Free read: Excerpt from debut erotic novel The Assignment by Jade A. Waters

I'm thrilled to be part of the blog tour for the debut novel by Jade A. Waters, The Assignment, part of her Lessons in Control series, which is out today as an ebook from Carina Press. I've been following her erotica writing since I published her story "The Flogger" in my anthology The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories in 2013, and she's gone on to publish incredibly arousing and exciting pieces of short fiction, and today she makes her mark on the world as a novelist. Whether or not you've read Jade's writing before, if you like erotica, you'll want to check out her sexy new novel. And newbie and aspiring erotica writers, if you are looking for a career model to follow, you should definitely check out Jade's website and publishing credits to see how she's systematically built up her following step by step with a gorgeous website (I truly wish mine looked one tenth as fabulous).

Below you'll find a note from Jade and a very sexy excerpt from The Assignment. You can read the whole book in your preferred ebook format: Kindle US, Nook, Google Play, iBooks, Kobo and Kindle UK. I am a huge fan of Jade's writing and found her novel incredibly sexy and if you like erotic novels, you'll want to devour this one and then eagerly wait for the next installment, The Discipline, out in March 2017. Oh, and if you want to meet Jade in person and hear her read a sexy story (or know anyone who does), please join us in Los Angeles on January 31st at 7:30 p.m. at Skylight Books where she'll be part of our Best Women's Erotica of the Year reading. There will be a Q&A after so you can ask her all about her new book!





Tell Me…In Public
by Jade A. Waters

There’s something about sex in public…having it, fantasizing about it, viewing it. The kink has been a turn on for me most of my life, which is probably why I often love writing it into stories. It has multiple levels of appeal: the risk of getting caught, the thrill of being seen, and of being so turned on with your partner that you simply cannot wait for a more private, secluded place.

In The Assignment, Maya and Dean thrive on wild adventures and new experiences. Their entire dynamic is built not just on Dean issuing Maya assignments to carry out, but the two of them expressing their every desire and exploring their deepest, darkest fantasies. That’s why I’ve chosen the following excerpt in honor of release day today. This scene takes place after Maya and Dean have sought out a few thrills already, so they’re growing more comfortable in their exploration together—but this moment is significant because it’s the start of Maya revealing some of her unspoken fantasies. Turns out, her craving for the exchange of words is almost as enticing as sharing them in one tempting, public moment…

An Excerpt From The Assignment:

There were at least forty people in the bar, their voices filling my ears, an audience of potential voyeurs Dean led me through on the way out to the patio deck with tables and chairs scattered everywhere.

“This is crazy—”

“It isn’t.”

He walked me to the deck rail, the moonlight glowing over the water and the waves rolling sensually under its brightness. Dean surrounded me with his body, closing his forearms around mine as we inhaled the salty ocean air.

“Just watch the waves.”

My breathing quickened, and my neck grew hot. We’d positioned ourselves on the right side of the deck, and I glanced over to see who else stood outside. Three parties occupied the left end—one was a couple, their bodies close as they talked over wine and beer, the other a trio of friends, and the last a single man who’d exited the bar after us. He perched himself against the rail like we were, his drink in hand.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Dean kissed my cheek, and goose bumps covered my skin. The view in front of me was astounding.

“Yes.”

He shoved me tighter against the railing with the pressure of his pelvis on my ass. “Can you feel me?” I nodded. He felt impossibly hard through the thin fabric of my skirt.

“Can I tell you what I’d like to do to you?”

I loved when he did this, verbalizing what he wished with me. I pinched my eyes shut and inhaled the salt of the water undulating beneath us in loud crashes and the cooler coastal air embracing us there on the deck. “Yes, please,” I said.

Dean hesitated, his mouth hot on my ear. But when he spoke, every cell in my body responded. “I’d start by lifting your skirt, exposing your ass to everyone here. I’d want to give them a view of the curves of your body, and have you bend forward so they can see how wet I bet you are.”

