I am very sad tonight, because I love Paris…and my heart is there now…
This is a picture from my first trip there, from the top of the Tour Eiffel–which is black tonight…
Doubling Your Pleasure With Where I Found My Heart by C. E. Hansen!!!
Sooooo happy to have my friend, fellow Chemical Sex author (and chocolate lover!) C. E. Hansen on my blog today!!! She is a fantastic writer with an amazing new book, Where I Found My Heart. And she is generous too! She gave me not one, not two, but THREE excerpts from the book to share with you! Enjoy!
Blurb
Reny unable to face life head on, effectively shut out the world beyond her windows. Closing off anything that would remind her of her past – a smile, a laugh, a touch. She lived in a world of pain and sorrow, remaining safe in her cocoon, barely existing.
Libby was plagued by a desperate need to comfort Reny, needing to help her heal. Knowing without Reny’s recovery, she herself would not find peace.
Mark was searching for someone, he didn’t know who, but felt a strong need, a determination to keep looking…he had to find her.
Three people…three worlds collide, leaving behind the true path to happiness. Maybe you just have to say goodbye before you can say hello…
Excerpts
I learned real fast the pain is mine. All mine and will stay with me, whether I want it to or not. And no one, and I mean, no one, will or could ‘shoulder’ it at anytime. It’s mine. I paid for it and I own it.
I’m okay with owning it. What I’m not okay with is why.
Why did it have to be Dylan?
Why couldn’t it have been someone else, anyone, even one of those who wanted to shoulder it? One of those assholes who pretended to be heroes.
You don’t know how many times I wanted to say ‘You know…that’s a good idea. I wish you could take the pain. I wish you were dead instead of him.’ But those words never left the tip of my tongue. Instead they stayed there, lingering, turning sour like bile in the back of my throat. Simmering into a stew of malevolence until I had nothing nice to say to anyone…about anything.
Damn you Dylan. Why did you leave me?
I swiped at my tears. Still amazed I had any left after so many countless swipes.
“I’m so tired Dylan.” My words drifted up into the ether.
I left the half drank coffee cup on the table, stood and before I knew it, I was back in bed, under the blanket wishing I could fade away, disappear into sleep.
I rolled over and my eyes immediately fixated on the pill bottle prominently standing on the surface of nightstand and right next to it a gold band.
“Fuck you.”
They both had a power over me. I needed them to remind me of what I was, who I was. Those little blue pills were the only thing I had that could dull the ache. Lessen the emptiness, and the band…well, that’s why I needed the little blue pills.
*****
He traced the bottom of my bra with his fingers until he got to the center. Then he slowly—achingly slow—walked them up until he reached my nipples, which were tightening into oversensitive nubs.
I took a deep breath, trying hard to get air into my lungs so my head would stop spinning.
“Jesus Dylan.”
He pulled me back to him, until my body was against his and I could feel him conform to me.
His body actually molded to mine.
It was hot as hell.
He was hot as hell.
It was like we were one. I really think sometimes we were.
“No, just Dylan. Or sugar lips, or honey pie.”
I laughed out loud.
“You are so corny sometimes. You sound like a character in Gone with the Wind or something.”
“I do, don’t I?”
He cupped my breasts, and I immediately put down the spoon I was stirring the sauce with, and turned around to face him.
His eyes literally twinkled and I almost lost it. His amazing, light hazel orbs with the golden specks surrounded by thick dark lashes were my undoing. No. Actually, it was that damned smile of his. Gut punched me every time he used it. And he used it a lot.
“I think you need a break.”
“Oh, do I?”
“Yeah, you been slaving over that stove for um…” He overzealously looked at his watch, “twenty minutes now. I think you deserve a break.”
“Mmmm. I think you’re right.”
******
“Babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you do that thing you do?”
I smiled. I was pretty sure I knew what he was referring to, but I was going to make him say it.
“What thing is that exactly?”
“You know.”
“No. I do a lot of things. Which ‘thing’ are you referring to?”
“The one where you put your mouth…”
I blushed. Yes, I still blush, but quickly recovered.
“Oh that thing.” I smiled.
Before he could ask again I scooted down to the end of the sofa and unzipped his jeans. He was musky from working out in the sun all day, but it was sexy. You know? It was sexy. It was Dylan and I’d take him any way I could get him.
