A Twenty Year Dream Comes True...

CHANCE OF A LIFETIME - Portia Da Costa

Wahey, today sees the publication of my first Spice Briefs ebook CHANCE OF A LIFETIME, a contemporary BDSM erotic romance novella.

CHANCE OF A LIFETIME is the story of Rose, who's doing some temporary work in a dilapidated stately home whilst waiting to take up a dream job - a chance of a lifetime - in the Caribbean. But working at the Manor isn't quite as dull and routine as she expected, especially when she finds out about the wicked sexual preferences of her delicious boss, the tall dark and mysterious Marquis. Pretty soon she's wondering if the real chance of a lifetime is actually experiencing kinky delights at his skilled and aristocratic hand.

This publication day sees a long held dream of mine coming to fruition. When I first started writing, my dearest wish was to write romantic novels for Mills and Boon [the Brit division of Harlequin] and my first attempts at crafting fiction were aimed towards that goal. I sent several manuscripts to M&B and got some great feedback, but I never quite got it right. Writing short romance is an extremely tough discipline and takes enormous skill and writing talent. It's not easy getting a hero and heroine's complete love story, with all its ups and downs and conflicts, into such a short wordcount!

I kept on trying to write for M&B, until one day a writing advisor said that as I wrote good sex scenes, I should try writing erotica instead, as a different path towards publication... and the rest is history. But who knows what might have happened if she'd told me to stick with the category romance?

So, to finally fulfil my dream of writing for Harlequin means the world to me. I'm now published by the world's best known romance publisher, and at the same time, I've had the fun of writing the spicy erotic scenes too!

Chance of a Lifetime is available from eHarlequin, Books on Board, and Fictionwise, in a variety of formats, and here's a naughty taster of it if you'd like to see what I've been babbling on about it.

And if you choose to take the plunge and buy Chance of a Lifetime, why not pick up the other November Spice Brief too! It's a fabulous novella by Saskia Walker, called Hot on her Tail, which is part of her Loving on the Edge trilogy... all of which are fab!

Hot on Her Tail is also available from eHarlequin, Fictionwise and Books on Board.

To celebrate our Brit Brief Bonanza, Saskia and I running a TWICE AS SPICEY competition with a giveaway of print books from both of us as the prize for lucky winner!

Click here to zip over to Saskia's Blog for details!

STOP PRESS!

If you buy CHANCE OF A LIFETIME from the AFTERNOON DELIGHTS web page, between noon and 3pm EST on Monday 3rd November 08, you'll get it for the stunning bargain price of only 99 cents! It's a snip!

MANY AFTERNOON DELIGHTS HERE!

Guest Post: Sedonia Guillone

We're thrilled to have the lovely Sedonia Guillone visiting us here at Lust Bites today. Please make her feel welcome as she introduces us to her Men of Tokyo.

A bit about Sedonia:

Birthplace: Norwood, Massachusetts
Astrological signs: Taurus, Rooster in Chinese zodiac
Favourite films of all time: Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro
Favourite music: anything by Gackt
Foods: olives, pizza, Thai curry
And I’m a coffee freak. I think my blood type is “caffeinated”.

The work I’m most enthusiastic about at this time is my White Tigers series published at Total-E-Bound. I feel that with these stories I am finding my voice a bit more as a writer, as this series incorporates so many elements of my life in a strange and new synthesis. You wouldn’t think that a Jewish girl from New England would have anything in common with gay men in Japan, one of whom was a high ranking yakuza in a crime family. However, I will tell you that I grew up with a gay father in a house surrounded often by all these handsome guys he and my “stepfather” were friends with.

The kernels of the stories were planted in my psyche at a young age. However, unlike my household, the White Tiger is an intentional community in which the members are consciously working on their spiritual development and learn to place the welfare of their unique and deeply bonded friendships first. I am incredibly fortunate to have a community of friends in which such cooperation is our intention. Although we’re not even remotely like the White Tiger, the elements of sacrifice and friendship and deep acceptance are what I infuse into my characters and which fuel my love of these characters and stories.

I was initially inspired by Jade Lee’s Tigress (Dorchester Publishing) series of erotic historical romances set in turn-of-the century Shanghai in which she incorporates the incredibly erotic practices of the White Tigress with the development of a romance between the hero and heroine.

At the time however, I’d begun writing M/M and became absolutely enamored of the genre, wanting almost to write nothing else. That, along with my growing fascination with samurai culture, inspired by the magnificent films of Akira Kurosawa, presented me with a incredible source of story elements. Back in 2007, I wrote His Beautiful Samurai (Torquere Press), only my second M/M novel and first romantic suspense. Although it is set in contemporary Tokyo, there is an ill-fated romance between two samurai of the past that plays a part in the present mystery.


By then, I’d learned much more about the teachings of the White Tigress and was looking for a way to transpose this incredibly juicy venue into M/M. Hence, the White Tiger, a gay men’s hotel in Tokyo. As often happens with writers, ideas kick around in our minds and marinate, developing into a story the characters want us to tell. I’d had the idea in my mind of having two men go undercover in the White Tiger where they would undergo incredibly erotic experiences while solving the mystery. Of course! I had my two lovers from His Beautiful Samurai, Toshi Genjin (named for Toshiro Mifune, of course) and John Holmes (I swear I didn’t know then of the porn star by the same name, lol). This book became the sequel, Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger. However, once I wrote this story, I realized that the men of the White Tiger each had a romance and story of his own that needed to be told.



My boyfriend had given me a title to write a story for, as he’s done several times (Ace in the Hole, Loose Id and Enter the Hero (Red Sage Secrets, vol 25). Hence, Men of Phuket: Tongue-Thai’d had risen in my mind. The segue was perfect
and I was able to continue the story of Ryu, who appears briefly in Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger but who was deeply affected by the events in the novel. From there, I was like a racehorse let out of the gate. The romances of the White Tiger men have clamoured ever since to be told. I ended up going back in time a bit before the mystery that brings readers to the White Tiger and zoomed in on the men’s stories, i.e. how each of them came to be a part of the White Tiger, how the place got established, the development of the romances. The romance between Kiku (also named for Toshiro Mifune’s character in Seven Samurai) and Yuzo in Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender is the pivotal romance that sparks the events of Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger, yet the stories are structured so that the mystery can be read completely separately without needing the other White Tigers novels in order to understand what’s going on.

