the importance of it.

Valentino says nothing, but his own eyes gleam revealingly, and he gently blots away the moisture with his fingertips.

And then begins to kiss me as he moves between my thighs.

He pushes in firmly, adjusting with his hips as he goes, and my body yields as if accepting an old friend. Odd, how sweet and familiar this moment is, despite the fact that we’ve only ever fucked three times before, and one of them was last night, and perversely different. The action is slow and easy, and he rocks his pelvis with fluid, undulating swing. I imagine us dancing, which is an odd fantasy to indulge at a moment like this, yet strangely it seems full of erotic power. Valentino moves with such grace that he must be a demon on the dance floor.

Arching his spine, Valentino pulls back from our kiss and looks down into my eyes just as he said he would. His black hair swings around our faces, and in the dark, metallic depths of his gaze there seems to process a series of questions and also their answers.

He and I are different, in so many ways, but we have the power to resolve every issue that stands between us. Knowledge passes through us, and as one we smile… then kiss again.

But stately, leisurely fucking can’t last forever, much as part of me would love it to. Seductive friction soon begins to up the ante.

Valentino fucks like a fury, his penis pounding me and impacting on a million singing nerve-ends. I feel orgasm speeding towards me like a fireball, and determined to snare it for me he reaches between our bodies and strokes my clitoris to bring me home.

I shout something. I think it’s ‘I love you’, but I can’t be certain of the exact words. His hips moving like a jackhammer, Valentino cries out too, and I’ve a suspicion he’s said more or less the same. I don’t speak Italian, but who needs to when the heart translates the meaning.

SUITE SEVENTEEN is published on 7th June in the UK and on 7th August in the US.

amazon.co.uk :: amazon.com :: another excerpt

Images courtesy of The Velocity of Vincent

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Hope you enjoyed that!

Please leave a comment... everyone who does will go into a draw for a prize of a couple of books from my backlist. I'll announce the winner in a week or two here on the blog.

Happy Reading

Portia Da Costa
Hopeless Romantic...