Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Multicultural stories of dinnertime bondage, soapy skin, secret sex, lesbian licking, sensual loving, and married life: "6 Erotic Shorts" by Giselle Renarde is now available FREE from even more distributors, including:
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A big huge thanks to Giselle for kicking off the start of my mini book tour. And a big huge thanks to you for reading.
Luna Watkins can’t remember feeling so stressed. Her teenage son Nick’s health issues are reemerging and her ex Ben wants to help but is just making ends meet with odd jobs. Her catering business is thriving but too hectic for her to handle, at least that’s what it feels like. Not to mention since she’s been divorced, she hasn’t dated much and has had sex even less. When Nick decides to visit his grandparents for the summer, Luna is devastated. And yet, she sees a chance to work through her anger and her angst. Maybe some time to feed her body, mind and soul knowing he’s well taken care of.
When he pulled into the driveway, she had to put her hands on her belly to soothe the nervousness that felt barely contained in there. Luna put her forehead to the steering wheel for a moment to try and quiet her screaming brain. Her breath was a fast pant like she’d been running and that was how she felt–overwhelmed, galloping heart, possibly might be ill.
There was a rap on the window and she unlocked the door without looking up.
“Because women always do this when they’re fine.”
“You make me nervous.”
“I thought I made you angry,” he said tugging her arm. But she didn’t move.
“You do make me angry—I mean you don’t make me angry, my life is making me angry, you just seem okay with me expressing it. And you won’t crumble.”
“Of course not, boss lady,” he said and tugged her arm again. This time she turned a bit in the driver’s seat but didn’t get out. At least she’d picked her head up.
“But you make me nervous because you let me be angry.”
“And you’re not used to that.”
“Come on, Luna.” He pulled a bit more insistently and she turned, got out, stood up. Adam brushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her. It was rough, unkind and it turned her on to no end. She stood on tiptoe demanding more of him. He gripped her ass tight, held her flush to his erection—there was no secret it was there—so she couldn’t squirm away.
“Open your front door so we can take this inside,” he said, his lips pressed to the skin above her jugular. When Adam pinched her nipple, she wasn’t expecting it, and she jerked against him, crying out softly.
It was getting dark, and she hoped the whole damn neighborhood wasn’t watching them do this in her driveway.
“Come on,” she said and took his hand. “Let’s go.”
It was almost impossible for her to fit the key in the lock. But she finally managed, reminding herself that she was the one who wanted to let go. She jumped when his hand came down over hers, helping her guide the key to turn it.
“Come on. I thought you were strong,” he said, lips pressed to her ear.
He was goading her. She knew it. He was pressing her in order to steady her nerves and sharpen her focus. It worked. A surge of rage heated her inside and as if by cue her pussy went wet and soft for him.
And for herself. For release.
“Watch it,” she said, pushing past the threshold. Her body grew rigid, first in confusion, thinking she had to be quiet because of Nick. Second, because she realized the house was empty and to her it was entirely unusual. Her shoulders sagged a little and she took a deep breath.
“Come on, boss lady.” He’d caught the vibe—anger mixed with grief—she had no doubt. He pushed her forward with a firm but gentle hand and she stumbled some, forgetting her own damn tile inlays on the hardwood floor.
“Hey!” Her voice was more sadness than anger.
Her knees hit the sofa and she lost her balance, her legs buckling. Luna grabbed the back of the sofa and let out a growl. It surprised her. He hadn’t pushed her, he’d nudged her. He hadn’t put any force behind it but here she was falling and feeling stupid and yes…angry.
There was a split second where she could have ignored it, but she didn’t. There was a heartbeat where she could have talked herself out of it, but she didn’t. Luna bunched her hand into a lazy fist and turned, swinging blindly at the hulk of a man in her living room. She let out another cry when she connected, a glancing but hard blow, off his broad chest. She was mortified that she’d given into her base urge to actually strike someone—especially someone who hadn’t really earned it, if you got right down to brass tacks. But the mortification was fleeting when he grabbed her fist and pulled her in, wrapping his free arm around her waist and staring her down.
