Feeling The Past

I have often wondered how my fellow writers come upon their ideas for their novels. Do they perchance just have a flash of inspiration, or is it far simpler than that - maybe a particular person, a book they read, or a TV show or movie they watch fires their imagination and helps them formulate a plot for a new book.

With me it is often a visit to some ancient historical site that sends my thoughts into overdrive and makes me decide that there must be a story to tell about the particular place that I find so fascinatingly compelling. Some people may think I’m a tad insane but I’ve always believed that there is far more to this world than what we see with our eyes and hear with our ears and that perhaps tales of metaphysical happening aren’t quite as far fetched as some believe them to be.

I have no idea why but for me some places have what I can only describe as an aura, a powerful sense of time displaced. You can almost believe that if you closed your eyes and wished very hard you could step back in time and see them as they once were, vibrant and full of people. One of the places that affected me very strongly was Pompeii, and it was a visit to this ancient monument that gave me the inspiration for my novel Barbarian Prize. For those who have never had the pleasure of visiting Pompeii it isn’t just a mass of ruins, surprisingly it looks more like a real city, with paved streets, shops, houses, bath houses and temples that have been dug out from the ash that covered it for century after century. Of course, due to the violence of that terrible day, almost two thousand years ago, some of the buildings are partially destroyed, others have missing upper stories and most no longer have a roof but you still get to see what life must have been like in AD79.

As soon as I laid eyes on Pompeii I knew it was the perfect setting for an erotic novel, and as I learnt more about the people that lived there the story began to form in my mind. Sex was a part of Roman life, they were sensual people. The wealthy lived a life of luxury, in huge villas with swimming pools, underfloor heating and running water. They had elaborate bath houses, where they would be cleansed and massaged by slaves, who would pander to their every whim. There were many slaves in the city of Pompeii, probably even more than there were free inhabitants. The wealthy male occupants used their female slaves to provide sexual pleasures but it was considered quite acceptable for them to slake their lust on their young male slaves as well, although once they reached full manhood the slaves would not be expected to provide such services for their masters any more. After all I enjoy writing m/m now and again, even if my editor doesn’t like it overmuch.

Women did have rights; rich women owned property and slaves of their own, but it was still a male dominated society. Nevertheless, some women purchased handsome young male slaves to service them in their beds at night, or visited the gladiator barracks regularly to avail themselves of the sexual services thy were also happy to provide. Some gladiators even attained the status of sex symbols much like attractive male pop stars do today.

The poor and the working class often visited brothels and there were at least 30 brothels in the city, maybe more, because some of it hasn’t even been excavated yet. These brothels were populated by whores from every corner of the Roman Empire and crude messages painted onto the walls of these buildings praised the erotic abilities of some of these women. I bet these ladies of the night never realised that their sexual abilities would be so widely known many centuries after they had perished. You can always tell where one of these houses is situated because there are crude pictures of phalluses carved at the corners of these streets and outside each brothel as well. Inside there are pictures painted on the walls in front of each tiny cubicle showing the specialties of each particular occupant.

They liked wall paintings, all the houses of the wealthier inhabitants have brightly coloured paintings decorating their walls, some of them highly erotic and there is always a small niche for a house god in the entrance hall – often this is Priapus, the god of fertility. A strange looking man with a cock so massive he has to support it in his hand.

How could I not fail to be stimulated to write about such a fascinating place, although

I’m not sure if I would have liked to live there with my 21^st century sensibilities. I would have enjoyed the pleasant climate, the central heating to warm my villa and the elaborate dinner parties they held. Reclining on couches they ate and drunk their fill, wandered off to throw up and then returned to fill their stomachs again. Bulimia it appears was quite acceptable, not a habit I’d like to attain, but then how would my stomach react to a feast of things like lark’s tongues and stuffed dormice? I can’t say the thought appeals to me.

Nudity wasn’t considered at all unacceptable although the sexes still bathed apart, and don’t wince here but bodily hair was more often than not removed and the only method they had was plucking. Give me waxing any day; it must have been odd and very painful to have a slave girl crouching between your thighs painstakingly removing all your pubic hair! Apart from that I probably wouldn’t have minded a visit to the bath house because all the handsome young men did their regular exercise in the nude! Then there were the public loos! That I couldn’t accustom myself to as they were truly communal and often served as a place to chat as well as relieving oneself. Imagine a long line of holes carved into blocks of stone, placed over streams of running water. While instead of loo paper they had a sponge on stick.

History fascinates me, just as the life people lived in the past stimulates me to write stories about them but oddly enough in many ways we haven’t changed that much over the centuries.

Love and Lust

I have always been an avid reader. I’m sure that most writers must be because in my estimation you have to love books in order to want to write. I vividly remember reading my first romantic novel when I was in about my second or third year of senior school. I started reading Gone With the Wind on the bus on the way home from school on the Friday evening and read it all weekend until I finished it, whereupon I returned, rather bleary eyed, to my classroom on the Monday morning. It is a long book and even though I am a fast reader it was quite a tome to read in such a short space of time, but I just couldn’t put it down because between those pages I’d discovered romance and sexual desire. Scarlett, in my estimation, was stupid in her infatuation for the insipid Ashley and even more stupid for failing to understand that the incredibly sexy Rhett Butler was in love with her. I loved the book, but I was so disappointed because when Rhett swept Scarlett into his arms and carried her up the stairs we never learnt what went on behind that bedroom door. I wanted more, so much more.

He saw concern in her blue eyes for a moment before she managed to conceal it and he knew that she feared he might perish in battle. Life as a knight could be dangerous and death was always a possibility. He could not in good conscious lead her to believe otherwise. He would go to Richard and beg permission to marry her right now if he could but, despite the fact that she had loathed Hugh, she still had to maintain the necessary period of mourning before she took a new husband.

