Kissing couple

How could I find him sexy? With his body so broken?

This is what he asked me.

No woman could possibly find him sexy. Ever.

This is what he told me.

So I said, what is it about me that you find sexy?

That’s easy, he said. Your smile.

So I said, is your smile broken?

He shook his head and smiled at me, and inside I felt that flutter. You know, deep inside, the flutter that tells you you want something. Someone. I wanted him.

What else, I said, do you find sexy about me?

Your own particular smell, he said. Especially when you’re hot and sweat plasters that dark curl against your temple.

I leaned in against him and took a deep breath. He smelled of boy, musky and ripe, and just a little bit off. Heat washed through me.

You smell pretty good, I told him. You don’t smell broken.

Sometimes I state the obvious.

Anything else, I asked him. Is there anything else about me that turns you on?

The fact that you’re such a fucking smart ass, he said. That’s damn sexy.

Yeah, you’re right, I said. I’m definitely smarter than you. Because it’s easy for me to see why someone would find you sexy and you don’t seem to get that. Makes you kind of stupid.

But you’re lucky, I said. I find kind of stupid sort of sexy.

I reached across to him and undid his fly. His cock pushed out, hard and dark tipped. I put my hand on it and he drew a sharp breath.

This is sexy, I said. You think you can persuade me this isn’t?

No… He faltered. It’s not that I don’t want you to think I’m sexy. It’s just that women don’t, in general, find me…

This woman does.

I took his cock in my mouth and I sucked him till he came.

Point proven.

Click on the logo above to find out who else has written something for this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt: Disability.

I look in the mirror…


I look in the mirror. What do I see?


I see a man with a lived-in face, with eyes that speak of past regrets and a mouth pulled down at the corners, because it hasn’t smiled or laughed or kissed as much as it should have.


I see a pair of breasts that some days I hate, some days I love. On my very best days, they make me powerful and bold. On my worst? I want to hide them from the world.


I see a movie star, a looker, a player. I see the guy that makes the girls wet with a wink, a crook of my finger or a slap on a peachy ass. I’m the one they think about when they’re alone in their beds with their hands on their cunts. They don’t realise that when I’m lying alone, I’m thinking of boys like me.


I see my father’s jawline, set hard. Mine is a determined face. I take life seriously just as he did. I have responsibilities and I’m there for the people who need me. But sometimes, when I’m on my own, I cry.


I see a shell, a body that acts as my vehicle through life. A body that’s completely at odds with who I really am. When I close my eyes, the me that I see is someone different. This is the me that only a few people get to see, people who I let into my world with extreme caution.


I see a future in which I become invisible. First to men, then gradually to everyone. Yes, I look tired. But so would you, if you’d lived my life.


I see the boy that I was when first I met her. A little gauche with freckles across my nose and a scar on my lip from a fight. The scar’s faded but the freckles are larger and darker now. And when I look at her, I still see the girl I fell for that night in the shadows. That was more than fifty years ago, but we haven’t changed on the inside.


I see a small gathering of imperfections that make up a whole. A chin that juts out a little too far. A scattering of hair across my top lip, too soft to grow into a moustache. A pimple or three. A rogue hair that sprouts half a centimetre above the rest of my eyebrow. A snaggletooth that’s being wrestled into submission with metal and elastic. It’s not too bad, though, when you put it all together.


I would see someone scared and scarred. If I looked in the mirror. But I don’t.


I see an athlete. A hard body, sculpted by years of dedicated training. Breasts honed to nothing, abdomen taut. I don’t remember when I last had a period. A woman in the supermarket today mistook me for a boy. I don’t care. I chose this life and winning is more important to me.


I see the same face that I’ve seen every morning for the last seventy-five years. It’s changed but the changes are so small that I don’t notice when they happen. Seeing this crumpled face makes me smile—I’m still here. Life still surprises me, most days, and death hasn’t claimed me yet. One day the flesh will be gone from these old bones, but until that happens I’ll smile at myself every morning.


I see a man in control, a man in his prime. Perfect hair, clean shaven. Bright eyes, sharp suit. A man you can trust? Of course. I’ll look you in the eye and tell you a bare-faced lie—but you’ll believe me because it’s what you want to hear.


I see a stranger.


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This week’s Wicked Wednesday topic is self-image – hit the button to see who else has submitted.



Pillow Talk Secrets: Our First Year


We’ve just released a new post on Pillow Talk – and we’re taking a look back at our first year, as well as chatting about E L James’s latest offering, Grey. Here’s how we get started, but you’ll need to head over to Pillow Talk to read the rest!

Pillow Talk Secrets

Tamsin: Hello Jade, hello Malin, how are you both this afternoon?

Jade: Hello, lovelies! I’m well. How about you two?

