Primula Bond - The Silver Chain paperback release today

 The Silver Chain is the first in Primula Bond's new Unbreakable Trilogy published by Mischief Books at Harper Collins. It is available on ebook and now  in paperback and is a must read for anyone who likes their erotica intelligent, romantic, intense, sumptuous, sexy, daring yet real, and set in glittering locations.

Blurb of The Silver Chain:

'Being needed by someone is different from having power over them, and far more alluring, and I'm a fool for not recognising that. I'm a fool for not recognising you.'

Twin souls colliding? Or was Gustav waiting for her?

Young photographer Serena Folkes believes she's struck gold when the tycoon Gustav Levi offers to showcase her debut exhibition. But there are strings attached. Serena must move into Gustav's London town house and agree to pleasure him in any way he chooses. Patron and protegee, they are bound by the silver chain that symbolises this contract until the last photograph is sold.

            As her work sells and Gustav's demands increase, Serena surprises them both with her feisty character and eager participation. It's not such a tough ask. Gustav is exotic and intriguing. She is hungry and willing to learn. Gradually she learns what demons have driven him to strike bargains rather than to trust.  And when Gustav discovers that Serena's abusive past has almost destroyed her ability to love, he realises they are not so different after all.

            Can they plan a future together, or will a single act of betrayal return to haunt them?

Excerpt:

 He is leaning over me now. I know his face so well. The half close of his eyes as if the lids are too heavy, when he's aroused. The pushing forward of his lower lip when he finally releases it, as if eager for a kiss.

            'I want to touch you all over, Gustav. Will you untie the silver chain? I promise I'm not going anywhere.'

            He grins. 'You can't leave me, anyway. Not while I have some rather incriminating footage in my possession.'

            'Footage?' I wriggle anxiously.

            'I have cameras in this house, remember? Mostly switched off, actually, but that night when I thrashed you with the little nun's whip, it's all on film. You wouldn't leave without securing that, would you?'

            I squeal and kick at him. 'You bastard! Blackmailing me!'

            'You're mine, young lady!' He laughs, and slaps me, hard, on the bottom. 'I can hold you to ransom for as long as I like!'

            We wrestle, hard, my struggle getting weaker as he weighs me down with his hands. My head flops back at last, with one last yank at my shackles.

            'You like it, don't you? Our silver chain? Being tied like this really turns you on.'

            I lie there, waiting. He lowers himself slowly over me. Unzips his jeans. And there is my prize.

            Dear God, I thought this moment would never come. It was hard and brutal the other night. We were both gripped by fury and fear. But tonight? Tonight I want the luxury of taking a good look. I'm rapidly becoming unable to live without it.

            So. Stay still. Don't break the spell. We're facing each other this time. His fathomless eyes. His sensuous mouth. He's going to do it this time like a lover. Gorgeous, powerful, weird, wonderful Gustav Levi.

            In the window the moon has slipped sideways on its way towards morning, as if averting its eyes, or ceding us some privacy.

            The weight of him on my legs pins me down. I hitch my hips invitingly, see his jaw tighten as he bends his face down to brush his mouth against mine.

            'Thank God you're here,' he murmurs hoarsely.

            I pull him into me, my legs strong and determined, and at last, at last his stomach is going tight as he starts to push inside me, little by little, he's so hard and hot. My body encloses him. My legs wrap around his hips and we tussle, he's strong, resisting, I'm determined, pulling, my body wants him deep, deeper inside me but still he's testing himself, testing me, holding back for as long as possible, and then we're rocking and tilting together, the pillows soft against my back, my bottom lifted off the bed as he pulls me with him.

            This is normal, hot sex. So normal. My man and me.

            His dark head is steady above mine, eyes black coals burning. It's the face that has been uppermost in my mind for the last month.

            A thump and clatter down in the hall. So Dickson has found the key.  

            'Ignore him, Gustav. I'm here. Look at me.'

            Gustav settles into a kind of trance, still staring at me, his fingers stroking my sides as if he's tuning a harp. Then he takes hold of my hips, lifts them easily towards his strong, lithe body. He starts moving again. He starts to push. He's just inside me. I move with him. It's all so natural. 