Blurb for Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender (current release)
In desperation for his life, Yuzo Kitano escapes the sadistic clutches of Taro Suzuki, one of Tokyo’s fiercest yakuza, and seeks refuge with Suzuki’s arch-rival, Kikuchiya Fujimara, owner of the White Tiger, a luxurious love-hotel for gay men which also serves as a spiritual community for its inhabitants. From early meetings with the handsome, charismatic leader who trains men in the sexual Tao, Yuzo senses deep inside he’s found someone he can trust and who will keep him safe. What he doesn’t expect is the absolute sensual bliss he finds with Kikuchiya’s skilled lovemaking and realizes he’s found what he’s really wanted his whole life. But does Kiku want him in return? At first, Kiku sees only Yuzo’s alluring beauty and desperate need for protection. But the headstrong impulsive Yuzo is also the first man Kiku has ever met whose touch is healing and calming for him, rather than a distressing channel for his psychic abilities, and the more he makes love to Yuzo, the more Kiku is in danger of losing his heart to another for the first time in his life. However, Kiku also knows that when Suzuki finds out where his slave has gone, there will be hell to pay. Kiku has already made one harrowing sacrifice to the yakuza in return for his freedom and might not survive a second…

Excerpt:

Kiku rolled over with Quan Chan in his arms so that he lay atop the other man. Chan Chan, as Kiku affectionately called his friend and sometime lover of ten years, nearly matched Kiku in physical size, so there was no mistaking the power in the possessive grip of Chan Chan’s thighs as they pressed into Kiku’s hips.

Brushing a kiss over his friend’s full parted lips, Kiku braced himself for the painful images that always assailed him during lovemaking. Didn’t matter who the man was, or even if they were making love. The visions came, as they did now when Quan Chan’s hands started to knead Kiku’s back muscles. Chan Chan as a boy in Shanghai, running wild in the streets while his mother earned their keep in a whorehouse. Dirt-streaked, hungry, often beaten up for fun by bigger, older boys and left to bleed and cry. Chan Chan had known only this life until he miraculously stumbled upon the White Tiger Temple, the original place that his own White Tiger was loosely modelled on.

Kiku turned his head from Chan Chan, but more images were coming. His dear friend as a young, troubled man searching for shelter by learning to stroke and lick another man’s dragon properly. Something about that always tore at Kiku’s heart.

“Kiku, are you all right?” Chan Chan asked in Shanghainese, the language Kiku had grown up speaking with his Chinese mother. The whispered question made him realize the tension seeping into his body.

Kiku sighed. “Yes. Fine.” No need to make the other man feel badly about what neither of them could control. He stroked a thumb across Chan Chan’s high cheekbone, knowing that their time as lovers would probably be ending soon, the way it had with Ryu when the visions grew too intense and frequent to bear while they were in bed. Lowering his face to his friend’s, he kissed him again, stealing between his lips to taste the moistness there.

As Chan Chan always did, his mouth softened in surrender. His hands resumed their caress on Kiku’s back and Kiku registered the deepening of emotion in the other man. Chan Chan had always been taken with him, but had started to fall deeply in love with him in recent months. Though Kiku wanted to return the romantic feeling, as he’d wanted to with Ryu, the visions held him off as if with spikes.

Tension clenched in his back and shot down his arms and legs. Kuso! Kiku shifted his hips forward to make their dragons slide together. The sensation was pleasant but didn’t make blood surge through his organ as it usually did. He was softening again. The third time this week. That had never happened to him before, no matter how bad the images were. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Quan Chan.

The other man’s arms stayed around him. “What is it, Kiku? Please, talk to me.” Chan Chan’s insecurity hovered around them now, like a cloud. “Did I do something?”

Kiku cupped his cheek. The poor man still carried within him the child who blamed himself for every misfortune that befell him even though he was absolutely guiltless. “It has nothing to do with you, my friend.”

Chan Chan stilled. “It’s the visions, isn’t it?” Of course, after ten years of friendship, he’d be more tuned into Kiku than Kiku had given him credit for.

“Oh no,” Chan Chan moaned. He knew about how this same thing had forced Kiku to stop being lovers with Ryu who still pined away for his friend while living in the bedroom next door. “Does this mean…?”

Kiku winced at the pain in his friend’s voice. He smoothed a hand over Chan Chan’s brow. “I don’t know.” He looked down into the other man’s sad eyes, visible in the hushed lighting of the room. “Would you still be my friend if it did?” He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Chan Chan over this. Quan Chan was the man who’d brought him to the path of the White Tiger on his past trips to Shanghai for the Suzuki family’s business. Quan Chan had first taught him the promise of spiritual well-being through the proper use of his yang force. Taro Suzuki had once accused Kiku of being a “collector of people,” but Kiku knew the truth. To let go of a true friend like this man would be a foolish, stupid act.

“Of course, Kiku. I would never—”

A knock on the soji screen to his room interrupted Quan Chan.

“Yes?” Something about the urgency in the knock made Kiku’s heartbeat rise slightly.

“Kiku-sensei, forgive me for disturbing you.”

It was Naoto, his right hand around this place. The White Tiger ran as well as it did because of this young man’s service and Naoto would never disturb his private time unless there was a damn good reason.

“It’s all right. Come in.” He sat up as the screen slid open, revealing Naoto’s brawny form.

Naoto bowed. “I’m sorry. Ryu thought I should get you immediately.”

Ryu also would never disturb him for something superficial.

A strange energy skittered up Kiku’s arms. Beside him, he felt Chan Chan sit up, taking care to keep the covers over their groins. Not that it mattered if Naoto saw them. Naoto had once been a lover too, while Kiku taught him the practices of the White Tiger. “What is it?”

“Yuzo is here.”

The name took a moment to register in his consciousness. “You mean Suzuki’s uke?” What the hell would Suzuki’s submissive be doing here without Suzuki?

Naoto nodded his head of long hair. “Hai. He ran away from Suzuki and came here, asking for you. He’s in bad shape.”

“I’ll bet he is.” Kiku threw back the covers and shot to his feet. Suzuki never left anyone better than he found him. Always worse. “I’ll come right away.” In the past few months, Suzuki had brought the young man with him when he came to use the White Tiger. Kiku hated having Suzuki in his place and generally banned yakuza, but use of the facilities had been part of their agreement. As he threw on a kimono and tied the belt, a memory came to mind of the last time he’d seen Yuzo here with Suzuki. He hadn’t missed the way Yuzo looked at him with longing. Nor had he missed the hatred simmering in Yuzo’s large eyes when Suzuki’s back was turned.

Naoto was waiting in the hallway for him. At the threshold, Kiku remembered Chan Chan and turned. The man had also risen from the bed and was tying the sash of his kimono, a sad expression on his face. Though Quan Chan was still learning Japanese, Kiku knew his friend spoke enough of the language to have understood the exchange with Naoto. Their gazes met.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Kiku murmured.

A touch of light infused Chan Chan’s eyes. “Friend is all that matters,” he said softly.