“Oh my God,” I muttered, flexing my ass. As if that motion could quell the excitement that shot through me.

Dean hooked his hands around mine and pinned my palms flat on the rail. “Because I saw how much you jumped the time I did it, I’d have to smack your ass for everyone to see.”

My breath heaved. He dipped down and arched his hips, his cock probing and thick. The movement trapped the fabric of my skirt in the crease of my ass.

“Touch me,” I said. A small part of me didn’t want to be caught, but already, he was driving me wild, making me crave whatever came next no matter who could see.

“Not yet.” Dean swayed and nibbled on my earlobe. “I have to finish telling you what I’d want with you. What I’ll demand of you one day.”

I curled my fingertips around the rail. He had me spinning. Would he make me come with his words alone? “How do you feel?”

I exhaled. “Crazed.”

Dean snickered. “Desperate?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how I want you.”

He released one of my hands and trailed his fingers down my side to grasp my hip before starting to pull the fabric up tantalizingly, painfully slow. I panted, wondering if behind him anyone could tell he’d lifted half my skirt up over my ass, but my groin contracted hard enough that I didn’t care.

“So you’d be wet and exposed,” Dean said. He snuck a finger over my ass, then back over my hip and between my thighs. “You’d be panting, like you are now. Waiting to be filled.”

I closed my eyes. The waves rolled in front of us, the ocean mist lapping at my skin like Dean’s words licked at my desire.

“And I would fuck you like that. Shove myself so deep you’d scream.” Dean plunged a finger all the way in, fanning the rest of his hand over my sex. He nibbled the side of my neck.

“Dean, please,” I breathed.

“Do you want another finger?”

I bobbed my head.

“No, naughty. I want you aching.” He fingered the sensitive spot on the front of my passage, and I ground down on him, craving more pressure, more fingers he wouldn’t give.

I whimpered. “You’re a tease.”

Dean continued thrusting inside me, his other fingers latching onto my pelvis. “I bet you’d come even harder in front of other people. You’ve already shown me you like the embarrassment. The slight hint of shame.”

His words rattled my senses.

“Would you want others to touch you, too?”

I pictured Dean fucking me, his grunts loud while other hands touched my arms, breasts and thighs. A ripple of curiosity tripped through me, the vision enticing and bold. So wild. My face grew hot.

“I don’t know—”

“Tell me. It’s okay.” Dean pushed harder, the railing compressing my stomach and trapping me in his hold.

“Maybe,” I said.

“I love it when you’re open with me.” He slid another finger in, working both of them until I weakened in his arms. I could hear the slick of his fingers between the periodic sweep of the waves, and it made my cheeks burn hotter. “I want to please you in so many ways.”

My knees threatened to give under me, but I wouldn’t fall—not pressed along the rail like I was.

“I’m going to tell you something that might surprise you.”

I dug my nails into the railing.

“We’re being watched.”

Read all of The Assignment by downloading it today and check out the rest of the book tour via Jade's blog.

So Sweet by Rebekah Weatherspoon is a sexy sugar baby read

In my Amazon review of the new sugar baby novella So Sweet by Rebekah Weatherspoon, I called it "a new twist on the billionaire romance," which I think is a valid description. I don't tend to read a lot of billionaire stories because the very word, "billionaire" can feel off-putting to me. But this one's different. Why? Here's what I wrote after I read this novella:

I was intrigued by So Sweet because it looks at love, lust and money in a way that's different from other billionaire books. Kayla isn't an wide-eyed ingenue; she's a cute, chubby single black woman who's on the broke side, and reluctantly agrees to try sugar baby/sugar daddy site Arrangements. She's still skeptical when she goes to her first party, but quickly becomes intrigued by a hot billionaire, Michael, who doesn't quite fit the stereotype she has of sugar daddies. He's sexy, although pushing 50, and he's refreshingly candid about his money and his motives. Watching their romance unfold, as well as drama with her roommate and family as they adjust to this new twist in Kayla's life, is fun. Kayla is a realistic character, and Weatherspoon has her be a voice of reason, rather than simply getting swept away by the mere prospect of a cute guy with money. She knows the value of money, but falls for Michael for who he is inside, not what he can provide for her. This is a sexy twist on the modern billionaire romance, and I look forward to the next installment in February.