She blinked. Burbled with hysterical laughter.
“Feel better?” His face was tight and unreadable. What felt like annoyance, rather than anger, baked off him in waves.
“No,” she said, shocking them both by crying.
He pushed her back and she stumbled again. This time her ass hit the sofa hard enough that she pretty much bounced right back up to standing. Luna barely heard Adam say, “Then do it again” when she blindly swung, this time hitting his shoulder.
Oh fuck. Oh Jesus. What was wrong with her? This wasn’t Fight Club. This wasn’t a book, or a movie, or even a joke. She was hitting this man who had zero to do with her rage. And he was letting her.
She sobbed, nodding. “No.”
“You’re nodding but you said no.”
“You’re just so full of it, aren’t you?” He stood there. A handsome, patient monolith who held all kind of secrets. At least it felt that way.
“Full of what? Shit?” she stammered.
His face broke into a fleeting smile. He chuckled. “No. Full of anger.”
“Oh, that. Yes, that,” she said. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, and pushed her so her ass hit the sofa again.
Luna screamed. She heard the noise burst out of her like a whistle from a teakettle. He laughed…at her. And then when he dropped to his knees, bringing them face to face, he said, “You are so fucking weak.”
And that’s when she slapped him across the face. This blow was not glancing. This blow was not soft. This blow hit home with a satisfying whack and a wince on his good looking features.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. Realizing she meant it. That had done it. Her body felt looser, her chest lighter, her soul not as dirty. And she could see her palm print coming up on his stubbled cheek and she felt so very horrified—but even that felt great.
“Good,” he growled and then he yanked her pants down around her hips so hard her button popped off and rolled to the floor and the zipper growled as it tore and broke.
She lifted her hips, arched her back, let him pull down her ruined pants and her white panties. He pulled her legs free of all the fabric but handled the panties for a moment. Just white cotton briefs. Fairly new. No big deal. Not sexy at all, she knew. Nothing to write home about. Heat and embarrassment stained her cheeks as he stared her down. Then he surprised her by stuffing them in his pocket and said, “Fodder for later. I love white.”
She blinked, but only had a second to savor that stunned feeling. Only a moment, and then his mouth—incredibly hot and firm—touched down on her thigh. Adam kissed up to the top of her leg, around her flank until her skin erupted in goose bumps and she shivered. When he kissed her some more, moving his mouth slowly inward toward her inner thigh—toward that soft, tender skin that was so damn sensitive it made her tremble—her heart staggered in her chest, trying valiantly to withstand the shock of the moment. Of having him in her home, being half naked on the sofa…about to do what they were about to do.
“Spread your legs, boss lady.”
Her legs fell open and her fingers dove tentatively into his sandy colored hair. She threaded her fingers through the short, soft strands. The heat of his scalp bled into the palm of her hand and he made a small noise that almost made him seem vulnerable. She had no time to question it, because he found her nether lips with his tongue nudging the tip between her wet folds before finding her hard clit and working it roughly, so she gripped his hair a bit tighter.
“There you go,” he whispered, chuckling. But all she could do was nod her head dumbly.
She didn’t make him wait—or herself. Luna pushed her body up to meet his seeking mouth. She let her legs fall open a bit more and refused to feel self conscious about it—this was what they were doing. This was what they’d talked about. Sex. Just sex.
Buy Link (will also be available at most online venues and coming soon in print) http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=2&products_id=541
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
The cold has taken hold, and overnight yesterday's rains have frozen over. Returning from her grocery shopping, Lauren falls on the ice while trying to avoid an encounter with Zarina. They worked together in the halcyon days of Lauren's career, but her world came crashing when somebody started a rumour that Lauren was having an affair with her male boss. Convinced that "somebody" was Zarina, the one girl who'd managed to melt her icy heart, Lauren had nothing left to lose...except her job. She went out with a bang. That was more than a year ago. Now she's banged her head on the sidewalk, and it's Zarina to the rescue. Will the truth emerge as Zarina nurses Lauren's wounds?
