Category: Steamy

Free Fall: Escape from Xanadu–New from Lisabet Sarai

Forbidden love lights the darkest reaches of space

Blurb

Welcome to Xanadu. For its elite customers, a space-based paradise of pleasure. For the slaves who work there, hell orbiting Earth. 

Innocent and inexperienced, Mariel Linderman sells herself to Xanadu to rescue her farming family from starvation. Streetwise Rain Delgado accepts assignment as a Pleasure Rep in lieu of a prison sentence for murder. In a world that strictly prohibits same-sex relations, the passion that flares between them brings terrible risks. Their unexpected heart-and-soul connection turns their already precarious existence into a clandestine struggle for survival.

Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FVVLV2N4

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FVVLV2N4

Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1878604

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/free-fall-lisabet-sarai/1148528199

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/free-fall-escape-from-xanadu

Books2Read UBL: https://books2read.com/u/mKeK0E

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242662867-free-fall

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/free-fall-escape-from-xanadu-by-lisabet-sarai

Teaser:

Forbidden love lights the darkest reaches of space.

Mariel and Rain work as Pleasure Reps on Xanadu, a space-based entertainment complex for Earth’s powerful, decadent elite. In a world that strictly prohibits same-sex relations, the passion that flares between them brings terrible risks. Their unexpected heart-and-soul connection turns their already precarious existence into a clandestine struggle for survival.

FREE FALL: ESCAPE FROM XANADU  Brand new #lesbian #scifi #romance from Lisabet Sarai https://books2read.com/u/mKeK0E

Is This Lesbian Fiction?

In the twenty-five years since I first started publishing, I’ve written a lot of erotica and romance, including many tales of women loving women. But sometimes I wonder what I should call these stories. Am I justified in using the term “lesbian”?

Personally, I’m bisexual, or maybe omni-sexual—not lesbian. I’m attracted to men, women and people in-between. I have lesbian friends, but I’ve little or no experience with lesbian culture, with its types and roles. And while I’ve written characters who are interested exclusively in women, I have others who are nominally straight or even (in the case of the nun in my award-winning tale “The First Stone”) celibate. My stories often focus on women just discovering the appeal of other women, women who have boyfriends or husbands, who might very well continue to have heterosexual interactions even after their initiation into Sapphic passion. If I call these stories “lesbian”, will I be offending women who have appropriated the term to describe a more circumscribed phenomenon?

On the other hand, what’s the alternative? The term “F/F” sounds coy, maybe even exploitative. I’m not writing porn-style “girl-on-girl” scenes to titillate the male imagination (though I would hope that both men and women could enjoy my writing). “Sapphic” has a bit of a pretentious quality that bothers me. “Women loving women” covers the ground, but then what happens when I decide to write a trans character?

I hate cubbyholes and cliques and political correctness. I’d rather just say I write erotica and erotic romance and let my readers discover the genders and interests of the individuals involved. In my first two novels— written before I knew anything about the tyranny of genre—I have M/F, F/F, M/M, M/M/M/F and M/F/F/M scenes. (Have I forgotten anything?) I was writing what turned me on personally, and as I note above, I’m omni-sexual. I really couldn’t have cared less about the labels.

I’m looking for readers who feel the same way.

Excerpt (Explicit, Mariel)

They don’t speak. They can’t speak, with their mouths welded together in a feverish kiss. Rain tastes like that atrocious Martian brandy that’s become so popular. She smells of male sweat and designer aftershave. Mariel doesn’t care. She runs her hands down along Rain’s strong back, feeling the muscles shift under the synthetic smoothness of the other woman’s jumpsuit. Pressing her body against Rain’s, she holds tight as her lover pins her against the wall. Their breasts mash together, the double layer of fabric between them slippery and frustrating.

“Damn it!” Rain lets go long enough to grab Mariel’s zipper and drag it down below the waist. She pushes the one-piece garment off Mariel’s shoulders, then hones in on her throbbing nipple, sucking hard.

Mariel gasps as lightning arcs from her exposed breast to her cunt. Rain rakes her teeth across the sensitive nub of flesh before transferring her mouth to the opposite nipple. At the same time, she forces a hand into the crotch of Mariel’s coverall and slides a firm fingertip over her rigid clit.

The transition from anxiety to desire is instantaneous. After all, they have no time to waste. Mariel grips Rain’s shoulders and humps her fingers, deeply embedded now in Mariel’s slick folds. A climax swells in her depths, gathering power second by second until it launches as a fiery explosion of pleasure. Her knees buckle but Rain holds her tight, one arm around her waist while the other hand still plays in Mariel’s pussy. Those knowing fingers awaken new cataclysms of bliss. Helpless, grateful, Mariel shudders through another fierce release.

About Lisabet Sarai

LISABET SARAI writes in many genres, but F/F fiction is one of her favorites. Her lesbian erotica and romance credits include contributions to Lambda Award winner Where the Girls Are (“Rush Hour”), Ippie-winning Carnal Machines (“Her Own Devices”), Best Lesbian Romance 2012 (“Clean Slate”), Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire (“The First Stone”), Best Lesbian Erotica 2015 (“The Late Show”)and Lammy-nominated Coming Together: Girl on Girl (“Sundae, Bloody Sundae”).  She has also published a number of standalone lesbian titles including historical tale By Moonlight and high-spirited paranormal romance The Witches of Gloucester.

Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her explicit literary endeavors. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her writing. For all the dirt on Lisabet, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).

Social Links

Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (website): http://www.lisabetsarai.com

Beyond Romance (blog): http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lisabet-Sarai/e/B001K8PADS

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LSarai

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/profile/lisabet-sarai

Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/lisabetsarai

Bluesky: https://https//bsky.app/profile/lisabetsarai.bsky.social

Medium: https://medium.com/@lisabet_63394

Mailing list signup:  https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

New from Lisabet Sarai: Her Secret Ingredient

A MF Contemporary erotic romance/romcom with mild bondage

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion.

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is skeptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting Monsieur Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

Buy Links

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G6X5D959

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0G6X5D959

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1923881

Barnes and Noble – https://barnesandnoble.com/w/her-secret-ingredient-lisabet-sarai/1118070571

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/her-secret-ingredient-3

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/her-secret-ingredient/id6756538064

Universal Book Link – https://books2read.com/u/mdkrAw

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/245242009-her-secret-ingredient

Add on BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/books/her-secret-ingredient-by-lisabet-sarai-2025-12-21

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion. Sample HER SECRET INGREDIENT,

new #Contemporary #EroticRomance by @LisabetSarai

https://books2read.com/u/mdkrAw

Review Quotes

Her Secret Ingredient was a great short story. I loved the unique plot, the realistically drawn characters and the writing style. ~ Lucy Felthouse, Goodreads

I’ve always been a sucker for books set in the kitchen, and even as outlandishly over the top as this one is, it was a lot of fun…lighthearted and silly and sinfully sexy. ~ Steph, The Romance Reviews

In Praise of Nerds

Since I joined the romance authors community, I’ve heard a lot about alpha heroes. Rugged but handsome features, broad shoulders, chiseled pectorals, powerful thighs that naturally invite musings about what lies sheltered between them – attributes like these apparently constitute the romance ideal. Our hero should also be physically strong, courageous, and generally the dominant type, though some sensitivity or a shameful secret will not be taken amiss. It helps, apparently, if the guy is also wealthy, suave and well-dressed.

Well, I don’t completely buy it. I mean, a nice bod and a pretty face are not to be sneezed at. But they’re not enough. Call me perverse, but I find intelligence to be the most essential aspect of a sexy hero. Furthermore, I’m willing to accept less than stellar physical qualities if my hero is a clever, imaginative, horny genius who can figure out how to get his heroine out of sticky situations and who understands what truly turns her on.

So I’ve got a thing for nerds. I was hopelessly in love with Mr. Spock. Near the top of my sexy, romantic movie list is “Earth Girls are Easy”, featuring gangly, geeky Jeff Goldblum as a brilliant alien. It’s fairly easy to understand why I feel this way. Growing up, I was the egghead, the bookworm, the too-smart girl whom everyone made fun of. The only guys who could deal with me were the ones who were at least as smart as I was. They weren’t on the football squad; they weren’t voted Best Looking or Most Popular. But they had that something that could start my motors. It was intoxicating, yes, arousing, to have a conversation with some of these guys, especially when I got out of high school and into college. We understood each other, and I began to discover that despite their definite nerdish qualities, they were enthusiastic and innovative when it came to sex.

Actually, research has shown that in defiance of their public image as socially challenged losers, nerds are more successful than the general population in finding mates, staying with them, and producing children. Of course, that is not necessarily going to endear them to romance readers, but it’s something to consider.

Not all the heroes that I create are nerds, but many have some nerdish qualities. Harry Sanbourne in Her Secret Ingredient is a classic example. He’s fashion-challenged, with unruly, overlong hair. Seriously near-sighted, he wears clunky, dark-framed glasses. He’s easy going and informal, without a sophisticated bone in his body – a body that looks pretty ordinary in his baggy jeans and out-of-shape sweaters.

Once those clothes are off, though, Harry turns out to be an exceptionally talented and considerate lover. And unlike the suave and impeccably groomed master chef (and apparent alpha), Etienne Duvalier, Harry has an intuitive understanding of what Emily needs.

Excerpt (Slightly Spicy):

“Here we are. Try a couple of these and let me know what you think.” I positioned the platter so that the augmented tidbits were within Etienne’s easy reach. He was sitting on one of the stools in front of the counter. His thigh muscles strained against the black leather of his pants. A lock of hair had overcome the gel to settle on his high forehead. His eyes sparkled, ocean-blue in this light. He looked good enough to eat—highly appropriate for a cooking show.

“Thank you. They look exquisite.” He positively oozed charm as he picked up a pastry round with his finger and thumb and placed it upon his tongue. I imagined all the women watching the show, eyes glued to his every sensual move.

“Oh, Mei Lee! These taste even better than they look!” He sipped his wine, then popped another pissaladière into his mouth and chewed with obvious enthusiasm.

“You’ll put the recipe on the channel website, won’t you?” He turned to the camera. “Ah, mes amis, this simple little dish provides a glorious mixture of flavors. And quite a straightforward process, I guarantee. Any one of you can make these in your own kitchen.”

I helped myself to a pissaladière of my own, carefully choosing from the unadulterated side of the tray. They were good—the pastry light and crisp as spun cloud, the topping complex and savory, thyme, garlic and pepper lingering on the tongue long after swallowing. I took a second hors d’oeuvres. Etienne gobbled down two more, licking his long, elegant fingers after each one. The audience must be dying, watching that pink tongue clean away every crumb of pastry, every fragment of olive. I nursed my burgundy and smiled for the camera as he consumed a fifth pissaladière. Low-level lust hummed through me, too, though I’d been careful this time to avoid ingesting any of the aphrodisiac.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and drained his wine glass. “Ms. Wong—” he began. A wild light blazed in his face. “I want to ask your pardon—I want—oh, please…” The smooth, urbane voice sounded confused, ravaged by uncertainty. What was going on?

Etienne slipped from the stool to the floor and knelt at my feet. The next thing I knew, he was pressing his lips to the gilt leather of my high-heeled shoes. “Ms. Wong—Mistress Wong—please, let me serve you…”

“Etienne? Monsieur Duvalier? What are you doing?”

He trailed kisses up the inside of my ankle. “I adore you, Mistress.”

“Etienne!” I snatched my foot away in alarm. He gazed up at me, a mix of disappointment and reverence shining in his face. “Stand up. Remember we’re on camera,” I added, sotto voce.

“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t matter now,” he continued in the same crazy vein, though he obeyed my order and rose to his feet. “I am your willing slave. Let me please you, Mistress. Let me suckle your sweet, hard nipples. Raise your skirt and allow me to worship you with my mouth, the way you deserve…”

“Ssh!” I hissed. “Do you want to get us thrown in jail?” I peered through the glare of the lights, trying to signal to someone to stop the transmission. There was no flurry of activity there, however. No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“I don’t care, as long as you are satisfied.” He paused a moment, then unknotted his scarlet cravat and handed it to me. He held out his wrists. “Bind me, Mistress, if you wish. Torture me. I’ll bear any amount of pain for you. Test me—test my devotion.”

He had the same rich voice as before, the same handsome features, the same lithe, muscular body—but this was a different man entirely. I searched his face, yearning for the arrogant, self-involved chef who’d been bossing me around half an hour before.

There was no trace of him. Instead, I had to deal with this—this eager, self-effacing slave boy.

I’d created a monster.  

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

A New Boxed Set from Lisabet Sarai!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7

Whips & Kisses collects four lusciously erotic romance novellas in which willing surrender to a master leads to enduring love.

D and S is not a game, despite the way it’s portrayed in popular culture. It’s not a fashion statement. It is much, much more, a new way of being in the world. A doorway into a new kind of relationship, deeper and more intimate than what most people can imagine.

Buy Links

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0F9495QN7

Myths, Cliches and Personal Experience

I’ve been reading, and writing, BDSM erotica and erotic romance for a long time. My first novel, deeply involved with dominance and submission, was published more than a decade before the appearance of FSOG. I know how difficult it is to create something fresh in these sub genres. Originality is possibly my most important personal criterion, both in selecting my reading and in creating my own stories, so I try very hard to avoid clichés. Sometimes, though, a BDSM cliché lies at the heart of what I want to say.

One somewhat overused and abused trope is the notion of the “natural submissive”. A woman who previously had no interest in power exchange meets a dominant man and immediately succumbs to his charisma. Despite her lack of experience with BDSM, she’s ready to obey his instructions, to let him bind her, punish her, and use her however he wishes. Instead of being awkward and terrified, she finds deep satisfaction in her submissive role. She’s thrilled when her Dom tells her that he’d intuited her secret desire for surrender, that he knew as soon as he met her that she craved a master.