*******

Kiku followed Naoto’s lead down into the kitchen.

“He ran quite a distance,” Naoto said as they walked. “All the way from Suzuki’s flat. Barefoot, practically naked. Ryu heard someone pounding on the back door, and there he was.” He pushed open the door leading to the kitchen.

Kiku nodded his thanks and stepped in, already seeing a flash of shaggy hair. Proceeding into the kitchen with Naoto behind him, Kiku paused at the scene.

Yuzo sat in a chair by the large stainless steel centre table. The white button down shirt he wore was pushed back over one shoulder while Basho, the cook here at the White Tiger, was smearing cream over one side of Yuzo’s chest. Ryu knelt in front of Yuzo, his pink-dyed head bent over the task of wiping Yuzo’s bare feet gently with a wet cloth. A teapot and cup of tea already sat on the table beside Yuzo.

A flush of pride mingled with the foreboding Kiku already sensed. He’d trained his men well and they’d come a long way on the path of service and compassion from the basket cases each one had been in earlier years.

Ryu saw Kiku first. He looked up, hand freezing in mid-wipe of Yuzo’s left foot. “Kiku,” he said softly. He rose and stood aside, his eyes, Kiku grimly noted, stricken. No doubt, Yuzo’s plight brought back Ryu’s own nightmarish rape by Suzuki at the tender age of seventeen. Unlike Yuzo however, Ryu had been innocently asleep in his own bed, only to awaken with Suzuki and one of his goons hovering over him.

Although Ryu had set Yuzo’s foot back down, the young man in the chair kept his gaze down, as if not noticing what was happening.

“He’s really hurt,” Ryu went on, his voice tight. “That’s why we disturbed you. We wouldn’t have—“

“You absolutely did the right thing.” Kiku touched Ryu’s shoulder briefly before approaching the chair. When he did, Basho moved away also, revealing the reason for his use of cream on Yuzo’s chest.

Unprepared for the anger that spiked through him, Kiku clenched his fists at his sides and stared at Suzuki’s name tattooed there. The job was obviously freshly done, judging by the rawness of the skin around them as well as the darkness of the Nara ink, not quite blue-green as it would shortly turn.

“Suzuki held him down while his goon…” Ryu’s voice choked off.

“I understand.” Kiku’s own voice sounded tight to his ears. It was one thing to undergo the tattooing process by free choice as he and Ryu had done. Quite another to have it done as a branding, no matter how small the mark.

Only then did Kiku notice the slight trembling of Yuzo’s shoulders. The young man’s face remained tilted downwards, causing the shagginess of his hair to hide his eyes as if he were afraid or ashamed to make eye contact.

Kiku didn’t wonder about that. Even a man in Yuzo’s shattered state had to understand the risk he’d taken as well as the grave danger he put anyone into who gave him shelter.

No matter. Kiku’s soul-driven need to protect always won out, especially when it concerned a victim of Suzuki’s depravity. He knelt down and studied Yuzo’s hunched over form.

Suzuki’s pernicious yang force roiled in the air around Yuzo, like a noxious stink that permeated the young man’s skin and hair. No telling what the rotten energy had done to Yuzo’s heart and soul from prolonged intimate exposure. Ryu still had nightmares ten years after the rape. “You’re safe now, Yuzo,” Kiku said.

Yuzo’s ragged breathing made the bangs over his eyes ripple. His lips, full and pouty, were slightly parted, and his neatly manicured hands clutched his knees so tightly, his knuckles were white.

At first, Kiku thought the man was in such shock he wouldn’t answer, but then Yuzo lifted his gaze and looked directly at Kiku.

Large, liquid brown pools stared out from under thick heavy lashes. Kiku found himself staring back, disturbed at the sense of capture he experienced. He glanced away but felt drawn back, as if Yuzo’s silent will were stronger than any other force, and saw that the fear and horror in Yuzo’s eyes had already begun to ebb. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then, as if touched with a cattle prod, he sat up straighter, eyes wide. “I…I promise, Fuju, I won’t stay. I just needed to get away. Please believe me.”

Yes, he did understand. But there was something else in what Yuzo was saying, something that told Kiku that Yuzo had been planning to escape Suzuki and to take refuge here. No doubt a touch would tell him more.

Carefully, so as not to startle Yuzo, Kiku took gentle hold of Yuzo’s arms over the white shirt. Suzuki’s shirt, no doubt, judging from the way it draped so largely over Yuzo’s slim form. Yuzo’s triceps, though also slim, were hard and sinewy against Kiku’s fingertips. “We’ll talk about that later, Yuzo-san,” he said softly. “For now, you’ll stay here.”

Yuzo’s large eyes were staring down into his, unflinchingly and Kiku found himself studying every contour of the man’s face. The brush-like lashes, the shaggy way his hair framed his delicately-boned face, the poutiness of his full lips as well as the barest hint of moustache on his upper lip. Without that, his beauty would have been quite androgynous, very much like the boy-band type that was wildly popular these days. What wasn’t androgynous was Yuzo’s slender body of lightly chiselled muscle. That was all male.

Kiku caught himself staring and silently chided himself. To be objectifying the man at a moment like this. Only then did he realize the absence of images. He brushed his thumbs over Yuzo’s biceps, also hard and enticing as the rest of him. Nothing. Only Yuzo’s fear, mingled with relief and the continuing burn of Suzuki’s raw, angry qi.

How was this possible? Never mind that, he continued to chide himself. No doubt, once he got Yuzo into the shower, naked with him to cleanse him of Suzuki’s negative energy, the images would come. They always did.


You can visit Sedonia here.

Smut slot: Amanda's Young Men

Fireworks are for sale all over Canada right now. This is because Canada Day, July 1, is right around the corner, but I like to think it’s because the release date for Amanda’s Young Men is July 3, (although the book is available now on Amazon.co.uk) and Canadians everywhere are eager to celebrate. OK, so the release date is for the UK only and, according to the information I have at present, Amanda’s Young Men won’t be available in Canada/US until January 6, 2009, but still…a girl can dream, and for anyone who's ever dreamt of young-but-legal boy toys, my book is a dream come true.

Here's what the front cover looks like:


And here's what it says on the back:

When her husband dies of a heart attack in a by-the-hour motel, Amanda inherits a chain of shoe shops that bleed money. But luckily for Amanda, the staff are bright and beautiful young people, ambitious to succeed and eager to give her total satisfaction. As she sets out to save the chain, and discover the woman involved in her husband's death, Amanda also finds time to amuse herself with lovers - young ones, and lots of them. Heels, hose, and haute couture have always been parts of Amanda's life, but now she's up to her dimples in duplicity, desire and decadence.

