Sweetest Salvation Blog Tour

Good morning! Thank you for sharing Sweetest Salvation on your blog!

My kids love to tell me my desk is a mess. Especially during a writing spree, edits and that final line edit read through. I can’t help it, hell the laundry piles up, kids fix some of their own meals … my Muse doesn’t have time for tidying, dusting, vacuuming, etc. She has many, many other things to worry over … hunks to pet, heroines who need saving or that one true love, love scenes to burn the pages.

So what is cluttering my desk when I’m ‘in the zone’?

M&M Peanuts – always. I buy a much larger bag when a story is fully complete and submitted to publisher(s)

Single burner for tea pot – I have my vanilla & peppermint teas at the ready and can drink all day without hesitation

Cell phone – never know when the hubs, mother, kids or schools will need me for something

House cell phone – again, see the above

Memo pads & pens to jot down notes for characters specifics as I go – ie: eye / hair colour, siblings, panty preferences (trust me, it’s important LOL), occupations and particular vices

Carrot & celery sticks – a girl can’t eat M&Ms all the time…no matter how much I wish it

Printed pictures of heroes who inspire me, or the heroes remind me of – lately it’s been Luke Bryan, always Matthew McConaughey, Galen Gering & Channing Tatum

Stress balls – not as naughty as it sounds. When I’m working things out in my head – a scene, character, plot – I squeeze those until things reshape in my head

So that’s all I can think of. The usual crowding along my desk. There’s other things here and there, but the above are central to my writing and just a reach away.

Tell me …

Is your desk/work area cluttered? What is the most unusual thing on your desk?

Hmmm. Kacey. I think I like the sound of those stress balls. Need to get some of those, for um, inspiration. :) Lol. 

Sweetest Salvation

Contemporary Erotic Romance/Light Bondage

Content Warning: Contains Voyeurism, Spanking, Multiple Partners

ISBN: 978-1-77130-330-9

Available at Evernight Publishing / Amazon.com (and more links below)

*An Evernight Publishing Editor’s Pick*

Excerpt © Kacey Hammell, 2013

“Mr. Sullivan is waiting for you. He said you’d know where to go.” He smiled and winked.

Cheeks on fire, she gave him a small nod and walked ahead. She moved into the bar area and looked around. The place was packed tonight.

There were a few people she recognized, but most were new faces. Hunter’s business was certainly thriving.

Bridget caught sight of her and waved. Andy did the same and turned to the left, down the hall that would take her to room fourteen and Hunter.

Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she looked to her right. At a table in the far corner, Paige and Nolan sat with another couple. She missed a step, but gained her balance again. She hadn’t thought about seeing them again. Paige waved and her husband smiled bright.

The couple’s kindness and understanding arced across the room. Andy smiled and waved back. They’d been there for her the other night. She’d be forever grateful for it.

Reaching the room, she took a deep breath and knocked. Hearing Hunter’s gruff, “Come in,” she turned the knob.

The room, similar to the one she’d used the other night, had a warmer feel to it. The fireplace ablaze, the heat of it welcomed her.

Andy’s gaze swept the room. Furnished with a full living room set, she loved the royal purple and black colors of the furniture and curtains than anything else. This room conveyed privacy and self-indulgence. Her heart rate increased just thinking of all that might have been done in this room.

It was made for sex. Especially with a glass display case that took up the most of wall. Inside were dildos, anal plugs, collars, floggers, cock rings and more toys of pleasure.

Andy’s gaze landed on Hunter where he sat in the center of the couch, arms stretched over the back of it.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Her gaze narrowed on his and she shut the door behind her. “Don’t you sweetheart me, Hunter. And get that look off your face.”

“What look?”

“That self-righteous look. I might be here, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Then why are you here?” he questioned, his gaze unwavering.

“I wanted to tell you in person that your idea isn’t going to happen. We’ve been… friends too long. You’re Patrick’s best friend. It’s all kinds of wrong.”

He leaned forward, arms resting on his powerful thighs.

His red t-shirt molded his shoulders and the cuffs of the arms looked snug around his biceps. Damn him for being in such great shape.