Several of the novellas in this collectionplay with this familiar scenario. I feel a bit guilty exploiting this trope, but I have to admit that I personally find it intensely erotic. That’s because it mirrors my own real world experience with BDSM. I was a horny but very vanilla twenty-something when I met the man who initiated me into dominance and submission. And the very first time we came together physically, I was hooked. Looking back, I’m still full of wonder at the trust that bloomed between us, when we scarcely knew one another. Forty five years later, the intensity and beauty of that D/s relationship continues to show up in my erotic stories.

People in the kink community will tell you that trust takes time to grow, that both doms and subs need practice, that the instant connection glamorized in BDSM fiction is a myth. Maybe for some people, but for me, the myth turned out to be true. And I’m still sharing that revelation with my readers.

See on Goodreads

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9495QN7

Excerpt from Getaway Girl – Rated PG

“What are you doing here, if I might ask?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a journalist. I’m doing a story on the find and its historical implications.”

Peg felt a twinge of suspicion. “The press conference was yesterday.”

“My car broke down halfway from London. I spent last night in a town even tinier than this one.” His smile was charming, apologetic. Peg’s uneasiness melted away.

He leaned towards her across the bar, putting his hand over hers. “That’s why I appreciate your help, in giving me the information I need.”

His skin was warm and smooth, none of the calluses of a manual labourer. Not like the farmers Peg had occasionally dated here, before she gave up on finding a man in her home village. He ran one fingertip up and down in the sensitive crease between Peg’s thumb and forefinger. The light touch was enough to turn her nipples to aching knots and trigger a throbbing between her legs.

She caught a hint of his scent, a balsam-laced aftershave or cologne that simultaneously conveyed masculinity and refinement. His forefinger ventured higher, stroking the back of her wrist, a gesture both delicate and bold. Her pussy clenched as though he were massaging her down there, instead of merely brushing a casual finger across her hand.

She stared at the bar, blushing, angry with herself for being so susceptible. Finally, she managed to raise her head and meet his eyes, which were a stormy hazel colour.

“What paper are you from?”

“Oh, I write for an upmarket travel rag. I doubt that you would’ve heard of it. This story should enhance the romance and mystery of your already delightful village. I expect you’ll see a surge in tourists after publication.”

“You should interview Peter Lofthouse. He’s been mayor for the last dozen years.”

“I have the feeling that I’m talking to a real authority right now. Lived here a long time, haven’t you?”

She bristled. How did he know that? Maybe because she seemed such a country bumpkin. “I spent some time in London, but I had to come back. Family problems.”

“Sorry to hear that…” He scanned her chest, seeking a name tag. Peg felt as though he were fondling her breasts instead of just looking at them. Could he see the swollen tips, pushing up through her soft green jumper?

“I’m Peg,” she said, snatching her hand from his and reaching for the bar rag. “And you?”

He bowed slightly. “Lionel Hayes, at your service. But I’ll bet you’re really Margaret, right? It’s much more musical, more sophisticated. It suits you.”

He was clearly trying to flatter her. She didn’t really mind. “Lionel—sounds like an aristocratic playboy from the nineteen twenties. Nobody’s named Lionel anymore.”

The journalist laughed again, soft and intimate, sending the blood rushing again to Peg’s cheeks as well as to other body parts. He drained the last of his pint, then reclaimed her hand. “I’ve got to go. But it’s been pleasure to meet you, Margaret. Perhaps I’ll mention you in my article.”

See on BookBub

Excerpt from Power and Persuasion – Rated R

Olivia perched on the satin coverlet of the carved canopy bed, surveying the impossibly opulent bedroom where she had been installed. The chamber had to be at least thirty feet square, with a gilt-encrusted ceiling that soared ten feet above her head. Tall windows framed in emerald velvet looked out upon a verdant lawn that stretched to the ocean. Distant sails danced upon slate-blue waves and the breeze wafting through the open casements carried a hint of salt. The late afternoon sun sparkled among the crystal tears of the chandelier, casting shards of rainbow upon the polished oak floor. Nearer the bed, a plush Chinese carpet soothed the residual blisters on her bare feet.

She wore one of the delicate silk camisoles Andrew had selected for her as they’d passed through the town. Nothing else. The other garments he’d chosen hung in the rosewood wardrobe, all but the ball gown, which would be delivered, the dressmaker had promised, by Saturday noon.

Cocktails would be served at seven, Andrew had told her, and dinner at eight. In the meantime, he’d instructed her to await him here, in her current state of undress.

She’d never even considered disobeying.

Fingers entwined upon her lap, she breathed deeply in a struggle to calm her racing heart. Her nipples knotted against the silk, aching for stimulation. Her sex was as moist as the humid summer afternoon, her juices perhaps staining the pale green satin beneath her bare bottom. No matter. Andrew MacIntyre could afford to replace it.

Her entire body hummed with anticipation. He would be here soon, or so he’d promised, and the waiting would be over. She’d wanted this for so very long—long before she’d encountered the masterful young billionaire. They had not spoken openly of what was to come. She hoped she had not misunderstood his intentions. If she had, she’d die of embarrassment—or disappointment.

With her back to the door, she watched the snowy clouds drift and reform into fantastic shapes. Breathe. Relax. Open. She remembered perfectly, despite the years.

The hinges were soundless, but she sensed his presence as soon as he entered, the new aura of power that shimmered in the room. The lock clicked, shielding them from interruption and preventing any possibility of escape. She swallowed hard. The moment of truth had arrived.

He stood before her, silent, and she bowed her head automatically, her eyes on her clasped hands. Still, she knew he was gazing upon her near-nakedness. She felt the weight of his attention like a physical caress.

“Olivia.” With one word, spoken low and sure, he claimed her. Heat rushed to her pussy and the bed cover grew damper.

“Yes, sir?” It felt easy, natural—as though she’d never stopped.

“On your knees, girl.” She slipped to the rug, boneless and loose already, his to command. Did he find her compliance strange? No matter. She had been right about his desires and that was all that mattered.

“We’ll start slowly, this first time. Don’t be afraid.”

Afraid? The only thing that scared her was the intensity of her own dark desires.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub, BingeBooks and Twitter.

Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Charity Sunday: Quilts of Valor

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

This month I would like to honor a relatively new charity, Quilts of Valor. Catherine Roberts founded the charity when her son served in Iraq and it started with an actual dream. “The dream was as vivid as real life. I saw a young man sitting on the side of his bed in the middle of the night, hunched over. The permeating feeling was one of utter despair. I could see his war demons clustered around, dragging him down into an emotional gutter. Then, as if viewing a movie, I saw him in the next scene wrapped in a quilt. His whole demeanor changed from one of despair to one of hope and well-being. The quilt had made this dramatic change. The message of my dream was:  Quilts = Healing.” If, like me, you don’t know a thing about quilting, we can still make a difference in this worthwhile cause. Just make a comment. Thanks!

Not every man is a prince–except to the woman who loves him.

Blurb:
One evening, in a land far away, a wife spins a story for the amusement of her husband. Like the original tale, this contemporary Cinderella is definitely for those who love romance and a HEA. However, she adds a few touches of the erotic. For her husband, you understand.

In this tale, Charlotte dreams of her prince, James, but learns about beauty and love from her fairy godfather, Cooper. She might not lose a glass slipper, but her heart is in danger of being left behind. One thing for sure, by the time our Charlotte arrives at the ball, she’d sure like to know which man is her real Prince Charming.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08R1YSQ8S

Excerpt:
Charlotte started the engine when they got in. “So the heater will put out something besides cold air before I get home,” she said, by way of explanation.

She seemed to be stalling for time, but Cooper sat patiently waiting. He’d had a long day, but knew instinctively that if he hinted at it she would go home and not tell him what she wanted. And what Cooper wanted, he’d decided after their kiss, was to get to know Charlotte better.

“Cooper, I want to work on this project with you. It means a lot to me. But I want more of a makeover than you mentioned earlier.”

“Oh? What do you have in mind?” He was intrigued now.

“I have an ulterior motive, but I’m nervous about telling you.” She tapped her fingertips on the steering wheel before speaking softly. “I’m in love.” Cooper sat up, suddenly alert and interested.

“With whom?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t tell you. He doesn’t know. I want to capture his attention, and you’ve just handed me the means. But I need more than to change how I look, I need to change how I feel, how I act, so he’ll see me the way I want to be. He’s very sophisticated, and I’m just from a little town outside Kansas City. Do you know what I mean? I need a friend to help me. A… a man friend.”

Suddenly, Cooper was worried. “Charlotte, I’m not sure I totally understand what you’re asking. First of all, whoever this guy is, if he’s worth anything he will like you for who you are, right now. You’re a wonderful person, and he should appreciate that without your changing yourself. And second, why do you need a man to help with this? A makeover like I had in mind is one thing, but for something as personal as what you’re talking about, wouldn’t a girlfriend be better? I mean, for what I think you’re talking about. For what I’m afraid you’re talking about,” he finished lamely.

“A girlfriend can’t help me. I need someone to teach me. About physical things. Like kissing and touching, and…” She looked at him hopefully.

“Sex?” His voice actually squeaked. She smiled and nodded. “You want to learn about sex? For this guy you think you’re in love with?”

She sighed and shot him a relieved look. “Oh my gosh, I was so scared to tell you but you completely understand. Cooper, you’re such a good friend. It’s strange, but I feel like I’ve known you for years instead of just a couple of days. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

It felt hot in the car. Cooper rolled down the window and took deep gulps of air. What could he possibly tell her? God, he liked her himself, he’d be damned if he would groom her for some other man. And he especially wouldn’t prepare her sexually for someone else. What in the world was she thinking?

“What in the world are you thinking?” he demanded. “You can’t just walk up to someone and ask them to get you ready for sex with some other person. Are you crazy?” Her face fell and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh, shit, Charlotte, I’m sorry. But you’ve got to stop and think about what you’re asking. I’m talking about getting your hair shaped and you’re talking about getting laid.” He rolled the window back up and adjusted the heater control. Then he turned in his seat and faced her directly. “Charlotte, you’ve never been to bed with a man before, have you?”

She looked miserable as she shook her head no.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be happy that you’ve saved yourself for the man you love, and that’s my point. You should save yourself for the man you love, whoever this guy is.” Cooper felt a sudden sharp stab of jealousy spike through him, followed closely by a wave of lust. If he’d been any less a gentleman, he would have grabbed Charlotte right then and there and shown her what being with a man was all about. But he was a gentleman, or was trying to be. “Don’t you think he will want to initiate you into the art of making love?”

She seemed to consider this, and when she faced him straight on he saw that she’d discarded the logic of it. At least she didn’t look like she would start crying anymore.

“No. You don’t know what I know about this man. He’ll think I’m a country bumpkin if I go to him a virgin. He’s very worldly, far beyond anything I’ve even thought about. Cooper, he knows how to do things, sexual things, that I didn’t even know people did.”

Cooper became more and more concerned.

“How do you know all of this about him? Charlotte, I’m worried now. Who is this guy? I want to know—as your friend, I want to know.” She just shook her head. “Well then, I can’t help you.”

He faced forward, feeling his jaw tense into a tight line as it did whenever he felt stubborn about something. His forehead wrinkled. She reached out her hand and ran the back of her index finger across that line, smoothing it into relaxation. He took her hand in his and held it on his thigh.

“It’s James Clarkson,” she whispered. In shock, he snapped his head back toward her. “Now you know why I need help, Cooper. No matter how different I look or act, if I go to him as I am, I’ll be so afraid. He’ll see me for a country mouse and he’ll hate me, laugh at me. Please.” No response. “Please, Cooper.”

“Charlotte, I can’t do this.”

She leaned back in her seat and looked out the windshield herself. Wistfully, she said, “Maybe when you’ve waved that wand of yours, worked your magic and I’m more beautiful…”

He blew out a breath. “That isn’t it, and you know it. I already know you’re beautiful.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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New from Lisabet Sarai, An Alien Ménage: Bodies of Light!

Love travels faster than light!

Physicist Dr. Christine Monroe signs on to the Archimedes, a sub-light-speed mission to colonize Sirius-B. Waking from stasis, she finds the ship wildly off course, the crew dead and her ship haunted by two virile aliens who appear human. As Archimedes begins to disintegrate, Christine must choose between the planet she was sent to save and the unearthly beings she’s come to cherish.

Note: This book was previously published by Totally Entwined but has been revised and updated.

BuyLinks
Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1196-bodies-of-light-an-alien-mnage-/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CC9QPKMB

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CC9QPKMB

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1424481

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bodies-of-light-lisabet-sarai/1143797134?ean=2940166082862

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/bodies-of-light-an-alien-menage

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6451396778

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/193434594-bodies-of-light

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/bodies-of-light-an-alien-menage-by-lisabet-sarai

Erotic Energy
For most of my career, I’ve been writing erotic stories which include explicit sex. Now, many people think that sex is the ultimate physical experience, that it’s all about body parts, stimulation of erogenous zones, pleasurable sensations and ultimate release. That’s not my view.

Eroticism begins in the mind. If this were not true, why would certain activities be arousing in one person’s company, boring or even aversive with someone else? When I think back over my rich and varied sexual experiences, I don’t recall the detailed sensations, but rather, the emotions I felt and the connections I enjoyed with my partners. My personal slogan tries to capture this observation: imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

When I began writing Bodies of Light, originally published in an anthology of space-themed romance, I tried, as I usually do, to put a different spin on the tale. Love scenes usually occur in the physical world, but what if you’re making love to beings without bodies? What if you encountered aliens who were pure energy? Could a human woman love such creatures? Could they return that love? And if so, how would they express it in a realm where matter was not relevant?