That’s right, she’s a cougar on the prowl. And not this kind of cougar:


We’re talking about this kind:



Way to go, Demi! Next Friday we’ll be talking about boy toys and you’ll get lots of pictures like this one, and the opportunity to comment on the topic:



But today, it’s all about Amanda's Young Men. So here’s a couple of bites from the book to whet your appetite.

Amanda steals Paul from a rival shoe store:

He measured her foot with the delicate touch of a spider. ‘One moment, Madam.’
The shoe he brought to her was a plain classic pump in metallic bronze, with six-inch steel-tipped heels that were as slender and vicious as nails. He knelt and used his palm to push up on the blunted spike to press the shoe’s heel onto Amanda’s foot. Amanda bore down, forcing his right hand lower and lower, until its back was flat on the floor, and trapped. Then she put just a little weight on it, indenting the flesh of his palm.
Paul looked up at her face with both pain and lust in his eyes.
‘Now the other shoe,’ she said.
‘I…’
‘You’ll manage.’
‘Yes, Madam.’ Awkwardly, he worked her foot into the second shoe, one-handed, until a third of her heel was in it. He set his palm beneath its spike and looked up again, his deep brown eyes silently pleading.
Amanda knew exactly what he wanted. She forced his left hand down and trapped it beside its mate.


Amanda has sex with Paul:

Amanda knelt between his thighs. His balls, like Rupert’s, were tight and close to his body, two perfect gemstones encased in a sack of the thinnest, smoothest leather. She handled them with care, arranging his scrotum to hang nicely over the edge of the couch. The rest of his lovely young package lay limp on his thigh. She blew on its head. It twitched and rose a fraction. Her left hand took its base and lifted it. Even that slight attention engorged his flesh.
Amanda dipped her head. As her lips stretched over Paul’s knob, he gasped. She didn’t take him deep. It was her lips and tongue, slobbering and deliberately making wet noises, that brought him to full straining erection. She rose swiftly and knelt on the sofa astride Paul’s thighs. Still holding his shaft, she lowered herself until its dome was snuggled between her pussy’s bare lips.
Paul’s eyes clouded with lust. Holding his gaze, she sank, teasing herself and savouring each throbbing inch as it sank into her. When she was sitting on him, her lips stretched around his base, she ground down, gaining an extra inch, and rotated, stirring her own insides on the stiff rod that impaled her.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ she growled. ‘I’m going to get myself off on your hard young cock and it doesn’t matter to me whether you come or not. This is for me. You understand?’
He nodded.
Amanda took a fistful of his hair in her left hand and twisted it. Paul winced but said nothing. Forcing herself down, Amanda bumped and twitched and squirmed until her clit was trapped between her pubic bone and his. She slow-humped, masturbating herself on his captive flesh. The thumb and forefinger of her still-latexed right hand clamped on his left nipple and firmly rotated it.
Now that she had two hand-grips, Amanda cut loose, twisting her hips and riding him, hard and fast. It must have been good for him, too good, because he groaned, humped up and collapsed. ‘Don’t you dare go soft on me,’ she ordered, and gave his nipple a cruel wrench.
Perhaps it was the sudden pain, for the flesh that she’d felt start to soften inside her recovered its rigidity. Incredible! She was truly using him just as she’d use a sex toy, pushing his buttons to make him perform exactly as she required. Inspired by her newfound power, Amanda rode Paul harder, faster, pounding her pubic mound down on his, exulting in every sensation. He kept the pace, thrusting up to meet her, matching her wildness with his own. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto his cheek. His tongue instantly stretched to capture the droplet. He closed his eyes, as if to savour the flavour. And it was this, this gentle, unexpected wordless declaration of adoration in the midst of their ferocious coupling, that tipped her into a climax so deep, so complete, it made her howl.

One lucky commenter will win a signed copy of Amanda’s Young Men, to be announced Monday. Just one thing – my author copies have gone missing but more are on the way. So the winner will have to be patient, but not as patient as North American readers.

Let the celebration begin!

(The painting used in this post is by Robert R. Bliss: "Untitled Pair of Young Men" If you have interest in this painting, contact Outer Cape Auctions.)

(If you just can't wait a week to contemplate boy toys, why not revisit Olivia Knight's crush Wednesday post on skinny boys?

Buy the book - Amanda's Young Men - Amazon.co.uk

preorder the book - Amanda's Young Men - Amazon.com

visit my blog - moremadelinemoore.blogspot.com

Return to GothicWorld...

GOTHIC HEAT by Portia Da Costa

Ten years ago, I wrote a paranormal erotic romance called Gothic Blue. It did quite well and a lot of people said that they really, really liked it... and one or two said they'd love to read a sequel. At the time, I felt that I'd wrapped up the story pretty well, and I couldn't quite see how I could return to the setting and the characters, so I moved on and wrote other books and forgot about the sequel notion altogether...

Then, last year, when our Black Lace editor was urging us to give him some paranormal ideas, I very whimsically suggested that it might be fun to do a Gothic Blue sequel, not really sure he'd take me seriously, mainly because I wasn't all that serious about it myself... but lo and behold, shortly after, there were contracts and delivery dates and whatnot, and I was committed to it!

Luckily, there were a few loose ends in Gothic Blue, and one of them was a character called Paula. She had a serious brush with the evil sorceress Isidora Katori, that turned out to have pretty far reaching consequences... and Gothic Heat became the story of those consequences.

In the clip below, Paula is visiting her new friend and lover Rafe at the therapy centre where he works. But unbeknownst to Rafe, Paula has a little problem that she's not yet had chance to tell him about... the possessing spirit of the wicked seductress, Isidora.

Rafe gripped the oil bottle tightly, fighting for breath. He experienced a disorientating sense of doubling that made him giddy, and for a second, he seemed to see two women on the couch. It was like a drug trip, as if someone had loaded his massage oil with peyote and he’d absorbed it through his skin. Paula’s dark hair looked silkier, longer and lusher; and her eyes were slanted and imperious, assessing him as if he were sexual meat for her delectation. Her body was simply sublime, full of breast and sumptuous of hip. Her serviceable black knickers were gone, discarded on the floor to reveal the perfect, fragrant triangle of her bush. She held out her hand to him like a queen, and he walked towards her.

‘Mmmm…’ Taking the bottle of oil from him, she pulled the stopper and sniffed deeply, smiling to herself. Then, in a sudden violent gesture, she hurled the thing across the room, laughing as the oil arced from it, flying like a pale yellow ribbon. ‘A pretty scent,’ She adjusted herself on the table, slithering around until she was perched on the edge, ‘but artificial, my Rafe, too artificial.’ Parting her legs, she offered him something that was both natural and beyond nature instead.