He quickly stopped me from lowering his jeans, but moaned. I felt his erection under my fingers.
“Why are you stopping me?”
“I need to shower for that ‘thing’”
“Then what ‘thing’ did you mean exactly?”
“The thing where you lay on top of me and let me hold you close.”
“Oh, that thing.” I was as confused as you are now. I crawled back up his muscular body and lay my body over his. He crushed me to him with his strong arms and I sighed. I felt him kiss the top of my head and inhale deeply.
“Love the way you smell.”
“Good.”
He squeezed me.
“Love the way you feel.”
“Mmmm.” I was liking this.
“Love the way you feel against me.”
“Me too.”
I listened to his chest and heard his heart beat quicken. But not soon enough…and I wasn’t prepared. In one smooth move, he stood up, tossed me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes, and walked with me squirming into the bedroom, then through to the bathroom. He leaned inside and turned the water on. All the while I’m flailing and yelling. Then he carried me, fully dressed—so was he—into our large shower and let the water cascade over both of us. I screamed then laughed so loud I was afraid I woke the dead.
“Dylan!”
He laughed, as only he could, and believe me, it was contagious.
“Oh, you!” I cried out in feigned indignity.
“You got me thinking.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Bout what?”
“Bout your offer.”
“What offer…” Oh, I got it. “And you thought you’d bring me in the shower with you so I can do what I offered.”
“Figured I’d kill two birds.”
“Oh, and how did you figure that?”
“I figured I’d help you with the laundry too.”
Wanna read more? Get your copy of Where I Found My Heart here:
Visit the Where I Found My Heart Goodreads page as well!
Review and New Release Info: Bases Loaded edited by F Leonora Solomon @fdotleonora
so happy to have BASES LOADED hosted today by Rebecca Black!!!
Wicked Wednesday #180 — Virgin(ity)
Eliza felt as vulnerable as she had felt when she was freshly sleeping with Rafe. She was more vulnerable than when she had been a virgin, because they shared things that she had never shared with anyone else. And when they were new lovers, Sandrine had had an episode like this. When he told her that he was going to be exclusive with her, Sandrine had thrown a fit like this.
Because she did not want to let go.
Eliza was unmoved by the deja vu of the situation. She knew that Rafe would not have called her there to have a scene with Sandrine.
A small smile filled her face. In her heart of hearts, Eliza believed that she and Rafe were solid this time.
At least she really wanted to believe they were and even though her stomach churned, she wanted to believe it.
She went over to him.
“Sandrine, I promise I know it hurts, but you have to let him go. You have to let him go…he is mine,” Eliza remembered saying to Sandrine so many years ago, when she was the one that was chosen.
Sandrine turned to stare at her at that time, and they mirrored each other’s youth and being in love with Rafe .
Now, Sandrine turned as if she felt her standing close to her. She stared at Eliza as if she was seeing her for the first time. They had not been near each other since the affair started, since she had broken the engagement…since they had reunited…
Sandrine stared through her, and Eliza did not blink.
Rafe had been hers forever, their marriage was a formality. He was hers. Sandrine had to understand that. This time Eliza was okay if they were not friends, because Sandrine needed to know he was hers.
Sandrine dug her nails into Rafe’s bare skin before she walked away. Eliza watched her, and noticed a pressed rose on the stairs leading to the restaurant.
Rafe stared at Eliza, shoved his hands in his pockets.
Eliza grabbed his upper arms, pressed her cheek to his chest and clung to him the way that Sandrine had. The desperation she felt was like that of a young virgin about to be taken for the first time. She needed him close, she did not want to know what had just happened.
She looked up at him, and he stared down at her. He pulled her close with one arm, and Eliza pressed her face to the warmth of his chest.
Because there did not need to be words. She did not want to talk about it anymore, she wanted to trust him. They were not going to be able to exist without trust and it was hard as hell for her, but she was going to trust him.
He kissed her throbbing temple, and she looked down fixing her gaze on the pressed rose.
There did not need to be words in his arms.
More Wicked Wednesday here:
pressed rose photo by f dot leonora
Happy (Book Release) Birthday Rachel Kramer Bussel from me & Guest Blogger Erzabet Bishop!!!
