DARK DESIGNS: The movie... I mean the book...the book.

Sorry bit of wishful thinking slipped in there. Happy Friday everyone! In a moment I'll give you the rest of that Dark Designs extract I promised yesterday, but first I'd like to introduce you to my current obsession - Camui Gackt, who while not the inspiration for Takeshi, certainly comes pretty darn close to how I imagine him, but with silver-blue hair & a big dragon tattoo, of course.

And if he doesn't do it for you, maybe the chance to win a nice big bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk will. It even comes bundled with a spanking new, signed copy of Dark Designs to peruse at your leisure (or maybe flog on eBay.) Just drop me a comment either here, or on my blog. I'll announce the winner on Easter Monday.

Enjoy the read!

'You've got to be fucking kidding!' Silk yelled.

'Stop it, stop it.' An icy shiver ran up Remy's spine. She could see Takeshi's tattoo emblazoned like a warning across his back. She wished she knew more about him. He hadn't drawn blood, but he was pressing hard enough to force Silk over the viridescent bowl at his back. Takeshi tossed the sword aside and moved in, pressing two fingers to the impression he'd made in Silk's chest.

Unblinking, they waged a silent mind duel, while Silk fought for balance and Alix bobbed around the fountain's edge, still seeking out the best angles. 'Slowly,' she prompted, when Takeshi slid his palm down Silk's chest towards the half-opened zip of his fly. She leant in for a close-up of Silk's face. His expression was a combination of fury and bruised longing. Raw, but heart-meltingly beautiful. He snatched at Takeshi's hand.

Takeshi dipped his head instead, and poked his tongue rudely into Silk's navel, invoking an anguished cry.

Remy's insides clenched tight. She wanted to be able to see Takeshi's expression as well as Silk's, but she hardly dared move, let alone circle around for a clearer view. Faint 'oh!' noises were escaping her throat. Takeshi's tongue snaked along the golden line of hair across Silk's abdomen, and pressed a kiss to where, if he'd been erect and unconfined by clothing, his cock tip would surely lie.

Was Silk erect? He seemed to have lost all composure, unable or unwilling to escape. She could see him in her mind's eye, long and thick, creamy like the rest of his skin, apart from at the tip, which burned an exuberant plum red. If he'd still been zipped up, she'd have known how Takeshi's intimate kisses were affecting him. The trousers were cut tight across the hips, which meant they showed any bulges.

She saw the flick of Takeshi's tongue. Silk clenched his fists, so that his lacquered talons dug into his flesh.

She knew that sensation during sex. Takeshi had made her feel like that only last night. There were things that were so sensitive, so raw, so earth-shatteringly good, that all you could do was bite yourself, scratch yourself, stuff the pillow in your mouth in order to temper the sensations to a manageable level. Otherwise, orgasm came rushing up way too fast and the moment of explosion felt like crashing through a brick wall at forty.

Silk seemed immobilised by the whole experience, shocked into submission by the turn of events - or maybe at his own sudden arousal?

Alix kept taking pictures, gleefully snapping like a paparazzo on a window ledge.

Takeshi moved down and placed a kiss on Silk's inner thigh. Remy could picture Takeshi's next move, how he'd open the remainder of the zip and release Silk's cock, then slide his magic lips up and down the lily-white stem. It was so damn sexy she was rubbing herself against the fountain's edge. She'd never imagined Silk would turn out to be such a passive little uke. With her, he always seemed so dominant, so in control.

'Enough of this bollocks!' Silk rose abruptly to a sitting position, and his hand closed over the sword hilt. 'Get off me or I'll cut yer fucking nuts off! Got enough yet?' He directed the question at Alix.

'One more.' Alix snapped an extreme close-up of his face. If it came out in focus, it would show his green eyes to perfection, but Remy suspected she'd done it merely to wind him up a bit further.

Takeshi looked over his shoulder and caught her eye. He winked - a signal he'd used before to alert her to coming excitement. But surely the show was already over. Her body tensed in anticipation. Takeshi nuzzled against Silk's thigh, then bit down.

'Fuck! Fuck!' Silk was on his feet. He stumbled away from the fountain, and rubbed at the bite. 'I'm done.' He scooped up the coachman's coat and was out of the Orangery before she recovered enough wits to call after him.

Instead, balance recovered, she turned to Takeshi, who grinned darkly at her. 'Done? We've barely started,' he mouthed.

Madelynne xxx

www.madelynne-ellis.com

www.madelynne-ellis.blogspot.com

DARK DESIGNS: The Sneak Preview

by Madelynne Ellis

'Shhh! Quick, is anybody looking?'

'No - right then, lets get set up!'

So, it's the last Friday of the month tomorrow, which means it's time for our Monthly Sexy Snippet, when I'm expected to take to the floor with my 'award-winning' (how did that happen), tribute to yaoi manga and Gothic decadence. But, you know, I thought what's wrong with celebrating Thursday too? Maybe we could kick back and get in the mood a bit.


Ahem! Book Blurb

'Silk inclined his head a fraction and let the very corners of his lips curl upward, letting most of his response come from his eyes. Remy swallowed hard. It was like getting a come-on from a panther - aggressively, knicker-wettingly sexual.'

As the designer for an opulent gothic wedding, Remy Davies is under pressure. There's the over-stressed bride, a trinity of vampire-obsessed bridesmaids, a wayward groom, and then there's the best man... Silk looks as if he was drawn by a manga artist; beautiful, exotic, and with a predatory sexuality. She has to have him, in her bed and between the pages of her new catalogue. Remy is about to launch herself into the alternative fashion world, and Silk is going to sell it for her whether he knows it or not. But Silk is nobody's toy, and for all his androgyny, he's determinedly heterosexual. Pity, since Remy's biggest fantasy is to see him making out with her sometime-boyfriend, Japanese biker Takeshi.

Teaser:

Remy rubbed her brow and tried to focus on costumes. Alix was becoming mutinous, partially due to hunger, and partially because she was sick of making her two rivals look good. Takeshi was cavalier play-acting and Silk - well now! Dare she ask him to strip for the camera?

'Quit bloody obsessing, Remy,' Alix barked. 'Sort them out. I've been at this five fucking hours, you've got two minutes before I pack up and go in.'

It took less than thirty seconds to dress Silk. He looked like a manga character anyway. She just added the coachman's coat to the formal three-piece tail-suit he was wearing, and asked him to braid his hair. She wanted him to tease it out as his clothes came off, until it swirled around him, dusting his bare calves. Takeshi took a bit longer, a fact Alix conveniently overlooked, despite a loudly rumbling stomach. They swapped the knee breeches for leather jeans, lost the shirt and added his own leather jacket with the picture of the girl, then a long duster coat. Somehow the contrast between the two men worked, although they began shooting most of the poses separately.

They'd been at it about twenty minutes. Silk was stripped down to shirt and trousers, and Takeshi to just his leathers. Remy had them posed like lovers, with Takeshi's hand upon Silk's shoulder and their heads tilted towards one another. But the tension between them seemed to be running at an all time high. Between shots, Silk seemed to be making it clear he was there under duress. Remy wondered if she was expected to feel obligated to him after this.

'Closer, and look into each other's eyes,' Remy demanded. Despite the pressure, she was enjoying herself immensely. 'It needs more intimacy.'

Takeshi leaned forward and brushed his lips against Silk's.

Well, that was intimate!

Silk's lips parted in surprise. Takeshi snaked an arm around his waist and moulded their bodies together from hip to thigh. Silk retaliated by shoving Takeshi off his feet, followed by a wordless snarl of fury.

Remy's carefully constructed fantasy fell apart, although Alix gleefully continued snapping expressions. 'Yey, fight!' she cheered.

Takeshi snatched up the great sword and forced Silk back against the rim of the fountain. The tip of the metal beast pressed between the open edges of Silk's shirt making cold contact with the skin...

**********

Don't forget to check back tomorrow for the rest of the extract, when I'll also be giving away a signed copy of DARK DESIGNS packaged in honour of Silk's chocolate addiction with a 400g bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.

If you can't wait that long, you could always zip over to my website, where you can read the naughty and somewhat sordid tale of Remy and Takeshi's first encounter.

Madelynne xxx

http://madelynne-ellis.com/

PS. I have no idea why the book cover features a man in drag sporting a clown wig, since I have no memory of including such a character.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

I am rebellious by nature. I learn about an anthology collection, and rather than dive into the stated theme, I try my best only to dip in my pinkie toe. Or to barely brush my lips across it. Sometimes this works. Sometimes I flame out.

But Sex & Fashion, I chose myself. And yet, as soon as I began to consider the topic, my mind strayed from dressing up to stripping down. (This is a theme close to my heart, as well. Check out my collection: Naked Erotica.)

Here is my dilemma: I love getting dolled up. My closet brims with dresses and blouses and boots and heels. My underwear drawer is an explosion of color, lace, silks, and satin. I remember what I wore on all sorts of important days and dates. Copper-colored panties on a first date with a movie star. Gold mini dress and white fringed go-go boots when I worked in casting. My “magic dress” — tight and black, with sterling buttons down the front, on many, many occasions. (Tacky now. Sexy then.) I contemplate my clothes the way a costume designer would, choosing my outfits with extreme care.

Oh, Cinderella
They aren’t sluts like you
Beautiful garbage beautiful dresses
—Courtney Love

On my very first date, when I was 12, I wore a turquoise t-shirt, pegged jeans, and my father’s forest green flannel overshirt. My eyeliner matched the tee- and I had on candy-colored lipgloss that tasted as good as it looked.

When I met Brock four years later, I was in jeans and an oversized football jacket covered with rhinestone pins. I’d purchased the jacket at a thrift store in the Haight (Aaardvark’s Odd Ark, to be precise) for $7.00. Completing the outfit, I wore a man’s navy ring on a watch-fob chain around my neck, and a thin blue bowling shirt with the name Dominic embroidered over the pocket. I had on three different silver ID bracelets (Tom, Dick, and Harry) and so much purple eye makeup my dad said I looked like a raccoon.

Just like fashion it's a passion for the with it and hip...
—Smash Mouth

But I’m with a man now who can’t wait to get my clothes off me. The fancier my attire, the quicker his libido rises. Am I off to meet an important editor, dressed to the nines in some spiffy suit? Perfect. He’s going to take me down a notch first, make me all rumpled with a quick, pre-meeting fuck, so that my makeup is smeared and my shirt is wrinkled, and I have the taste of cock on my lips.

A night out with the girls? Wearing my favorite shimmery frock and bright blue fishnet stockings? Lovely. Just let him rip a hole down the side of the hose, so that they ladder further and further throughout the evening, creating that trashy slut look he’s after.

Fashion – Turn to the left
Fashion - Turn to the right
—Bowie

So that’s sex and fashion in our twisted world…. I become fashionable. He wants to have sex.

But Sam’s not the first who fully confounded my sense of style. Kelly, he of the midnight shift at the grocery store. He of the barren cave apartment with no books. He...well, he didn’t have use for me in the slightest when I showed up in my best dress-for-success outfits: crisp white blouses, pencil skirts, high stacked heels. Trying to look older than 18 to impress the writers on the newspaper where I worked. It wasn’t until I came in at a quarter to midnight, in cut-offs and a tight t-shirt, fully drenched in sky blue paint that he took notice.

I needed to be demolished, before he could see me. Really see me.

I'm too sexy for my shirt
Too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts
—Right Said Fred

I had to be slightly mussed around the edges before he wanted to fuck me. If I was clean, he made me dirty. If I started out dirty, he made me filthier still.

I wish she'd take off all her clothes
No Doubt

Throughout the years, only one of my men was truly interested in fashion—consumed with putting on my clothes as opposed to taking them off. Hunter was my editor on the newspaper, my Pygmalion. He changed my entire sense of style, turning me from goth girl to girl Friday. He was why I had those pencil skirts and white blouses, why I wore my hair the way I did, wore my make-up in the style of his choosing. He is featured in "Edit Me,” and there are certain items in my wardrobe that I can’t wear without getting wet from memories of him. Of the way he’d tilt his head and take in my whole look, before making some minor persnickety adjustment. It was as important to him what went on my body as what he ultimately took off.

I want a girl with a short skirt,
And a long, long jacket
—Cake

Sex and fashion, is the theme I pitched.
Sex and fashion, is the topic I chose.
When all along, what I really wanted to talk about was undressing and standing naked, once more, before you.

Baby, take off your dress.
Yes, yes, yes.
—Randy Newman

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Now you…your most delicious outfit. Your most decadent example of how you put it on, or how you took it off. We’re giving away a copy of Naked Erotica to one lucky poser… I mean poster.

P.P.S. When I lived in L.A., I had a shirt that said something like: It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s what you wear, because when it all comes down to it, nobody cares who you are…. I wore that shirt until it fucking distinegrated.

Note: The picture above is "Bis" by Pamela Hanson and is available here.