Best Lesbian Romance 2012 celebrates the dizzying sensation of falling in love—and the electrifying thrill of sexual passion. Romance maestra Radclyffe gathers irresistible stories of lesbians in love to awaken your desire and send your imagination soaring. As Radclyffe writes, "within these pages are the reflections of our dreams, the memories of our precious moments, and the unique wonder of our special love stories."
With contributed stories by Anna Meadows, Radclyffe, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Cheyenne Blue, Geneva King, Anna Watson, Theda Hudson, Sheree L. Greer, Catherine Paulssen, JL Merrow, Angela Vitale, Giselle Renarde, Lee Lynch, Lisabet Sarai, Siobhan Colman, D. Jackson Leigh, and Evan Mora.
"By turns passionate, varied, and endlessly delicious, Best Lesbian Romance 2012 delivers."
"This is a collection to melt the hardest heart. These are romantic stories sharing the heart of our relationships and loves. The most wonderful thing about this collection of stories is their varying voices. Each story from each author has its own appeal – each voice is concrete and, most strikingly, each sounds so very authentic, wrapping the reader up in the embrace of its words, scenes and emotion. These stories are so convincing. It feels almost voyeuristic to be reading them – as though we have been allowed a very privileged position at the window to a private house, a private house where a variety of women – like the ones we know, or even the ones we might be – are finding themselves dancing that longest and most exhilarating of dances, romantic love."
—Kissed by Venus
"The collection does a good job capturing the dizzying sensation of falling in love, and Radclyffe’s curating does a nice job slowly raising the heat to a culminating sizzle."
"In this sizzling new treasury, erotica maestro Radclyffe has assembled over two dozen titillating tales of lesbian couples taking each other to new heights of happily bedded bliss. Imagination and experimentation are the key that unlocks the hearts of these lesbian love stories and every kind of love you CAN imagine are told in stories redolent of romance, risk-taking, and, even gobsmackingly surprising true love. There are virgins, long-time companions, and very memorable one-night stands."
—Erotic Readers and Writers Association
Here's the link to Cleis Press's BLR 2012 page: http://www.cleispress.com/book_page.php?book_id=445
And here's the link to Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Best-Lesbian-Romance-2012-Radclyffe/dp/1573447579/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1331527283&sr=1-1
Sunday, March 11, 2012
In fleeting half-thoughts, Galiana considered Licorne’s unusual form, wondering why she had not disclosed the peculiarities of her body in advance. But perhaps that extra appendage between Licorne’s thighs was standard fare for a unicorn in human form. Why must Galiana judge?
True, as Licorne had said, Galiana had fallen in love with a beast knowing in her heart that her unicorn was a woman. She must not alter her opinion now. To do so would be to show her lover the utmost disrespect.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Today Best Sex Writing 2012's Virtual Book tour makes a stop here at Donuts & Desires. I laughed when, in the book trailer (below), editor Rachel Kramer Bussel referred to BSW as "a book for sex nerds" because that sounds like a club I want to join. If you're going to be a nerd, why not go all the way? Am I right?
from "Sluts, Walking" by Amanda Marcotte:
Toronto police officer Michael Sanguinetti probably thought of himself as a noble warrior against the arbiters of political correctness when he claimed, at a crime safety seminar at Osgoode Hall Law School, that the key to keeping men from raping you is to “avoid dressing like sluts.” But what he actually ended up doing was putting the final nail in the coffin of the narrative of the “humorless feminist” vs. the yuk-yuking sexists who have a monopoly on the funny. A group of men and women who were outraged at this supposed rape prevention advice responded by organizing a protest march to the front doors of the Toronto Police Service, and with a cheeky nod to Sanguinetti’s comment, called the whole thing “SlutWalk.” They also encouraged attendees to dress however they liked, including in all sorts of clothes that are commonly understood to be “slutty,” in order to drive home the point that clothes don’t cause rape—rapists do. The idea was to fight hate with humor, and fight violence with cheek and irony.