I'm a fan of Rebekah Weatherspoon, who spoke on my panel last year at CatalystCon on erotica, and who's one of the authors I interview in my LitReactor writing class. This novella captures a world I know very little about, sugar baby dating, and brings it to life. It also treats money realistically, especially from Kayla's perspective. If you've ever dated while broke, I think you'll especially appreciate it. You can get the ebook on Amazon, Kobo, Inktera or Nook.



Official description:

Desperate times call for desperate measures…

And desperate is the only way to describe Kayla Davis’s current situation. Out of work and almost out of money to cover her bills, Kayla finally caves to her roommate’s nagging and follows her to Arrangements, an online dating site that matches pretty young women with older men of a certain tax bracket.

Convinced this “make-rent-quick” scheme will surely fail—or saddle her with an 80 year old boyfriend—Kayla is shocked when Michael Bradbury, Internet billionaire and stone-cold salt and pepper fox, offers her a solution to all her financial troubles.
It’s hard enough for Kayla to accept his generosity, but what’s a girl to do when the wealthiest man she’s ever met is a dream in and outside of the bedroom?

Fifty Shades of Grey fans and haters, here's a smarter and sexier Dom than Christian Grey

The subject of this week's Philadelphia City Paper sex column, "Meet a sexier, smarter Dom than Christian Grey," is Ernest Greene and his novel Master of O, a 700-page "must-read." Why? Here's a snippet:

Because rather than BDSM being used as an angst-ridden plot device where a troubling reason is given for a character's interest in punishment and power play, Greene's characters are unapologetically kinky. At one point, while being caned, Greene writes of O, the submissive heroine, "This was quality pain. She'd had little enough of it to know how rare it was."

The idea that erotic pain can even be measured is an audacious one in a society still sorting out what we think of kinky people. Only in 2013 did the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders downgrade BDSM from a mental disorder. Greene considers kink a sexual orientation similar to being gay.

Read the whole thing here.


photo by Steve Diet Goedde

BDSM in fiction: Carrie's Story excerpt

I'm honored to be part of the blog tour for kinky erotic novel Carrie's Story: An Erotic S/M Novel by Molly Weatherfield, just re-released by Cleis Press.

Carrie's Story is regarded as one of the finest erotic novels ever written—smart, devastatingly sexy, and, at times, shocking. In this new era of "BDSM romance," à la Fifty Shades of Grey, the whips and cuffs are out of the closet and "château porn" has given way to mommy porn. Carrie's Story remains at the head of the class. Imagine The Story of O starring a Berkeley Ph.D. in comparative literature who moonlights as a bike messenger, has a penchant for irony, and loves self-analysis as much as anal pleasures. Set in both San Francisco and the more château-friendly Napa Valley, Weatherfield's deliciously decadent novel takes you on a sexually-explicit journey into a netherworld of slave auctions, training regimes, and enticing "ponies" (people) preening for dressage competitions. Desire runs rampant in this story of uncompromising mastery and irrevocable submission.

Molly Weatherfield, the pen name of Pam Rosenthal, is also the author of Safe Word, the sequel to Carrie's Story. A prolific romance and erotica writer, she has penned many sexy, literate, historical novels. She lives in San Francisco.

You can find Molly on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/MollyWeatherfield and on Twitter at @PamRosenthal.