I am very happy to have Erzabet Bishop as my guest to help me celebrate the Dirty Dates book release, and my friend Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s birthday! Erzabet had me from polka dots…and she will have you too…
It’s release day for Dirty Dates and a very special birthday. My editor Rachel Kramer Bussel is gonna have the hottest party ever. I just know it. Maybe it will be clothing optional… I was asked by the amazing Leonora Solomon to write a little bit about my motivation for pretty things with a vintage kick and well…let’s start this party off with a bang.
Happy birthday Rachel. You rock, babe!
Beautiful things and people have always attracted me. Glam shots and pin up girls in particular. There is something artful about their knowing glances and suggestive smiles. Perfection under glass that you want to reach out and touch. But you don’t. Not without permission. You might get your hand slapped or a flogger to your backside.
Mmmm. A sexy thought…
My story in Dirty Dates is just such a tale. “Polka Dot Dress” is centered on Vintage Night at a local BDSM club. The main character Justine is gearing up for a hot interlude with her girl. Red lipstick (another fetish of mine and if you check out my Pinterest page you’ll see what I mean), a polka dot dress and some kick ass heels complete the look. Something decidedly surprising hides beneath Justine’s feminine frippery, and she can’t wait to show it to her girl. Ameliah waits for her lover, clad in a see-through dress, just itching for the punishment she knows is coming…
This story was so much fun to write. I like a dose of pretty with an edge. A dominant female who can take charge of a situation, and not be afraid to be a woman at the same time. Vintage looks personify that very thing. You don’t see the look often enough. Whether it is a female/female pairing or a male/female (or ménage for that matter) tryst I love exploring the power dynamics behind a woman being in charge. The thing I have found with my many conversations with people in the lifestyle is this–being a Domme is a responsibility and you are not necessarily the one with all the power either. The submissive calls the shots. Most people don’t get that unless you are in the know. It is a balance and one that can’t be forced by wearing mile high boots and wielding a whip. There has to be caring and trust involved. If you are the dominant partner, you act with the other person in mind always. Sort of like marriage. It’s a commitment. A choice.
Lately I have been writing a lot about Dommes and how they relate to the women and men in their lives. In my story Crave coming out from All Romance e-books in December (Pre-orders start on November 15th), I have a woman who was victimized by a serial rapist turned killer, but comes back to find her perfect place between two men. I found myself in tears more than once writing it. One Mistress. One Master. One submissive. Three makes a family. It is a police procedural ménage novella, and I can’t wait to see what you think.
In January, I have a new series starting based on the premise of this very story. A Cinderella tale of a missing Prince Charming and the two women who want him in their bed. But his former Mistress may not be ready to let him go. The war is on…The title is called Red Hot, and it is book one of the Sapphire Masquerade trilogy. It all came about due to working with Rachel, and wading deeper into the pool of erotic romance. In a vanilla world, sometimes there has to be a little bit of naughty. Dirty, pretty things make my heart ache with wonder and keep me writing into the night.
Happy reading…
XOXO
Erzabet Bishop
Excerpt from “Polka Dot Dress”
“What do you think? Falsies or mascara?”
Sorcha stood up and eyed the makeup tray. “Oh God. The last time I wore those damned things one fell in my drink.” She shuddered. “Here. Wear this one.” Sorcha handed Justine a tube of lash exploding black mascara. “It’ll make your lashes look bigger without having something looking like a fake spider on your face. You didn’t answer my question.”
Justine aimed the wand at her eye and paused. “If I don’t answer, you can deny all knowledge if she asks you when she comes home with me tonight.” She applied the mascara. “You didn’t glue the falsies down enough. They aren’t supposed to fall off like that.” She chuckled. “Besides, it’s only Pin-Up Night, not a beauty contest.” And then next week I’ll be back in my leathers.
“And how do you know?” Sorcha narrowed her eyes. “Jeez woman. I go to clubs in girl wear more than you do.” Sorcha’s gaze grew pensive. “So, are you going to spill about the sudden change in, um style? You could put a rockabilly chick in a permanent coma with the way that polka dot dress is clinging to your boobs. ”
“That’s the point, chica.” Justine winked. She reached for the tray of lipstick Sorcha brought out and paused, undecided. “What color?”