Malin: Good morning / afternoon, ladies! I’m doing good – happy to be here with you!

T: Excellent! Yes, it’s been a little while since we all got together. But we’ve made it through our first year, so yay for us! How do you two feel about that?

Cakes on ass

It’s our anniversary so the cakes are on us!

J: Definitely a yay to that! I am tickled we’ve gone a year strong, and that it’s been such a fabulously fun year, too!

M: Agreed. I can’t believe how quickly it flew by! Our anniversary snuck up on me!

J: It was officially the 4th, yes?

M: Yep! So we’re already into our second now. We’re growing up!

T: It may only have been a year, but I feel like I’ve known you two for a lot longer! And I have to say, we’ve done some great posts during that time. Any favorites? Anything we’ve missed out on so far?

M: I think my favorite was the one we did on details in erotica, if only because there are so many ways of approaching and responding to description. But I also loved our taboo discussion. There’s so much there. It feels like we touched on a lot, but only scratched the surface.

J: I would have to say I’m torn between two – the taboo talk is definitely one of them. We covered a lot of interesting ground with what we did talk about, but I have a feeling we may need to go there again, big time. Also, I honestly really enjoyed our end of the year / New Year’s post. It felt very cozy. :)

T: I’m trying to remember our very first post – it was a little introduction to ourselves – and looking back at it, what a sweet gang of newbie writers we were!

J: Yes we were!

M: What about you, Tamsin? Any favorites or topics you’d like to get more of?

Alpha maleT:
Early on we did a post on boys, alphas and Doms – it was fun! So maybe we should do a post about some of our favorite types of erotica heroines…I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about on that subject. What about you, Jade?

J: I think that would pose some good ideas, for sure. I also think it would be interesting to talk about crossover things…how erotica merges with other genres and such. And perhaps word choices? There are just so many great avenues to explore when talking dirty, wouldn’t you say?

M: There’s an almost endless supply of topics, it’s true. I’d also love to talk about how sex can be used in fiction. Of course, there’s the obvious turn-you-on motive (nothing wrong with that!), but it can also deeply affect character motivations and further plot. Sex is powerful in writing. It would be fun to explore why and how.

J: I totally second that. Sex can be extremely transformative, so the potential power in writing that is superb. Let’s put that on the list! I’m also curious what our readers think – are there any topics you’re dying to hear us dirty talk about? If so, please definitely let us know in the comments!

Visit us at Pillow Talk for the rest of the discussion…

You’ve been a bad pony!

Alchemy xii - June cover“You’ve been a bad pony!” “Sorry, Sir.” Thwack!

“How are you going to make it up to me?” “I promise I’ll be good from now on, Sir.” Smack!

“Do you think I’m going to believe that?” “I’ll try, I promise.”

“Do you promise not to go topping any more defenseless grooms?” “I promise.”

“It seems a little unlikely, Liv. You’re such a naughty girl.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Each back and forth was punctuated with a kiss from Harry’s crop, but that response earned a particularly harsh blow. Laughter bubbled through me as I relished the spiraling delights of pleasure combined with pain. Harry knew me well enough now to know exactly how I liked it, and I pushed my hips out to meet each fresh strike with glee.


That’s a short scene from Alchemy xii – June, in which trainee sub Olivia learns all about pony play. And while Olivia might be the naughtiest sub in the training program, her Dom, Harry, knows exactly how to handle her-he is, after all, Chicago’s best Dom. This week’s My Sexy Saturday theme is Our Sexy Best, and Harry’s certainly that!

What’s Alchemy xii?

1 Year : 12 Episodes
Alchemy xii - New Year's EveOlivia has no intention of becoming anybody’s sub but she’s intrigued enough by Harry Lomax to join the Alchemy training program. Before they begin, Harry gives Olivia a diary.

“It’s for you to write down exactly what happens at Alchemy. And, more importantly, your feelings about what you’re going through. Things that were good and things that upset you or scared you or that you didn’t like. No one else will read it but you…” said Harry.

For one weekend a month over the course of the coming year, Olivia must report to Alchemy and follow Harry’s every instruction. By the end of the year, if she’s deemed an exceptional sub, she might be offered a permanent position in the club. If she’s not, she’ll probably never see Harry again. But Olivia is a woman who finds it tough to call anyone “Sir”…

Alchemy xii - January coverThis monthly serial kicks off with Harry’s recruitment of Olivia to Alchemy xii and then follows the course of Olivia’s year as she writes about each of her monthly encounters with Harry in her diary. Can she bend her will sufficiently to comply with Harry’s demands? And for how long can she view Harry simply as her teacher? Has she got what it takes to make it to the end of the year?