As Stephen looking lovingly at Edwina he was reminded of the last time she had been in his bed; her lips swollen with kisses, her blue eyes languorous with desire, those luscious breast and sweet, cherry coloured nipples. Lust and love entwined like the strands of a rope, binding her even more securely to him than a wedding ring ever could. Just thinking of her, remembering the last night they had spent together and the passion they had shared, had turned his cock rock hard. He could feel it pressing against the heavy constriction of his chain mail leggings.

Of course I was innocent enough to be unaware that pornographic literature (as it was then called) existed at this time, so I continued to read avidly, always secretly hoping that I would find a book that would open that bedroom door and let me creep inside. I read Jane Austin, great but even a kiss was barely mentioned let alone lustful desire, although I’ve no doubt that Miss Austin might well have dreamed of slipping between the sheet one dark night with her handsome Mr Darcy, especially if in her imagination he looked like Colin Firth dressed in that wet, white lawn shirt.

I devoured the Dennis Wheatley novel, which gave me an interesting glimpse into the world of the occult and a fascinating ride through the entire French revolution but still, frustratingly, barely any sex. Then I found Forever Amber and Angelique, where there were heroines who used men, satisfied their sexual desires and slept with whoever they wanted. Yet, now that I was older and knew more about lust and desire, the bedroom scenes seemed overly cautious and rather insipid to me.

Then a multitude of bodice rippers appeared on the bookshelves. They were historical novels, which I’d always loved, with wild heroines, lusty heroes and people who actually sated their sexual desires between the pages. To an extent this did satisfied my need for sensual encounters, because we were allowed through the bedroom door but the sex were short with few very descriptive passage and, as often as not, left the reader panting for more. I didn’t want to be greedy but why did they spent ages building up to the sensual encounter then glossing over it the blink of an eye?

By then of course attitudes had changed somewhat and Lady Chatterley was freely available but that wasn’t a turn on at all in my opinion. While the Story of O, didn’t really excite me that much either, mainly because I couldn’t understand a heroine who enjoyed being dominated and humiliated. I must admit here that many might enjoy it but it just wasn’t my taste so it didn’t turn me on.

What a blessed relief it was when Black Lace books appeared on the scene. At last I found the books I wanted to read. The first one I ever purchased was The Captive Flesh by Cleo Cordell and I loved it so much I read it in one sitting. It was the story of two young women who are captured and imprisoned in a harem ruled over by a handsome dissolute man, Kassim. There was sex, bondage, even homoerotic encounters - the book had it all and after that I was desperate to read more Black Lace. I read a fair number of them – some with a romance at the heart of the story, others just stories with a string of titillating erotic encounters.

‘Let me feel you inside me,’ she begged, knowing that Taranis was right and that every moment they spent together increased the danger they were in.

He covered her body and slid into her soft moist core. Tension and excitement surged through her as he started to sensuously move his hips, all the while staring at her face, as if he could somehow fix her features in his mind forever. Sirona’s hands reached for his shoulders, her fingers digging into the hard muscles. She pulled him towards her, wanting to feel the entire weight of him pressing down on her as he thrust harder, knowing that never in a myriad of lifetimes could any man ever replace Taranis in her heart.

Taranis fucked her with smooth hard strokes, angling his body so that his shaft stimulated her clit at the same time. As she felt the weight of him powering against her pelvis, an intense erotic pleasure welled up inside her, becoming so strong she thought she might expire with bliss. The Elysian Fields moved closer and closer as she heard his breath coming in short urgent gasps.

The sun had set at last and darkness began to descend as the moon appeared in the sky. Its soft silvery light bathed their bodies in an eerie almost magical light as their pleasure peaked. As Sirona climaxed she heard Taranis whisper fevered words of love in her ear as he too came.

I began to understand that, for me, I didn’t really enjoy the books that didn’t have a romance at the heart of the story. Sex purely for the sake of lustful desire wasn’t quite satisfying enough for me and after a time it became plain boring if there wasn’t some kind of emotion involved. I freely admit that I’m a romantic at heart and of course many readers might not feel as I do. This world would be an uninteresting place if everyone was the same.

For me lust was good but love and lust together were far more exciting, so I decided to pick up a pen and write my own Black Lace with everything I wanted to read included between those, hopefully steamy, pages. I was fortunate enough to have my first proposal accepted and Savage Surrender was born. A story of a young woman, Rianna, who is forced into an unwanted marriage with a man she has never laid eyes on but falls in love with Tarn, a young man who has rebelled against her husband, Sarin, and is now his slave. She loves Tarn but she also finds herself sexually attracted to her husband and soon she is seduced by the sexual depravity of Sarin’s court. I loved these characters so much that I wrote a sequel, Wild Kingdom continuing the story of Rianna and Tarn.

‘How I’ve longed for this moment,’ he said softly, his voice taut with passion as he lifted her, tipping her buttocks away from him so that he could slide into her with one smooth stroke. He jerked her back against his rigid stomach, filling her with the hot hardness of his flesh as he held his hand across the soft swell of her lower belly. The pressure of his fingers further increased the sensation of fullness she experienced as he began to roll his hips and thrust at the same time. A low moan escaped Rianna’s lips as he compounded the assault on her senses by lightly tugging at her clit, rolling the swollen flesh between finger and thumb.

The water eddied and swirled around them, splashing over the sides of the tub in a steady stream as Tarn’s movements became harder and more vigorous. All Rianna’s attention was focused on her relentlessly rising pleasure as she felt his body power harder and deeper. She had no wish for this to end, yet all too soon her stomach contracted as the sensations erupted in an orgasm so sweetly profound that she felt faint from its power as it ripped through her flesh.

