1. How did you start writing erotic romance?
Well, I was a major procrastinator until… I met the author Raven McAllan. There she sat, in a bikini, wine in one hand, MacBook on her lap, by a swimming pool in South Africa. I asked what she was doing, she told me, showed me how, said I should, and I did. Almost exactly a year to the day after that meeting we both had books published by the same publisher on the same day. It's all her fault, as I often tell her.
2. Plotter or pantster?
Pants, oh dear yes pants… My characters drive what I write – which is as it should be. If I had a clear plan and a worked out plot arc I wouldn't be able to write a word. Sometimes you just have to let your characters have their head and hang onto the reins. I usually have an idea where the story might go and a couple of pivotal plot points I need to hit but even the starship and the planet in L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves went off on their own for a while.
3. What are three things you have on your writing desk?
MacBook air, moleskine notebook, Mont Blanc meisterstuck fountain pen.
4. Favorite food?
Almost anything really. I've eaten a bug straight off a tree in the Amazon jungle, what looked like frogspawn in Cambodia and a horse steak in Iceland but the one thing I always, always say 'yes' to is a full English breakfast.
5. Tell us a little about your new release. What character in the book really spoke to you?
L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves started as a title that fell out of my head straight onto the page. It sat there for a while until I realized what is was about the Doves that mattered and how their presence would drive the relationship between L'Wren and Hawk. Then a planet at war with itself came into orbit and that suddenly had a strict gender delineated society and I realized it was that juxtaposed against what the Doves were about that would drive the whole thing along. And luckily, it did.
6. I write because – if I didn't it wasn't worth me having been here was it...
7. What is your favorite type of character to write about?
Conflicted, uncertain individuals facing a challenge that just might make them rethink who and what they are. Which is all of us, right?
8. What is the sexiest scene you ever wrote?
Well, is it a sex scene I have to ask myself, but (spoiler alert) when Cytheria, one of the Doves, is escaping from being kidnapped she has to do something very erotic to overcome a guard. I'll leave it to you to judge whether it qualifies as a sex scene or not but I found it interesting to write.
9. What advice would you give new authors in the erotica/romance field?
Do it. Now. Stop reading this and start writing. Those who can, do; those who can't "are going to write a book someday..."
10. What is next on your writerly horizon?
There are two, maybe three plots fighting for time right now – one is another SF, one is SF with a touch of paranormal in it and... well, the third one isn't sure where it's going yet.
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Captain Saker Hawkings and First Mate L'Wren James agree to keep the mission and passion separate, but with two beautiful alien empaths onboard, it's not only planetary peace negotiations that are in danger of breaking down.
L'Wren James and Saker Hawkings know that there's no room on a starship for a captain and first mate to indulge their passion during a dangerous peace mission.
The fragility of the cease-fire in the gender war on the divided planet Ourania threatens the stability of subspace shipping lanes, and the starship Sulaco's mission is to get the negotiating team there and deliver them safely back.
But when they take onboard Anchises and Cytheria, mysterious empath negotiators from the secretive world of Turaceona, they find their commitment to duty and to each other a struggle to maintain in the sexually heightened and emotionally charged atmosphere.
But Anchises's and Cytheria's struggle to keep their secret and the loss they cannot speak of hidden leaves one dangerously injured and the other missing in action. Only the truth about the man he is and the woman she is can save them.
Can Hawk and L'Wren face up to the challenges of duty, passion, and sexuality and still save not only their relationship but the peace process itself?
The silence of the inner tent greeted her ears as her eyes grew accustomed to the subdued lighting, again from candles and lamps but in here even softer. The air was suffused with a heady mix of fragrances from discrete oil burners—jasmine, an undertone of a muskier, more sensual smell, akin to sandalwood, and a hint of being in a deep forest, of leaves and mosses.
"Cytheria of Turacoena, welcome. I am Sarkare Khanome." From the shadows, a woman, not so tall as the guards but matching Cytheria in height, emerged. Her silver-white hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her eyes were a striking blue, as bright as a sunlit, clear summer sky. She was older than the guards, but her body was young and fit with lean, taut muscles. Only the lines around her eyes spoke of anything other than youth and power. Her long, softly flowing robe in a myriad shades of blue celebrated the same figures and scenes from the tunnel friezes and the outer tent. Her confidence hit Cytheria like a wave crashing on the shore but one that broke over her rather than crushing her. It was followed by a depth of compassion and caring that almost brought tears to Cytheria's eyes. There was fear as well, but not borne of doubt. A fear that was aware of itself and knew its boundaries.
Then it hit her—the intense depth and power of sexual allure and hunger that all but defeated Cytheria's self-control. Her pussy reacted suddenly, getting wet and even hotter. Her clit almost throbbed with an ache to be touched. Her breath was suddenly rapid and shallow. She'd learned that this might happen from the briefing on Halo Five and from her extensive reading of Ouranian culture. The Naranari bonded and shared sexually as a way of formalizing their status. She had to play this situation correctly or her credibility, and hence her bargaining position in the peace talks, would suffer, or worse, be blown out of the water altogether.
"I greet you, Sarkare Khanome, from my mother to your mother, sister to sister," she managed to get out.
Sarkare Khanome smiled and nodded. She walked around Cytheria and looked her up and down. She came back to face Cytheria and stroked her hands over her hair then held her chin in her long, slim fingers. Cytheria knew, like a physical presence, that this woman was sexually in charge and was used to being in total control of those around her.
I am Cytheria.
"And you are here to help us, sister, to aid our struggle against those...animals."
It wasn't a question. Cytheria's pussy was wet and clenching, her clit almost buzzing. If she could just touch it, she'd come in a second.
I am not you.
Lost in space, yet still boldly going, D.K. ffrench returned from the forbidden planet a long, long time ago to live a quiet life in a small town called London.
The minimal research he'd done lead him to the conclusion that his identity would best be protected if he masqueraded as a business analyst by day and a writer and musician by night and at weekends.
Available for musical soirees at the drop of a hat, he writes steamy SF romances on a MacBook Air and plays a Gibson Les Paul too loudly while he waits for a set of replacement dilythium crystals for the broken warp core on his ship.