“Oh. Go for this one. The wine red will rock the red in the dress. And those kick ass shoes.” Sorcha picked out a shiny silver tube. “Here. Try it.”
Justine uncapped the tube and set the top on the tray. The lipstick popped up and she slid the sensual red color over her lips in a deliberate swipe. “How’s that?” She made a moue with her lips and blinked her eyes.
“Hussy.” Sorcha giggled. “Okay. So I won’t ask. You look like you should be baking cookies in someone’s kitchen.”
Justine grinned. “Now there’s something.”
Erzabet Bishop is an award winning author who loves to write naughty stories. She is the author of Lipstick, Dinner Date, Crave, The Science of Lust, Arcane Imaginarium: Spirit Board, Holidays in Hell, Mallory’s Mark (upcoming 2016),The Devil’s Due (upcoming 2016), Charity Benshaw’s Enchanted Paddle Emporium
(upcoming 2016), Sigil F
ire, Glitter Lust (upcoming 2016), Written on Skin, Club Beam, Pomegranate, A Red Dress for Christmas, The Black Magic Café, Fantasies in Red, Sweet Seductions: The Erzabet Bishop Collection, Holiday Cruise, Fetish Fair, Temptation Resorts: Jess, Temptation Resorts: Marnie, Taming the Beast, The Erotic Pagans Series: Beltane Fires, Samhain Shadows and Yuletide Temptation along with being a contributor to many anthologies. Erzabet has been a finalist in the GCLS awards for 2014 and 2015, winning the Goldie for her spot in two anthologies. She lives in Texas with her husband, furry children and can often be found lurking in lo
cal bookstores. She loves to bake, make naughty crochet projects and watch monster movies. When she isn’t writing, she loves to review music and books.
Connect with Erzabet via her website, Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads.
Click below to get down and dirty with Dirty Dates!
Masturbation Monday No. 62
“Theodora was amazing, but you were still our first choice Nichy…but I am respectful of your feelings…”
Renee cornered Nichy in the morning by the water cooler, and for a moment, Nichy wished she had gone home with Renee, Theodora and Tyler. She tilted her cup of coffee in her hand unconsciously in response, to the way that she leaned toward Renee.
Nichy had come into work late that morning. She had woken up with a desire so heavy that she reached down between her legs, before her eyes were open. She was not surprised that she was already wet, because she had dreamt that she was about to masturbate. In her dream, she was on her knees crawling to a mirror so she could watch herself frig her herself hard and play with her breasts.
But she woke up, and the only variation in her plan therafter was there was not a mirror as she frigged herself hard. Her clitoris felt like a tight rosebud, but it got wet quickly and she arched off of the bed as she came. The corner of the sheet was adhesived between her legs, with her own come.
If she had left with Renee and Tyler, at least she would have gotten fucked and not have had the hits and misses she had the night before with Gavin and Graham.
While her mind wandered with the thoughts of what could have been, she was surrounded by the sweet, heady fragrance that Renee wore. Over Renee’s shoulder, she saw Gavin.
He walked over to them.
“Coffee,” he said as if asked, and looked at Nichy. “Renee, Nichy…”
Renee smiled at Nichy, and walked away. Nichy wanted to tell her that she did not have to go, but Renee had already walked far away from them.
“I really wish you had stayed last night Nichy…” Gavin began.
“I really wish you would have told me why…you know…”
Nichy folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Gavin defiantly.
Aside from the fact that he had been carrying a gun and would not tell her why, she resented that he acted like that was a normal thing to do.
Gavin ran his hand over his head.
“I told you Nichy, It was just something I felt like I needed. I needed you last night too.”
Nichy hated that she felt that sweet tightness all along her clit when he said that.
“You know what Gavin?” she started and looked at him. “You do not have to tell me. Don’t tell me a thing!”
Nichy was wound up when she walked away from Gavin in more ways than one. She went to the bathroom just before lunch to ease her heavy desire. One hand on the window sill, she looked at the graffiti heart outside of the window. The heart blurred the closer she came to coming. She closed her eyes when the pleasure became too much to bear, her hips undulated beneath her fingers.