More books followed but probably without even being fully aware of it at the time, there was always a passionate romance at the heart of my story. Even though my novels were always classed as erotica, I always felt that wasn’t quite what I wanted and so I was relieved when Virgin reclassified them as ‘Erotic romance’. Now quite often they are available on the romance shelves, which makes them more freely available to the book buying public and why not? Sex in books is not considered all that risqué any more, in fact it is much more acceptable these days, thank goodness.

Now we know all that goes on behind the bedroom door, on the kitchen table, outside under the trees or anywhere else we care to think of. Readers now have a choice – love, lust or maybe just a mixture of both. It is up to you, so go ahead and enjoy!

Historical Hotness or not?

By Kate Pearce

When I first moved to the USA, almost ten years ago, one of the first places I looked for was a bookstore. To my complete surprise I found a huge romance section and I realized that I’d definitely come to the right place. In the UK there is Harlequin Mills & Boon, general fiction and Black Lace. In the USA romance meets sex in a BIG way.

I devoured a gazillion historical romance novels and discovered all about fantasy rape, forced seduction, massive weeping manhood’s, tinderboxes of love and orgasms described as fireworks, waterfalls, volcanic eruptions and I LOVED it.

But a lot has happened in the past ten years and the historical romance has changed considerably. Some would say for the better-(yay, most authors use the word cock now!) some would say for the worst. Erotic historicals sell really well in the US- if they are properly marketed. The problem is that no one seems to know where the line is anymore between erotica, erotic romance and historical romance. That causes issues both for writers and for the readers who get pissed off if they buy a historical and get graphic erotic sex or buy an erotic historical and get weeping manhood’s.


Madelynne Ellis author of A Gentleman’s Wager and Phantasmagoria started out writing erotica rather than romance and finds the US distinction of erotic romance as a sub-genre less easy to pin down in the UK. A common concern that Madelynne shares is that the sudden explosion in the erotic romance section leads to “Strings of sex scenes with very little emotional context or character growth.”






Deanna Ashford also believes the lines have become blurred and wonders whether it has something to do “With the gradually changing status of women now that we’ve all become rather less inhibited about sex.” I think she has a point and I also think that historicals still allow for a lot less PCness than is necessary in a contemporary erotic romance.








Pam Rosenthal aka Molly Weatherfield who also took a writers journey from BDSM and erotica to historical erotic romance, reckons we’re on our own slow journey back to where it all began, “Starting with the prose works of the second century AD, Greeks, romance has often been erotic, raffish, déclassé and articulated by travel to erotic places, pirate kidnappings and the like.” Her only hope is that if “we’re reverting to our low-rent origins now, I’d like to keep some of the art as well.”


We recently had a discussion on The Spiced Tea Party blog about covers and whether they can help a reader decide if something is an erotic historical or a straight one. The overall consensus was that if it has a lone naked man on the cover it’s erotic, if not, it’s something else-although Pam told me to tell you that she does write very sexy even if she doesn’t get the naked male torso’s 


Jane Lockwood reckons the cover of her erotic historical “Forbidden Shores’ aka ‘Ass Bandits of the Caribbean’ did not help get the message of her book across to the reading public. It’s about the abolitionist movement and a distorted love triangle where Allen is in love with Clarissa, who is in love with March, who is in love with Allen. Not your everyday scenario and the lush cover-note no male torso- and decision to market it as straight historical romance caused dear Jane a few problems along the way.

Luckily for us, Jane devised a quiz to let us all know what we are writing/reading historically-wise.

Do you find yourself sitting on the sofa looking like an idiot because you can't figure out what you're reading? Or can't even remember where your book is? Or your laptop seems to have mysteriously disappeared into your pants?

What, exactly are you reading or writing? Here's a simple quiz to determine if your book is (a) a traditional regency, (b) a regency-set historical, (c) an erotic historical, or (d) historical erotica.


The heroine meets a gentleman she is attracted to. She:
a. Asks to be introduced to him by the patronesses of Almacks
b. Invites him to her bedchamber
c. Invites him and his three friends to her bedchamber
d. Invites him and his regiment to her bedchamber

The hero is wearing:
a. Immaculately polished Hessians, and a finely tailored coat and breeches
b. Boots, breeches and a historically inaccurate shirt unbuttoned all the way down
c. Not much, a sneer, oil, and a whip
d. Tattoos, scars, piercings, a sneer, oil, and an even bigger whip

The heroine is wearing:
a. Bonnet, gown, shawl, reticule
b. Gown, barely, and lots of hair
c. A little wisp of something from Victoria's Secret and lots of hair
d. Tattoos, scars, piercings, a sneer, a really, really big whip, and a shaved head

The secondary characters include:
a. Comic servants and saintly family
b. Comic servants and tiresome family
c. Sex-obsessed companions who may or may not be human
d. Underlings you never meet but someone has to get in the lube and leather supplies

Your hero likes to spend long hours in the library:
a. Reading poetry
b. Decoding secret documents
c. Twisting himself into a pretzel for future activities, based on an ancient tome of erotic practices
d. Oiling the rack and himself

Your heroine likes to:
a. Embroider, play pianoforte, visit the poor
b. Tame stallions, write novels, etc.
c. Practice twisting herself into a pretzel etc.
d. What? Time to do anything else? I don't think so

So now we all know what we are writing and we’re clear on the difference between straight historicals, erotic romance and erotica, yes? Although I don’t see any mention of homoerotic interactions like I have in my books there. But I’m okay with that as I edge closer and closer to Erastes, the welcoming and all-encompassing hand of historical erotic romance held out waiting for the moment when it all becomes just about love.

Men In Chains

By Deanna Ashford

I have a confession to make, I love musical theatre. There is nothing better than going to a great show with brilliant songs and coming out afterwards in an ebullient mood humming these songs to yourself. I say humming because I can’t sing, I never have been able to sing and anything over and above humming, according to my family, would be considered a mortal sin.

