Morpheus excerpt

Here's a passage from my new story, Morpheus, which published today on the eXtasy Books site:

           The Fair Warriors are tangled with one another on the floor around us, deeply asleep.

 
           Joy asks, "When are they going to wake?"

            They look enticing, the naked women in their accessible postures, and their husbands locked in dreams. I wonder how our intense attraction to one another is going to play out.

            I say, "I'll let them sleep until after we're gone."

            She says, "Mighty Morpheus." 

            She's trying to break down my discipline and persuade me to let her go with us on the mission. I need to resist. She absolutely can't go. It's too dangerous. I won't let her fuck me into changing my mind.

            My body doesn't listen. My undisciplined legs wrap her hips. My mutinous arms carry my traitorous hands to her breasts.

 

New release

Out tomorrow from eXtasy Books--my newest story, Morpheus.

Here's the jacket cover blurb:

When Paul wakes up after leading his elite combat team in a disastrous assault on the Fair Warriors, he finds that the people he was sent to attack are his friends. One of them is his lost love, the prophetess Joy. The Fair Warriors use their erotic paranormal abilities to help him uncover his own weird powers. He's drawn into their struggle against a sinister corporation. Paul and the other Fair Warriors are drawn into a strange, secret battle that unfolds in the midst of a massive Occupy Washington demonstration in the nation's capital

And here's the totally hot cover, designed by Carmen Waters:

Coercion

This afternoon I introduced myself to the Goodreads discussion group The Erogenous Zone. They're a fun bunch that centers on an appreciation of BDSM, as a fantasy or as a lifestyle. They encourage book promotions (or, as they call it "pimping"). So I pimped my novel Mandi, which is the most BDSM story I've published.

For those of you not familiar with meaning of BDSM, here's a definition from Wikipedia: BDSM is a preference and sometimes form of personal relationship centering around activities that are erotic but may not be sexual, and which may include the consensual use of restraint, intense sensory stimulation, and fantasy power role play.

To me, some form of constraint is a key ingredient of erotic fiction. Characters must be compelled by some force, need, or circumstance that forces their sex lives beyond where they'd normally go. A love story with a lot of sex is a hot romance. A love story with an overmastering whether-you-like-it-or-not complulsion is erotic. If the restraint and compulsion are pushed to the whips, chains, and agonizing foreplay level, it's BDSM.

Beautiful bodies and deadly bulls

Here's a new promotional announcement for my novel Clytie that my publicists are posting around the net:

In the bedrooms of a secret resort island where wealthy owners treat their servants like slaves, Paris serves as a consort trained to provide every sexual pleasure. But in the arena, he's like a god. He's the only living athlete who can perform the ancient and deadly sport of bull leaping. He can catch the horns of a charging bull and vault over its back. He's pampered and lusted after. Then Clytie, a slip of a woman with a fearless agility, matches his feats in the arena and captures his heart. But Clytie refuses to be anyone's sex slave. Her determination to live with a free heart forces Paris to rebel against his privileged captivity.

Here's an excerpt from Clytie:

“What, you’ve never deflowered a virgin?” Uncertainty flits through her eyes, chased by mirth. She says, “We’ll see how you are at it.”

Her head bobs under the water. Her shoulders wedge between my knees. Her short, dark hair floats on the surface of the pool, tickling my chest. Her lips find my cock, their touch swift, warm, light.

She is a newborn child of the ocean, rising from the waves to the golden air. Her kiss is harder. Her hand works my cock. Her legs press my chest. Her hips settle onto me. Before I know it, I’m inside her.

Her quick rocking is fiercer than Mistress Dalia’s wildest shows of abandon. Clytie gives a sharp cry, a soft groan. Her head settles on my chest. She hums contentedly with each drive of my hips. My coming wells from a fountain deeper than I believed I possessed.  

Here's a buy link for Clytie: http://www.extasybooks.com/clytie-5/.

Motivation

In the new series I'm starting, motivation is a problem at the outset. Why would a beautiful and successful professional woman take up night work in a high-class bordello? Here's a passage I just finished writing:

          A seafood restaurant glitters like a diamond in the black bracelet of closed retailers. The bright windows show diners at slim-legged tables and waiters in white jackets. I could stop the cab here, go into the restaurant, take a table for two, and pick up some young techie mico-millionare to buy my dinner, take me bar hopping, and fuck me through the night. I could never become a whore.