For now this was the safest way for her to express desire. Graham had gotten mad at her when even after he kissed her she still asked him a ton of questions. Being alone made her much more aware of what she wanted, and what she did not want. Graham cold not overpower her with his usual tactics anymore and left. Gavin withholding was a deal breaker, and Graham could never love her the way she needed to be loved. The heart was still blurry outside of the window, after she came. Nichy was happy at least some of her tension was relived.
For the moment.
More Masturbation Monday here:
blurry graffii heart photo by f dot leonora
Sinful Sunday,Week 239: Splendor in the Grass
I went to the Museum of Sex to see their newest exhibitions, and took pictures of myself participating in their Splendor in the Grass exhibit…read the signs!!!
More Sinful Sunday here:
My Sexy Saturday — While You Were Sexy…
I think suits are sexy–as I have written about here and here. This excerpt from my story, “The Story Begins,” was written for Lelo’s blog Volonté. Here are seven paragraphs that detail things that I find sexy: tuxedos, little black (vintage) dresses and masks…*fans*
The part that was the strangest to her was that she had not seen his eyes. That was uncharted territory for her…
The theme for the cocktail party was masquerade. Odile had one of her many little black dresses, topped with a decadent black mask that she got at a vintage shop. A man wearing a tuxedo without the bowtie, and a gorgeous mask that covered two thirds of his face appeared next to her.
What she saw made her want to see more of him.
They were standing near the bar, where she admired the way the tuxedo accentuated his body. She was surprised that she felt herself get wet, startled because she did not recognize it at first. Not until the first bit of gin filled her chest. His elbow brushed hers, and she felt their contact zing through her entire body. He looked at her briefly, and although her cocktail dress provided more décolletage than she would show during the day, it was not that provocative. But when the masked gentleman looked at her and she saw his eyes linger in the direction of the swell of her bust with her peripheral vision, she felt completely nude.
She carried her gin and tonic with lime to a corner where she planned to play the wallflower she usually was and sip her drink slowly. The masked gentleman cornered her and instead of feeling like prey, she felt herself grow wetter. He had gotten her wet when she did not even know what his eyes looked like. When she did not even know what his face looked like.
He smelled of cigarette smoke and gin. She smiled out of nervousness, but it sufficed for a greeting. His lips moved in what could be construed as a smile, as he took a sip of his drink.
“I want to tell you a story…” (You can read the entire story here)
See what everyone else thinks is sexy here.
masked woman via volonté
BDSM Writers Con: ‘A kinky writers’ fantasy come to life’ featured in Erotic Trade Only Magazine!!!
This past summer, I attended BDSM Writers Con, pictures of which you can see here. It was an amazing conference from a writing perspective, and because of all the friends that I made. My article on the conference for Erotic Trade Only just went live! Here is an excerpt from it:
Did you know that BDSM writers have had their own conference for a number of years? F. Leonora Solomon reports back from this year’s gathering in New York for ETO…
Walking through the lobby of the Doubletree by Hilton hotel, I approached a staircase that warned me that there was a private event for adults only and to use the bathroom nearby on that level. I knew that I was not in Kansas anymore, but New York City for the BDSM Writers Conference.
The conference is the brainchild of Dr Charley Ferrer, who developed it to help facilitate the exploration of all aspects of BDSM for writers, readers and anyone who is interested in the subject. Ferrer is the author of several books, and an avid reader herself. I heard her speak at an RWA-NYC (Romance Writers of America) chapter meeting, and loved her perspective on the lifestyle. She is charismatic and knowledgeable, and I was eager to see how the event would unfold.
Read the rest of the article here!
Girls Will Be Girls by Lucy Felthouse, Because Yes–Girls Will Be Girls!!!
I just recently promoted a new book by Lucy Felthouse on my blog, and before I could blink, this prolific lady had a new series of stories out! Girls Will Be Girls is her sexy new girl/girl anthology. And judging by the cover, Lucy has another hot one on her hands!
As inspired as I am by Lucy professionally–how could you not be?!–all I keep thinking about is how lucky I was to get to see her while she was in New York. She is exceptionally lovely, and we had a lovely conversation over my lox and cream cheese bagel with onions. She had pancakes, and I have been craving them ever since! Because of her, I finally saw Bridget Jones for the first time…yes, yes I know I am way behind the curve–she told me as only a true friend would! I am happy to consider Lucy a friend…
Now you are salivating for more details on her sexy new book, aren’t you? Here you go!