Organizers certainly wanted attention, but they probably didn’t have any idea what kind of attention the concept of sluts walking would get. In retrospect, the subsequent media blitz should have been predictable. The word slut probably generates more click-throughs than any other word on the Internet, after all, and the idea of sluts marching in protest, instead of simply sucking and fucking away in their relegated role as fantastical creatures of the pornographic imagination, was shocking enough that people simply couldn’t stop talking about it. Clearly there was a strong need to remind people that because a woman may want to have sex with some people doesn’t mean she has to take all comers—so international SlutWalk was born. SlutWalks were conducted in LA, Boston, Brisbane, Amsterdam, São Paulo, London, Helsinki, Buenos Aires, Berlin, and Cape Town, just to name a few. Women all over the world wanted to say they had a right to wear what they want and go out if they want without giving carte blanche to rapists to assault them.
Making the movement international was helped in part because the message of SlutWalk is straightforward. It’s an update on the Take Back the Night rallies. Back when those were formed, feminists were saying, “Hey, we should be able to leave our houses after dark without getting raped.” Now we’re adding to that list a few other things we should be able to do without some dude raping us and having people excuse it as if rapists were a kind of vigilante police force assigned to the task of keeping bitches in line: wear what we want, go to parties, have as many sexual partners as we like, drink alcohol. Eventually we plan to reach a point where women enjoy the freedom of men to do what they like without the inference that you have it coming if someone rapes you.
SlutWalk drew the inevitable controversy that attends women saying they have a right to do what they want without being punished for it by the traditional methods of putting women in their place, such as forced childbirth or being mauled by rapists.
Certainly, right wing responses to SlutWalk were predictable for this. The right-wing ethos is to demand that women’s sexuality and social lives be constrained with the threat of unwanted childbearing, STDs, and sexual abuse, and therefore they quite predictably defend abortion regulations, anticontraception propaganda in schools, men who catcall women on the streets, and defense attorneys who use the “she was asking for it” tactic to get their rapist clients off the hook. The predictability of these right-wing responses relegated them to background noise, no more worth debating than that grass remains green and the sky remains blue.
No, what distressed SlutWalk supporters was the noise from feminists denouncing the effort, primarily on the basis of a profound misunderstanding of the use of the word slut. For some reason, critics got it in their head that SlutWalk was about reclaiming the word slut, though their refusal to hear participants who denied that there was any kind of reclamation project going on inclines me to think they just wanted to get angry that young women were wearing miniskirts without apology.
There's much more to this article, and it gets even better!
A woman I know through one of my volunteer positions once said to me, "I always wonder about that saying, Fathers, lock up your daughters. When there's a rapist on the loose it's, lock up your daughters, lock up your daughters! I always think: why are we locking up our daughters? They're not the ones committing the rapes. Why don't we say, Fathers, lock up your sons?"
I kept thinking about that conversation while reading Marcotte's article.
To see all stops on the BSW 2012 book tour, click here:Or Buy from Amazon:
Canada just got hotter!
Visit me online
The series is based around Madame Evangeline's match-making skills. A
woman to be reckoned with, and owner of a highly successful matchmaking service; put the right two
people together for just one night and anything is possible. Especially when the dates take place at the
fabulous Castillo Hotels and Resorts in some of the most exotic places in the world. For more on Madame Evangeline.
BLURBRachel Taylor has issues. Her father broke her mother's heart with his cheating and Rachel
swore never to let that happen to her, but one ruined relationship after another and she's realized she's
got to get over being closed off to men. Perhaps a one-night stand is just the baby step she needs to
begin to build trust again.
to love again, but the women who visit his bar are only after his infamous Irish cocktails. At the advice
of his darts team, over a tanker or two of Beamish, he applies to 1Night Stand to get back into the
swing of things and enjoy the company of a woman specially selected for him by Madame Evangeline.
seemingly made in heaven...until morning rolls around and Shaun can't bring himself to say good-bye.