A novella-length episode is being published on the first of every month throughout 2015. Now, having reached June, the Alchemy xii series has made it halfway through the year. The series releases a novella a month, so there are just six more monthly episodes to go in the ongoing saga of Harry and Olivia… Will she actually make it to the end of training? Will she ever truly understand the meaning of submission or is she a lost cause? One thing is certain – if Harry can’t get her to submit, then no one can!
Alchemy xii - The Second Quarter coverTo celebrate the halfway point, Alchemy xii – January is free until the end of June. That means if you haven’t read any of the series so far, you can currently get both the prologue,  Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve, and the first episode, Alchemy xii – January for nothing – what better way to kick off a new series? Furthermore, this week saw the release of the second of the quarterly omnibus editions, Alchemy xii – The Second Quarter, with contains the complete episodes for April, May and June. (And for today only, to celebrate The Second Quarter‘s release, you can get Alchemy xii – The First Quarter free too – just don’t tell anyone else!)

So much free Alchemy at the moment – are you feeling the love? So why not go and grab an Alchemy freebie now?




Elust #71- Best Sex on the Net

The Shingle Beach
Photo courtesy of The Shingle Beach

Welcome to Elust #71

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #72? Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Backyard Glory
Bra Wars
Versions of Ourselves

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabled characters: who do I write them for?
How Can You Think About Sex Right Now?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*


All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7

days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

How We Started Swinging: Part 2
Notes to my younger self
I am what I am
Sometimes Submission Requires Standing Up
I know how to fix a texting mistake.
Change Is A Four Letter Word
Zero to Sex Pot in 150 minutes

Erotic Non-Fiction

23 Minutes Of Play
Services Rendered
Depravity’s Communication
Sinful Sunday: The Reveal

Erotic Fiction

No Panties
A Woman’s Experience of Lust
Wicked Wednesday: Three
An Uncommon Case
Misused Petals
(portrait of) desire
Her Turn
A Day At The Beach

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Am I Jaded?
Fury Road’s Furiosa and femdom
Sub power, Domly Vulnerability
In Person I Found You Very Innocent…..
Still A Cherry Tree


Catching Up: A Happy Horny Haiku
What You See

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Hey, Feminism? Your ugly is showing.
The Bigger Picture
Naive College Virgin Reads Penthouse Letters
Squirting is Not a Science
Missing “Story of O” scene discovered!



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Red Velvet Cake

Why are lesbian anthologies like buses? Because it seems like you wait forever for one to arrive, and then two come together! Okay, apologies for the extremely bad joke but I couldn’t resist it in light of the fact I’m celebrating a second anthology release this week. My story, “Red Velvet Cake”, made it into Cleis Press‘s Best Lesbian Romance of the Year, edited by Radclyffe – and I feel really honored to be sharing pages with Sacchi Green, Giselle Renarde and Teresa Noelle Roberts, plus a whole host of writers who are new to me.

I love cake, and I love red velvet cake in particular – I can never resist it if I see it, but luckily, living in the UK, I don’t see it too often. Fluffy red sponge, rich buttery icing, and layer upon layer of indulgence…it’s one of those foods that’s like sex on a plate. However, having said all that, it only makes a most fleeting appearance in the story… 😉

Here’s an excerpt:

Red velvet cake

Red Velvet Cake

Girl X is a cute little number who, in this instance, goes by the name of Flo. She’s got short peroxide blond hair, a good sign, seven silver rings in one ear, a good sign, and she’s wearing Doc Martens, also a good sign. Not that I mean to pre-judge or anything. I just like looking at her.

Strictly speaking, it’s not my local coffee shop. There are two or three nearer to where I work, between the office and the bus stop. This one is a hundred yards beyond, in the wrong direction, but I came in here a couple of weeks back with Fin, because he rated the red velvet cake. Then I saw this girl. I had to come back, just to check if I was really taken with her and, as it turned out, I was.

I’ve got it bad. I’m at that stage where I could be mistaken for a stalker. I’m sitting as close by the counter as I can get, pretending I’m not staring when I am, and all the while trying to appear like my ears aren’t flapping at her every conversation. So far I’ve learned this about her: her second name is Petersen, her father gets drunk at business conferences, her mother drives a yellow car and her brother’s on the national men’s gymnastics squad. There hasn’t been any mention of a boyfriend as far as I can make out and I haven’t managed to find out where she goes drinking. If she does. But if she doesn’t, she’s probably not my kind of girl after all.

I get up and order another coffee. I swear this particular dalliance is going to end in the great caffeine over-dose disaster. Naturally, I’ve timed my trip to the counter to catch Flo on her own.

“Umm, another coffee, please,” I say. My dry tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth making me stumble over the words.

She looks at me blankly. Bad sign.

“What coffee?” she says. She doesn’t remember my order yet? Bad sign.

“Black americano, please.”