These are the questions I explore in Bodies of Light. Nearly a century ago, Einstein demonstrated that matter and energy were inter-convertible. An entity composed of energy could take on material form, creating a body out of the light that was his fundamental nature so that he could express physical love. Perhaps, though, this experience would be far less satisfying than connecting and exchanging unadulterated erotic energy.

This realization lies at the heart of my heroine’s journey into an unlimited universe.

Excerpt:
The alarm buzzed in Christine’s ears like an angry wasp. Electric current crackled along her skin, goading her long-dormant nerves into responsiveness. Her attempt to inhale turned into a racking cough as her body expelled the last traces of fluid from her lungs. Her eyes flickered open. Dim as it was, the blue-tinged light within the suspension pod made her head pound.

Her limbs felt weighted with lead. She tried to wiggle her fingers. They were stiff, as though encrusted with rust. The gel that cradled her gradually warmed. As it did, her joints grew more flexible. Little by little the pod thawed her long-immobile body.

As soon as she could lift her arm, she groped for the release switch. Her movements were clumsy and slow. The curved hatch over her face slid back, exposing her to the cooler air outside. Goosebumps rose on her bare skin. She pulled the tubes from her arms and pushed aside the tangle of cables strapped around her brow. When she struggled to sit up, a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She waited for the vertigo to subside.

The fog in her brain thinned a bit. She remembered where she was—the Archimedes, en route to Sirius 2. Had they arrived, then? Listening closely, she heard nothing but her own breathing.

The suspension bay was located near the center of the ship in order to protect it from possible meteor damage to the hull. There were no viewports. It hardly mattered. Christine was a physicist, not an astronomer or a pilot. Even if she could have seen the stars, she couldn’t have read them. She needed to get to the bridge, to figure out how far they were from their destination and whether it was time to revive the rest of the crew.

She swung her legs out of the coffin-like suspension capsule and took a stab at standing. Her knees buckled when she transferred her weight, leaving her slumped on the rubber-clad floor. Her head swam. When her vision cleared, she tried again. This time she managed to stay upright although she had to lean on the capsule for support.

Christine took a deep breath. She felt the strength returning gradually to her body. Her skin was slimy with residue from the nutrient gel that had nourished her inanimate form during the months —or was it years?—since the ship had departed.

At point-nine lightspeed, the maximum velocity of which the Archimedes was capable, the journey to the Sirius cluster should have taken almost thirteen years. Was that long wait really over? It had seemed like the blink of an eye. A kind of rosy haze hung in her mind, a sense of peace and well-being, but she couldn’t remember any details about her time in stasis.

She surveyed the nineteen other capsules arranged around the perimeter of the bay. She seemed to be the only one the ship had awakened. She stumbled over to the closest pod—Ravin Conter, the xenobiologist and her assigned partner—and peered in through the curved glass. She could just make out his rugged features, pale and composed.

Something wasn’t right, though. Her thoughts still disordered by the transition, it took her ten seconds to put her finger on the problem. The capsule should have been lit from within by the same low-intensity blue as her own had been. However, there was no interior illumination. Only the ambient light of the bay made Ravin’s face visible.

“Ravin!” she cried. Her voice woke hollow echoes in the metal-walled chamber. The vital sign indicators on the control panel were blank. She keyed the emergency revival sequence into the controls on the top of the pod. Nothing happened.  There was no power running to the capsule. It was dead, and so, it was obvious, was the person within.

“No!”

She stared at Ravin’s naked form, cradled in blue-green gel and twined in wires and hoses. How could he be dead? What had happened? Christine whirled around to check the next capsule—Amber Stone, ship’s doctor and the closest thing she had to a friend. Like Ravin’s, Amber’s pod was dark and unresponsive.

Fighting down her panic, Christine examined the remaining suspension capsules. All appeared to have malfunctioned. All the occupants lay in darkness within, perfectly-preserved corpses.

“No, no—please, no!” she keened, sinking to her knees in the center of the room. “Oh, please…” Her eyes burned as tears welled up for the first time in years.

She had not really been close to anyone on the Archimedes—she and Ravin had been paired solely on the basis of genetic and psychological compatibility—but she had liked and respected them all. They’d had the courage to volunteer for Earth’s first interstellar mission, to risk their lives for the future of humanity. Hell, they’d fought hard for the opportunity, beating the hundreds of other candidates. They’d endured the two years of grueling preparation. They’d climbed willingly into the suspension capsules knowing they wouldn’t emerge for years—if ever. Each had left his or her life on Earth behind, well aware that the odds of the mission succeeding were small and that, even if it did succeed, they could never return.

Now they were gone and, with them, all hope of establishing a colony. The mission was a failure—one final failure in the long series that had been her life.

About Lisabet:
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

New from Lisabet Sarai! By Moonlight

I’ll come for you by moonlight – though Hell should bar the way
In her eighteen years on earth, Bess has never traveled more than twenty miles from her Devonshire village. The raven-haired innkeeper’s daughter has little time to dream of adventure as she labors from dawn to dusk to keep her abusive father satisfied.
Then, at the weekly market in Tavistock town, she meets a handsome dandy who claims her with a single stolen kiss. When the gallant gentleman makes a midnight visit to the inn, Bess learns that her new lover is none other than Kit Latour, a notorious French highwayman who has been boldly relieving the local nobility of their valuables. Well-aware of the risk she’s taking, Bess still offers herself to the seductive outlaw. Even Kit’s darkest secrets cannot quench the flames of her love.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1183-by-moonlight-/

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C99C59RY

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0C99C59RY

Smashwords –  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1413596

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/by-moonlight-lisabet-sarai/1143711659?ean=2940166073495

Kobo  – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/by-moonlight-8

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450718058

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/180643788-by-moonlight

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/by-moonlight-by-lisabet-sarai

Excerpt:

She must have drowsed, despite her determination to remain on guard. She heard no hoof beats clattering in the inn yard, no tapping on the barred shutters, only a soft whistle under her window that had her instantly alert.

She leaned out, her hair spilling over the casement. “Kit!” she cried, heedless of anyone hearing. “You’ve come at last.”

“Well met, my fair lady.” The lithe figure below gave a little bow. “Did you doubt me?”

“No doubt, my love, only fear. Your fame has spread wide. There be many who’d delight in spilling your blood.”

“Even more after tonight, I’ll wager. I’ve had rich takings along the high road. A fat, dyspeptic earl and his broomstick wife contributed generously to my cause.”

“Lord Haverstock? Oh Kit, he has the King’s ear.” She shrank back into the shadows of her bedroom, then peered anxiously into the distance. She almost expected to see His Majesty’s troops mustering on the country lane. “Why must you take such risks?”

Kit chuckled. “Without risk, life wouldn’t be worth living.” The bandit grasped the gnarled ivy vines that clung to the old inn and clambered up to the second floor. In moments, Bess was face to face with her beloved.