Rafe gasped, dragging in both oxygen and the odour of Paula’s genitals. The room was filled with lavender, but it seemed to come from a distance, and through a filter. Only the essence of woman had real truth, and real meaning.

Staggering slightly, he fell to his knees and pressed his face between her thighs, aware of great well of tightly focused heat, emanating not from her sex but the white curve of her belly. He tried to lift his head and search for a visible mark or glow, and for a moment he imagined he saw a slight, raised pattern on her skin. But before he could get a closer look she pressed down hard on the top of his head, forcing him to pleasure her.

She was hot, fragrant, and intoxicatingly delicious. A million impressions crowded his senses, both ordinary and unusual. The taste of Paula was like power itself, infinitely greater than his own puny gifts. Supping at her earthy juices, his mind seemed to expand and a rainbow of twenty thousand colours exploded in his head.

‘Yes! Yes! That’s marvellous. More of that!’ she goaded him as he flicked his tongue over her. Swift, deft hands dug into his scalp, cramming his face against the juncture of her thighs. Rafe felt as if he were drowning, drowning so fast and hard that he’d probably expire just at the moment of her extreme pleasure. His cock was a rod of agony that seemed to belong to another man.

Harder and harder he licked, covering every bit of her sex, licking her clit and her lips, and sipping at her entrance. She writhed against him, sultry and serpentine, groaning and shouting, praising him with a string of lurid profanities, language even fouler and more extreme than even he’d ever comfortably used himself. Her heels bashed against his back and his entire head felt as if it were on fire. His eyes were shut but somehow he seemed to see a burning, setting sun, searing his vision and extinguishing his self control.

When he sucked hard on her clit, she howled like a banshee. But instead of falling back and surrendering herself to orgasm and pleasure, she surged off the massage bench and knocked him backwards, so he sprawled on the wooden floor and slid in the spilt oil. As he lay there with the wind knocked out of him, dimly away of shards of glass digging into his shoulders and back, she climbed astride him, and knelt over his pelvis, her dark triangle hovering tauntingly over his loins.

‘So, sex-god, do you have a condom in you pocket?’ she jeered. Then without waiting for an answer, she inclined over him, feeling around and under him into the pocket of his yoga pants. Her fingers felt hot through the thin cloth, and with deadly accuracy, they secured and prised out the contraceptive he’d might have used if he’d been able to bring himself to fuck Barbara Butcher what seemed like a century ago.

In a swift sharp yank that had him bouncing and swinging up to slap his belly, she dragged down his trousers and handling him ruthlessly, she rolled the latex jacket onto him.

Then with no further ado, she sat down hard, taking every bit of him into her with one voracious lunge.

It was like plunging into the heart of a black star, burning hot, yet at the same time utterly dark. He’d never felt anything quite like it, not even with this same woman, last night in the alley.

GOTHIC HEAT is published on the 3rd April in the UK and on the 27th May in the US and is available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

Happy reading!

Portia Da Costa
Fourteen long years at the Black Lace coal face

PS. Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Gothic Heat.

LADY SUN HAS RISEN: Nothing Says Springtime like Sex-Magic…

by Teresa Noelle Roberts
Then a crazy notion popped into Miryea’s head, and she went with it because talking about sex seemed far preferable to letting her mind wander even further down paths of self-doubt, or worrying about the possibility of slavers. “We’re going to be in Thelana for the Spring Equinox rites. Want to see if we can find out what their festival is like?” She felt a shimmer of excitement at the idea of being the newcomer in some insular village--inhabited, since it was her daydream, by unusually handsome, well-endowed single men as randy as the goats they herded, but a great deal cleaner. She didn’t know about Thelana, but in Yareth, it was considered especially good luck to lie with a new acquaintance on the Equinox, a particularly powerful offering to Lady Sun and the Lord of Grain. What a Spring Equinox she and Velari could have, with men lining up to entertain them!
Lady Sun Has Risen.



When you think about spring, you probably think about flowers. Brilliant green grass. Tiny chartreuse leaves unfurling on the trees. Birds on the wing. Newborn lambs gamboling in the field, if you live in an area where you see that kind of thing (or “ORDER YOUR EASTER LAMB TODAY” at the grocery store or butcher shop if you’re in a more urban area).






Easter’s bound to come to mind. For some people, it’s a solemn religious holiday, but for a lot of us, what we associate with Easter are the playful trappings: dyed eggs, bunnies, chocolates and jelly beans, baby chicks whether real or marshmallow.

You know what almost all of that imagery has in common?

Fertility. New life.

And you what leads to new life? You guessed it: sex. In the case of trees and grass and flowers, it’s rather dull sex, windborne sex or sex requiring insect interference, but face it, there’s a lot of fertility being carried on those soft spring breezes. (Or, as I’ve been known to say when my pollen allergies are especially bad, “Someone make those trees stop fucking in my air!”) And granted chocolates and jelly beans don’t have all that much to do with sex, but the chocolates, at this time of year, are shaped like those fertile rabbits, and the jelly beans look like tiny eggs, so the fertility symbolism holds.


In western European pagan traditions, May Day and Midsummer were traditionally connected with a certain amount of sexual license. That tradition, being heaps of fun, lasted long after paganism was officially supplanted by Christianity. (A Midsummer Night’s Dream got its name for a reason.) You don’t hear so much about sex magic on the Spring Equinox, though maybe because in much of western Europe, it can still be cold and nasty in mid-March.

Nothing on where I grew up, though. A village just north of my old hometown had five feet of snow dumped on it on March 1, and I’ve known it to snow in May in my old stomping grounds. Even though I’m now living in a slightly less vicious climate, spring’s still semi-mythical to me, and I’m fascinated with spring flowers, spring folklore—and of course, being me, spring’s sexual side.

Maybe that’s why, when I went to write Lady Sun Has Risen, a novella that involves springtime and sex-magic and pagan rites, I set it in a slightly warmer climate. In my imaginary Soranian Empire, it’s really spring by the vernal equinox. Lady Sun has returned to her partner the Lord of Grain, and as the goddess and god celebrate their reunion, so do mortals.

Basically by shagging anyone who’s agreeable; all rules and restrictions other than “Make sure everyone involved has fun” are set aside for the day. (Sounds better than chocolate bunnies and Easter egg hunts, doesn’t it? Maybe we should start our own religion. We can keep the chocolate bunnies—for energy!)

Miryea, a female physician, thinks her interest in sexy, infuriating half-nomad Adimir is a case of opposites attracting. Nothing serious could come of their attraction, but a fling with Adimir sounds like the perfect way to celebrate Spring Equinox.