She shivered, nipples tightening. She needed to get away from him.

“There, I’ve said all I have to say. Goodbye,” she muttered, and turned back toward the door.

Hunter was quickly behind her, arms encasing her as his palms pressed against the door and preventing her retreat.

His breath was warm against her ear. Andy wished she’d left her hair down. At least she wouldn’t be able to feel his breath on her neck.

A shudder ran through her. “Let me out, Hunter. I need to leave.”

“Why? You were so desperate to remain a member and be here the other night. I’m simply offering a safer solution. Me instead of strangers,” he rasped against her ear.

“I don’t have to worry about much with strangers. At least they aren’t people I have to see after the sex is over.”

Hunter pressed in closer behind her, which pushed her farther against the door. She’d always been claustrophobic. And right now, being caged in by this man, made it even harder to breathe than if she was locked in a closet. His chest was firm against her, his mouth against her ear, and his hoarse voice soft.

Her thighs rubbed together and her clit chafed against her thong. The string along her ass was snug. All she had to do was turn around and take what he offered. She wanted a cock inside her.

Dear lord, this was Hunter.

Could she step over the invisible line and take what he offered?

He was attractive, always had been to her. Hell, she’d only been married, not dead. She appreciated a gorgeous man when she saw him.

Hunter always treated with her respect and friendship. She didn’t know how much he dated but had heard women at the club mention his prowess in the bedroom. He could probably give her everything she needed. There would be a sense of safety with him at least.

And her body’s reaction to him today, while surprising, knew what it wanted. While she was sure it was a bad idea for them to journey down this path, she was overwhelmed by the sudden realization that not just any cock would do.

She wanted Hunter. Wanted only him inside her.

Her breath hitched and her lungs filled, making it hard to breathe. No, she didn`t have the courage to give into this man.

She needed to get out of this room and away from him. Grabbing the doorknob once more, Andy yanked.

Hunter’s palms never moved from the door, but in her hasty movements, his chest aligned tighter against her back.

Pressed against the door, she turned her head, her right cheek resting on it as her breasts pushed against her bra. The hard surface scraped against her clothing, which abraded her nipples. The urge to purr and rub against the wood was overwhelming.

Hunter’s body pressed against her; the cock cradling her ass told her that he was just as affected as she. His length was hard, solid. His hips dipped and shoved against the crack of her ass.

“Andy,” he whispered in her ear.

She closed her eyes, willed herself to push back against him until he let her go.

Her eyes opened when she realized her hips moved against his. Her pussy quivered and her stomach clenched. There was no sense in fighting a losing battle. She wanted him.

Blurb:

After the deaths of her husband and child, tragedies that she blames herself for, Andrea “Andy” Sheaver has shut herself off from the world. The only place she finds any relief from her shattered heart is Club Splendor, where she and her husband often frequented together.  There, Andy submits to pleasure and pain in situations so her grief is forgotten for a little while.

But Hunter Sullivan won’t stand idly by and watch Andy self-destruct. A friend of her husband, and the owner of Club Splendor, Hunter has kept his love for Andy hidden for years. He refuses to think of her at the club, cold and detached as she’s become, looking for an easy fix to take away the pain in her heart.  Hunter wants her to vibrant in life again and sets out to prove he is exactly who she needs.

Buy Links:

Evernight Publishing / Amazon.com / Amazon.ca  / Amazon UK /

aRe / Bookstrand / B&N / Kobo

~~~

Canadian author, Kacey Hammell is a multi-published erotic romance author who writes mainly in the Contemporary Erotic/Romantic Suspense genres.  She is a true romantic at heart.

Where to find Kacey…

Website / Facebook / Facebook Author Page / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Pinterest

Drowning Rapunzel Virtual Book Tour

Drowning Rapunzel
Annette Gisby

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Pink Petal Books

Word Count: 66,000

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

Book Description:

Recently released from a mental institution, Beth Gregory accepts a job as a live-in secretary/PA to the reclusive painter Josh Warrington. Beth's long red hair fascinates him from the first moment he sees her and Josh wants her to be his Rapunzel for a series of fairy tale paintings he's working on.

Beth has two major fears: that she will be sent back to the mental hospital and the visions which landed her there in the first place will return. They do; this time giving her glimpses of murders before they happen. Beth becomes the main suspect in the murder investigation and then she has the most disturbing vision of all: she will become the next victim...

Short Excerpt:

He wished he'd thought of the water sooner. It was easier that way, not so much mess. It was peaceful too, watching her hair fan out behind her like a veil of gold. She didn't struggle after his hands were around her neck, and he was grateful. It showed him that she accepted her fate dutifully, like she should. She should never have made him wait so long.

Now he was waiting again, but he didn't mind. He was used to waiting now. Waiting could almost have been his middle name. Actually, it was Alphonse, but anyone who knew that was already dead, and so it didn't matter anymore.

It was a while since he had hunted like this, anticipated the inevitable. Usually he preferred the quick kill, where they didn't know he was coming until they started screaming. He liked to hear them scream. Made it all seem that bit much more worthwhile.

But there was something different about this one; something that made him want to wait, to delay the final moment, to make it last. He wanted to frighten her long before the end, when she would beg him to kill her. He couldn't quite tell what it was; there was just an air of something other about her. She wasn't like the other girls, and he grinned broadly. Of course she wasn't. She was special. But then, they were all special. They were his.

Maybe it was the hair which attracted him. It was long, tumbling in red-gold waves down her back, almost to her waist. It reminded him of golden syrup. He loved golden syrup, loved to eat it straight out of the tin with his fingers. No mother to nag him about that. Not anymore. Fingers were fine, but sometimes he preferred bread, white bread, none of that wholemeal nonsense. He could almost taste it on his tongue, could almost taste her and he had to stifle a gasp at the image. No point in attracting undue attention to himself.

He glanced at the folder on the passenger seat, her name stark black against the buff-coloured folder. It had almost been too easy to get hold of her file, but no one knew what he wanted it for and he wasn't about to tell them, either. He lifted it up and traced her name with a gloved finger, feeling almost as if he was caressing her already. This one would be so easy to break; she'd already been in a mental hospital once. He had to be careful; if she was sent back he couldn't get to her, not there with their high walls and staff on alert all the time. No, he just wanted to scare her for a while, but not inflict madness on her once more. He gasped as he saw her walking towards his parked car, her head down, her loose hair being buffeted by the spring wind.

Maybe it wasn't the hair; maybe it was the grey-green eyes which seemed to see right down to his soul.  Would she recoil in terror at what she saw there, or would she welcome it like the others before her? They had all welcomed him in the end. Or maybe it was the way she dressed, so unlike her contemporaries in their short skirts and skimpy tops. Any time he'd seen her, she was always covered up in long dresses and baggy sweaters, as if she didn't want to show off any of her womanly curves. She had curves, the clothes could not disguise them, and he had long imagined his hands roving over her delicate skin.

He also knew that underneath all those layers, there was a wanton harlot waiting for him to let her out, just like all the others. How they loved to tease and torment him. This time he would be the tormentor.

But not yet. He would wait. He was getting good at waiting.

Adventures in E-Publishing

Guest post by Annette Gisby

My first ebook, a short story and novella collection, Shadows of the Rose, was published by Double Dragon in the early 2000's, long before the Kindle was a glint in someone's eye and the iPad hadn't been thought of yet. When it was first out a lot of people wanted to know when it was available as, you've guessed it, a real book.