Can he win her over with his secret weapon, a Sweet Irish Kiss, or is Rachel still too scared to love?
to wait and see what goodies Shaun has packed in his overnight bag ** grins **"-- Kat,
GRAB YOUR COPY FOR FREE TODAY! LIMITED TIME OFFER TO
CELEBRATE ST PATRICK'S DAY! AVAILABLE IN MOST EBOOK STORES...
99c 77p normally 2.99
Trailer Full Screen| Book Trailer Playlist
"Ms. Kenrick's writing style flows nicely
throughout the story. Her attention stays more on the characters rather than the setting which is fitting
for the genre of the novella. I like her ability to dig deep within the characters feelings allowing them to
step up and tell their story. It is as if the author really took the back seat on this one. Very well written
indeed! JoAnne Kenrick knows how to write unique, if not quirky, characters that stay with me long
after I've finished reading their stories." -- Talina, Night Owl Reviews
This Sweet Irish Kiss excerpt has been edited to make it a PG-13.
Please keep in mind that
the full story has a 4 flame rating and is therefore NOT suitable for
I can’t believe I did that. What a great first impression. Not! And only I could
top it off by going all defensive on his ass. Poor guy looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights. At
least he was a gentleman about it, though. Had any of my exes seen me go down like a ton of bricks, all
Nia Vilvados style, they’d have pissed themselves laughing and grabbed their cameras. I’m the
character who gets caught up in headphone wire when she sees a hot guy in that movie...Fat Greek
Wedding, Big Fat Greek...whatever. I know what I mean.
Rachel shuddered. She’d
fallen flat on her face because the hunkiness of her one-night stand had taken her by surprise. She
hadn’t expected it. Not in the least. Average, that’s what his profile had said. It’s why she picked him.
She figured he wouldn’t be up himself. Most attractive men who know they’re hot behave like
monkeys in heat because of it. She wanted a man who would be thanking his lucky stars to have her in
his arms, and one who would be romantic and polite. And when he rushed to help her, he‘d surprised
Drop dead gorgeous and caring? This could be dangerous.
“Ya feeling better now?”
Thick Irish accent, smooth like Baileys, coated each word her one-night stand spoke.
She glanced up at his welcoming expression and caught her stare in his. “So, you’re Irish?” You’re
He quirked his mouth into a grin as if she amused him. She reminded herself that she
wanted this and backed up. She sat on the nearest thing to her, a dining chair from the breakfast for two
set, and chewed at her freshly manicured nails. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this
nervous. Her stomach flip- flopped around the butterflies dancing in her gut.
“Ya, that a problem?” God I
love his Irish brogue.
“Listen, Shaun, I’m sorry about the way I came down on you. I
mean, not came down on you. Hell, I...I’m sorry for losing it.” He raised an eyebrow. “For biting your
head off when you tried to help.”
“Hey, I get it. I’m not what ya expected.” Shaun, hands firmly
rooted in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders. “Ya definitely not what I expected, either, but here we
are. We can call it a day if you prefer or we can enjoy the rest of the evening. What do ya say? I can
leave if ya like. The hotel room’s been paid for, so ya can spend the night and make the most of it. I’ll
leave ya be, so I will. But I’d rather stay here...with ya.”
Her stare locked on Shaun, and she watched him grab
his bag from the foot of the bed and stride toward the exit. His muscular frame, dark features, and great
sense of style had her knees knocking together. She couldn’t remember the last time she actually
wanted a man. But it wasn’t like she’d chase after him. The day she did that would be the day she
forgave her daddy, or rolled over dead. The latter was more likely to happen first.
13 excerpt. Please keep in mind that the book does contain adult themes and language, and is not
suitable for minors.