Adimir has no problem with this plan, especially since he's already figured out Miryea's just the kind of woman he likes—a strong woman who melts for spanking and rough-and-tumble foreplay.

But the gods have a little more in mind for them than just another Equinox celebration—even if there are a few differences to overcome first.

He pulled her closer to him. “Who’s going to keep you safe from a wicked barbarian Kulchu if you go wandering off in the forest like this?”

She felt a flash of terror, then saw his smiling face, felt his free hand caress down her spine to cup her bottom. She smelled the heat of his body, slightly sweaty, yet clean, and very male, almost drowning out the earthy, green smells of spring and the bitter, sharp scent of bonestrength. She could practically taste his skin, the salt and musk of it. The only thing in real danger, she reasoned, was her common sense—and that was already a lost cause. Adimir might be imperious, arrogant, condescending—but he was also the most handsome man she’d ever seen, pure walking sex, and if he wanted to kiss her, she wasn’t going to resist.

In fact, she closed her eyes, raised her face, anticipating his lips on hers.
The kiss was all she could have imagined and more. Hot, yet sweet and mouthwatering, like the chili-laced tamarind candy she bought whenever she found it in the marketplace.

She’d been kissed before—before now, she’d have said she’d been kissed fairly competently and thoroughly--but this was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. It shot through her body, pulsing in her nipples, waking butterflies in her belly. Lighting a fire between her legs.

She couldn’t wait to find out what happened next. Would he kiss her until she was melting like butter over the fire, or would he move more quickly, reaching for her aching breasts, her moist, heavy sex? Either would have its merits, although she hoped he didn’t move too fast, leaving her trailing behind him.

What he did next, though, was nothing she could have anticipated.

He pulled his hand back and smacked her ass.

The force of the blow would have made her stagger except for his firm grip on her wrists. She squeaked, more from surprise than pain, tried to squirm away. Shocked, and drunk on sensation from the kiss, she was slow to react, her body sending mixed signals to her brain--was this pain or pleasure?

The second thwack made her knees buckle, and the third was just as forceful. By the third, though, she’d found her voice, if not the coordination to fight back effectively in any other way, and exclaimed, “Stop it!”

“That should teach you to be more sensible,” he snarled, giving her one last thwack, as if carried by momentum.

Like the spankings her grandmother had administered when she was much younger, these smacks were more loud and startling than painful.

But being spanked by a handsome beast of half-Kulchu male was a very different experience.

These swats left more than her bottom throbbing.

Her breasts, her sex, and everything in between, already sparked to life by the kiss, tingled with excitement. Her ass throbbed rhythmically, but it was far more pleasurable than painful. The rhythm of sex, in fact. She felt herself swelling, moistening.

Lady, she’d have to change her salvar at this rate! And it wasn’t even as though he’d been roughhousing with her in a flirtatious way, reverting to that stage of life where boys tormented girls to show their interest. No, the arrogant fool was acting like he was her father and she was a child who needed discipline. He’d even called her “little rabbit,” like her own father had.

And still she wanted him, even though he was treating her like a child. Was she insane?

Maybe, and certainly her self-respect wouldn’t thank her later, but for the moment, all she could think about was impressing upon him that she was no little girl to be teased and scolded and spanked, but a grown woman.

A woman with needs that he’d awakened.

A woman who’d show him what she was made of.

With a barely suppressed moan, she pressed herself against Adimir, moving like a cat in heat so he’d feel her curves, know that he hadn’t been dealing with a child. Then, she figured, once he started to show interest, she’d spurn him, salvage her pride, and make it clear that if he wanted her, he’d have to court her properly, not kiss her and smack her as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted.

Except that he was already showing interest, in the form of a hard cock jutting proudly against her.

A large cock hard and eager enough to let her know that the kiss had excited him as much as it had her, and that he hadn’t been thinking “fatherly” when he’d spanked her, any more than she’d been thinking “daughterly.”

Lady Sun Has Risen is available at Phaze Books. But if you’d like to win some hot springtime spanking and sex-magic to enliven the last weeks of winter, leave a comment below.

Did I mention that Adimir’s people’s version of the Equinox ritual involves spanking and a little dominance and submission? I tell you, we should start a religion! Chocolate bunnies and kinky sex for everyone!

(Flowers and flowering tree courtesy of FreeFoto. Cartoon spanking courtesy of SarahThorne.com.)

Lying in Mid-Air

by Anne Tourney

The three female characters in my new Cheek novel, Lying in Mid-Air, introduced themselves to me while I was on a cross-country airplane trip. Veronica, the punky chick in combat boots who wants to start an escort service for goth chicks, was based on a sexy shoeshine girl whom I spotted at the airport in Phoenix. Chloe, the sexually suppressed scholar of Japanese poetry, was inspired by a demure brunette on a subsequent leg of the journey who was typing thoughtfully on her laptop in Chinese. And Lauryn, the cherry on the sundae, was modeled on a chatty blonde who sat across the aisle from me at the tail-end of the flight, talking some older guy's ear off about her fabulous job, the business trips to Geneva and Tokyo, the endless wine lists, the exotic meals, her Ivy League MBA, her childhood summers at the yacht club . . . . It wasn't until the flight attendant was picking up our empty cocktail cups and asking us to fold up our tray tables that it occurred to me that this glamorous blonde might be full of -- uh, fantasies.

But don't we all lie, in one way or another, to keep up with the demands that life makes on our identities? We can't always be sexy, smart, competent, bold, creative, or exciting, but every now and then, maybe when we're talking to a total stranger, we can be all those things at once. If we're lucky, we'll never see them again. If not, we could get caught in some very sticky -- sometimes deliciously sticky -- webs. That's what happens in Lying in Mid-Air, when three very different women fall for one womanizing freelance photographer, Joel, who's got a few fantasies (or would you call them "whoppers"?) of his own up his sleeve.

Lying in Mid-Air received 4.5 stars from RomanticTimes, and was nominated by RT for an award for Best Erotic Fiction. Comment for your chance to win a copy!

Available at Amazon.com UK and Amazon.com

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Lauryn and Joel meet on a flight from Chicago to San Francisco. After their attraction takes wing, they agree to meet for dim sum in Chinatown, which turns into a nude massage in Lauryn's motel. In this scene, amidst the cheap motel polyester, Lauryn's love of fabrication goes head-to-head with Joel's inventive imagination.

Holding her hand, Joel led her over to the bed, a cyclone of orange polyester and threadbare sheets. When he started pushing her clothes back into her suitcase, Lauryn felt queasy with embarrassment all of a sudden, as if he were looking not only into her luggage, but into her life.

'Don't do that,' she said. 'Please. I'll take care of the mess.'