Now, ten to twelve years later, Kindles, iPads and other readers such as the Sony and the Nook are household names and now people ask me if my work is available as an ebook! With the rise of self-publishing platforms like Smashwords and Kindle Direct Publishing, authors are more in control of their writing than ever before.

Some of my work is with publishers, some of it I have self-published, but they all have one thing in common, they are all available as ebooks. The rise of Smashwords and Kindle Direct has enabled writers to sell short stories electronically, when before the only options were to submit to magazines, who may or may not have accepted them. Then there was erotica, and a lot of traditional magazines and publishers didn't want erotica.

I had written an M/M fantasy romance novel called The Chosen and sent it off to quite a few e-publishers. Some of them wanted me to add more sex, some wanted me to have less sex in it and some weren't that keen on same-sex romances. It found a home in 2010 with Lyrical Press, who wanted it as is, I didn't have to add more sex just for the sake of it, which I was very pleased about. The way it was written, I thought the love scenes flowed within the context of the narrative and I was afraid that if I added more love scenes, they would just look tacked on and not really flow with the story.

The Chosen was my last novel for a while, in 2011 after four years of unexplained dizziness, I finally got to see a balance specialist and I was diagnosed with migraine associated vertigo. A lot of things can trigger the vertigo, it might be food, flashing lights or loud noises and computer screens/television. It also plays havoc with your memory and concentration so I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on completing a full-length novel for quite some time. This is where e-publishing saved me once again, you don't just have to write novels, some people like short stories too and I have self-published a few using Smashwords and Kindle Direct.

Pink Petal Books/Jupiter Gardens Press is giving one of my older novels, Drowning Rapunzel a new electronic lease of life this year too. It's been revised and extended since that first edition way back when and I'm pleased that with e-publishing, you can give some of your back list a new lease of life and perhaps get more readers who've never seen it first time around.

About the Author:

Annette Gisby grew up in a small town in Northern Ireland, moving to London when she was seventeen. She writes in multiple genres and styles, anything from romance to thriller or erotica to horror, even both at the same time. When not writing, she enjoys reading, cinema, theatre and travelling the world despite getting travel sick on most forms of transport., even a bicycle. Sometimes you might find her playing Dragon Quest or The Sims computer games and watching Japanese Anime. She lives in Hampshire with her husband, a collection of porcelain dolls, cuddly toys and enough books to fill a library. It's diminishing gradually since the advent of ebooks, but still has a long way to go.

http://www.annettegisby.n3.net

http://www.theromancereviews.com/annettegisby

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/252221.Annette_Gisby

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Out of Bounds Guest Blog, Virtual Tour and Giveaway

Jetta Rivers has inherited half a house. Big problem: she has to share it with co-owner Anton Haviland, and her past has left her terrified of men.

Gorgeous Anton is a confident sexy architect, and he might be exactly who Jetta needs to put her crippling fear to rest. But can she allow him close enough? And would he even want to try?

 A midnight disaster leaves her no option when he drags her off to the only bed left in the now-damaged house.  She’s appalled to find how much she craves the man who plans to smash her inheritance to pieces, and Anton’s equally shocked when his sharp-tempered housemate attempts to seduce him.

WARNING: Contains one ambitious man with a tender heart and a body to die for. And one unlikely temptress with an ancient copy of The Joy of Sex.

Erotica and the new craze

New? Really? Humans have enjoyed sex since time immemorial. And some have always wanted to indulge more than others...experiment more than others...stretch the boundaries into previously ‘forbidden’ territory.

Pompeii’s excavations reveal how open the citizens were about sex. Cocks and balls are carved into the paving – pointing the way to the local brothels. Inside, the walls feature all sorts of erotic encouragement.

Fast-forward to 2012. We’re way past the ‘shocking’ titillation of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, 1929, and the racy Angelique novels - one of which I discovered at home as a child and thoroughly embarrassed my father with.