Blurb:
Six sexy Sapphic tales from the pen of popular lesbian erotica author, Lucy Felthouse.
Christmas cheer with colleagues, a driving disaster turned good, hot older women, girls in uniform, gorgeous gardeners and naughty fun in a changing cubicle… this collection contains a variety of erotic tales sure to tickle your fancy.
Available to buy exclusively from Amazon, and to read as part of the Kindle Unlimited programme.
Add to your Goodreads shelves:
*****
Excerpt:
She was now mere inches away, but the thickness of the bushes meant she could still only see the boots and now a bit more of the green trousers. Stepping onto the mud, she crouched down beside the feet, carefully pushing the foliage aside so she could see what the hell was going on, and figure out what she was going to do about it.
The view opened up, and Verity, far from seeing a helpless person lying on the soil, was presented with a green-clad arse reversing hurriedly in her direction!
“Hey!” she said, letting go of the branches and shifting back so abruptly she ended up on her own arse on the grass. “Be careful! Are you all right?”
As the body continued emerging, Verity slowly came to realise her mistake. Dirt-covered trousers, a filthy black waterproof coat, gloved hands, and a head topped with a floppy hat were soon visible. Slim white cables trailing from each ear and disappearing into the collar of the coat explained why she hadn’t been heard calling out, or received a response.
This woman hadn’t hurt herself. She was a fucking gardener!
Frozen in her uncomfortable position, Verity wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Perhaps as revenge for her landing on it so hard. But she had no such luck. Instead, she heard, “What on earth are you doing down there? Are you all right?”
Struck dumb, Verity nodded and took the now glove-free hand that was offered to her, allowing the other woman to pull her up off the grass. “I—I’m fine,” she finally forced out, breaking the brief eye contact and making a show of brushing herself down, though it was probably only her bottom that was dirty. Her cheeks blazed, and she took a step back, hoping to beat a hasty retreat.
“Well, I’m glad. But it still doesn’t explain what you were doing down there.” The ear buds now hung down the woman’s front, and she was apparently poised, awaiting a reply.
Verity shook her head. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
Narrowing her eyes, the gardener said, “Try me.”
Christ. Just to add insult to injury, it seemed she was now suspected of some kind of wrongdoing, too! “I—I was over there,” she pointed to where she’d come from, “and I saw your wellies poking out from the bushes. I panicked because I thought someone had fallen and hurt themselves. I came over to try and help. I did call out to you, to see if you were all right. But all I could see was the boots and a little bit of your trousers. I had no idea what was going on. Much less that you were the bloody gardener and remained oblivious to what I was up to because you had headphones in! I crouched down and pushed the bushes aside so I could see you better, and the next thing I know you’re shuffling back towards me. I shifted out of the way and ended up tumbling over on my bum.”
It seemed her story was too amusing to be anything but true, because the gardener grinned widely, then clapped a hand over her mouth momentarily. “I’m so sorry,” she then said, “I didn’t hear you, honestly. But I guess I can see why you thought that. Thank you so much for coming to check on me, but it really wasn’t necessary. All I was doing was fighting with a particularly vicious weed.” She pointed down to an uprooted plant at her feet, then widened her eyes. “Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
Twisting to try and look at her bottom, Verity brushed again at the seat of her jeans. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit of muck and grass stains, I think. Nothing that won’t come out in the washing machine.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad. I feel bad enough as it is without thinking you’ve hurt yourself or ruined your clothes, too.”
“No, I’m good. And I’m glad you’re okay, too.”
Silence hung between them for a few moments. Then Verity took another step back. “Right, well, I’d better get going, anyway. Nice to meet you.” She turned to go, but the other woman’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Hey, wait. No need to rush off. I’m just about to go on my tea break. Want to join me? Perhaps a brew will make up for it?” Her green eyes—apt, for a gardener, Verity thought—sparkled with humour and intelligence, and for the first time, Verity realised that, underneath the grubby gardening gear and large hat was a very attractive woman.
Still, an excuse was on the tip of her tongue—she had come here to be alone, after all—but fate intervened. Or the British weather did, anyway. A handful of fat raindrops fell onto her, followed by a few more. Then, the heavens truly opened.
*****
Author Bio:
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9