I wonder if I ought to give up now and go back to perving at Sarah Shahi in my box set of Life. There’s no dodgy self-delusion involved in that particular crush. Just crystal clear lust and my hand down my pants by halfway through every episode.

“I’ll bring it over,” she says, taking the money I hold out to her.

“Thanks.” Better sign.

I go back and sit down. Is this how it’s going to be forever? Long distance stalking before I can get the nerve up to ask a girl if she’s queer and if she might like to go out with me? Actually, I can’t remember when I last asked a girl out. It’s always this little dance around, circling closer and closer until either they knock me back or get fed up with waiting and ask me out. Or make a pass at me in the club toilets. Or cup my ass cheek in their hand in a way that makes me melt inside. Yes, that did happen once—but it turned out we weren’t compatible in other ways.

Flo brings my coffee over to the table and sets it down.

“Thanks.” Me and my one word vocabulary. Impressive.

Her phone rings and she digs it out of her apron pocket. A smile lights up her face as she looks at the screen. Gorgeous smile but it’s not for me. It’s for whoever’s at the other end of the line and that, for sure, is a bad sign.

“I finish at four,” she’s saying. “Yeah, see you later.”

I’m torturing myself over whether it’s a girl or a boy she’s talking to. As if it matters. If she’s talking to a lover, I might as well go and start warming up the DVD player now. But, of course, I don’t. I text the office to say I’ve been held up at a meeting and then I settle in to see who turns up at four.

Two coffees and a serious case of the jitters later things go badly wrong. At five after four a guy comes in and Flo’s round the front of the counter like a lightning bolt and being swept up into his arms. There’s an exchange of kisses that I simply can’t bear to watch. I melt away back to the office.

“Why the long face?” says Fin, from his desk opposite mine.

I shrug. I don’t want to make a big deal of it. There’ll be another girl in another coffee shop next week. And the week after that. And I’ve got my box set friends, so I can’t see that I’d ever need to go back to Flo’s coffee shop. If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a glutton for punishment. If I know a girl’s not interested, I back right off. In my experience, hanging around after a rebuff doesn’t do anyone any favors.

So now I’m busy forgetting all about Flo or Mo or whatever her damned name was. Moving on. There’s a girl I see on the bus regularly, who I think is cute. And there’s a lifeguard I like to perv when I take my niece swimming once a week. I practice drowning in the bathtub and life’s a blast. I get a lot of work done.

It takes about three weeks before Fin needs another red velvet cake hit…


So does she get the girl? To find out and to read the other 17 wonderful stories, grab your copy now!

Best Lesbian Romance coverBest Lesbian Romance of the Year

The swooning sensation of a new crush, the thrilling feel of a first caress and the raw, electric elation of sexual passion are all captured here in Best Lesbian Romance of the Year, Volume 1. Radclyffe, the highly lauded novelist and master editor, covers the full range of lesbian love – a real spectrum of experience with plenty of room for passion and possibility. Bestselling romance authors JL Merrow, Sacchi Green, Giselle Renarde, D. Jackson Leigh, Teresa Noelle Roberts and many more contribute short stories that will have you falling in love with love all over again. This edition of the cherished series presents eighteen stories sealed with a kiss!

Loved up at Glastonbury…

Summer LoveEver been loved up at Glastonbury? Ever been to a festival in pursuit of the man of your dreams and wound up being seduced by the girl of your dreams instead? That’s what happens to the protagonist in my latest story, “Drive Me Crazy”, which is published today in a new anthology, Summer Love – Stories of Lesbian Holiday Romance. Published by Ladylit Publishing and jointly edited by the utterly charming Caroline Manchoulas and Harper Bliss, this is the ultimate feel-good poolside read. You’ll find stories by Annabeth Leong, Alison Wonderland, Cheyenne Blue, Erzabet Bishop, Harper Bliss, Lucy Felthouse, Camille Duvall, Katya Harris, A L Brooks, Emily L Byrne, Brooke Winters, R J Layer and K A Smith.

As it happens, setting an erotic story at a music festival makes perfect sense. Thousands of heaving bodies, moving in unison to a primal beat long into the night… How can sex not be on the cards? Everybody’s primed for it, warmed by sun during the day, mesmerised by the music as darkness falls, pressed up close in a crowd against someone you’re in love with, someone you desire, someone you don’t even know – yet! Of course, in the UK, it’s more a case of shared body heat or finding a lover whose tent doesn’t leak as the heavens open with no prospect of ever closing!

In this story, Melody comes to Glastonbury in hot pursuit of her rock ‘n’ roll idol, Danny Marks, lead singer of the Tomahawks. She wants to move up from superfan to groupie but, of course, things don’t go quite to plan…instead she finds herself nursing her bruised and battered heart in an empty tent in deserted field high above the festival…

Here’s an excerpt:

Back in my tent, I was able to let it all go and, boy, did I. How could I have been so stupid? Had I really thought I could just walk up to Danny Marks and entice him into my sleeping bag? Why had it never crossed my mind that he’d be married or have a girlfriend or simply could have found someone else far more attractive than me?