The big revolution has come with the internet and e-readers. Thinking I might be a bit out of date on sex-toy details for a recent book, I went exploring the sales sites.  There I was led from purple plastic triple-vibrators to electrical contraptions for a man to strap his cock into for shockingly intense (?) ejaculations, to a video of the ejaculation happening... wow! Writers can now produce very detailed sexy books without ever losing their virginity – not that I think that sounds like fun. And anyway, it’s the accompanying emotions and the quality of the writing, far more than the ‘push A into B’ passages that makes for an enjoyable read. (Yes – I did use ‘passages’ on purpose – sorry.)

And so we come to e-readers, which show no lurid book covers to give away what you’re reading. It’s possible to sit on public transport enjoying Christian Grey (oh my) doing whatever he fancies to Ana Steele. Fifty Shades of Grey has become the fastest-selling paperback of all time – wiping Harry Potter out of that position. Ironic really – we’ve gone from innocent kids to sex-starved adults in the blink of an eye.

British author E. L. James has really hit the jackpot money-wise, and of course everyone has an opinion. (Mine? Loved all three books but was itching to edit them most severely.) Anyone who can half-pie write is trying their luck at something the same. Anyone who can’t has added a disapproving review, and the moralists are having a field-day.

“Mommy-porn,” snapped my sister.

“Have you read it?” I asked.

“No – and I won’t be,” she assured me. A couple of my friends have the same blinkered attitude. Weird. All of which goes to show it’s a storm in a teacup, and those who want to indulge will, and those who don’t, won’t.

And so we come to OUT OF BOUNDS. How far out of bounds is it? My sister would disapprove, and my dad would have loved it! I hope you do, too. Like all my novels, my hero and heroine enjoy themselves in bed, and my readers tell me they’ll be back for the next one.

Here’s a taste – where Jetta comes back from her girls night out and finds she’s not alone in the house.

She crept across and peered through the narrow gap by the door hinges. On the bed was... an almost naked man. Making snuffly, sleepy noises.

Every hair on her body slammed upright. Every nerve pinged to full alert.

She tried to get a better view through the small space. He sprawled out as though he owned the place.

Anton?

She sharpened her attention even further. One arm lay flung out to the side, and the other shielded his eyes from the streetlamp.

It had to be Anton.

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could see plenty else. He was bare-chested, long-legged, male, and terrifying.

She dropped the keys and clapped a hand across her mouth to keep herself silent. Violent trembles raced up and down her spine. Her knees did their jellifying act again, but this time she had no handy chair to drop onto. She sagged against the doorframe instead, eyes tightly closed, trying not to vomit up the movie popcorn and her white wine and the mouthful of delicious cake.

Would she ever, ever, ever conquer the fear?

For maybe sixty seconds she remained cowed and terrified, eyes averted, clutching the woodwork.

Breathe in. Deep and slow. Breathe out. All the way, just like Doctor Julia Menzies taught you.

In again.

Out. There’s nothing to be scared of.

It’s not Uncle Graham. You’re not nine years old.

It’s Anton. He’s not going to touch you, not going to hurt you. Breathe in. Breathe deep. Relax your fingers.

Let go of the doorframe. It’s not Uncle Graham.

Gradually, gradually, the frantic hammering of her heart slowed until it was down to an uneven and throat-filling thump.

Slowly the nausea passed, and she regained control of her stomach.

One hand continued to hold the doorframe in a vise like grip, but the other relaxed enough to scrub over her sweat-beaded face. Her fingers still trembled, vibrating against her skin as she rubbed at the nervous wetness that had sprung out across her forehead...over her top lip...on the back of her neck.

Not Uncle Graham. Not Uncle Graham.

She wobbled down to a crouch and retrieved the keys from the carpet, fingers numb and fumbly. Did she dare to lock herself in with him? She walked the few steps to the front door, tried the wrong key first, sliding it into the lock, and then finding it wouldn’t turn. Cursing under her breath, she pulled it out and inserted the next. The bolt moved into place. Now no-one from outside could get in—but could she make a dash out to safety if she needed to? She hoped she could.

She retraced her steps to the bedroom doorway.

Heard deep regular breathing, and then a small snore.

He’s sound asleep. You’re safe.

Another small breathy snore. More like the whicker of a horse, really. Her lips curved up into a smile, even though she still felt very far from calm.

Had he been so tired after all his work that he’d needed to crash? And wouldn’t he get cold wearing so little?

Jetta slipped off her tall shoes, picked them up, and padded along the hallway to her room. She swapped the stilettos for a pair of old sandals, twitched her favorite mohair blanket from the wardrobe shelf, and took a couple of slow deep breaths for bravery.