'Already taken care of, madam.' He buckled the suitcase and heaved it onto the floor. 'Got any body oil or lotion? Anything that smells good will do, but it helps if it's a scent you find relaxing. No musk or anything -- we'll take care of that, ourselves.'

Lauryn went to the bathroom, stumbling a bit on her weakened knees, and found a bottle of tea tree oil in her cosmetics case. She'd started dabbling in aromatherapy a few months ago, desperately seeking ways to reduce her stress level; her stress only seemed to be getting worse, but she still loved to dab the oil on candles and light them at night. If you couldn't have a man in your bedroom, you had to find other ways to distract your senses.

'Here you go.' She went back to the bedroom and handed the tiny flask to Joel. 'Don't use too much -- it's potent stuff.'

Joel smiled. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'Oh, I'm sure you do.' She started to lie down on the bed, but Joel motioned her to the floor, where he'd arranged the hotel pillows in a small nest.

'The floor? Are you kidding?' Lauryn eyed the brown carpet skeptically. The cigarette burns and dark stains in the rug were the least of her worries; who could tell what might be alive and actively crawling through that miniature jungle?

'Just lie down and close your eyes.' Joel switched on the fan beside the heap of pillows. 'Pretend this is a tropical breeze.'

'This feels crazy,' Lauryn grumbled. But she felt far from insane when Joel's fingers, dabbed with tea tree oil, began to smooth the cynical grooves out of her forehead.

'Okay,' he began, ignoring her remark. 'I'm going to tell you the best lie ever. We're on a beach in Bali, lying in a teak hut under a palm tree. No stress, no noise but the sounds of the ocean, and every once in awhile a bell from a temple far away. I've got my camera with me, but the only thing I want to photograph is you. Your hair's all loose and messy, and you've got this sexy-sleepy smile on your face. You're wearing a bikini-not the top, just the bottom --'

'Hey,' Lauryn protested. 'I didn't agree to appear topless in this lie. Besides,' she added more softly, 'it's not a lie. It sounds more like a fantasy.'

'Fantasies are kinda my specialty,' Joel admitted. 'Fantasies, daydreams, lies. Whatever you want to call them. Lying is a lot like cooking; some people need the right circumstances and excuses and recipes to do it. Other people just do it naturally, by instinct, all the time. Lying is practically an art, if you think about it.'

But Lauryn stopped thinking as Joel's hands stroked her throat, then moved down to her shoulders, then lower, to places that made her flesh hum when he touched them. Skimming and stroking, his hands-along with the breeze from the fan, and the spicy musk of the essential oil -- were taking her straight to the world he was shaping for her.

Topless, at least in Joel's fantasy, and thoughtless, Lauryn let herself go.

'You're way too good at that,' she said, in a blurry voice.

'Too good at what?' he teased.

'At everything. The massage. The fantasy. Weaving a whole world for me out of nothing but some scented oil and a rotary fan. You should write a book: The Horny Woman's Guide to Imaginary Travel: Fantasy Vacations for Nymphos Going Nowhere.'

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Poor Joel -- he doesn't mean to be a hound dog, but when it comes to women, he can never make up his mind which "type" his type is. He's a bit like yours truly when she's faced with the dessert tray at an all-you-can-eat buffet: Joel knows he can't really devour all the goodies on earth, but he can do his damned best to sample as many as possible. In this scene, Joel meets the inimitable Veronica at lingerie shop. He's there to buy a gift for Chloe, but the erotically charged atmosphere sends him into a three-way fantasy.

Hey, hound dogs can be pretty damn hot!

'I'm Veronica,' she said, holding out her hand. Joel shook it. Her grip was firm, but her skin felt like warm butter.

'Joel,' he said. It wasn't the most dazzling introduction in the world, but with Veronica standing even closer, letting him smell the fragrance of baby oil that came from her skin (the combination of that innocent scent with her deadly Doc Martens was wildly arousing, for some reason), Joel felt grateful that he could remember his own name.

'Shopping for someone special?' Veronica asked.

Now, there was a loaded question. Joel had started this little adventure on a mission to buy a gift for Chloe. Standing in front of the shop's window, he had found Lauryn joining Chloe in his lascivious thoughts. Now, if he were to be absolutely honest with himself, Joel was imagining Veronica wearing the black leather thong and matching corset that the storefront mannequin was wearing. With her hourglass figure and sugar-white skin, Veronica would look amazing in something like that. She'd look even more amazing as Joel untied the corset's laces to see the bare, sensual curves underneath.

He was trying to picture the colour of Veronica's nipples, when she grabbed his hand and led him over to one of the racks.

'So what's your girlfriend like? Let me guess -- sweet and smart and shy, but when she rips off her glasses, she turns into a raving sex maniac.'

'Wow,' Joel said, thinking that Veronica had just given a dead-on description of Chloe.

Veronica assessed him, her forefinger tapping her chin. 'Or maybe she's more the professional type. Very sleek and polished. I'm getting an image of a sophisticated blonde. But she's still a raving sex maniac.'

That was Lauryn, to a T. Joel sincerely hoped that Veronica wasn't psychic; she'd kick him in the shins with those combat boots if she could read some of the thoughts that were going through his head.

Veronica rummaged through one of the racks, and finally pulled out a single strand of pink fabric, which looked more like a slingshot than anything else, for Joel's inspection.

'How about this?' she asked. 'One size fits all -- yeah, right -- and any girl would like it.'

'Nice,' Joel said, feeling incredibly lame, 'but does it actually cover anything?'

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

I've always been a bit skeptical about the effortless, oceanic orgasms that seem to crash over romantic heroines. I've been guilty of writing a few too many of those, myself. With Lauryn, I wanted to make sex a bit more realistic. In this scene, she demonstrates that her fondness for fakery goes beyond a few embellishments on her resume. But somehow, this scene makes me like Lauryn more. She's real. She fakes an orgasm now and then.


Naked, Lauryn crouched over Joel. She was going to tease him-with her lower lips, this time-but he put a stop to that, taking her by the hips and pushing her onto him, spearing her with his hard-on. Lauryn yelped at the shock of being filled so quickly, so completely. His hands found her breasts again and fondled them, roughly this time, as he thrust up into her. Lauryn's hips moved to match his rhythm. He was pinching and pulling at her nipples, watching the way her face changed in response.

Lauryn was loving everything he did to her, every shift of his pelvis, every twist and tug at her sensitive breasts. The look on his face, fiercely intent, was so arousing that she could hardly stand to meet his eyes. It was as if he were looking straight through her, blue eyes piercing all the superficial layers she surrounded herself with, to see the woman inside. What was he seeing, exactly? Lauryn wasn't even sure.