Now you all ask, why on earth would my love of musical theatre have anything to do with Lustbites, and erotic writing let alone the title of my post Men In Chains. Amazingly enough it has because it was musical theatre that first made me realise how much of a turn on a seeing a semi-naked chained man was. I have consequently discovered it is not just a turn on for me but for many other members of the female population. And I suppose some of the male population depending in which direction their desires lie.

It all started one evening when I was sitting in the theatre watching of all things the new West End production of Joseph. Now here I must explain to the uninitiated among you that Joseph is sold into slavery by his brothers, because they are jealous of him. Once he arrives as a slave in Egypt, he appears on stage wearing nothing but a loin cloth.

Even if you didn’t watch the reality TV programme Any Dream Will Do, I’m sure that many of you will know that the guy playing Joseph is the well deserved winner of that programme, Lee. Not only is he a good looking guy with a great voice, he has a very tasty physique as well and the producers of the show have clearly taken advantage of this by dressing him in a very scanty loincloth that shows off his nicely developed pecs and muscular legs to perfection.

During the first half of the show I’d been hearing the lady sitting next to me uttering soft sighs every time Lee appear on stage. It was at this point that she must have overheard a comment I made to the friends who accompanied me and she gathered, quite correctly, that we had all seen the show before. (It is the first time I’ve gone to see a musical more than once, honest – and it wasn’t just to watch the show that I’d gone again, I hasten to add – I was also prompted by somewhat seamier thoughts!!)

At this point the lady next to me turned to me and said ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Then she added lustfully, ‘Does he wear that small loincloth in the second half?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, and then added, ‘and he’s chained.’ At which point the poor woman sighed very loudly and almost literally dissolved into her seat.

I know it isn’t often you get to see a tasty looking semi-naked chained guy in the flesh with the opportunity to gaze on his fine body for a fair length of time. In fact if I’m honest I can’t think of any previous occasions when such an opportunity has arisen, more's the pity. This got me wondering and I spoke to a number of my female friends. The majority of them, it appears, have similar fantasies of a scantily clad, chained man. The general concensus was that the guy has got to be good looking, and very scantily dressed, if not nude and he most definitely has to be chained or at least restrained in a similar fashion. Ropes do it for some, chains for others.

Here I should hasten to add that he can’t look at all cowed or pathetic: he’s got to look strong, resentful and maybe angry – dangerous if he were released. So we have this powerful guy chained and we can do to him what we wish, or alternatively force him to do what we wish to us.

One of Maecenus’s servants cautiously approached the slave on the block and unfastened the ties of his tunic. It fell to the floor, leaving Taranis wearing just a short, full, Greek style skirt of white linen draped around his narrow waist. There was a gasp of admiration from those present. He was the epitome of male perfection that Roman’s admired so much. The thin strip of white contrasted perfectly with the slave’s tanned skin, which had been heavily oiled so that it had a slick sheen, putting even more emphasis on the well-developed muscles of his wide chest, strong arms and near perfect legs. He was a magnificent looking creature, and the bids began to come in hard and fast; twenty, forty, then eighty thousand denarii.

When an obviously very excited Gaius Cuspius bid a hundred thousand denarii, Maecenus held up his hand. ‘As some of you know already, the best is yet to come. In my estimation the true bidding is only just about to begin!’

He turned to look at Taranis and the slave stiffened anxiously, an entreating expression crossing his face for the briefest of moments before he regained full control of himself.

Aulus said softly, ‘now you are about to see what I saw last night. I am sure you will be impressed by the sight, as I was, dear Julia.’

She held her breath as Maecenus stepped forward and pulled off the brief linen skirt to reveal the slave in all his naked glory. It was as if someone had just got out a paint box and smeared red across the slave’s high cheekbone as they turned suddenly scarlet. Clearly he was ashamed because his sexual organ was in an obvious state of arousal. ‘He is magnificent, is he not?’ Aulus added chillingly. ‘I wager that even Poppaea would have trouble in accommodating a cock of that auspicious size.’

Women have always been considered the weaker sex but now that equality has gone a long way to redressing that problem, we are no longer going to be carried off by some handsome knight and imprisoned in a romantic castle. Nevertheless, deep down I think there are many romantic fantasies we still find stimulating. For some it might well be some guy abducting them and forcing his desires upon them, but for us liberated ladies it is the other way around. We want to be in charge and bend our captive male to our evil will.

Looking into the psychological aspects of the fantasy, it clearly has something to do with power over men, but not to the point where they become subdued in any way. A chained, powerful guy can still look dangerous, yet we can do what we like to them and they can do nothing to stop us, which equates to me as the perfect position for a female to find herself in. In a situation like this even the weakest of women becomes the powerful one, but deep in the back of one's mind is the titillating thought that if he escaped he could turn the tables on her and she would be dominated by this dangerous creature.

It was at this point I re-examined the books I’ve written and I realised that in all but one I played out my fantasy in the story. I’ve figured out that is why I like to write historicals or fantasy. It is usually much easier to set up a complex plot in which my strong sexy hero can be imperilled in some way and end up in chains. Usually, may I add, in the control of some seductive female or another who can use him to slake all her sensual desires. Although I have on some occasions left them in somewhat more perilous situations than that. So not only do I enjoy writing my books I find that I can play out my fantasies as well and hopefully entertain at the same time.

The lights were bright in the centre of the room, blinding him a little and making it difficult to see the individual faces of the audience. His chains were clipped into rings set in the marble floor and he was forced to stand there naked and exposed while Sarin proudly announced that this was his new slave – the traitor, Tarn the former prince of Kabra.

‘Ensure he behaves,’ Sarin said to one of the naked Nubians.

The Nubian stepped behind Tarn, and took hold of the short chain leading from his gold slave collar. He stood so close that Tarn could perceive the heat emanating from his oiled flesh, smell his cinnamon scented breath and feel the man’s cock pressing against the small of his back.