Here's an excerpt:

“I’m sure,” she began, “that it’s not really necessary to point out that ‘reading you your rights’ is just a little joke we have around here, a private name for the lecture I’m about to deliver. Because if you think you have any rights around here, somebody has made a terrible mistake. But you seem to understand what’s going on. So…”

She paused for a moment and then continued. “Now,” she said, “I’ve been calling you by name, because that’s what you’re used to, and it was easiest to process you in that way. But you’re completely entered into our system now, and for most of our personal interactions, you won’t really need a name. ‘Slave’ is quite adequate and a good deal more accurate. This is a warehouse, a processing center, and also a display center. We take care of all you little packages of merchandise that will be auctioned off this Friday. We take excellent care of the flesh—some of you are ridiculously expensive—we package and display you to make sure you are appealing to buyers. But we also have a more subtle responsibility— to the spirit, which demands abuse and contempt.

“For what we understand is that although most of you think of yourselves as slaves, you really have not the faintest notion of the concept. You, for example, have served one man for a year. Oh, I know you’ve participated in little entertainments he arranged, but they’ve been trivial. And you did the pony thing, which is certainly good experience, but limited. Essentially, you had a lover, a boyfriend(she said the word contemptuously), not a master, however he chose to superintend your activities. He organized his life around you every bit as much as he commanded you to organize yours around his. We don’t consider that kind of situation an exercise of your capacity for obedience.

“Now, you’ll only be here five days, but we think you’ll find them instructive. You will find, in any case, that nobody here is particularly interested in you, in your little quirks of personality or individuality. We value you—all of you—as rather unique commodities that will be sold for a lot of money. Our job is to pass you through our very well-designed system. It’s our system that’s your master, and all of us who administer it are your masters and mistresses.

“This means Paul and I, of course, but it also means Karl over there, and all the people on our payroll—cooks, security guards, garbage men, and so forth. You will address us all as Master or Mistress, when you address us at all. We will indicate when you may speak—be careful to understand our wishes. And keep your body as open and displayed as possible. I like the way your arched back offers your breasts to me, but your legs are too close together, your pubis too hidden. That’s better. Now keep your chin up, but lower your eyes. You’re not allowed to look us in the face. If it helps you to discipline your gaze, remember to concentrate on the whip we all carry at our belts. When possible, your hands will be bound, but when they are not, you must remember not to touch yourself. That’s all. We’ll take care of you completely during your brief stay here. You’ll hear the details as you need to hear them. Well, what do you say, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I managed. “Thank you, Mistress.”

She rose. “I’m giving you back to your Master Karl now. He’ll get you to bed. And Paul and I will see you tomorrow for your whipping, your photograph, and your punishment.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I repeated. Paul prodded my hip with one of his Dr. Martens, and I found myself saying, “Thank you, Master,” in his general direction as well.

Then they left me on my knees there, looking meekly at the floor. I was tired. It had been a long day. I couldn’t quite focus my understanding on everything Margot had said, but I knew that these next days would be different than anything I’d known thus far. I felt lost, really. I was frightened, and, I realized, obscurely thrilled that something really new was beginning to happen. I wanted to lose myself some more, dive into the swirling, vertiginous feeling she had created, but just then I realized that Master Karl was standing over me.

Great. An oafish teenage master. About the least attractive person who’d ever been thrown my way. I mean, I knew that was the point, but I was tired, damn it. I don’t think he knew much English, but I guess he’d mastered what he needed to know.

“Lick my boots,” he managed, and I muttered, “Yes, Master,” and did. I could hear him moaning. He was really getting off on it, and I started to hope that his teenage boyness would get the better of him and he’d come in his pants. Because if he didn’t…

He didn’t. I was going to have to get behind this scene, I knew. He pulled me to my feet by the collar and bent me over the desk. I heard him unzip his fly, and I was afraid this was going to hurt terribly. Relax, I told myself, open up. You can do it…slave. I heard this last in Margot’s voice. Her lecture. I started to play it over in my head. It’s the system, I thought, the system is your master. He jammed his cock into my asshole, and I just kept thinking, the system, the system, the big, beautiful, well-designed system. And as Karl kept pumping away, I kept hearing Margot, and then I kept seeing her mouth, which I was glad I had gotten a look at before she told me I couldn’t look at her face. I was crying really hard, but I kept seeing her, her hips in the leather pants, her hands on the computer keys. She had, I thought, designed this hid- eous, awful, beautiful system. She had created all this pain and humiliation for me.

