Wednesday, 19 June 2013

Secrets and Lords by Justine Elyot

Hello, erotic writers! Ashley has kindly offered me a spot here to talk about my new novel for Mischief Books, Secrets and Lords.

It's a historical story set in 1920 in a stately home, but the behaviour is anything but stately. Here's the blurb to give you more of an idea:

The summer of 1920 brings illicit liaisons to stately home Deverell Hall. Lords, ladies, butler and maids all succumb to the spirit of the roaring 1920s as sex and scandal take over.
From the author of bestselling Mischief titles ‘Kinky’ and ‘Game’, Justine Elyot’s ‘Secrets and Lords’ is a historical erotic novel that will seduce anyone who loves period drama Downton Abbey and delight fans of The Great Gatsby.
Lord Deverell's new wife has the house in thrall to her theatrical glamour. His womanising son, Sir Charles, has his eye on anything female that moves while his beautiful daughter, Mary, is feeling more than a little restless. And why does his younger son, Sir Thomas, spend so much time in the company of the second footman?
Into this simmering tension comes new parlour maid, Edie, with a secret of her own – a secret that could blow the Deverell family dynamic to smithereens.
Would an excerpt be in order?

Edie accepted a rag and a tub of metal polish and made a start on the heavy, ormulu-framed square mirror that stood over an unused fireplace.
They worked silently and diligently until Edie was drawn to the window by the sound of a car drawing up in the drive. She wouldn't have admitted it to herself, but she was hoping for a glimpse of Ted.
The car was not the one she had ridden in earlier, though. It was that same sleek, cream-coloured monster that had twice passed her on the road.
The rain had abated and its driver got out on to wet gravel, looking up at the house windows as he did so. Edie took a swift step back, her heart pounding. Why did she not want to be seen? Because this must be Charles, the rake of the Deverells, and she had no wish to draw his attention to her.
He was pristine in a pin-striped blazer over light-coloured waistcoat, shirt and trousers. His dark hair was immaculately cut and he was clean-shaven. He didn't wear a hat, and Edie approved of this, for she had no taste for the current fashion for straw boaters on men.
His eye was soon drawn away from the house, and he went to the passenger side to open it for a young woman.
'Who is that?' asked Edie, and Jenny came to look over her shoulder.
'Lady Mary. Oh, don't look. Sir Charles will see you.'
'She is fearfully lovely.'
'Yes. Come away.'
 But a creeping fascination had overcome Edie, who noted that Mary was exceptionally fashionable and glamorous in a calf-length beige skirt, a lace-collared blouse and a loose belted jacket. Her hat was low on her brow over dark, shiny bobbed hair and she wore three long strands of pearls.
Jenny tried to tug her away but to no avail. Edie watched Charles take Mary's arm to help her up the steps, then – disaster! He looked directly at her window. Her throat tightened and she tried to move away but she felt held there by the keen penetration of his gaze. It only lasted a moment, before Lady Mary slapped him on the elbow, as if in reproof, and he turned back to her, laughing.
But a moment was enough. Edie had been noticed, and now she felt like a marked woman.

Many thanks to Ashley for hosting me – and to you for reading!

Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet Sarai

 Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.

Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.

Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?

You can buy the book at your favorite online store:
Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

From the book

“Your money and your jewels,” he growled in Hindi. “Quick now!”

Cecily lowered her gaze, feigning modesty. Meanwhile, she tightened her hand into a fist to release the knife. Nothing happened.

Her fall must have damaged the mechanism. Bloody machines…

And, in the interim, the bandit had produced his own much longer blade, which he now held to her throat. “Do you understand me, woman?” He switched to Rajasthani. When she still didn’t respond, he tried Gujarati. “Give me your valuables. Now!” Apparently losing patience, he plucked the gold hoop from her left earlobe with his other hand, while still pressing the cold steel against her skin.

“Ow!” she protested as the wire tugged at her flesh before pulling free.

“Aha! You can speak after all!” He glanced around the plush interior, no doubt noting brocaded cushions, the silver tea service, the crystal goblets secured to the wall in their polished wood racks. “You look like you’re loaded, lady. Give me your purse before I get tired of waiting and slit your lovely throat.” Despite her Indian costume and the dusky complexion she’d inherited from her Ceylonese mother, the brigand addressed her in English this time, probably cued by the obvious provenance of the artefacts that surrounded her. The clarity of his pronunciation surprised her.

Sprawled on the floor, tangled in her clothing, Cecily glared up at him. A swathe of dark cloth wrapped around his head hid everything but his deep brown eyes. Sheltering under elegantly arched eyebrows, those eyes glittered with malice and craft. He had long, lush eyelashes that any woman would envy and a high forehead that bespoke considerable intelligence. A brute, no doubt, but scarcely dumb. She’d have to move with the utmost care.

“If you will put somewhat more distance between your blade and my flesh,” she began, keeping her voice sweet and level, “I will be able to reach my money. It’s pinned into my waistband.”

The bandit’s eyes flicked to her bare midriff. She let her hand drift down towards the concealed pistol as though she were about to extricate a hidden pouch of coins.