            Of course he's focussed. Gustav Levi doesn't do anything by halves. He doesn't alter his slow, sexy rhythm. We are moving together, in time with the heartbeat of the jazz music. My legs grip tighter as he pushes further, further, he fits so perfectly, I'm loving this so much, I want to moan and thrash, and pull him and kiss him and bite him.

            But I don't. Not tonight. I show him a woman who can remain silent and submissive.

            I keep my eyes on him, take a good look before the moonlight slides away completely. He's filled out, somehow, like a ravenous man who has finally eaten a square meal. There's no spare flesh on him, his muscles are chiselled by some kind of work out he must be doing, but I like that he's bigger, stronger, than when I first met him. His arms ripple and flex with new muscles.

            I'm his square meal. His nourishment.

            I must have moaned just then, because suddenly he shifts, leaning close. I arch my back again, I'm so impatient now. Does he want my yearning breasts?

            To my astonishment he reaches above me and unclips the silver chain, releasing my wrists, spreads his hands under my bottom and flips me like a pancake up towards him. We are upright now, face to face, nose to nose, like medieval saints praying on a tomb. I am straddling his knees. I feel so young like this, so athletic and free. I love that he's playing with me, experimenting with me. And I love that he is still fitted deep inside, angled right up to the hilt.

            We pause for a moment, breathing fast into each other’s faces, taunting each other to see who will move first, testing ourselves to see who will crack and give in to this incredible moment.

            His lips are moving silently as if he's counting himself in, or praying. He pulls his haunches back and so do I. He's not gentle. He slams his hips into me and I buck back at him. We pull back together, arching in rhythm as if rowing a boat, slam back so hard that we shudder with the impact of bone on bone.

            His black eyes bore through me. I want to shut mine, but I fear he might vanish if I do. I've shut my eyes so you can't see me. So I keep staring back, not blinking, as we grind and pause, so solid, filling, fitting me perfectly. My body grasping him like a tight glove.

You can buy The Silver Chain at bit.ly/scebook

or amzn.to/14b3Rww

or amzn.to/17RLLUk

or preorder paperback on amzn.to/10iqbmC 

Author Bio:

 Primula Bond is an Oxford educated mother of three boys and has lived in Oxford, London and Cairo.  She currently lives in Hampshire and works part time as a legal clerk for criminal defence lawyers as well as writing freelance features under her real name.  Her erotic novels include Country Pleasures, Club Crème and Behind The Curtain and dozens of short stories published by Virgin Books.  Her novella Sisters in Sin and various short stories are published by Mischief Books, and Xcite Books at Accent Press have published a solo collection of short stories Random Acts of Lust , and her novella Out of Focus.  Primula also offers a critique service for aspiring erotic and romantic writers through Writers Workshop.  You can find her blog  at www.primulabond.blogspot.com , on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter @primulabond.

'I really loved the book - it was different - but good different.. I can't wait for book 2 - the cliffhanger really left me hanging! I want to know what happens with Serena and Gustav!'  B J's Book Blog

'I really loved it. Primula Bond knows how to write interesting, engaging and fascinating relationships.' Northern Lass

'I felt the story was quite well written and it took me a day to read as I romped through it and didn't want to put it down.'  Goodreads.

You can buy The Silver Chain at bit.ly/scebook

or amzn.to/14b3Rww

or amzn.to/17RLLUk

or preorder paperback on amzn.to/10iqbmC

Primula Bond - The Silver Chain

 The Silver Chain is the first in Primula Bond's new Unbreakable Trilogy published by Mischief Books at Harper Collins. It is available on ebook now and in paperback from 15^th August 2013 and is a must read for anyone who likes their erotica intelligent, romantic, intense, sumptuous, sexy, daring yet real, and set in glittering locations.

Blurb of The Silver Chain:

'Being needed by someone is different from having power over them, and far more alluring, and I'm a fool for not recognising that. I'm a fool for not recognising you.'

Twin souls colliding? Or was Gustav waiting for her?

Young photographer Serena Folkes believes she's struck gold when the tycoon Gustav Levi offers to showcase her debut exhibition. But there are strings attached. Serena must move into Gustav's London town house and agree to pleasure him in any way he chooses. Patron and protegee, they are bound by the silver chain that symbolises this contract until the last photograph is sold.

            As her work sells and Gustav's demands increase, Serena surprises them both with her feisty character and eager participation. It's not such a tough ask. Gustav is exotic and intriguing. She is hungry and willing to learn. Gradually she learns what demons have driven him to strike bargains rather than to trust.  And when Gustav discovers that Serena's abusive past has almost destroyed her ability to love, he realises they are not so different after all.

            Can they plan a future together, or will a single act of betrayal return to haunt them?

Excerpt:

 He is leaning over me now. I know his face so well. The half close of his eyes as if the lids are too heavy, when he's aroused. The pushing forward of his lower lip when he finally releases it, as if eager for a kiss.

            'I want to touch you all over, Gustav. Will you untie the silver chain? I promise I'm not going anywhere.'

            He grins. 'You can't leave me, anyway. Not while I have some rather incriminating footage in my possession.'

            'Footage?' I wriggle anxiously.

            'I have cameras in this house, remember? Mostly switched off, actually, but that night when I thrashed you with the little nun's whip, it's all on film. You wouldn't leave without securing that, would you?'

            I squeal and kick at him. 'You bastard! Blackmailing me!'

            'You're mine, young lady!' He laughs, and slaps me, hard, on the bottom. 'I can hold you to ransom for as long as I like!'

            We wrestle, hard, my struggle getting weaker as he weighs me down with his hands. My head flops back at last, with one last yank at my shackles.

            'You like it, don't you? Our silver chain? Being tied like this really turns you on.'

            I lie there, waiting. He lowers himself slowly over me. Unzips his jeans. And there is my prize.

            Dear God, I thought this moment would never come. It was hard and brutal the other night. We were both gripped by fury and fear. But tonight? Tonight I want the luxury of taking a good look. I'm rapidly becoming unable to live without it.

            So. Stay still. Don't break the spell. We're facing each other this time. His fathomless eyes. His sensuous mouth. He's going to do it this time like a lover. Gorgeous, powerful, weird, wonderful Gustav Levi.

            In the window the moon has slipped sideways on its way towards morning, as if averting its eyes, or ceding us some privacy.

            The weight of him on my legs pins me down. I hitch my hips invitingly, see his jaw tighten as he bends his face down to brush his mouth against mine.

            'Thank God you're here,' he murmurs hoarsely.

            I pull him into me, my legs strong and determined, and at last, at last his stomach is going tight as he starts to push inside me, little by little, he's so hard and hot. My body encloses him. My legs wrap around his hips and we tussle, he's strong, resisting, I'm determined, pulling, my body wants him deep, deeper inside me but still he's testing himself, testing me, holding back for as long as possible, and then we're rocking and tilting together, the pillows soft against my back, my bottom lifted off the bed as he pulls me with him.

            This is normal, hot sex. So normal. My man and me.

            His dark head is steady above mine, eyes black coals burning. It's the face that has been uppermost in my mind for the last month.

            A thump and clatter down in the hall. So Dickson has found the key.  

            'Ignore him, Gustav. I'm here. Look at me.'

            Gustav settles into a kind of trance, still staring at me, his fingers stroking my sides as if he's tuning a harp. Then he takes hold of my hips, lifts them easily towards his strong, lithe body. He starts moving again. He starts to push. He's just inside me. I move with him. It's all so natural. 

            Of course he's focussed. Gustav Levi doesn't do anything by halves. He doesn't alter his slow, sexy rhythm. We are moving together, in time with the heartbeat of the jazz music. My legs grip tighter as he pushes further, further, he fits so perfectly, I'm loving this so much, I want to moan and thrash, and pull him and kiss him and bite him.

            But I don't. Not tonight. I show him a woman who can remain silent and submissive.

            I keep my eyes on him, take a good look before the moonlight slides away completely. He's filled out, somehow, like a ravenous man who has finally eaten a square meal. There's no spare flesh on him, his muscles are chiselled by some kind of work out he must be doing, but I like that he's bigger, stronger, than when I first met him. His arms ripple and flex with new muscles.

            I'm his square meal. His nourishment.

            I must have moaned just then, because suddenly he shifts, leaning close. I arch my back again, I'm so impatient now. Does he want my yearning breasts?