What was her Kit thinking, to ride in such finery against the wealthy and powerful? The coat was burgundy velvet, worn over a pure white linen shirt with a ruffle of lace at the throat. Supple doe-skin boots rose half-way up those strong thighs. The jeweled hilt of a dagger glittered at Kit’s waist. The hungry light in the bandit’s eyes burned brighter still.

“Oh, Bess, how I’ve missed you!”  Kit seized her, crushing her against the velvet, and captured her mouth. Bess pressed her soft body against her lover’s harder form, savoring the heady mixture of familiar comfort and forbidden arousal she always felt in Kit’s arms. A brazen tongue ravaged her mouth while knowing hands slipped under her shift to palm her buttocks and pull her closer still.

“Take this off, girl, before I rip it from your limbs,” Kit gasped, tugging at the fabric that hid her flesh. “I cannot wait another instant.”

Not so long ago she’d been a bashful virgin, but there was no shyness in her now. She pulled the garment over her head and tossed it onto the chair, shaking her long hair free.  Moonlight from the window made her pale skin glow. Kit’s eyes roamed over her nakedness. She’d never felt so beautiful, or so needy.

Introductory Essays

Changing the Ending

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
~ The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43187/the-highwayman

My latest release, By Moonlight, was inspired by the poem above. This tale of tragic love and sacrifice has been a favorite of mine since I was in high school (though it does not seem to be that widely known – none of the members of my critique group were aware of it). As a teen, I though the poem was devastatingly romantic. Of course, this was before I started writing romance. I didn’t realize that to qualify as Romance with a capital R, a story needed a happy ending.

When I decided to write my own version of Noyes’ story, I knew I had to change the ending. It just wouldn’t do to have Bess and her bandit beloved perish as they do in the poem – even if they do live on as ghosts. In fact, I wanted to play with the conflict in the original, to show Bess ultimately getting the better of the men who mock her and condemn her to death.

By Moonlight deliberately borrows the atmosphere, and indeed some of the dialogue, from the Noyes poem. The first two chapters follow the source quite closely. I tried to capture the sense of danger, the terrible risk Bess takes in accepting a wanted outlaw as her partner. Then the story veers off into unexplored territory – as indeed it would have to if the lovers are to have the HEA they deserve.

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Charity Sunday: Big Dog Ranch Rescue

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

This month, I’d like to highlight Big Dog Ranch Rescue, Their mission: “Big Dog Ranch Rescue was founded in 2008; since then, we have saved the lives of more than 50,000 dogs. Our mission is to save 5,000 dogs every year, to heal and place them with loving families and to educate people about the proper care for dogs and the importance of spaying and neutering.” The work now includes rescuing dogs from the US-Mexico border, where dogs have been abandoned by migrants entering the country. Migrants cross the border and get on buses to go throughout the U.S., leaving their dogs to fend for themselves. BDRR has stepped in, at the behest of the National Guard, to help save the animals and help them find homes with loving families. Please help me by leaving a comment, and I will donate to this worthy group. Note: BDRR is rated four stars on Charity Navigator.

In Regan (Book 1 of the historical, ménage romance series The Sisters O’Ryan by Jenna Stewart), Seth doesn’t have a dog, but he does have a horse for a constant companion.

Blurb:
Davey and Regan O’Ryan Stone bought an Oregon farm sight unseen, hungering for adventure. Davey regretted the impulse far past the point of no return, and then he died. Now, unskilled and alone on her farm, Regan fears going home a failure—as a daughter, a wife, and a farmer. With money quickly running out, she gladly accepts the offer of help from Seth Pratt, an acquaintance from the wagon train, and his friend Haywood Lawrence.

One-armed Seth seeks work at the remote farm at the end of an Oregon trail with low expectations. When he finds Regan, alone and widowed, he tamps down desire. She deserves better than a handicapped man searching for his soul. She’s worthy of someone like his Shakespeare-spouting best friend, Hay. Nothing could have prepared Seth for Regan’s simple solution—that both men stay. On the farm and in her bed.

Buy link:
Amazon US

Excerpt:
“Do you know this lady, Seth?” The second man split his gaze between his companion and Regan.

Suddenly heat flamed on Regan’s cheeks. Why should he have noticed her, though he certainly stood clear in her mind. Indeed, Seth Pratt had made quite an impression on all the single ladies in their wagon train. Once, despite her married status at the time they shared the trek west, he made an embarrassing appearance in her dream, too, much to her shame. Her imagined image of his naked body joined to hers had pleased her so much, she banished him from her thoughts afterwards.

She glanced at his companion, hating that he should witness her complete ignominy.

“I apologize for not recognizing you, Mrs. Stone,” Seth said. His gaze raked the yard again. “Should I speak to your husband about the job?”

“Mrs. Stone?” the other man said. Seth shot him a silencing look.

“My husband passed away just west of Cheyenne.” Seth had left the train in western Nebraska, headed, or so she heard through gossip, for the Dakota Black Hill country. At the time, that had been a relief. She thought never to see him again, never to be tempted to dream of him again.

“My condolences,” he said softly. She acknowledged his comment with a nod. “Was the man in Cold Springs correct, then? Are you really lookin’ for help?” He asked the question, but his expression started to close down as though knowing before she answered that there would be nothing for him here.

“There is a problem, Mr. Pratt.”

“My arm. I understand.” He fit his hat back on his head and tipped it at her before tapping the flanks of his horse with his heels and giving the reins a tug.

The second man said, “Hold on, there,” at the same time she cried out, “No!”

He stopped and waited.

“No, Mr. Pratt,” she said. “The problem is not your arm. I assume you would not apply for the position of farmhand if you felt you were not equal to the task.” His eyes lit with interest, and she continued. “The problem is the distance from town, and I’m alone here. I fear it’s too far to travel back and forth each day. Indeed, had I known my property was this far removed from any town, I’m sure I would have faltered in my determination to continue west.”

Seth’s brows wrinkled. “Are you safe out here alone?”

She shrugged. “I feel perfectly so.”

He didn’t seem to like her answer much, but he didn’t argue. “I see.” He sat quietly. “Ma’am, I’ll be honest with you. I need a job. I didn’t have much stake when I lit out for these parts, and I have next to nothin’ now. Folks aren’t anxious to hire a one-armed man, as you might guess. If you give me a chance, I won’t trouble you for nothin’, at least until the snow flies, and then I would need only a roof. I can bed down in the barn.”

“There are accommodations. But Mr. Barker should have explained that I am interested in hiring a man and wife, so that proprieties would be maintained.”

“Why the hell did…Begging your pardon, Mrs. Stone,” the second man said, “but I wonder why the man in town sent us out here, then.”

“Us?” Regan looked more closely at the man, so different in dress from Seth. So different in every way. His clothing spoke of money, though he wore a simple white shirt and vest under the jacket. Obvious hand tooling on his horse’s saddle and the burled-wood rifle butt protruding from a pouch on the saddle screamed taste and the money to afford it.

He smiled once more, showing good teeth and deep dimples. “Forgive me. I’m Haywood Lawrence, late of Charlotte, North Carolina, traveling the West with this disreputable reprobate. That is, until he decided he wanted to become a farmer instead of a seeker of fortunes.”

She smiled. “We have something in common, Mr. Lawrence. I hail from Asheville.”

Smoothly he swung his leg over the horse and strode to her. “‘Such stuff as dreams are made on.’” He took her hand and kissed it.

Regan blinked in surprise but couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “Asheville is the stuff dreams are made on, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Not the city, Mrs. Stone, its lovely citizens.”

“I have it,” Seth said in a quiet tone.

Startled because she had forgotten momentarily that Seth was there, she yanked back her hand and looked up.

“The man in town must have heard me tell Koda that I bought a penny candy for Francis. He musta thought I meant a woman.”

“Who is Koda?” asked Regan. Holy Mother! As surprised as she was to see Seth again, Haywood Lawrence took her breath away. Adding a third man to the mix would surely be too much.

Haywood sighed. “It’s his horse, I’m afraid. Our friend Seth talks to the horse more than he does to people.”

“He don’t quote Shakespeare day and night,” Seth grumbled.

“Well then, who is Francis?”

“That would be me,” Haywood said, with a glare at Seth. “Though no one calls me that who doesn’t want a fight.” Seth raised his brow and shrugged. Haywood turned back to Regan. “I was christened Francis Haywood Lawrence, but I much prefer Haywood to my first name. Or rather, Hay, which I hope you will call me.”

“Oh, I…uh.”

Seth stared at Hay. “I thought you were catchin’ a boat downriver to the coast. Somethin’ about lumber?”

Hay’s gaze didn’t waver from Regan. “Perhaps not. Never fear, my friend,” he tossed over his shoulder to Seth. “‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.’”

Seth said something impossible for Regan to decipher.

She forced her gaze from Hay. “I’m sorry the position won’t work out, Mr. Pratt,” she told Seth. “However, it’s too late for you to go back to town tonight. Why don’t you stay and ride back tomorrow?”

“It wouldn’t be right. I was so wrapped up in my own troubles that I didn’t stop to think.” For the first time, worry clouded Seth’s startling blue eyes. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that might cause you or your reputation harm, Mrs. Stone.”

“Who will know if you camped out or slept in comfort, Mr. Pratt?” Regan smiled. “My parents raised me to be a proper young lady. But when I lay in my safe, snug bed in my father’s home, I imagined how it would feel to be wild and carefree. To do something scandalous. You would be fulfilling a childhood dream if you stayed for the night.” Holy mother of God! Had she really said that? How would he take her words?

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

At last! The Master’s Mark–new from Lisabet Sarai

Book 3 in The Toymakers Guild. Available for pre-order now. Launch date January 13, 2023.

How do you train a steampunk sexbot?

Gillian Smith’s promotion to journeyman proves she’s ready to lead the Toymakers in producing astonishing new erotic artifacts. Creative, brilliant, and debauched, she’ll stretch her capabilities to the limit as she juggles a talent shortage and a pair of jealous rivals. Then there’s the challenge of their latest commission—a life-sized programmable sex doll intended to replace a client’s deceased paramour.

Normally she would consult the enigmatic Master Toymaker, but he seems preoccupied with his own concerns. Though her lusty crew of sexual renegades can offer technical and carnal assistance, Gillian is ultimately responsible for delivering the promised, near-impossible technology.

It’s fortunate she’s not one to give up—not even when events threaten the Guild’s very survival.

Buy Links
Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BRHGN35L
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BRHGN35L
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1306694
Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165993299
Kobo –  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-master-s-mark-the-toymaker-s-guild-book-3
Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6445290161
Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/75611538-the-master-s-mark

Contest!
Lisabet Sarai is running a contest to celebrate the release of The Master’s Mark. The prize is a $10 book store gift certificate, plus an ebook copy of the new novel in your choice of formats.

To enter, do the following:

  • Send an email at contest [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com
  • In the body of the email, list the names of two characters in The Master’s Mark. (You can discover this from various blog posts and excerpts.)

One entry per person, please. On the first of February, Lisabet will randomly draw a winner from among all the entries. Be sure to send your entry to the “contest” email address above.

PG Excerpt:

“Aha! I knew you were no schoolteacher, Miss!”

The familiar voice jerked her back to the present. She looked up, startled, and her eyes connected with those of Jeremiah Manley. Without thinking, she covered the drawings with her arm in an attempt to hide them from his curious gaze.

“Engineer Manley! How lovely to see you again.”

“Right you are, Miss – Gillian, wasn’t it?”

She nodded and flashed him a smile, flattered that he’d recalled her name. He looked every bit as attractive as he had upon their first meeting, taut and lean, brimming with life, seemingly ready to tumble into laughter at the slightest provocation. “My close friends call me Jill,” she volunteered.

“Well then, Jill!” He reached out to lay a dark hand upon her sleeve, pushing gently to expose the hidden designs. “And what have you here? Not some girl’s spelling homework, I’ll warrant.”

Warmth flowed from his palm, heating her own skin through the fabric of her dress. “That’s none of your affair, sir.”

“Sir – that hardly sounds like the response of a close friend! Come now, let me see. I already caught a glimpse. I know they’re blueprints, or something similar.”

“It’s a private commission,” she replied, gathering the papers and slipping them into her satchel. “We’ve promised the client complete confidentiality.”

“Ah!  So who is ‘we’, Jill-who-is-not-a-schoolteacher? Indeed, who are you?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that,” she replied primly.

“Really? Perhaps I can persuade you, Jill.” He swung himself into the chair close beside her, earning scandalised stares from the other inhabitants of the Ladies’ Lounge. She suddenly noticed that he was not wearing his uniform, though his grey tweed trousers and coat fit him equally well. Under the jacket he sported a blindingly white linen shirt without a cravat. The open neck exposed an enticing near-black triangle of bare skin.

“What happened to your uniform, Jeremiah? Are you not on duty?” He wasn’t touching her any more, but she still felt the heat, radiating from his all-too-close form. Her nipples beaded under her bodice.

“I resigned.” His normal smile fled. The scowl that replaced it made him look unexpectedly dangerous. “Couldn’t endure that jackass Thomas any longer.”

She nodded. “I’d hate to work under such a boor, I agree. But to throw away such a solid position – second engineer on a fine vessel like the Invicta – are you certain that was wise?”

He shrugged. “I’m more clever and nimble than wise. Otherwise I wouldn’t have survived this long.” His clouded expression broke once more into a sunny grin and he settled a hand on hers. He leaned closer, so close that she caught a hint of his spicy scent, and spoke more softly. “So, Jill-who-is-not-a-schoolteacher – would you like a tour of the engine room?”