My face was burning with humiliation and great big sobs were racking my body as I writhed on my sleeping bag. I was making so much noise that I didn’t hear the tent zipper opening. But then I felt a hand softly touch my leg and I sat up with a jolt, wiping my forearm across my eyes.

“Hey, Melody, what’s the matter?”

It was Sadie with a look of concern wrinkling her pretty elfin features.

I shook my head, more embarrassed than upset now.

“Nothing. I’m fine, honestly.”

“No, you’re not,” she said with a soft smile. “And I don’t think you should be alone.”

She crawled into the tent and watched me as I found a tissue and blew my nose loudly. The noise seemed to reverberate in the tiny space and when she laughed, I suddenly found that I could manage a small smile despite my despair.

“Now, you can tell me all about it here or you can tell me outside at the top of the next field—there’s an amazing sunset brewing and I don’t want to miss it.”

“I’m okay, honest,” I said. “You go and see your sunset. I’ll be all right here.”

She took my hand and shook her head.

“No, you can’t stay here on your own like this. Come on.”

Silhouette two girlsWith that, she pulled me toward the tent flap and, for someone who prides herself on not letting anyone push her around, I was strangely compliant. I followed her outside and up towards the gate behind my tent. And when she helped me climb over into the next field, I had to admit that it felt good to be with someone after a couple of days all alone in that huge crowd. “This way,” she said, leading me across an expanse of long grass.

“This is the best place—I came up here last night and it was beautiful.”

On the far side of the field, we came to a fallen tree and Sadie hopped up onto the vast trunk and straddled it, using a protruding branch as a backrest.

“Here,” she said, indicating the space in front of her, and I climbed up too.

I straddled it, facing her, and she laughed.

“Other way, silly, you’ve got your back to the sun.”

Grasping my arms, she helped me spin round and as I did, I gasped. Spread out below us, the whole festival was bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun, a giant blood-red orb on the far horizon.

“Wow, Sadie!”

She pulled me back until I was leaning comfortably against her and then she linked her arms around my waist.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Her voice was close to my ear. “Now, tell me why you were crying just now.”

“God, it’s too embarrassing,” I said, letting my head relax back on her shoulder. She smelt faintly of oranges and a little musky, reminding me that I hadn’t showered for more than a day.

A hand brushed hair back from my forehead.

“Tell me—it won’t be any worse than anything I’ve done.”

And with relief, it all flooded out of me. How I’d thought I was in love with Danny Marks, how I’d planned to find him and seduce him, and how humiliated I’d felt on being introduced to his wife.

“You see what an idiot I’ve been?” I said, fighting the urge to cry.

I wiped my eyes as tears blurred the fiery orange ball that was now slipping below the line of the horizon.

Sadie wrapped her arms around me more tightly.

“Poor girl,” she whispered. “But I’ve done the same myself. I’ve spent two days obsessing about a girl I just met. I’ve followed her around the festival, hoping she would notice me, which of course she didn’t, and now I’ve found out that she’s in love with someone else. I’m just as big an idiot.”

I twisted slightly and looked at her.

“But Sadie, if you’re interested in this girl, what are you doing here with me?”

Sadie sat up straight and used her arms to pull me round to face her. In the soft golden light of dusk, she looked like a statue of burnished bronze. It was a vision that stole my breath with a gasp. Her dark eyes sought mine, glancing intently from one to the other. Then her face dropped, breaking the eye contact and at the same moment she placed her hands on my hips.

“I am with her,” she said, so quietly I hardly heard the words.

What? I wanted to yelp, but Sadie looked like a frightened animal and I didn’t want to startle her. Inside, my stomach flipped. It was so unexpected. I’d never really been interested in girls before and they hadn’t been interested in me. But it seemed that this one was. And… I think I felt okay about it.

I put out a hand to Sadie’s chin and tilted her face up so I could look into her eyes again. Yes, I definitely felt okay about it. She still looked scared, so I smiled to reassure her but I knew that if anything was going to happen, she’d have to lead the way. This was virgin territory for me and suddenly I was the one feeling nervous.

Time stood still and, as we searched each other’s eyes, I think we both knew we were standing on the brink of something. She took my hand and I took the plunge. As our lips tentatively came together, I heard the familiar opening chords of Drive Me Crazy crashing out in the distance. The Tomahawks were on stage and I wasn’t there. And it didn’t matter one bit.