Before she could reach her goal, he shot out his hand, catching her wrist in an iron grip. “Allow me.”He slipped his dagger into a sheath slung across his chest, then grabbed her other wrist and pinned it with the first. His hand was large enough to encircle both of hers.

“Now, then…” He trailed his fingertips across the naked gap between her blouse and her skirt. Electricity sizzled up Cecily’s spine. The next thing she knew, he slid his hand under the fabric of her skirt, rooting around for items more solid than her soft, round belly.

He groped for a moment, while she held her breath. His calloused fingers struck sparks from her flesh. Of course, he discovered her weapon almost instantly. He drew it out, chuckling once more when he saw its size. Her skin mourned the loss of his touch.

“What a surprise! A gun instead of the promised gold.” He tightened his hold on her wrists until she feared the bones would snap. “Who are you, my lady? Not, I think, a common traveller.”

“That’s none of your concern…sir.” Cecily decided that it might be wise to be polite.

“Oh, I think it is. Not many women travel on their own across the wastes of my country, especially in the most modern of conveyances. Those that do are wise to carry a weapon—but this one will not help you. Who sent you, madam? What is your business here?”

“I’ll not share my business with a common brigand.”

“And if I were someone else? Would you tell me then how and why you happen to cross my path?”

Cecily of course had a cover story. Her documents attested that she was the sister of a wealthy Bombay textile merchant, come to Rajasthan looking for business contacts. She was not, however, about to divulge anything to this rogue.

“I will tell you nothing.”

“Indeed? I think I may be able to change your mind.” After tucking the pistol into the folds of his garment, he drew out a length of what, aside from its strange silvery colour, looked like common rope. He dangled it near her trapped wrists. “Bind,” he said.

The rope came alive, coiling like a snake. Quick as a cobra strike, it looped itself around her forearms—once, twice, half a dozen times, pulling tighter with each cycle. Before she could devise a plan, Cecily found her crossed arms were laced together as firmly as the back of a corset.

“How dare you? Untie me at once!”

“So that you can stab me? Or shoot me? Who knows what other cunning devices you have hidden about your charming person? No, on the contrary, I think I’d be wise to bind your legs as well.”

You can buy the book at your favorite online store:
Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

Monday, 3 June 2013

Kyoko Church

5 tips by Kyoko Church

1.       Forget the world. I would say all fiction writing, when it’s done well, is intensely personal but is there any that is more so than erotica? The first thing I absolutely have to do when I write about sex is to completely forget about the fact that anyone else is going to read it. That’s a scary thing to do the first time! But if you believe that all the best writing is born of passion and a compulsion to communicate that passion, then it is essential that you not censor yourself. Write your truth. Worry about what Aunt Velma’s gonna say when she reads about your secret penchant for masturbating while wearing latex later.
2.       Well, maybe not the world. Okay, bring back one person. Maybe it’s your lover. Maybe your best friend. Maybe it’s Aunt Velma after all. Someone who you are 100% comfortable with and to whom you can confide all your darkest, grittiest, private thoughts. And write to her. Two things are possible when you write like this. As a reader I love when I get the feeling the writer is letting me in on a secret, something I haven’t heard before, like I’m eavesdropping on a private conversation or peering into someone’s bedroom. This is the feeling you are able to conjure when you write to one special person. You allow the reader that private, special glimpse which is thrilling for her. The other thing that happens is you develop a rapport with your reader. You want that. Treat your reader with respect. Time is precious and she is taking time out of her day to sit down and read your words. That deserves respect.
3.       Edit, edit, edit. And while I’m talking about respecting your reader, let’s talk about editing. We all know that with self-publishing now any Tom, Dick or Barbara can jot a few words down, throw them up on Amazon and think she is going to be the next EL James, taking the unsuspecting public by storm with her story about the time she let her boyfriend fuck her from behind while she was wearing a dog collar and fantasizing about Taylor Lautner. And it’s not that the dog collar thing is not a valid fantasy. Who am I to say what fantasies are valid? But if you’re going to write it down and want me to read and be entertained by it then do it or don’t but whatever you do, don’t do it half assed! Make it your best. And part of how you do that is through editing. And editing. And editing again. Like I say, it’s about respect for your reader. As a reader, it’s one thing if I read something and don’t like it but if it’s badly edited as well then I feel like, not only do I not care about this, neither does the writer! Way to punch me in the stomach and spit in my eye for good measure. Yes, outside of selfpub land mistakes will get caught when the publisher gets their editors to go over it but the more you catch yourself the less there is for later which means there will be a higher possibility that what comes out will be perfect, or as close as you can get it.
4.       Take classes. If you are an avid reader, like any good writer undoubtedly is, you might already have an instinctual ability to tell a story. But in my opinion it is good practice and also good fun to always be honing your skills. So take classes. Learn the technical stuff: show, don’t tell, POV, goal, motivation and conflict, character arcs, plot development, all of that. It’s inspiring, fun and educational all in one!
5.       Fantasize. What’s that you’re doing in bed there, KC, with that pillow between your legs and the faraway look in your eye? Well since you asked, that, my friend, is what I like to call research and development. Yup, it’s all part of the job. Nice work, if you can get it. Now go away. I’m busy. Ignore the buzzing.

Kyoko Church's books can be found on the following pages: