The unexamined life is not worth living-
Truth in that phrase. I've been doing a bit of self examination ( hey, not THAT kind. Get your minds out of the gutter) the past few days I've been laid up with a terrible cold, morphing into some kind of Bubonic Plague mutation. Okay, perhaps I'm being slightly dramatic. Whatever the hell it is, over the counter sinus/cold meds or chicken soup and rest not doing a damn thing. Finally dragged my ass to the doctor. Hoping this Z-pack of antibiotics does the trick.
So, it begs the question, with my body filled with icky bacteria and my brain clouded from the remnants of NyQuil, should I be blogging or blowing shit up in Call of Duty : Modern Warfare 3?
Dunno. Probably suck at both. Here, at least, I won't have a 15 year old calling me a Noob while knifing me in the back for the zillionth time.
I'm grateful for all that has happened to me in 2011.
The good, bad and ugly.
I'm not going to dwell on the negative. Not my style. Yes, I made mistakes. My flaws revealed. Did the shoulda, woulda coulda or wish I hadn't.
Haven't we all? Hey, misery loves company, right?
I've met some people who've had a profound impact on my life. I've gotten to know a few quite intimately. You know who you are. Not gonna list names. I know I will forget someone and they will feel slighted.
I'm a professionally published author, not many can lay claim to that. My choice of genre has alienated some long time friends. Sad, but true. I mourn for the loss of friendship, so carefully built over decades, however, the new friends I've made via social media, they are as special to me as the ones I made in the sandbox so many years ago. Thank you my Face Book pals.
2012 is around the corner. I hope to be as blessed in the new year as the one rapidly leaving us.
If all you folks are with me in '12, then I know I will be.
None of this would be possible without my wife. Our relationship is unique and special, and some may view it with a arched brow, but after 25 years and her support of my writing and allowing me to have many friends of the opposite gender, the hell with tradition.
We've out lasted the naysayers ten fold.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
I'd like to welcome the lovely Kelly Lee to Half Past Midnight. Brave lass....
Um, hello? Am I in the right place?
*peeks head through a crack in the door and sees KB*
KB: 'C'mon in y'all got the right digs . . . Don't be shy. I have caaaannnddddyy . . .
Well, thank goodness! For a minute there I thought I'd stepped into a movie set for a sexy art film! Your place is awesome. Surreal and a little intimidating, but rockin' cool. Thanks so much for having me over.
KB: You are most welcome and thank you for the kind words!
I've been looking forward to this for a long time…I love any place that's got naked people on the front door. J
KB: My philosophy is ya can't have enough nakkid peeps around!
Hand me a solid pour in a goldfish-bowl-sized glass of red wine, and I'll talk all night.
KB: My kinda gal! Done! The wine is poured; comfy chairs set up, and let the interlocution begin!
Q1. When did you first start writing and when did you finish your first book?
I started my first book over ten years ago, and got as far as the first 25 pages. I had no idea where the story was going, other than I wanted to write something, but got discouraged very quickly and gave up. I dusted off the 'ol keyboard again about two years ago, with renewed motivation and a lot more maturity to really embrace the amount of work it takes to write a full length novel. Something clicked in me the second time around, and I finished the first draft of the manuscript in December 2010. I wish I still had those 25 pages from so long ago…but they're long gone and sitting on a hard drive somewhere at the bottom of an e-waste recycling program. Or, by now, it's probably been repurposed into a toaster!
Q2. Where do you get your ideas?
With Murdering Eve, the idea started as a nugget in the back of my head as a result of a trip to Europe about five years ago. After Paris, Rome, Florence, and Greece over a 3 week backpacking journey, I fell in love with Greek Mythology. I've always loved fantasy – vampires, werewolves, fairies, etc… and over time, a new world began to develop in the scary place that is my head. A world which is comprised of Four Realms, which has become the backbone of the series I'm writing.
What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why?
Strangely enough, some of my favorite chapters to write were actually the ones from the antagonist point of view. The "bad guy" in the book is a sarcastic, ambitious, cutthroat woman named Holly, who would be perfectly happy stomping all over her own mother to get ahead. Getting into her mind and motivation - and really embracing the "bad" - was exceptionally fun for me. Which is why she's the lead female character in the sequel, which is almost complete~ J
How did you come up with the title?
Great question. It's not something I took lightly. When you write an Urban Fantasy with strong romantic elements, you want to let folks know there's a strong romance story in there. But in this case, there's a lot of action in the book with the relentless pursuit of Eve by our "bad guy", so I wanted to stay true to that. Luckily, the cover art of the book helps reinforce that romance element.
Can you share a little of your work?
Well sure! I'd be happy to provide the blurb & an excerpt for Murdering Eve.
Eve Moore is very likely going insane. In one week’s time, she has clear memories of surviving a murderous attack by her dead husband’s mistress, teleporting to another Realm, learning her best friend isn’t human, and uncovering the existence of trolls, titans and mythical Gods. If she hadn’t gone off her nut, Eve wouldn’t be coming to grips with the fact that her mother had an affair with an immortal and she is apparently their love-child.
But since she’s getting pretty comfortable with it all, she figures she’s probably strapped down somewhere cold and antiseptic with drool dribbling down her chin. Except if she’s locked in sanitarium, as she must be, why is she so damn scared of the God of War that threatened to send her soul to the Underworld? And why does the mere glance from a gorgeous man, one that she was tasked to find and return to Olympus, set fire racing through her veins?
Whether it’s reality or lunacy, Eve has no idea, but she is on one hell of a ride. If only she could get that red-headed harlot who tried to kill her the first time to cease and desist on the murder attempts, she could enjoy her psychosis in peace…
The hinges screeched as she opened the motel room door. She tossed the towels on the bed, which sat in the middle of the room, covered by a ratty blue bedspread. Two nightstands had visible bolts securing them to the floor. An overhead light fixture with a broken shade hung loosely from the ceiling. The beige carpet felt stiff under her feet, years of dirt and grime hardening the fibers.
There was literally nothing else in the room—not a curtain, not a lamp, and not a Bible in the nightstand. Behind the only other door, which had a hole punched in the center of it, was a utilitarian restroom. The toilet seat was missing. The mirror was made of something plastic and shimmery. The place was a certifiable dump. Holly figured the room might be a good place to torture demons, but that was about all she would do there.
Thinking through what she needed to do next, Holly absently tapped the dagger nestled in the sheath at her thigh. She needed a weapon, but the blade she wore had been created by Hephaestus. Weapons forged at his anvil were fashioned specifically to injure supernaturals. After the debacle of trying to use the Acheron Cup on someone she believed to be human, Holly wasn't willing to risk using a supernatural weapon again.
Silently assessing her options, Holly settled on one of the few makeshift weapons available to her. She lifted the lid on the toilet tank. Black grunge from the underside slid grossly across her fingers. She wiped her hand on a nearby towel, grabbed two washcloths, then picked up the lid, both hands wrapped in the washcloths to prevent slippage. A few practice swings later, Holly noted the porcelain club balanced nicely.
She tossed her new weapon on the bed along with her room key and extra towels, then moved toward the wall separating rooms 23 and 24. Before she placed her ear to the plaster, she easily heard the distinctive thunk-thunk-thunk that could only be the sound of a headboard hitting the wall. Listening more carefully, she made out the faint grunting and moaning of sexual activity in the next room. No time like the present.
She quietly let herself out of her room with her weapon tucked under her arm. Taking a deep, steadying breath outside of room 24, she withdrew the skeleton key from her pocket. The key slid silently into the lock. The door swung open with only a slight squeak from the hinges.
As it turned out, she could have accompanied her intrusion with an exploding stick of dynamite and she'd still have entered unnoticed. The couple locked together on the bed wouldn't have heard anything anyway. The woman had her eyelids scrunched together tightly, her mouth forming a small O, as the man had her pinned in what looked like a horribly uncomfortable position against the headboard.
Holly closed the door behind her and tilted her head, observing the humans crudely copulating. The poor woman's right leg was bent at a strange angle, practically cold cocking her in the forehead with her kneecap at every sharp thrust. The man jerked and bucked without a consistent rhythm, but clearly seemed in the throes of something intense. Holly shrugged and adjusted the toilet tank lid in both hands, as she moved closer to the bed. She got a better look at both of them and grimaced. They were not an attractive pair, no matter the species.
The man shouted his climax and the woman's eyes opened—probably in relief the experience was over—then bulged in fear as Holly widened her stance, taking a swing at the back of the man's head. He buried his face into the woman's neck at the right moment to avoid the brunt of the blow. The lid struck the back of his head and the front of the woman's face simultaneously. Blood spurted from the woman's nose and mouth as she screeched in pain. The man merely went limp. That pissed Holly off a little.
The woman frantically pushed the man off her and scrambled to the opposite side of the bed, but Holly smacked her on the top of the head with the heavy porcelain. She dropped like a rag doll, unconscious. The lid dropped to the carpeted floor with a dull whack, and Holly grabbed the woman's purse off the nightstand to search for cash. She found two condoms, a stick of gum, a driver's license from the state of Kentucky in the name of Becky Oldham, and exactly forty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents. Great.
Disappointment welled in her chest, but she dampened it quickly, talking to herself. It's a marathon, not a sprint. She had expected collecting enough money would take more than one try. After all, the ratty motel she'd targeted wasn't the Ritz.
Picking up the man's pants to rifle through his pockets, she felt a large lump in a front pocket. An impish grin lit her face. The thick wad of bills rolled into Holly's eager hand, and she dropped the pants. A groan emanated from deep in the man's chest as he lay face down on the bed. Holly ignored him. Flipping the bills out and counting quickly, she noted only one or two large bills wrapped around the outside of the roll. The rest were, predictably, of smaller denomination. The man was obviously trying to impress someone with the wad of cash. She got halfway through counting the preponderance of one-dollar bills when the man pushed himself up, cradling his head in his hands.
Holly set the money on the edge of the dresser, then picked up the lid, waiting for him to fully regain consciousness.
He blinked stupidly and looked down at the woman. Blood seeped out from her head, spreading across the rumpled sheets. The man jerked away, slipping and falling off the bed. He landed on his ass, his feet kicking madly when he saw Holly standing over him. He scrambled in a backward crab walk until his shoulders hit the wall. She lifted her weapon and he froze, as though his brain was trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The sudden impact of the heavy lid against his temple prevented him from connecting the dots.
Blood splattered across the bed. The man's body slumped to the side, wedging his face between the wall and the back of the nightstand. Holly dropped the lid again and went back to counting. All in, the cash totaled two hundred and twenty-eight dollars.
Allowing herself a brief moment of satisfaction, she acknowledged the total was more than she thought she'd get from one couple in such a seedy motel. Unfortunately, the amount wasn't nearly enough to get her to Scotland. At least eight more rooms were currently occupied as of about ten minutes ago. With the inevitable revolving door of people checking in and checking out, she needed to work fast.
Shoving the thick roll of money into her jeans, she opened the wrapper on a stick of Becky's gum and popped it into her mouth. Spearmint flavored, my favorite. She picked up the lid and a grabbed a towel from the restroom, wiping off the blood quickly.
Holly looked down at the unconscious, naked couple. Should she finish them off, or leave them? The idea of killing them didn't appeal to her. Whenever possible, she avoided such things, but taking Eric's life hadn't exactly caused a crisis of conscience.
Holly glanced up into the mirror above the dresser and watched the crease between her eyebrows deepen into a scowl as she considered the best option. What were the chances of the couple waking up and reporting the incident to the cops? Looking around the room, she figured the odds of them calling the police were next to nil. The man was probably a cheating husband, and Becky was probably a hooker. If Holly killed them, a double murder guaranteed police involvement. Given the circumstances, they'd probably scurry back to their lives and try to forget what happened.
Decision made, she tucked her weapon safely back under her arm, readied the skeleton key in her hand, then slipped out of the room without another glance at the couple that lay bleeding in room 24.
As I hand back to you my empty wine glass, I have to say you've been an incredible host. Thank you so much for having me, KB!
KB: Much too kind m'dear. Thank you for stopping by, you raised the property values!
If you want to read more excerpts or find out more about Kelly, you can:
Visit her at www.kellyleefiction.com
Like her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/Kelly-L-Lee-Author, or
Follow her on twitter: @kellyleefiction
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The clock strikes half past the hour, welcoming the man, the myth and spork wielding legend, J.S. Wayne to the inaugural debut of Half Past Midnight Author Spotlight. Welcome my prolific and talented friend!
First, I want to thank KB for letting me be the first guest at his new blog! Don’t mind the ostrich, she’ll be fine in the corner. Um, I do have this little problem with the rabid Tasmanian devil, though. Yeah, the strippers are fine over on the sofa, and where do you want me to put the beer keg?
- Drop the keg next to me. Hey, watch the toes, son! I'll get the red Solo cups and entertain the strippers. Keep an eye on the ostrich. No sand here, so I don't want the bird sticking its head up my as...er..ah. why is the Taz Devil looking at me like I'm lunch? He...he... nice Taz Devil..good boy.
Er..ah... J.S. you have the floor, maestro.....
Er..ah... J.S. you have the floor, maestro.....
Cool. Now that’s settled . . .
Writing is one of the most solitary professions on Earth. Oh, with the advent of the Internet, it’s better, but you’re still going to spend a whole lot of time isolated from anything not directly related to getting the words on the page. There’s a perfectly good reason why, in my first nine months as a contracted author, I’ve nailed down seven contracts and have submissions out at two other houses: I just didn’t have much to do besides write until recently.
But the fact of the matter is, human beings need socialization in order to function. Look at Edgar Allen Poe or Vincent Van Gogh if you want some spooky pictures of what a person who tries to live in absolute isolation turns into. Severed ears and bad absinthe habits. Hey, my ears aren’t much to look at, but they’re mine, dammit!
Luckily, there are more opportunities for author collaboration than ever before thanks to the Internet, including blog tours and hops, websites, and email communication. Anthologies, while not the most lucrative things for authors to do, certainly help to get peoples’ names out there in front of the reading public. These are a case of one hand washing the other: the better known the authors involved, the more everyone profits.
I’m very big on participating in as many collaborative ventures as I possibly can. What attracts me varies from project to project. In one case, it may be the subject matter; in another, the other authors involved; and in yet another, I may see an opportunity to break out of my shell a little and try something completely different. Whatever the reason, these ventures invariably lead to great promotional opportunities that a writer working alone simply can’t get.
Even better, the camaraderie these events offer between writers in the form of getting to know them better and looking back at the end with a worn-out grin and a “Damn, we done good!” is something that just can’t be matched. Only another writer can understand what a writer goes through, and the emotional ups and downs that accompany the writing process. So getting to know and understand your fellows a little better results in a lot of witty banter, back-and-forth chit-chat, and great ideas being formulated.
The Timeless Desire blog tour is such an event, and I’m very proud to be part of it. Bryl Tyne, H.C. Brown, Sarah Ballance, KevaD, Jess Anastasi, Brita Addams, Lucy Felthouse and myself are all having a lot of fun bouncing back and forth between each other’s blogs, sharing our deepest and most intimate secrets and sexy excerpts from our latest work, so I’ll hope you’ll come by and join us for weeks three and four! You can check it out here: http://nobleromanceauthorsblogtour.blogspot.com/ , and don’t forget to check out all the great books on offer for the “Timeless Desire” line!
In the meantime, I have a new story scheduled for release on November 28th from Noble Romance Publishing! This is my first foray into m/m romance, and I’m both really excited and scared out of my ever-loving mind to see how it’ll do. The excerpt is unedited, so don’t be surprised if there aren’t a few changes in the released version. In the meantime, I hope y’all enjoy it!
Thanks again to K.B. for having me by today! You can check me out at http://nobleromance.com/authors/155, on Twitter @jswayne702, or on my blog at http://jswayne.wordpress.com. Oh, and, uh . . . watch out for the ostrich! She’s a little fussy when she doesn’t get some beer.
J.S. My pleasure to have you here. Thank you for gracing the pages of my new and improved blog! Oh, I'll take the strippers home. Hey, its cool, bro. No problem. I'm sure you have to write...no really, its no big deal. No, REALLY, I'll drive...
While J.S. and I fight over the keys, and who takes the ostrich and Tasmanian Devil back to the Zoo, why don't y'all take a sneak peek at this delicious excerpt from Dancing on Flames:
In the aftermath of a raid on a band of child slavers, Russell and Ion of the Chosen of Fenrir find themselves baring their hearts and souls—and their bodies—to one another. In doing so, they violate one of their Clan’s most sacred laws: Look not to your own kind for love.
Now, one will lay his life on the line on the Path of the Flame Dance, where the Mother Earth will judge whether the love they have is worthy—or a betrayal of their own blood. The other must watch as his lover walks the fire, or perishes in the attempt.
Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same. . . .
Stand or fall, the two warriors will never be the same. . . .
The silver wolf stole a glance at its larger, black cohort.
What do you think, Ion?
The black wolf gave a low growl and shook its flanks. Its posture and bearing spoke of barely-restrained fury, even as its blue eyes glinted with an intelligence far beyond that which might be observed in its smaller brethren.
Slaver scum, came the ominous mental retort. Looks like our information was right.
When do you want to attack?
The black wolf swiveled its muzzle up to study the high-riding moon. After a long moment, he thought, No time like the present, Russell. You up for this?
Russell chuffed, a sound that would have terrified any of the men below. It was the canid equivalent of a mirthless laugh. Give me a moment, and then we can go.
He looked down at the camp and focused all his will on a plea to the Mighty Mother. Bring forth your breath, Mother, that it may shroud our attack. In his mind, he began a low chant which quickly built in power and volume. Below, a thin streamer of mist crept into the camp. In moments more followed, until a billowing cloud of fog enveloped the tiny enclave. The merrymaking in the camp cut off, to be replaced by cries of consternation and alarm at the unnaturally fast-moving fog.
Russell looked at Ion. Will that cover our entry adequately?
Ion snorted. Well done, Brings-The-Sign. Let’s make an end of these fools.
The silver wolf winked. I thought you’d never ask.
Silently, the two wolves stole down from the hilltop, picking their way carefully. Russell placed his paws carefully on the hard ground, feeling the textures and shapes beneat
h him and mentally cataloguing everything he touched. Granite here gave way to soil there, which in turn melted into soft grass and small ferns. A field of pebbles about halfway down made him go around, for fear of dislodging one and sending it tumbling down the hill. Might as well bang a drum to let them know we’re coming if we’re going to be that clumsy.
This was not Russell’s first raid. Far from it. Back in the Caves of the Chosen, he had a belt festooned with trinkets and trophies of the many battles he’d fought since coming here, a year earlier. He had earned his Clan name honestly when he had stolen two letters from the neon sign that advertised a massage parlor where many of the “employees” were children. After seeing them all safely out, he had set the place ablaze with cleansing fire. Although the moniker he bore was originally intended as a small slight, he carried it with pride.
Tonight was the first time that he’d ever gone out with Ion, though. The black wolf was a legend within the Chosen of Fenrir, frequently vanishing for weeks at a time from the borders of the Chosen lands. When he returned, he always had fascinating tales to tell. But those tales were always backed up by the macabre souvenirs he carried in his pack; at any moment, he could pluck any item from a vampire fang to a crow’s feather out of his collection and give a detailed accounting of how, when, where, and under what conditions he came by the item.
As a living legend, the Elders often predicted that Ion would not return from whatever errand he went out on. Legends among the Chosen tended to have very short life spans, and Ion had a talent for getting himself into scrapes that the average wolf could never hope to get out of. Time and again, Ion had demonstrated his resourcefulness and cunning; thus far, these qualities had kept him alive where a lesser Scion of Fenrir would surely have fallen.
Russell entertained a brief moment of pity for the men whose camp they were about to invade, earning him a hard, sidelong glare from Ion. He shook his head hastily. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I have any sympathy for them, he thought. I’m just thinking that between you and me, this isn’t even a fair fight.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Disclaimer: I purchased the following e-book.
A woman, a man. Sausalito California 2011, San Francisco 1899. Although they live "an era apart", their goal is the same: find her missing father. And so, they meet...
Time Travel. Parallel universes. Clash of cultures. High action. Intrigue. Passion. Romance.
Yup. Can't find a better way to spend my time! I had the luxury of immersing myself in this grand tale one overcast Saturday afternoon. Giant mug o' coffee, nested on the couch with my laptop, favorite plaid wool blanket (hey, no Linus wise cracks) and I let the real world shimmer, melt into the gray of the afternoon.
Tracy Richardson receives a cryptic message concerning her aloof, brilliant professor father may be in danger and steps from the 21st century into 1899 San Francisco, where she meets aristocratically proper Garret Burnes.
Modern sensibilities versus the staid, proper mannerisms of the waning days of the Victorian Era. The clash of culture makes for engaging exchanges and Chris Lange deftly captures each subtle nuance.
Along the way, we are introduced to a colorful cast of characters-the ruggedly masculine gunslinger, Vampire huntress, a humorous, capable Dr. Watson-esque everyman accompanied by his faithful wolf hound and a mysteriously dark and sexy guardian vampire.
The story unraveled like a taut, fast paced graphic novel, with a sizzling dash of sex, and time-crossed lovers.
Get lost in this compelling fantasy this weekend or any-day!
An Era Apart
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I'll be at Book Boost Blog on October 11th, 2011 chatting about the state of Demons in modern Romantic literature. It is in celebration of all things Demon-y. Stop by for a chance to win a copy of my dark, edgy erotic paranormal romance The Darker side of Heaven. Be there or be square-as in a charcoal briquette. Demons don't like to be stood up!
Monday, October 3, 2011
The 18th floor is many things. Namely, a hot, viscerally erotic read. While its overt sexuality is readily apparent, there is an undercurrent of tension regarding the characters lifestyles. Margie Church deftly weaves complex sociological and psychological themes in her blistering, sizzling, decidedly adult book.
I enjoyed the depth of compassion Sebi, A Dom, displayed to his novice Sub, Alexa. It's not your typical BDSM story.
Emotionally gratifying and satisfying ( on so many levels), The 18th floor is a must read for anyone who is looking for something outside the usual romance convention.
Note: Unless otherwise stated, all books that I review, I have purchased.
I'm always impressed when an author can take established mythology, legend, fact or fiction and make it their own. J.S. Wayne deftly weaves biblical lore within a contemporary tapestry, making for a familiar, yet unique and plausible reality mixed with elements of fantasy.
Angels Cry continues the tale of Moradiel, a Soul Bearing Angel who falls in love with human Ariel, sparing her life by altering events per-ordained by a higher power.
On the run from the Angel of Death, Azrael, they make their stand, of all places, in Sin City, Las Vegas. I found this to be an amusing touch by Mr. Wayne.
There is a large cast in this novel and while some may argue that to have many ancillary characters in a romance novel detracts from main thrust (pun intended) of the central protagonists of the story. I whole-heartedly disagree. The secondary characters, fully realized and textured, add dramatic texture and a bit of comic relief to the eventual showdown between Azrael and Moradiel.
Angels Cry is a story about the enduring power of love, and how it can literally, move Heaven and Hell.
Monday, September 19, 2011
I'd like to share a hot excerpt from my erotic paranormal romance- The Darker side of Heaven. Now available on Amazon Kindle!!
The Darker side of Heaven- Kindle
Adam's eyes widened; his nostrils flared. Sexually charged pheromones permeated the air.
"Good Evening, April."
So much for no distractions.
She stood in the doorway clad in a tight, Harley Davidson, long-sleeved T-shirt, snug, very short, jean shorts, and brown Ugg boots. She looked every inch the modern
"Did I come at a bad time?" April asked, placing a blood red fingernail to her lips.
"Understatement of the year, I'd say it's colossally poor timing."
Adam gazed upon her body as she slinked toward him. The exaggerated sway of her hips, her thumbs hooked in her belt loops, pulling her shorts down just enough to expose her navel, affording him a glimpse of smooth skin above her sex.
His cock twitched.
"Oh, Adam Blake, I intend to."
He grimaced. Her hormonal scent wreaked havoc with his supernatural senses. He hadn't meant to project his thoughts.
"This really is not such a good time. Your mother called the Sheriff's station. She's worried about you, rightly so tonight. The woods aren't safe."
April laughed, running her hands over the lithe contours of her body.
"The woods aren't the only thing that isn't safe tonight. She glanced at Adam's crotch. "Your cock, for starters."
Adam clenched his jaw. April's presence was a major distraction, one he did not need, particularly not so soon after consuming Cassie's potent cocktail. The girl was playing a dangerous game.
"I'm flattered, April, but I don't have the time. I'm going to take you home as soon as I get dressed."
"No, it's not okay. The hell with my mother, I'm twenty-three, not a toddler. Just because she's a sexually repressed witch doesn't mean I have to be. I want you, all of you, and not one fiber of clothing on that magnificently sculpted body. The only thing that should be on it is my tongue."
His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans. He could see her carotid pulse seductively, hear her labored breathing, the rhythmic beating of her heart.
"Be careful what you wish for, little girl."
"You will come to know I am not a little girl, but a woman who unconditionally
offers herself to you, mind, body, and soul. Take me, Adam Blake. Bury your cock deep inside me. Forget the stupid bitch Brightman; forget every woman in your life. Drink of my blood, which burns hot for you. Mark me, and I shall become the sun you cannot feel upon your body."
He was on her in an instant, roughly pushing her against the wall with enough force to dislodge a framed picture.
His cock pulsed behind the denim, aching for release, aching to be shoved between her trembling thighs, savagely violating her feminine core.
"Is this what you desire, April Rayne?" His voice raspy, threatening.
"Y-yes, take me. Fuck me. Do with me what you will. I'm yours."
Adam caressed her heaving chest through her T-shirt, and then pulled it up, exposing her perfectly rounded flesh. He ran a hand over her creamy skin, cupping the generous heft of her breast. He squeezed her buttocks with the other, eliciting a moaning sigh from April as she thrust her hips, writhing against his rigid length.
"Oh god, fuck me now! I want you inside of me. I want to come, and then I want to suck you, taste you, lick my desire off your cock!"
His fangs elongated.
"Then you shall come to know all of me."
April moans turned to screams.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
~A Fall From Grace~
I could not argue with what she said, her spoken words undiluted truth.
I reached to caress her face. She recoiled, disgust curling her lips into a sneer.
“Grace, please, don’t be like this.”
I did not relish the anguished tone of my voice.
She regarded me through narrowed eyes. To her, I was a vile thing. A Creature. Contempt glittered in her dark eyes.
“What the hell did you expect, Nick?”
Her tone accusatory.
I accepted her to swoon, truthfully. An absurd thought, I know. A sigh to escape her full, red lips, guiding my hand over raised flesh. Nipples pebbling as I gingerly rolled them between thumb and forefinger. I wanted her to react when we first meet.
When we made love.
When I was alive.
I made a pact with the Devil, a demon in a shimmering red dress. I should have known.
Lies are best whispered in dark places.
I was promised immortality, forever irresistible, a mere look or the faintest of touches; I would have anyone I desired.
They would adore me; worship me until the end of days.
Not so with Grace.
She could always see through me.
No exceptions. I knew what she saw; her gaze pierced the gossamer veil of humanity cloaking me, nothing more than a ruse.
She was right.
I am a monster.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Sci-fi snippet under two hundred words. Enjoy.
~ Darkness awaits ~
I could have clubbed the skinning bastard with it. Probably would have made less noise, too.
She dropped the weapon. It thudded on the grated decking. The sound reverberated in her ears, which were still ringing from the report of the pistol in the tight confines of Way Station Omega.
The air dank, fetid, like a crypt.
She shook herself from her grim reverie, recalling an ancient Terran adage an instructor at the Protectorate Imperia often quoted:
Character is what you are in the dark.
The power cells were fading, radiating a sickly yellow pall as if the whole station were a diseased organism.
No more thoughts of death, for when it came, she would embrace it, like the inevitable dark.
In the blackness, these murderous things would indeed come to know her true character.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
I'm in a devilish mood and wish to share with you a excerpt from Chapter Three of my edgy, paranormal erotic romance- The Darker side of Heaven. Enjoy the simmering sexual malice.
The Rinker 400EC sliced through the water, the waves parting like an eager lover's thighs. Carmella Cervantes eased back on the chrome throttle; the power of the engines reverberated in her hand. The tang of the Great South Bay filled her nostrils. Twinkling lights from Fire Island reminded her of fireflies dancing above the shoreline. The cool air washed over her raised skin, both sensuous and chilling at the same time. Her erect nipples ached as the wind kissed the jutting pink bits. Incredibly alive, incredibly hot, basking in the primordial essence of the water around her, she caressed her flat stomach, her fingers trailing between her legs. She teased the engorged nub of her sex. Her thighs quivered as she slipped a finger inside her wet folds.
"You are quite the insatiable one."
She whirled around, startled by his voice. She withdrew a perfectly manicured
fingernail, resting it upon her full lower lip. Her tongue glided over her teeth as she grinned. Her gaze fell to the man's thick shaft. It swung low and heavy, glistening wetly in the wan light of the moon. He was chiseled perfection bathed in soft alabaster.
"You know me so very well, both inside and out, my love. Even you, a god who walks among the low cannot fully satisfy all of my wanton desires."
The man laughed. His voice possessed a depthless baritone resonance. Its timbre, a dichotic mix of malice and sensuality, caused her to suck in her breath.
"I am not a god. I wish to neither be one nor referred to as such. I despise the countenance of the word."
As the boat gently rocked on the bay waters, he strode purposefully toward her, unaffected, as if on dry land. He possessed a terribly savage beauty that wreaked sexual havoc with her flight, fight, or fuck mechanisms. For her, it was all about primitive, biological instincts.
"I've offended you with my poorly chosen words. I offer my body as a supplication. Do with it what you will."
The man looked down upon her; his eyes were black as the void of space.
"You cannot offer that which I already possess. I will fuck you until your will is broken, dashed against the rigidity of my flesh, and your soul weeps with orgasm."
She shivered, her body trembling with anticipatory fear and desire.
He palmed her sex, and every bone in her body seemed to vaporize into sensual oblivion. She collapsed into the captain chair, her mind disengaged from her body. She had no substance, floating like an untethered balloon into the face of the moon or was it the Eye of Aphrodite?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
So, this wild and crazy chick storms into town. Rip roaring up the east coast. Taking no prisoners.
Naturally, I'm intrigued and prepared.
She whips into my digs and I'm ready, baby, for the blow job of my life.
And, for the record, I like a little teeth, ya feel me? I'm stoked for one helluva time, ready to have my world turned upside down.
Reality: Shit, amigos, she was more hard core on the Weather Channel.....
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
My dark, erotic novel debuts today, so please join me at the uber hot Romance with SASS, where I'll be chatting about the Darker side of Romance to coincide with the release of The Darker side of Heaven.
It will be devilishly good fun.
Romance with Sass
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I already use a pen-name. However, I am contemplating expanding my writing repertoire to include M/M genre and possibly YA.
I have a dark, gritty (gee, shocking, right?) hot and steamy Sci-fi story peculating in me brain. It will include elements of M/F/M and M/M action.
Now, you may wonder why I would choose to use a different pen-name for M/M erotic romance fiction. What the heck is wrong with KB Cutter? Nothing, actually. Its more of a cover for me. Not many of my friends and family or professional colleagues know I write erotic romance. They know of KB Cutter, the horror dude, but not the erotic romance writer.
I know all they have to do is do a Google search and Wham-Bam they can see my hot and steamy words.
This is the 21st century and there should be no stigma to what I choose to write. Maybe I'm taking the easy route so I don't have to go through the hassle of explaining the why's and what's of my stories.
For now, sadly, it may be the best course of action. Additional pen names create more work for me. Multiple Twitter/FaceBook accounts. Blogs/websites. It's manageable, but time consuming. Precious time I need to devote to writing.
BUT, its kinda cool to slip into another persona and be somebody completely different in online social media outlets.
As long as I don't turn into Sybil, that is................
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Stunning cover art by the talented Fiona Jade. Darkly evocative.
Shadows lengthen over the world. Turmoil rages across the globe.
Something evil this way comes . . . .
Emotionally conflicted avenger Chalice Noire, product of an unholy union of demon and angel, is a slayer to the forces of darkness. Employed by shadowy benefactors in Rome, her sect is commanded by fallen angel Nikolai Voss, whose allegiance is not to the Church, but to the flame of vengeance that burns within.
But Chalice possesses a holy relic, a Weapon of the Mass, which Nikolai desperately craves, and he will stop at nothing to retrieve it, destroying anything or anyone, including his own soul.
Renegade vampire Adam Blake is a recluse, attempting to bury his troubled past and the tortured memory of his former lover, Chalice Noire, in the last frontier of America: the Alaskan wilderness.
Armageddon looms, the agents of light and darkness gather forces. The battle to be fought not on the sands of Biblical prophecy, but in the rugged beauty of Alaska, where Chalice and Adam once again cross paths. Can they reconcile their past to save humanity's future?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
I must admit, I am not a fan of M/M romance. I do not actively seek out those titles. However, I will check out certain titles by certain authors, namely A.B Gayle and KevaD.
Disclaimer alert: I am friends with Margie Church. We chat vial e-mail, Face Book and cell phone. Some say we are as thick as thieves.
All true. I enjoy her work and our conversations.
I was also privy to the difficulties Margie experience while writing Hard as Teak. She got a lot of flack for it. All undeserved as it turns out Hard as Teak is rockin it…....HARD.
Second Disclaimer alert: I bought my own copy of Teak. Margie did not solicit, compel, or coerce me with lewd photos (hey, I was young and in college and this nice man came up to me…) or threaten to bludgeon me her open toed sandals if I did not write a review.
The story of Kevin Marks and Teak Hidalgo (love that name) is beautifully told. The sexual coming of age journey Kevin embarks on is realistic without being sappy or flamboyantly over the top.
It also resonates because it starts out with Kevin having sex with his girlfriend Chiyo. It is during this intimate (and hot) act that we see the emotional conflict brewing in Kevin.
Margie Church does not shy away from such turmoil and presents it in not as a mere plot device to engage in a little het-sex action. It is organically germane to the plot.
Here is where Margie Church received her criticisms. How did she have the audacity to break the tried (tired) and true convention of M/M romance by introducing icky hereto-sexual congress and infidelity?
Simply answered- because it happens. Yes, unlike you are one of the Geico rock dwellers, yes, my friends, it does!
Margie breaks the genre conventions and that is what makes her books compelling.
Also, her words, they are poetic, humorous and sexy.
Very sexy. Burning hot.
There is some serious male-male action in the pages of Hard as Teak. Admittedly, I would not like to emulate the sexual activities compellingly described in these pages, but did manage to get the blood flowing!
If you want a poignant sexual coming of age story, with fully textured, compelling characters and poetic words that brilliantly frame not only the rural beauty of the Minnesota wilderness, but the beauty of two people falling in love, while combating inner and outer conflict, then run, not walk to your computer and buy Hard as Teak.