She closed her eyes, trying to refocus on her pleasure. The pressure of his cock against her clit was making her hot and hungry; she rocked back and forth, intensifying the sensation. If she could only ride him like this, without that sense that he was staring into her soul, she could come . . . she could come. But even with her eyes closed, she knew Joel was watching her. Just a typical guy, getting off on the sight of a naked nympho straddling his body, she reassured herself.

But Lauryn wasn't going to come. She felt the shimmering ball of pleasure well up in the pit of her belly, spreading its glow through her lower lips, down her thighs, then fading. It wouldn't come back. Not today.

'Come for me,' Joel urged, through gritted teeth. 'I want you to come on top of me.'

So Lauryn did what she had always done at times like this, when her lover's need for her to have an orgasm was so intense that it overrode Lauryn's own pleasure: she faked it. It was a bravura performance, so authentic that Lauryn actually found herself buying into the feigned moans and clenching spasms. Through Joel, she had the vicarious pleasure of seeing herself transported into a state of exquisite, animal bliss.

Joel would never know that she was putting on a show. And if he did, would he care? His own climax was so close that he was barely holding himself together while Lauryn rocked and swayed. The second she went limp, in an imitation of post-climactic joy, Joel cried out and clutched her by the waist with all his might, thrusting up and up, ending with a full-body shudder.

Lauryn rolled off of him, lying down across his chest. Joel folded her in his arms. His heart was still pounding. Sweat plastered his pale chest hairs to his skin.

'Wow,' he said. 'That's all I can say. Wow.'

'I love an articulate man,' Lauryn laughed.

She sounded happy. She was happy. Orgasms were overrated, and besides, how could she be absolutely positive that she hadn't had one? Coming wasn't a cookie-cutter experience; you couldn't predict from one orgasm to the next how the critical moment would feel. Sometimes the climax hit you like a tsunami. Other times it was more like a shift in the tide, a subtle change in your physiology, something that ebbed and receded without a lot of fanfare.

Liar, liar, pants on fire, sneered Lauryn's nasty little inner voice. You didn't come. You're disappointed. Face it.

'I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful,' Joel was saying, brushing the curls off of Lauryn's forehead. He was gazing at her as if she were a precious work of art, a rare statue that had fallen off a truck and landed, perfect and unbroken, right at his feet.

You're right, Lauryn admitted to the nasty voice. I didn't come. But I'm not disappointed. Not even close.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Photo credits: Airplane from Bebe Reviews; Bali beach from TravelPhotographer.com; Blonde on plane from DearSugar. And I'm afraid I was so distracted by that cute guy's eyes that I forgot where I found that photo!

Interview with Mandy M Roth

By Deanna Ashford

While at the RWA conference in Dallas I was lucky enough to meet Mandy M Roth. Not only is she delightful, charming and amusing company she is also an amazingly talented, popular and prolific writer.

Mandy lives in Ohio and has a busy life with her husband and three boys. She first started writing in 2003. Late one evening, when there was nothing on TV and she couldn’t sleep, she sat down at her computer and started to write. Four weeks later her first book Daughter of Darkness was finished. Now she has over 40 books, novellas and short stories to her credit. With all the demands of a family Mandy doesn’t get much time to write during the day, so she does most of her writing between 8pm and 3am. Not only am I jealous of her prolific output I also admire her stamina, I’m usually in bed by 11pm.

Despite her busy schedule, she has kindly taken time out to answer a few questions and give us an insight into her work

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

It’s funny because when I started I wasn’t aware I was even writing erotic. I was writing what I wanted to read but couldn’t find in stores. It wasn’t until my publisher labelled my first book carnal that I became aware of the fact I was writing something erotic.

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

It’s really hard to pick just one. Each is special to me in its own way. If I have to narrow it down, I’d say the Daughter of Darkness series because it was my first.

Which book do you think is the hottest?

I’d have to go with Demonic Desires (coming soon) and from what is currently available the Cyber Sex stories. Watch, I’ll get reader email correcting me on which is the hottest. LOL

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

No, but only because when I started, three years ago, I wrote what I wanted to read. That hasn’t changed. I still write exactly what I enjoy reading.

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

An erotic hero? Hmm, I’m not even sure what that is. Movies? Books? I could say Evan Stone who is one hell of an adult movie star but I think I’m going to go with Madonna. I know. I know. She doesn’t really qualify but in my book she does. Remember back to when the naked pictures of her came out and she simply said “so” to the press. Or how about the Sex Book she did? Yeah, she’s up there in women who embrace their sexuality for me.

I find the thought of writing with someone else fascinating. Have you a fixed way of working with Michelle or does it somehow just work out? Mandy often writes with another well known erotic romance writer Michelle M Pillow.

Working with Michelle Pillow is a joy. (Okay, now that Michelle read that part, let’s get to the nitty gritty… JK) We approach each project differently. For one we’ll pass it back and forth, each working on it a bit before handing back to the other. For other projects, we’ll establish upfront who is writing what parts and then in the end, we switch them to assure we’ve kept the continuity of the story.

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

I find it hard to stop. I tend to write until the wee hours of the morning, glance at the clock and realize I need to be back up for the day in two hours.

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

There isn’t too much that makes me go “ewww”. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

I’m stepping into BDSM writing which will be new for me. I’m very excited about that and have high hopes that my readers will enjoy it as well. I’ve toyed with it in books before but have never actually centred a story around it.

Do you have a favourite erotic writer?

Let me first start off by saying that I read Barbarian Prize (by Deanna Ashford) and Deanna, it is a fabulous book! (Please note no money passed hands here!)You’ve moved to one of the top spots on my erotic authors list. I also enjoy reading Jaci Burton, Shayla Black, Jaid Black, Eden Bradley and Lora Leigh.

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

Not yet but I’ve had the opposite happen. I have a series called Immortal Ops that is about shape shifting military men. I received a call from a friend of mine telling me to go turn on the television because a show called THE UNIT was on. She mentioned how seeing it made her think of my books and she knew I’d enjoy it. She was right. I do enjoy the show.

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

I’m one of those freaks of nature who absolutely love it. My background, prior to writing, was in marketing and art so it just clicked for me. I often go off on marketing kicks to clear my mind when I’m stuck on a story. I also seem to suck everyone and anyone who is near me into the marketing fold too.

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

World domination. Okay, maybe not that but wouldn’t it be great to have me in charge for a day? I felt you cringe. *snicker*

For the moment, I’m living a dream so I won’t complain.

Thank you for having me!

Thanks so much for that Mandy and I should point out here one of Mandy’s stories is in the new edition of Black Lace Quickies which is now available in the UK and will be released in the US in November.