            To my astonishment he reaches above me and unclips the silver chain, releasing my wrists, spreads his hands under my bottom and flips me like a pancake up towards him. We are upright now, face to face, nose to nose, like medieval saints praying on a tomb. I am straddling his knees. I feel so young like this, so athletic and free. I love that he's playing with me, experimenting with me. And I love that he is still fitted deep inside, angled right up to the hilt.

            We pause for a moment, breathing fast into each other’s faces, taunting each other to see who will move first, testing ourselves to see who will crack and give in to this incredible moment.

            His lips are moving silently as if he's counting himself in, or praying. He pulls his haunches back and so do I. He's not gentle. He slams his hips into me and I buck back at him. We pull back together, arching in rhythm as if rowing a boat, slam back so hard that we shudder with the impact of bone on bone.

            His black eyes bore through me. I want to shut mine, but I fear he might vanish if I do. I've shut my eyes so you can't see me. So I keep staring back, not blinking, as we grind and pause, so solid, filling, fitting me perfectly. My body grasping him like a tight glove.

You can buy The Silver Chain at bit.ly/scebook

or amzn.to/14b3Rww

or amzn.to/17RLLUk

or preorder paperback on amzn.to/10iqbmC 

Author Bio:

 Primula Bond is an Oxford educated mother of three boys and has lived in Oxford, London and Cairo.  She currently lives in Hampshire and works part time as a legal clerk for criminal defence lawyers as well as writing freelance features under her real name.  Her erotic novels include Country Pleasures, Club Crème and Behind The Curtain and dozens of short stories published by Virgin Books.  Her novella Sisters in Sin and various short stories are published by Mischief Books, and Xcite Books at Accent Press have published a solo collection of short stories Random Acts of Lust , and her novella Out of Focus.  Primula also offers a critique service for aspiring erotic and romantic writers through Writers Workshop.  You can find her blog  at www.primulabond.blogspot.com , on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter @primulabond.

'I really loved the book - it was different - but good different.. I can't wait for book 2 - the cliffhanger really left me hanging! I want to know what happens with Serena and Gustav!'  B J's Book Blog

'I really loved it. Primula Bond knows how to write interesting, engaging and fascinating relationships.' Northern Lass

'I felt the story was quite well written and it took me a day to read as I romped through it and didn't want to put it down.'  Goodreads.

You can buy The Silver Chain at bit.ly/scebook

or amzn.to/14b3Rww

or amzn.to/17RLLUk

or preorder paperback on amzn.to/10iqbmC

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:

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

From the book

Pratan lifted her off the horse. She cringed at the nasty slurping sound as her pussy and rear hole released the twin dildos. Both orifices felt loose and raw. Her shoulders and thighs ached from the strain of fighting off orgasms.

Cradling her in his arms, the bandit carried her to a low divan near one wall and laid her gently on the silken cushions. Despite the soft fabric, the stripes on her back flared into fresh anguish.

“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse and strange to her ears. “I don’t think I could have borne any more.”

“What makes you think we’re finished?” he asked with a devilish grin. Nevertheless his touch was tender as he brushed her tangled hair off her forehead. Kneeling beside the couch, he turned her face to his.

Those eyes again. The eyes of a madman—a beast—a god. She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her fast, searching her mind, or so it seemed. An awful temptation seized her. She would tell him everything—about the parchment, about her mission… Perhaps then he would be merciful and let her rest.

Before she could act on the impulse, though, he leaned in to claim a kiss. Automatically, despite her sore muscles, she reached up to encircle him with her arms. His firm lips sealed hers, capturing her moans of new pleasure. Her battered cunny wept with new need. As he plundered her mouth like the brigand he was, Cecily could do nothing but surrender.

He tasted of spices, the remnants of their lavish repast. Hot musk rose from his sweat-slicked skin. She felt his knotted muscles bunch and twist under her fingers as he straddled her prone form, their mouths still locked. His rigid member prodded her pubis. Despite her exhaustion and pain, she wanted him. Arching her back, she struggled to align her cleft with his teasing cock. Her stretched quim had never felt so empty.

Pratan broke the kiss, chuckling. Now he gripped her wrists in his huge hands, trapping her against the upholstery. “I thought you’d had enough!”