At least two more minutes passed before she dared creep right in to the front bedroom. He was quiet again now—still lying in exactly the same position. His feet were flat on the floor. Big feet in old sports shoes. No socks that she could see. Had he been sitting on the end of the bed and collapsed sleepily backward?

His long thighs were meatier than she’d expected for such a tall man, but maybe it was because they were pressing down against the mattress? They looked strong and streamlined, and in the moonlight she could see the faint haze of hair covering them.

Perhaps if she could bear to be as close as this tonight she might manage to overcome her fear. Some day.

Flicky panic waves tweaked at her nerves, calling her a coward, an inadequate woman, a cry-baby.

Uncle Graham had called her a cry-baby.

She stood statue-still, fighting her old terrors. She had never been so close to a semi-clad man. Not on her own.

She could manage being part of a group at the beach or pool where friends acted as the buffer she needed. Where she could edge away if she got too uncomfortable.

She was fine at dinner parties. Or at movie outings when there were at least two couples. Unbothered at work, even when visiting a male client at his home for a design consultation. That was business, and let’s face it, he was often gay if there was no wife present.

This was not business. This was as personal as it got.

A bed, a man, and way past midnight.

A big handsome man who was sound asleep. Who didn’t know she was there, wanting so much to look, and to learn, and to test herself.

She shook the blanket out and stepped closer.

He had shorts on. Proper outdoor shorts, not underwear, she saw with relief. And although the fabric bulged at his groin, it was nothing like the shocking big lump that used to stick out in Uncle Graham’s trousers.

Jetta knew what went on in men’s trousers, and she was careful never to put herself in the situation where a terrifying lump might rear up.

So far, so good. She advanced a cautious half pace and let the blanket settle beside him on the bed. If he woke she had her excuse right there. But he continued to breathe deeply and slowly. His chest rose and fell, and the deeper breaths sometimes made his belly rise, too. His long, flat, smooth, golden belly.

Suddenly she wanted to touch. Wanted to know how warm he’d feel. How smooth and firm. How nice. He was so much nicer than Uncle Graham; the small hot ripples of pleasure between her thighs made that abundantly clear.

The memory of the morning returned. She stood in front of the drawing board with him, aware of herself as a woman—confused but strangely thrilled. She bit her lip. Her mouth was watering! She swallowed, and felt the saliva begin to pool again.

Anton drew a much deeper breath, tensed, sighed and relaxed. The arm flung up over his eyes slid sideways. Now she could see his face, but was he going to wake up?

She moved the blanket closer in case she needed to pretend she was covering him, and was pleased when his breathing slowed and his eyes remained shut.

Finding untold courage from somewhere deep inside, she reached a cautious finger down and laid it on his nipple. The small flat disk made such a tempting target. A warm smooth target, soft as velvet. She moved her fingertip lightly to and fro, and gasped as it changed shape and pushed up, almost as though searching for her. She pulled her hand away, astounded. So his did it too?

Perhaps I shouldn’t touch him again, even though I really want to.

She lowered her face close to his chest and sniffed instead. She smelled the soap from his earlier shower... the biscuity aroma of hardworking man... the underlay of male musk.

She straightened, and touched his hair—the lightest brush over the top of his head. At dinner, her fingers had wanted to wander there, and it felt exactly as she’d imagined it would. Springy and thick; as vital as he was.

More daring now, she stroked again, and then again—this time touching his brow before traveling slowly backward.

His nearest hand gave a sleepy swat at her as though brushing away an annoying insect. His fingers curled and clamped around her wrist, warm and inescapable.

The panic came sweeping back, and Jetta did her utmost to remain silent and calm. Why had she started this? She had no right being here, touching him…using him as an experiment, if she was honest.

Anton turned slightly in his sleep. His lips nuzzled her hand and he muttered something she couldn’t decipher. His breath warmed her skin, hot, damp and thrilling.

With a stealth she didn’t know she possessed, she extricated her hand from his in tiny increments. She stepped away and looked down—only to find that somehow in his sleep he’d sensed the presence of a woman. The fabric of his shorts now strained upward in a tent that rivaled anything Uncle Graham had ever shown her. She couldn’t help the anguished moan that burst from her throat as she flung the blanket into the air and dashed from the room.

“Hmmmmph? Anton muttered as it landed on him. “Hmmmm?”

Question: What was the blanket made of?

Visit me at http://www.krispearson.com

Buy OUT OF BOUNDS at http://amzn.com/B008RH0LAC