The Nubian’s erection felt impossibly huge. Tarn hoped Sarin didn’t allow this man to take him as he felt the slave’s hand stoke his chest and stomach. He stood there fearing the worst as other slaves, both make and female joined him. Many gentle hands began to stroke his legs, arms and chest. A woman crawled forward on her hands and knees to kiss his feet. He felt naked breasts being pressed against his body, while the Nubian ran his cock slowly down the crease of Tarn’s buttocks. Lovingly it rimmed the tight opening but never ventured inside.

Tarn closed his eyes as more hands and lips began to tantalisingly touch his naked flesh. It felt as if every portion of his skin was being teased by fingers, lips or moist tongues. His arousal increased. He gave a soft moan as a searching finger slid inside his nether mouth. Lips fastened around his penis, sucking on the head of his cock, while other lips brushed the ever-stiffening shaft. Hands and fingers cupped his balls and stroked the paper fine skin of his perineum. Then a wet tongue followed the same erotic path.

He no longer knew who was touching him, whether the slave was male or female, as his pleasure increased. He just relaxed and allowed the myriad of sensations to overwhelm his senses.

On the eleventh day of Christmas

my true love gave to me

Eleven ponies prancing

(unfortunately when six of them saw the size of my spurs and my riding crop they ran away!) A Happy New Year to you all
Deanna

Works in Progress

collated by Deanna Ashford

Well good morning everyone, Christmas isn’t far away now and we lusties are busy getting organised just as everyone else is. I for one am useless at motivating myself to write cards and buy gifts, I am far too interest in working on what I’m writing at present.

This month we are featuring works in progress for Madelynne Ellis and Deanna Ashford. (Yes, that’s me I’m slipping some of my own work in progress onto the blog this month!) We both write Historical novels and so be prepared to step back to a time when dashing highwaymen preyed upon unwary travellers on land, and cruel pirates preyed upon them on the high seas.

Some background to the book from Madelynne.

Desperate Measures has been a work in progress for some time now, actually I've written two other books (Broken Angel & Phantasmagoria) since I started it. It's been on hold because Black Lace passed on it, because apparently highwaymen are cliched and no one really wants to read about them!

The story is set in the early 1700's in the north-east of England. When Thea Roche's husband is thrown into debtor's prison, she's left friendless and destitute. In order to support herself, and take revenge on her enemies, she dresses as a man and takes to highway robbery. This leads her into path of sexy fellow highwayman, Gregory Fox, and egotistical social climber, Thieftaker Edmund Stark. In order to avoid the gallows, Thea has to keep one step ahead of them both, while she learns that notority is far more alluring than respectability.

There was a black cloud on the hilltops. It rushed across the moors like the harbinger of death, a soundless figure, merciless and strong. On silent feet, it climbed the stairs to the inky boudoir where Thea lay. Alert to the dark shape that lingered at the edge of her consciousness, Thea stirred uneasily beneath the sheets. A shadow imprinted itself upon her body. A gloved hand covered her mouth, silencing her scream before it had even risen. The fingertips brushed over her cheek and traced the feathery edge of her eyelashes.

`My gold, Mrs Roche.´

The whispered caress blew fire across her lips, its threat implicit despite the soft tone. Streaks of molten metal knitted across her throat and breast. Tight ripples shivered through her limbs. Before her thick tongue could work, his hands clasped her wrists and shackled them either side of her head.

`My gold, or I take payment in kind.´

Soft heat closed over her upper lip. He smelled familiar, of honeydew and rosemary, of cut grass and cruelty.

`I can not give it to you.´

`Then I shall take something from you.´

His hand slid up her thigh, dragging the sheet up to expose her toes. The cold air nipped at them. Cobwebs of frost matted with the fiery shivers. His weight shifted above her. Wet warmth enveloped her big toe. His tongue glided over the pad, teased along the inner edge down to the v, where it flicked slowly against the seam. It felt intimate, like the massage of Richard´s fingers against her nub the night before. Dangerous sparks were wakening there now..

She wanted to pull away, flee like she´d done from the gauntlet of whores.

She saw herself again, peeking from the blood splattered bushes as Stark ground the thief into the dirt, all his men lined up around him, only now they were staring down at her. She lay sprawled upon the grass, with booted feet pressed against her limbs and Stark´s shoe upon her stomach. `I will have your confession,´ he said in a low sibilant voice.

There was a tightening in her abdomen, a pulse, a black fire that was spreading, and making her shake. The tongue between her toes, insistently coaxed the rarely touched skin, rousing shivers of delight from her tensed body. The tease was right on the edge of ticklish, almost painful. She wanted to pull away, to kick at the shadowy presence and drive it off, but the touch was cruelly sweet too. It pressed like tender kisses to her clit and it opened her like a flower unfurling its petals to bask in the sun.

Subtle fingers played across her flesh. Richard´s fingers: delicate and quick.

His satin skin moved against hers. It flowed into position, and his steely shaft branded her thigh. He´d had her once, but she wouldn´t allow it again. Not now, not ever. Not even in her dreams.

My excerpt is from Corsair’s Gold a book that is with my editor as we speak. Whether he will like it or not I have no idea, all I can do is keep my fingers crossed and hope.

Sophia lives on the island of Tortuga, which is a safe haven for pirates and vagabonds. Her father is the right hand man of the notorious pirate lord Blackheart and so she has known no other life but this.

Sophia tried to relax and forget about everything as the overpowering, sultry heat had sapped the energy from her body. She felt herself drifting away and might have fallen asleep if she hadn’t heard the faintest of sounds. The bed depressed beside her and a warm arm snaked around her waist.

“Sleeping, my sweet,” an accented voice whispered in her ear.

“Raoul,” she said sleepily. She had been half expecting him and she didn’t resist as he pulled the sheet off her and rolled her onto her back.