Sadie’s lips were soft and pliant beneath mine and then they moved across my mouth and I felt her tongue very slowly tracing the outline of my lips. My breath caught in my throat—it felt different to being kissed by a man, in a good way. She sucked my lower lip into her mouth and when I felt her teeth on it, my insides turned to liquid.

I wrapped my arms around her and pressed my body against hers, feeling the jut of her nipples brushing against my t-shirt. But even as I reveled in the new sensation of being breast-to-breast with another woman, she pushed me back.

“Are you sure?” she said. “You really want to do this?”

I nodded. “I want to,” I said.

“Have you been with a girl before?”


She sighed and at that moment I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do more than surrender myself to this beautiful girl high on the hillside above Glastonbury, to the sound of The Tomahawks playing in the background.


Summer Loving is out today on Amazon.


Sun-soaked beaches, glittering blue pool surfaces and oceans painted by an orange-hued sunset have one thing in common: they’re the perfect background for falling in love. Who hasn’t felt that first wave of butterflies rise deep in their belly while pool side? Or that first quickening of the pulse when lounging on a lush patch of grass during a music festival? Summer is the perfect time to indulge in that sudden rush of first love or, equally so, the warm grip of long-fostered feelings for another woman.  
This collection of fourteen stories runs the gamut of lesbian holiday romance stories. An Australian cookery course, a Belfast coffee shop, and even a romance writers’ conference are some of the backdrops for the summer love that unfolds in this lesbian romance anthology. Tamsin Flowers’s Drive Me Crazy takes place during Glastonbury, while Katya Harris’s sensual tale of passion between long-time lovers is entirely set by the side of the pool. Newcomer Brooke Winters brings us an irresistible tale of a woman running into a Mistress she’s played with in Spain, while Lucy Felthouse’s heroine gets much more heat than she bargained for when she goes volcano-watching on Lanzarote.  
With stories by highly rated authors, including Annabeth Leong, Allison Wonderland, Erzabet Bishop and Harper Bliss, this collection is the perfect sensual companion to any holiday.

Wicked Wednesday: Three

This week’s Wicked Wednesday theme is “Three” and I’ve written a short piece for it.

Girl's back


Three is a significant number in our relationship for so many reasons.

Three. The number of dates before I slept with you.

Three. The number of orgasms I had our first night.

Three. The number of years we were together.

Three. The number of times you proposed to me.

Three. The number of times I turned you down—at least I showed some sense.

Three. The number of other women you slept with.


Three. The number of ways in which you broke me.


First, you broke my body. Broke it for anyone else, ever. No one will fuck me the way you did, digging into my hips with your fingertips, branding my neck with your teeth. You’ve spoiled me for other lovers, for more timid men who would caress the planes you used to bruise. Who’d kiss me where you bit me. Who’d make love to me instead of fucking me hard and nasty. I have scars from my time with you, physical scars. I wear them with pride for the memories they hold. My body was yours. My body is yours. My body will always be yours. Three times over.


Second, you broke my mind. You tore through my mind with your games. Your mindfucks. You were the consummate player. You always knew what I wanted and you always refused me. Or added a condition, a codicil, a covenant. This only on condition of that. Nothing was ever easy or straightforward with you. You twisted everything and I became addicted to your reversals. You made me beg. You allowed me happiness, a second at a time, then took it back for so much longer. I couldn’t get enough of you but ultimately I had too much. You extracted too high a price for the pleasures you gave. You left a shadow across my mind that the light will never dissipate.


Finally, you broke my heart. You didn’t break it—you shattered it into a thousand pieces. Over and over again, as fast as I could pick up the shards, you swung at it with the sledgehammer of a careless word, a thoughtless omission, a calculated slight. You cradled my fragile heart in your cupped hands. Then you crushed it, or dropped it, or simply forgot about it as you turned the bright beam of your attention elsewhere. You rode over it slipshod on your way to something better. I became an expert at sewing it back together, stitching up the deepest cuts and mopping up the spilled blood. It will never heal. It will never beat so fast and strong for someone else.

Yesterday, you sent me a one word message.


No, there will be no four.

Three sated me.


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Alchemy xii – June release & six months in!

Alchemy xii - June coverI can’t believe it – today is release day for Alchemy xii – June and that means we’re six months in! Halfway through! Back in December when I pressed ‘publish’ on the very first installment of the Alchemy xii saga, I was a bundle of nerves. Could this madcap idea of publishing a novella a month for a whole year, following the burgeoning relationship between a Dom and his sub, really work? Would I be able to make it happen or had I truly bitten off more than I could chew?

Fast forward to now and it’s almost becoming a habit – my little conveyor belt of writing, editing, sending out to betas, correcting, formatting, cover designing, blurb writing and uploading onto a multitude of differents sites, updating my subscribers, promoting…each month, every month. I’m handling it but it has to be said it’s a job-and-a-half and then some! Yes, I’m looking forward to December!