          It's the dark storefronts that drive me on. I hate shut-away things, secrets, walls, the blindness of devotion. This anger is Michael's legacy in my heart. Time to put myself on view. The crass openness of the bordello draws me. And the money, the charm of owing nothing, financially or emotionally, to anyone.

What is erotic Part 11: Wanting it

The raw desire for sex might be the very essence of eroticism. My work as a writer of erotic romances leads me to think about the varieties of erotic experience and the wellsprings of love. Today I'm thinking about the bare need for sex, without the other feelings and needs that go with desire and romance. 

Who doesn't want it?  Who can deny the need? Try to suppress it, and you lose. Fail to find an outlet, and the need twists to a perversion.  Love without sex is like an aquarium without water. You can make it work, but it's a lot harder to keep the fish alive. No difference if you are unable to find a mate, or physically unable to perform, or determined to give your life to other things. It's there. It never goes away. Like it or not, it drives you.

I'm building a new series around wanting it. The heroine has a lot going for her, but…. 

Sorry, I've just started the first story of the series. I don't want to give the story away. And I don't want to define the underlying themes too strictly. That's why we write and read, to explore the deep desires. This time, I'm diving for the deepest.

Mandi excerpt

In this passage from my novel Mandi, published by eXtasy Books, Mandi first encounters a sex pill called the Fire Genie:

"Call her Mandi. With an i." Alex pats me on the butt. I dip my head.

  "Man-dee." They giggle.

  The seats are of the same superior leather as the interior of the Bentley. Eddie the driver follows us on board and peels off his jacket to show a black T shirt stretched tight over a buff torso, and a pistol in a shoulder holster. He takes the seat in the row opposite of us, nearest the door. His sunglasses stay on.

  Michelle and Annette bring us ice water before they buckle into seats facing us. Their skirts barely cover their goodies. Where they sit gives them a view of mine. The plane starts to roll. Alex places his hand where his little finger can brush the shave line of my pubes. Michelle and Annette giggle. I sip ice water.

  Alex says, "If you're not enjoying this..."

  "I'm ready." I meet his eyes, and find there a display of his burning will to dominate. For now. Alex doesn't miss my instant of rebellion. The only reaction I see in those intense eyes is a glint of amusement.

  The plane finishes the climb to cruising altitude and levels. Alex withdraws his hand from the border of my cunt and says, "Ladies, please show Mandi the boudoir." Michelle and Annette pop out of their seats with a perky display of their tight assets.

  "Man-dee." Michelle or Annette offers a small paper cup. It holds a pill.

  "A stimulant developed by one of my pharmaceutical companies," Alex explains. "Field trials have proven it safe and effective, and rather interesting. We're filing for FDA approval next week."

  Michelle or Annette shakes an identical pill from a bottle and hands it to Alex. He pops it into his mouth and sips ice water.

  "You vil like eet, Man-dee," Annette or Michelle prompts. Alex makes a point of not watching. The pill is plain, round, yellow, and uncoated.  It has a Y stamped on it, making it look like a pie chart with three sections. I swallow it and drink. Michelle or Annette extends a hand. I accept her warm clutch and rise from the seat. I'm slightly dizzy. The brush of my arm against the childish breasts of one of the women tingles my nipples. Alex pretends to return his interest to whatever he's reading on his pad, but I can see the bulge in his fine slacks. I let Michelle and Annette lead me to a door in a mahogany bulkhead. If I hadn't failed to suppress my iota of rebellion, would Alex be walking me down this aisle?

  The bedroom barely accommodates an antique French bed. A pink silk coverlet is repeated overhead in a ceiling video panel. So there are cameras going, and recorders. Wall sconces drip beads of crystal. What looks like a genuine Renoir hangs above a photo of Alex Leed finishing a marathon. A narrow doorway opens on a bathroom with hardly space to stand between sink, shower, toilet, and bidet.

  Michelle and Annette undress. Their lingerie is sexier than mine. Nipples show darkly through sheer bras. One of them hops onto the pink spread, cocks her head, smiles, and holds out her arms. The other turns a dimmer to lower the lights, and puts her hand in the small of my back to press me toward the bed. The room seems warm. 

  I'm facing my first major "I quit" test. If I walk out of this room, the plane will land, the Bentley will return me to Leed headquarters, Belle will cut my quarter million dollar severance check, and I'll be on the street.

  Michelle or Annette encircles me from behind. Her fingers pluck the second button of my blouse. The soft pressure on my breasts sends a wave of heat down a cord from my nipples to my crotch. "S'il vous plaît, Man-dee?"

  "Yes. Oui."