Karl cried out and collapsed on top of me. I could feel him shrinking within my raw, abused asshole, and I could feel various buttons and buckles of his pseudomilitary uniform biting into my back and legs. I wept and wept, but it was partly with relief that it was over. I’d gotten through it. But no way did I feel anything but outrage at being violated by this dim-witted creep, and no way was I ever going to feel any kind of respect or sexy abasement in front of him. It had been my sexy images of Margot that had gotten me through it. Margot and her system. I guess I’d cheated. Sue me.

Karl pulled me up and then pushed me to my knees. I was glad I didn’t have to look at his face to see the mulish satisfaction I knew I’d find there. He unhooked my hands so that I could put his cock back in and zip up his fly. Then he pulled me to my feet and pushed me in front of him. He opened a door and we walked down a corridor. A few doors down, he put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. Then he went into a little kitchen and came back a minute or so later with a glass of what looked like milk. It was. Warm milk, to help me sleep, I hoped, and I also hoped it was drugged. He pushed me on, through some more corridors, and we finally came to a room, all white, with a white iron bed in it. There was a ring embedded in the wall above the bed with a chain dangling from it. He nodded to the bed, and I lay down on my side. He pulled the chain through the ring in the front of the collar and loosely attached my cuffs to it as well. Then he covered me with a light blanket. I settled into a fairly comfortable position, dimly aware (the milk must have been drugged) that I was falling asleep in the same position that O did, her first night at Roissy, in the Guido Crepax illustration.

Blog Tour Schedule

March 24 - Shanna Germain

March 25 - Lelaini Loves Books

March 26 - Alison Tyler

March 27 - Romance After Dark

March 28 - Romance Junkies and Amos Lassen

March 29 - Sinclair Sexsmith

April 1 - Rachel Kramer Bussel

April 2 - Kissin Blue Karen

April 3 - Dana Wright

April 4 - Erin O'Riodan

April 5 - Lindsay Avalon

April 6 - Laura Antoniou

April 7 - DL King

RIP Black Lace and Nexus

Adam Nevill, who until very recently was the erotica editor over at Black Lace and Nexus, sent these with an invitation to the wake of both imprints:





The irony of getting my author copies (but, um, no check yet) for Sexy Little Numbers, which I have two stories in, and isn't out in the US until September, didn't escape me. I haven't read it yet but it looks gorgeous and has my name on the cover.

Some Black Lace books I'm eager to read:



by two wonderful authors, Megan Hart and Lauren Dane, and the release date is my birthday, November 10th! And I liked their first joint effort, Taking Care of Business.

Megan Hart book cover hotness: Switch

OMG, Megan Hart's Harlequin Spice novels have seriously the hottest covers. I'm drooling over this one:



Switch will be out in January 2010, here's what's on her site:

Switch
• Paperback: ? pages
• Publisher: Harlequin Spice, January 2010
• Language: English
• ISBN-13: 978-0-373-60539-2

Don't think.
Don't question.
Just do.

The anonymous note wasn't for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in the habit of reading other people's mail, but it was just a piece of paper with a few lines scrawled on it, clearly meant for the apartment upstairs. It looked so innocent, but decidedly-- deliciously--it was not.

Before replacing the note--and the ones that followed --in its rightful slot, I devoured its contents: suggestions, instructions, summonses, commands. Each was more daring, more intricate and more arousing than the last... and I followed them all to the letter.

Before the notes, if a man had told me what to do, I'd have told him where to go. But submission is an art, and there's something oddly freeing about doing someone's bidding...especially when it feels so very, very good.

But I find that the more I surrender, the more powerful I feel--so it's time to switch up roles.

We play by my rules now.