But I’m also really proud of what I’ve achieved. It’s been no mean feat and the amount I’ve learned across a range of publishing skills has astounded me. And over that time, I’ve built up a loyal readership who wait patiently for each new installment of the story – and that’s what makes it all worthwhile.

Alchemy xii - January coverIn other words, I’m celebrating. And to share my delight at having at least made it to the halfway point, I’m going to make Alchemy xii – January FREE for the whole of June. (You know already, of course, that the series prologue, Alchemy xii – New Year’s Eve is perma-free across all the distributors!) So far January‘s already showing free at the Alchemy Store, Kobo, iTunesAll Romance Ebooks, Excitica and Smashwords – so go and download your copy now. It should be free at Barnes & Noble and on and Amazon UK very shortly – check back here for updates.


Furthermore, Alchemy xii – June is out now at the Alchemy Store,, Amazon UK, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, All Romance Ebooks, iTunes, Exctica and Smashwords. Let me tempt you with the blurb:

It’s June and Harry wants to experiment. Olivia, naturally, is his willing subject and is treated to some unknown pleasure in his dungeon. But what starts out as fun soon takes a turn for the worse when Harry flies his subs down to Kentucky and hands them over to Dick Glass and his assistants for a weekend of pony play training.

Poor Olivia! When she hears the words “pony play” she pictures herself in a pair of jodhpurs with a crop in her hand. However, the reality couldn’t be more different. Decked out in a bridle and hoof boots, and with a beautiful blonde tail to match her hair, Olivia is subjected to a stern lesson in dressage and showjumping. But it’s not all bad! The hot girl groom she’s assigned to, Mandy, used to be one of Harry’s subs—perhaps Mandy can tell her a thing or two about Harry, not to mention Raf. And Olivia can’t resist the urge to compete when she’s entered into the monthly pony gala…

And an excerpt:

Twang! Pain ricocheted through my right nipple.

“Ouch!” I said with a grin.

“Oh, come on, Liv,” said Harry. “That was nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. It was delicious,” I said. “Do it again.”

“Do it again?” His eyebrows shot up.

“Please, Sir, would you mind doing it again?”

“Better,” he growled, giving my clamped left nipple a vicious flick with his index finger.

Pain bit sharply, flying to the pleasure centers in my brain and my cunt. I sighed. Harry was lying between my legs with his chin resting on my belly. I was cuffed to the big bed in his dungeon—restrained at both wrists and ankles—while he was trying out a little experiment on me.

“This morning,” he’d explained, as he’d secured me in his favorite position, “I’m going to give you a nipplegasm.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said. As far as I was concerned Harry could give me anything he wanted, especially if it ended in gasm. “What’s a nipplegasm?”

“Don’t be stupid, Liv. It’s perfectly self-evident.”

Which of course, it was. Looking as sexy as hell in just his jeans, Harry crawled up the bed toward me to settle a sly kiss between my legs.

“That’s all you’re getting,” he said, addressing my cunt. Then he slid further up to bestow all of his attention on first one, then the other nipple. Once they’d stood up and taken note, he’d pulled two small metal devices from his pocket. A second later I was clamped.

God, I love nothing more on this earth than the first sharp sting of a nipple clamp going on. Followed by the crescendo of the pain intensifying until the endorphins kick back at it and my breath hitches in my throat at the hit of extreme pleasure. But Harry wasn’t going to leave it at that. He had torment on his mind—he was going to torment and torture me by tugging on those clamps until I came. Without a single stroke or slap to any other part of my body.

Of course, I was game.

Ping! He flicked on my nipple again. Tug! He pulled on the fine silver chain that ran between the two clamps. I gasped with delight. But a question popped into my head.

“Sir, I was wondering about the Tusker…”

Harry looked up at me with a creased brow.

“If this isn’t working for you, Liv…”

I shook my head.

“Just quickly,” I said.


“You said Belladonna only uses it on her permanent subs.”

“I did.”

“So she has permanent subs?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Who are they?”

Harry burst out laughing. “That, dear girl, is none of your business.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” he said, warily.

“Do you have permanent subs?” Of course, this is what I was really wondering.

He tweaked mercilessly on the silver chain between my breasts, making me yelp as a flash of pain coursed through me.

“What makes you think I would have time to work a sub? I’ve got four trainee subs to keep in order. I don’t need extra.”

“But they change every twelve months. It’s not like having a relationship, Sir.”

He grabbed one nipple between his thumb and index finger, twisting the clamp hard until I screamed.

“You’re out of line, Olivia. Your teachers’ private lives are none of your business.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

But was I? I’d been plagued with curiosity ever since Harry had mentioned Belladonna’s subs.

“You will be!”