You can buy the book at your favorite online store:

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

Tilly Hunter

A big thank you to Ashley for inviting me over here today. There are plenty of invaluable writing tips on the site already as well as a fair bit of advice on approaching editors or publishers, so I’ve tried to look at things from a slightly different angle with my five tips...

1. Turn off your inner censor...

You can’t write about sex with a projection of your mother, father, gran, uncle, priest or teacher sitting on your shoulder expressing shock or moral outrage at every sentence. If you have young children or a sensitive job, you’ll probably need to pick yourself a pseudonym and guard it closely. Then you can give yourself permission to write freely, unrestrainedly, uninhibitedly. Without anyone whispering to you that it’s not art, that it’s cheap and smutty, that it’s wrong or filthy.

2. ...then write dirty

I mean really dirty. Think of a sexual act that you, personally, find shocking, or weird, or distasteful, or even disgusting. Then write a short scene incorporating that act. And not in a shocking, weird, distasteful or disgusting way. In a way that is hot and positive and leaves you with that tight little feeling in your throat. Even if you never show this to another soul, I think it’s useful to get the worst you can think of out of your system rather than tiptoeing towards more and more risqué things and also to learn how to make anything sexy, even if it’s totally beyond your own experience or fantasies. Another useful exercise is to make something really mundane sound hot. Something like knitting, say...

3. Copy

I’m joking. You shouldn’t copy other authors. But you should read as a writer, working out what it is about other authors that you like and how you can take elements of that and make them your own. I love the deep point of view and breathless stream of consciousness of Charlotte Stein, the literate quality and filthy daring of Janine Ashbless, the realistic and authoritative descriptions of BDSM in Fulani, the playful humour of Justine Elyot. Whatever strengths your favourite authors have, take those as your standard and aim to write that well.

4. Don’t sell out

Related to the last point is to always produce work you can be proud of. I know it’s not the done thing, especially for us Brits, to admit that we actually think we’re any good, but for me it’s really important to feel a personal sense of pride in what I write. This means not churning something out and thinking ‘it’ll do’. Not writing to ape the bestsellers. Not avoiding moral issues (and not the ones your gran, priest, teacher etc would be on about). The moral issues I’m thinking of are the safety of casual BDSM encounters, how easy it is to unwittingly slip into scenes of dubious consent, gender stereotypes, presenting straight sex as normative...

5. Don’t let it get personal

There are, of course, erotic memoirs or diaries out there – Diary of a Submissive and No Ordinary Love Story by Sophie Morgan spring to mind and both are great reads written by someone who has been very brave to bare her personal story. But they’re different from writing erotic fiction. You can’t base an entire writing career on your own exploits, however varied and exciting. And, for me, I start to get uneasy when real life creeps in a little too much, however much my imagination embellishes it. I can’t reveal which stories that’s happened in, although I can tell you it’s not the m/m ones... I use all manner of observations and snippets of conversation and things I’ve read as inspiration and to add unusual little details to my stories, but for the big picture it’s all my imagination. And yes, that can be a dark and strange place.

***

Tilly Hunter is a British erotica writer and editor with short stories out or in the pipeline from Xcite Books, House of Erotica, MLR Press, Cleis Press, Storm Moon Press, Coming Together and Ryan Field Press. Her trio of BDSM short stories, Miranda’s Tempest, gives a kinky twist to Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Grimms’ Hansel and Gretel and Homer’s The Odyssey and is available at most online retailers or at Amazon or Amazon UK. Her editing and proofreading site is at www.tillyhunter.co.uk and she blogs at tillyhuntererotica.blogspot.co.uk.

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.

The book is available from all the Amazons, including Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-and-Lords-ebook/dp/B00CKE0FK4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1369681967&sr=8-1&keywords=justine+elyot+secrets+and+lords

Here it is at Sainsburys: http://www.sainsburysebooks.co.uk/book/Secrets-and-Lords-Justine-Elyot/7507787

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

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:

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

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:

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

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:

http://www.amazon.com/For-Pleasure-Mischief-Books-ebook/dp/B009UL1U5O/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361161166&sr=1-5

http://www.amazon.co.uk/For-Pleasure-Mischief-Books-ebook/dp/B009UL1U5O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1361161997&sr=8-1

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