Pretentious, that’s how Rachel
described the infamous Knightsbridge store where she worked. She loved her job, though. It meant she
could let loose, make crazy-ass window displays, and stretch her imagination beyond the high street
fashion trends. Usually.
“Effing yuppie fashion.” She
stood, pin cushion in hand, staring out the huge plate glass window. The rain drizzled over passing
shoppers who huddled and shared umbrellas with loved ones. She wished she could have someone she
could trust to protect her when life pissed all over her, but she didn’t have anyone like that. The big
brick wall she’d built had seen to it.
A flashback of
running through a downpour with her father hit her hard. He’d thrown his coat over her, sheltering her
and leaving himself open to the elements. They giggled all the way home, running late for a Mother’s
She closed her eyes to try and block out
the past, but the darkness acted as a blank canvas for her memory to play out the scene until a rumble
of thunder in the distance brought her back to the present.
She sniffled back her feelings and grasped a plastic body to steady herself. A teardrop trickled
down her face, and she smeared it away. Time to buckle up and get
over it. Once a fond memory, it now served as a bitter pill. He’d tricked her, tricked everyone
with his gallant gestures. He could never again be the genuine, kind man she remembered from her
childhood. At least not to her, anyway.
“Effing life.” She
threw a knit over a male model’s shoulders and fluffed to give it a casual yet purposeful style. “What
are they thinking, asking me to decorate the mannequins with this jumped up crap? Men don’t dress
like Prince William. No man I know anyway.”
Her pocket buzzed. Rachel flipped her phone open. “Hello?” Nothing. “Hell-o?”
Still nothing. She pulled it from her ear and glanced at the digital
“Email, not a call. I’m never going to
get used to this stupid, high tech phone.” She pressed a few buttons. Some wrong. Some right.
Eventually, she managed to open up the message.
A last minute check, to make sure your 1NightStand goes as you desire. May I suggest you
wear a corset, my dear, to flatter your curves. He’ll be there before you, and I picked a room especially
with a double door entrance so you can have a Scarlet O’Hara moment. Please don’t wear green. He
hates the color. A bottle of Jameson would make a wonderful gift, should you wish to bring something
along to break the ice. And best of all, Rachel, remember why you wanted this and enjoy the
experience. Good luck, dear, I hope he’s all you need.
Bien a toi, Evangeline
— Is he ALL she needs? There
is only one way to find out…READ THE BOOK FOR FREE! St Patrick's Day Promotion, free offer
for a limited time only.
This excerpt has been edited to make it suitable for a general, mature audience. Sweet Irish Kiss
is not suitable for minors.
“Put this blindfold on,” he ordered, “if ya want a
surprise.” He wanted to put it on her himself. But knowing she had trust issues, it didn’t feel right to do
so. Instead, he went to the bathroom to clean the toys with warm, soapy water as the packet had said
for him to do. He hoped she would be sightless and under his demand when he got back.
disappointed. Still on all fours, she had done as requested. He smeared lube over the beads and eased
them into her. As an anal newbie, he had no idea how much it would turn him on and drive him insane.
He wanted to rip them out and shove his cock inside her tight little hole instead. His hard on throbbed
with need already, and it had only been minutes since he’d come. Sure he would be able to perform
again, and probably too soon if he didn’t grab hold of himself, he grinned.
When the fifth and biggest
bead was inside her, he whipped on a condom, slipped inside her bleep entrance from behind, and
plunged all the way into her slick warmth . The bumpity-bump of the latex numbs rubbing against him
through her thick layer massaged his length as he moved, and he couldn’t contain the growl that
emerged from deep in his gut.
JoAnne Kenrick, an ex-Ghost Tour Guide turned Romance
Author, is a Welsh lass who has lived in various countries around the world. She now calls North
Carolina her home, where she lives with her husband, two children and a lazy cat. When they aren't
demanding her attention, she can most likely be found watching a vampire movie, reading or baking
up a British favorite in her N.C. kitchen. That is, when she isn't writing or chatting up a storm on social