Raoul’s lips covered hers and he kissed her hungrily, his tongue worming its way into her mouth. She felt his hot, rather sticky flesh pressed against her side as his large hand covered her left breast. He kneaded it gently, still kissing her passionately. There was no delicate sampling of lips, teeth and tongue, but a raw intensity that only Raoul could display.

By the time he pulled his mouth away from hers Sophia was a little breathless and becoming aroused. She felt the first tendrils of desire slide insidiously through her body as Raoul caressed her breast, rolling the sensitive teat between his fingers as he smiled down at her. The smile turned into a soft chuckle as wrinkled her nose and scowled at him.

“It’s too hot for sex,” she complained.

“Ye Gods, Sophia, I’ve been on board ship for near two weeks, with none but my crew for company. My cock is fit to burst.” Taking hold of her hand, he pressed it against his sex. Her fingers automatically close around the rigid rod, feeling the heat and the power of his desire in her cupped palm.

“Could you not get the cabin boy to service you?” she teased, wanting him and yet also feeling incredibly lethargic. “He’s a pretty lad. No doubt he’d be accommodating.”

“Cabin boy!” he exclaimed. “Well favoured he may be but he’s no replacement for you, my sweet. I’m not into those kinds of pleasures, even on the longest of voyages.”

“I heard tell that Frenchmen would take their pleasures where they can.” Smiling wickedly she couldn’t resist caressing his shaft, feeling it gradually grow even harder. Men were so easy to handle at times she thought as her steadily rising desire drained the lethargy from her body.

“A despicable rumour put about by the English.” Raoul gave a hungry groan. His hand moved down from her breast to her belly then slid between her thighs. He parted the soft folds of her sex. “You say that you don’t want sex, yet you are moist already,” he said huskily.

His sweat soaked flesh press slickly against hers but she had forgotten such discomforts now as her lust for him skittered out of control. Yet she didn’t want Raoul to think that he could just slip into her bed like this whenever the mood took him.

“Moist I may be,” she said as curtly as she could. “But not near ready yet…” Her words petered off and she gave a soft gasp as his fingers slid into her silky sheath. Raoul moved them gently, twisting and thrusting. She began to crave the feel of his pulsing cock between her thighs as the pleasure grew and expanded inside her.

“Not ready?” he teased. To her dismay he removed his fingers, but she shouldn’t have been concerned because now he concentrated on her clit. Caressing it gently and squeezing it with just enough pressure to turn her on even more.

“You are a bastard,” she hissed.

“I’m a pirate what else do you expect,” he responded, pushing his fingers inside her again, and pressing his thumb against her clit at the same time. His lips reached for her breast, tantalisingly caressing her erect nipples.

Sophia arched her back and gave a mewling cry as her pleasure rose like the soaring swell of the ocean. “Please, Raoul,” she gasped. “Stop for a moment. I want to pleasure you as well.”

With a husky chuckle, he rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him but somehow managing to keep his fingers buried inside her. Sophia wanted to climax now, hard and fast, then straddle him and have his thick cock thrusting inside her to bring her to orgasm again. But Raoul had to be taught a lesson first. Reaching down, she grabbed hold of his wrist. Raoul was far stronger than her and could have resisted but he chose not to as she forced his hand away from her body.

“Have it your way. You always do.” When he’d moved his long blond hair had come free from the leather tie that bound it back. Irritably he pushed the strands of hair away from his face as Sophia crouched atop his lean hips.

“Don’t you find it refreshing after ordering your crew about all the time?”

Leaning forward, she let the tips of her rosy nipples just brush the hard flesh of his chest. Raoul looked up at her with eyes that were bluer than the Caribbean skies. He couldn’t be classed as handsome, his face was a little too long, his nose a shade crooked but he was a remarkably attractive man. His expression was innocence itself, no one would have guessed that, apart from Blackheart, he was one of the most dangerous pirates sailing these seas.

Slowly she moved, letting the tips of her nipples caress his slick flesh, gradually moving further forward until she was near lying atop his upper body, trapping his engorged cock between her stomach and his. “Sophia,” he pleaded. “For God’s sake fuck me!”

“Soon,” she promised, slipping her hand beneath the pillow.

She moved swiftly and barely a heartbeat later the blade of her knife was pressed menacingly against his throat.

“What the hell?” he grated.

“Raoul, my sweet, you must learn that you do not enter my room, let alone my bed without my permission. She pressed the flat of the blade across the beating pulse in his neck, witnessing the expression of angry confusion that crossed his features for a fleeting moment.

“You’ve never complained about me being in your bed before.”

“Women are fickle, you’ve said that on occasions. So I’m being fickle now.” She slid the blade upwards until the sharp edge was resting against the juncture of neck and chin. “No man takes me for granted, Raoul.”

He swallowed uneasily. “If you were a man I’d kill you for doing this.”

“Try it,” she challenged, keeping the blade firmly in place. “And I’ll give you the closest shave you’ve ever known.”

Old Enough To Be His Mother

by Deanna Ashford

What is it about young men I like so much? Is it the taut lithe physique, the smooth skin, the sparkling eyes or that assured arrogance of youth? The thought of those firm young thighs, their ability for sexual endurance. Mind you it doesn’t happen all the time but sometimes I see a young guy and I think Wow! The sexual surge is powerful, there’s no doubt about that, but there is a small wee voice in my head saying “but you are old enough to be his mum!” (Maybe a very young mum, I hasten to add, I don’t like to think I’m that old yet.) Then the devil on my other shoulder says “what the hell, he is so, so tasty.”

It seems a long, long time since I celebrated my seventeenth birthday but I can definitely remember at the time I really only fancied older guys. I thought that young men of my age were a little crass and immature, and to go out with someone older was considered the height of sophistication. Even when I reached my twenties I still preferred older guys. Maybe I was a tad materialistic because I definitely preferred my boyfriends to be older, more sophisticated and to of course have a decent job, a car and all the other necessary accoutrements which made dating them even more enjoyable. On reflection I suppose it is as sort of basic survival instinct being attracted to males who are bigger, stronger and obviously more important.

But as I’ve grown older I have found that my outlook has been turned totally upside down. Who cares if they don't have any money: marriage and settling down with them is not on my agenda – it is beauty and sexual charisma I am after. I’m definitely attracted to younger men and oddly enough the older I get the younger the men I fancy seem to become. There is a limit of course beneath which no sane person would stray but fortunately I haven’t reached it just yet.

Should this bother me? Goodness no! Where’s the fun in that?

After all society has always made it acceptable for young women to be attracted to much older men. Centuries ago young girls in their early teens were forced to marry men way older than themselves, sometimes old enough to be their grandfathers and no one saw anything wrong with that. Even today trophy wives aren’t exactly frowned upon. Look at Hugh Heffner, he is 81 years old and yet he has three girlfriends - all young blonde bimbos in their early twenties. And he claims that he sleeps with them all. Perhaps sleep is the operative word here, most 81 year olds I know drop off at a moments notice!

Yet when Demi Moore, who is now 45, married Aston Kutcher a young man 15 years younger everyone was surprised and a little shocked. In essence she was just about old enough to be his mother. Then there is Joan Collins whose husband, Percy, is 32 years younger than her.

I wrote of an encounter between a younger man and an older woman in my book Doctor’s Orders.

Colin is a nurse in his early thirties and Zara is a well know actress a good 15 years older than him.

Zara’s skin was a pale ivory and blemish free, while her body was just perfect: curvy, not stick thin like most of the actresses Colin had come across since working here. She looked more like a thirty year old than a woman fast approaching fifty.

Colin tried not to think of her in a sexual way, but he found it far from easy, as he poured the sweet smelling oil on her back and started to massage her with long, smooth strokes.

‘That feels nice.’ Zara pillowed her head on her folded arms.

‘Relax, think of nothing,’ Colin said, so very conscious that he was touching a woman he had adored for years. A hungry ache of longing formed deep in the pit of his belly, and no matter how hard he tried, it couldn’t be totally ignored. Her full breasts were compressed by her weight, and they spilled enticingly out of the sides of her body. As Colin slid his hands up the sides of her back, his fingers brushed the soft curves. He wanted to roll her over, cup them in his hands and cover them with gentle kisses. His heartbeat quickened at the thought as life blood flooded his groin. His cock hardened – God, how he wanted this woman.

Zara's bottom was was pert and tight, with no sign of softness or dimpling - a testament to the time she spent working out in the gym. Colin dug his fingers into her gluteus muscles, kneading and squeezing. The movements pulled apart the cheeks of her buttocks and he caught a glimpse of her rosy brown anus. Aroused by the delicious sight, he tried hard to concentrate on the massage, sliding his hands lower to stroke her legs.

She gave a soft appreciative sigh and her legs rolled open just a little. Colin's fingers, slick with oil, slid between her thighs, just brushing her dark blonde curl. He felt her shiver and was so tempted to proceed further; to mesh his fingers in the silky pelt, dip them inside the lips of her sex and seek out the throbbing heat of her quim.

I have friends who taken a fancy to one of their son’s young friends and felt mortified that they feel that way. Fortunately that hasn’t happened to me yet, I’m happy to ignore the young men coming to my door and traipsing up to my son’s room, all dressed the same in baggy jeans and tattered ‘T’ shirts. It seems to me that it is far easier, and probably far safer, to lust after a young guy who is totally unreachable.

In the past I’ve always gone for muscular men, the prime example being Sawyer from Lost, who is the perfect on-screen bad boy. His sultry glances and arrogant attitude make you wonder just how good he’d be in bed. Spectacular I’d guess if his wicked smiles are anything to go by. He’s bad, so very bad, and that makes him far more attractive than good doctor Jack. Nevertheless, there is no way I could class Sawyer in the ‘old enough to be his mother’ category. He’s 38 and way to old, but he is still gorgeous enough for a mention (This is my post!)

It is the sweeter, younger flesh, I’m attracted to like the erstwhile elf Orlando Bloom. Thousands of females fell for the cool blonde innocence of Legolas wondering what it would be like to bed such an enigmatic creature. Then we saw the real Orlando (well I like to think so) as our passions were revived by the sexy dark haired young man who became a pirate to rescue the girl he loved. Will Turner, sword in hand, battling the evils of Barbossa and the Kraken. How many of us have imagined a threesome sandwiched between Jonny Depp and Orlando Bloom!

Portia Da Costa also admits to fancying a young man. I quote “Professor Charles Eppes as played by David Krumholtz in Numbers. He’s beautiful, quirky and a genius beyond his years. He’s young enough to be my son but my feelings are far from maternal!

Since my interest in Orlando I confess I’ve slid backwards a few years when I noticed an up and coming twenty-six year old on my TV screen. I now have a passion for an amazing young man who looks and sings like an angel. His handsome face, his dark chocolate brown curls, blue/green eyes and sweet unassuming manner have turned my legs to water every time I’ve seen or spoken to him. Yet these feelings are mine alone and not to be shared by others. That’s the pleasure of it I think - these useless but, oh so delicious, lustful feelings about a young man who definitely is young enough to be my son.

Interview with Michelle Pillow

by Deanna Ashford

Today I’m interviewing Michelle M. Pillow. She is an amazingly prolific author and a sweet and charming person. I had the privilege to meet her and get to know her at the Romance Writers of America Conference in Dallas last July. Not only does she write for Virgin's US imprint, Cheek, she writes for a multitude of other US imprints as well.

When asked to describe herself she said: –

I have always had an active imagination. Ever since I can remember, I have had a strange fascination with anything supernatural—ghosts, magical powers, and oh…vampires. What could be more alluring than being immortal, all-powerful, and eternally beautiful? (Sorry, vampire purists, in this fantasy the Hollywood version rules).

After discovering historical romance novels in high school (thanks mom), it was only natural that the supernatural and love/romance elements should someday meet in my wonderland of a brain. I’m glad they did for their children have been pouring onto the computer screen ever since. Whoever said it was bad to be a daydreamer with your head in the clouds…futuristic planets and underground, subculture worlds? I don’t know about you, but I would much rather play there than in reality.

Tell us about your latest book Michelle and what made you write it.

MP: My newest release is Along for the Ride, Virgin Books. It’s the second in the Matthews Sisters series. The Matthews Sisters series is about the sisterly bond, which I think any woman with a sister can relate to. It’s the idea that no one can mess with my sisters, but me. It’s about being so close no words need to be said. It’s about being able to be so frustrated with and yet love someone at the same time. And occasionally seeing what the other person refuses to see. Family is a part of who these heroines are and though each sister is inherently different than the others, they are connected with a bond that can never be severed

What first made you interested in writing in the erotic genre/ or how did you get started writing erotic romance?

MP: I started writing straight historicals, which were very sweet in nature compared to what I do now. As my writing expanded and involved into other genres and as the market trend changed, it was only natural for me to branch out into erotic romance as well as paranormals, contemporaries, futuristics, fantasy, ect..

Which one of the books you have written is your favourite?

MP: I like them all for different reasons. Maiden and the Monster holds a special place because it was one of the first books I wrote pre-publication and it also won my first RT award. But, really, it’s like asking me to pick a favourite child. I can’t do it. *grin*

Which book do you think is the hottest or are they one and the same?

MP: My hottest? Taming Him from Ellora’s Cave. My books for Virgin are all Erotic Romances. I haven’t done a straight erotica novel. I think that’s because I love a happily-ever-after ending and writing romance is just natural for me. Not, that Erotica can’t have a HEA, just that I tend to have a romantic focus when I write.

If you were to write a book entirely for yourself, would it differ at all from your published writing?

MP: Wow, great question. I really like darker books, with huge world building and a large cast of characters. If I didn’t have to worry about market and readership and publishing, basically all the business stuff of being an author, I think more of the larger worlds would find their way into my work. I’d also write in many POVs, because I like seeing into everyone’s head.

If you had the chance to meet one of the heroes from your books which one would it be?

MP: One of the supernaturals, just to know they exist. But I’d want some safety protocols with those dark fantasy vampires, lol. Some of mine get pretty nasty with the humans.

You sometimes write with Mandy Roth, what first made you start doing that and do you find it easier or more difficult than writing alone?

MP: I’m very lucky to have a writing partner in Mandy (www.mandyroth.com). She really is like a sister to me. We can fight, laugh at each other and ourselves, hang up the other and know that the next day that friendship and bond will still be there. Writing with a partner isn’t always easy, but Mandy and I have a natural groove. We can play off each other’s strengths and know who would be better at what kind of scene. We open each other up for jokes, like in the Pleasure Cruise series at Ellora’s Cave. Mandy’s very technical minded. I tend to be more into the historical and social anthropology aspect. It’s a great balance for us.

Do you find writing easy or do you have to discipline yourself?

MP: It depends. I’m a hard worker by nature so it’s in me to constantly strive for more and better. Like any writer, I go through cycles of block. When that happens, I tend to focus on other aspects of the writing career, like promotions.

Is there anything, with an erotic theme, that you wouldn’t write about?

MP: Several things. But, I should note, just because I don’t write it, doesn’t mean others shouldn’t. Just like I’m not the person to write inspirational or straight suspense, neither am I the person for M/M or F/F. That’s what’s great about having so many authors out there to chose from—wondrous variety.

Do you have a favourite writer in any genre?

MP: I love Jane Austin. She’s the grandmother of romance. John Steinbeck is great. I love his descriptions. He really brings the era he writes about to life. I tend to gravitate toward classics for pleasure reading. As for romance writers, I love Mandy Roth (of course), Jaycee Clark does great suspense, Gia Dawn is one I’m keeping an eye on. Robyn Carr is a sweetheart of a person and a great author. Same with Kelley St. John. Jaci Burton’s Demon Island series are wonderful. Oh, did you say to pick just one? LOL I’ll stop there.

Are there any writers. TV programmes or movies that have sparked your interest enough to consider writing a book with a similar theme?

MP: Yes *ducking head* The movie Labyrinth inspired me to write the Realm Immortal series because I didn’t like the fact that Sara didn’t stay with Jareth at the end to be his goblin queen.

Do you enjoy the marketing yourself, or do you just consider it an uncomfortable necessity?

MP: It’s a necessity that I’ve taught myself not to mind doing. Yes, at times it’s tedious, but I treat my writing career as a business. These days you have to. And marketing is part of that business.

Sometimes, marketing is fun though. Like the podcast/live radio show Mandy and I do. We’re on the air every Wed and listeners can call in to talk to us. We started them as something to just play around and have fun with, but they’ve really taken off.

Is there anything you’d like to achieve that you haven’t done yet – be as free as you’d like here!

MP: I’m always on the lookout for the next project and opportunity. I’d love to get back into my photography and maybe someday have a gallery show or publish a book in that field. But there are no immediate plans for that. All I can say is I’m open to what the future holds.

Thanks so much for that Michelle

Thanks for having me!

Michelle’s Links

Website – www.michellepillow.com

Blog – www.michellepillow.com/blog

Newsletter – http://www.michellepillow.com/newsletter/?p=subscribe

Free Story – www.ravenhappyhour.com

Radio Show - http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ravenradio

Michelle has kindly offered to donate a signed copy of Along For the Ride for the best comments on LB today.