He pulled off one of the nipple clamps. In the starburst of pain that followed, I realized he’d replaced it with his teeth. He tugged on the chain to yank at my other nipple and as the two sensations collided I forgot about Harry and Belladonna’s possible subs. Instead, I was consumed by Harry in the here and now, biting sharply on my nipple, making my hips push up hard under his weight. He pulled on the small globe of flesh between his teeth, stretching the orb of my breast away from my ribs. One of his hands grabbed my other breast, squeezing it in a vice-like grip. I threw my head back on the pillow, surrendering to his assault, letting waves of hot, sexy, sharp sensation plow through me, up toward the base of my throat and down to my clit, which was itself aching to be similarly used.

Wicked Wednesday – A Study of Desire…

This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is ‘Desire’ and it made me instantly think of a story I wrote a while back – Pasha. It is, quite simply, a study of desire – the desire of an older gymnastics coach for a young gymnast on another team. Here’s an excerpt of it to spice up your wicked Wednesday…

Male torso


Pasha Rabinovich was being lifted up to take the rings when he caught my eye. I think at that moment, he caught the eye of every coach in the hall. Who wouldn’t want to train such a specimen of physical perfection? But I can’t even try to pretend for one minute that my obsession with him was born out of professional interest. I had physical perfection on my team already. In spades. No, with Pasha it was something different. A compulsion to watch him and look at him, and not take my eyes off him—whatever he was doing. His giant hands, bound tightly with leather grips, grabbed at the rings, sending a puff of chalk into the air. His coach let go of him and stepped back from the apparatus.  Pasha pulled himself up into the Iron Cross position and held it for, what, four or five seconds? Certainly longer than the required two. Then he started his routine and for the next forty seconds I was mesmerized. He was wearing a white, figure-skimming singlet and tight white track pants but in my mind’s eye he hung there naked.

Pale skin, made even paler in places by a flurry of chalk dust, his body hair too blond to make an impression—he looks like a Greek statue suspended in mid air. Every muscle, every sinew, taut but rock solid. Not a tremor or a twitch. He hangs motionless, white light bouncing off the planes of his shoulders and torso. His biceps and deltoids bulge as they hold him rigid. I can imagine the heat they’re generating, the burn in his upper arms and across the back of his neck. On his face, three smudges of color—two dark eyes focusing on something far away, dark lips pursed in concentration. My eyes meander down his body, taking in every hard, white contour, rippling down his abs. And then they linger. His cock, not pale like the rest of him, but graduating from rosy pink to deep maroon at the end, stands out, erect and perfectly horizontal. His magnificent cock, as still and stone-like as the rest of him.

I notice the muscles corded down his thigh. The bulge of his calves that I long to run my finger down. His sculpted feet. All absolutely motionless. The only sign of the incredible tension that holds him in position is the soft pulsing of a pale blue vein at the base of his neck. I wonder if he’s even breathing.

The rings snap against the cable and he’s swinging up in a wide arc, his body swooping like a swallow through the air, spiraling upward, motionless at the top, plunging down to where I’m waiting for him underneath…

A perfect dismount and a high score. I went to fetch coffee and talk tactics on the team bench until it was time for our next spot. But I noted Pasha’s next apparatus, too. Petersen and Bud Ayers were both waiting to make their vaults and it gave me a great view across to the high bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pasha stretching while I eased my athletes into the zone. Ayers was up first, an explosion down the runway before launching onto the vault and up into the stratosphere. His landing let him down a fraction but we all sighed with relief that the first jump was done.

Petersen was good. He was a strong all rounder and he’d introduced a new degree of difficulty into his vaults for this competition. The audience let out a collective gasp at the height he achieved and he hit the ground feet together, without a wobble. I looked back over my shoulder to see Pasha dusting his hands with chalk as his bear-like coach waited to assist his jump up to the bar. Making the sign of the cross against his chest, Pasha stepped forward. The Bear stood up behind him, briefly squeezed one shoulder and then lifted him until he could reach the single horizontal bar. He adjusted the width of his grip and the crowd fell quiet.

His first move is almost imperceptible, a flexing of his alabaster shoulders, a tightening of his biceps. Then his legs swing up and he seems to defy gravity as his body, so beautiful, turns around the bar like a spoke around a wheel. He lets go with one hand and twists in flight, his movement so fluid and his muscles rippling and elastic. He bends into a pike to bring his legs through the gap between his arms and the bar, the pale orbs of his buttocks pulled tight until I can almost feel them in my hands…firm, strong, smooth. In my mind his skin is cool and dry in contrast to my own which is flushed and heated. Pale and creamy against my olive tan as he stretches his length out against me…

His dismount was nothing short of spectacular—he twisted through the air like a salmon leaping and then came down firmly, feet together, without a stutter. I exhaled and started to breathe again.