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. “Oh, yes! Please!” She couldn’t have said whether the offer or Jeremiah’s proximity had more to do with her breathless excitement.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Wait just a few minutes, till we’re tied up at the dock. Then I’ll take you below. This is Invicta’s last crossing for the day. The crew’ll be busy filling her coal holds, so we won’t be disturbed.”

“But – I thought you were no longer employed—”

He held up a key. “You can never tell when you’ll need to check the engine.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper as he dropped it back into his coat pocket. “I had thoughts of doing some damage, actually. Thomas would be responsible and it would serve him right. But I decided a clean break would be best.”

“That was wise,” said Gillian with relief. He squeezed her hand, setting her pulse racing once again.

The boatswain’s shrill whistle announced their arrival at the dock. The lady passengers were already filing out of the lounge, casting disapproving glances in their direction. Jeremiah bounced to his feet and pulled her up after him. “We’d better get out of sight,” he urged. “The first mate does a sweep for stray passengers after every trip. Never know when you’ll find some gentleman who took excess advantage of the SS Invicta’s fine whisky.”

He stepped behind the bar into the small galley that served the lounge, then prised open a door on the left. “In here,” he murmured, pushing her in front of him into a dark, narrow space lined with shelves. When he pulled the closet shut, crowding against her, the blackness was nearly absolute. The storage area must have been located against an outside wall. She could hear footfalls upon the metal deck as the disembarking passengers headed for the gangway at the stern.

The space was redolent of tea, ginger marmalade and Jeremiah’s personal, peppery scent. They were crammed together, face to face, though he was a good deal taller. He rested a hand on her hip to stabilise her. She felt his breath stirring her hair and his heat penetrating her clothing.

Her own lungs seemed to have stopped working. She scarcely dared to move.

His hold on her was loose, their bodies still separated by a fraction of an inch. She imagined his chest pressed against her, mashing her breasts against his muscled torso. Her nipples ached for that missing stimulation. It was all too easy to conjure the sensation of his swollen prick prodding her belly, his pelvis grinding against her, his fingers tracing the line of her spine then cupping her buttocks to pull her closer…

A smooth palm caressed her cheek. Bold fingers tilted her chin up toward his unseen visage. “Jill…” he whispered, barely audible, before he pressed his lips to hers.

She melted into the kiss, flowing into his arms. The reality of his hard body was even better than her fantasies. A lush cloudburst of sensation drenched her as she opened to his brazen tongue and let him plunder her mouth. Tangy spice tickled her nostrils and a second heart beat between her thighs. She floated on the surface for a while, then sank gratefully into the passion of the moment, letting herself drown.

Introductory Essay:
Gillian Smith, the heroine of my Toymakers Guild series, is a scientific genius and a sexual adventurer. She’s only nineteen when she shows up at the door of Randerley Hall, successfully figures out the access code and demonstrates sufficient talent in both the technical and carnal realms to win a place for herself among the secretive and selective band of erotic artificers.

As the series continues, she becomes more mature, taming some of her impulsiveness and learning to understand the nuances of desire. She assumes increasing responsibility for the work of the Guild, providing design guidance and supervising the other engineers. Meanwhile, she remains open to the varied opportunities for sensual pleasure offered by Guild membership. She understands that lust is the lubricant for the Guild’s creativity and that despite the outrageous ways that it is sometimes expressed, the bonds among the Toymakers go far beyond the physical.

Authors often – perhaps even always – use aspects of themselves when creating their characters. Nevertheless, Gillian is not me. When I was nineteen, I was a dreamy bookworm, not an engineer. While she is bold and self-confident, I was painfully shy. Her appearance – tall, slender, with curly reddish hair – has little in common with my short, curvy build and mousy brown locks.

Still, at her age I was as fascinated by sex as she is, if nowhere near as active. As I grew older, that fascination deepened. I began to explore my kinks and cravings and live out my fantasies in a manner that she’d understand. I’ve had sexual adventures she’d find quite familiar. In the meantime, my view of sexuality ended up having quite a lot in common with hers – that even what seems like casual lust has emotional and spiritual dimensions.

I also must admit to basing some of Gillian’s emotions and behavior as a technical project leader on my own experience. I did end up as an engineer of sorts: a software engineer. Most of the technology in the Toymakers Guild series comes straight out of my imagination. I couldn’t wire a motor or machine a set of gears to save my life. But I do know what it’s like trying to deal with bugs in your programs when you’re facing a critical deadline. I understand the heavy burden of responsibility that comes with commitments that seem impossible to fulfill.

So, yes, Jill and I do share some traits and beliefs, though there’s more than a century between our worlds and half a century between our ages.  To me, though, she’s an independent individual – and after three novels, remarkably real. As an author, I’m amazed by the way characters develop over the course of writing a book. They begin as a sketch, perhaps borrowing from people we know (including ourselves), but before long they have lives of their own. Having followed her for more than three years and two hundred fifty thousand words, I know who Gillian Smith is. Honestly, though, I don’t know where she came from.

Praise for The Toymakers Guild:
The Pornographer’s Apprentice,The Toymakers Guild Book 1
There are many more plot points, but I don’t want to spoil your enjoyment of this book. It has varied and steamy sex scenes that will take your breath away, a plucky heroine who doesn’t always come out on top (ahem), but who always prevails in her quest to be accepted as a Toymaker.  ~ Fiona McGier, Goodreads

With thoughtfully written characters, hot sex scenes, and a well-paced and interesting plot, the Toymaker’s Apprentice leaves you asking only one question….when is the next book in the series coming out? ~ The Phantom Tollbooth, Amazon

[A] fast paced, hilarious, and thoroughly entertaining story as Gillian gets intimate with the staff and technology, only to find that there is a plot against the Guild that she takes on to save the day. I can’t wait to read what happens in the next book! ~ Arthur Royo, Amazon

The Journeyman’s Trial, The Toymakers Guild Book 2
Lisabet Sarai has taken on the challenge of following up The Pornographer’s Apprentice. I’m happy to say she’s exceeded her own lofty standards of writing. The dialogue in the story is unique, accurate to the era, and oftentimes features beautiful lines. You can look forward to a shocking mass of creativity from the ingenious mind of Miss Sarai. The erotic scenes are written beautifully and explosively. I found the pleasure of the characters hit me just as hard as it hit them. I’m looking forward to more from this world and the characters! ~ Amazon Customer, Verified Purchaser

About Lisabet
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Hold on tight–there’s a little Rough Weather ahead! NEW from Lisabet Sarai

Destiny hides in the tempest’s heart

Elemental Passions Book 2

Blurb:
A fated encounter. A familiar stranger. A storm of passion. Can Ondine release her fear, surrender to Marut’s power, and claim her own?

Marine biologist Ondine Ambrose has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents—aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. When he insists that they are both more than human, and that she is his destined mate, Ondine responds with skepticism. She tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately she cannot deny the evidence of her senses—and her heart.

Note: This book was previously published by Totally Bound. It has been revised and re-edited for this release.

Buy Links

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09Y2P7741

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09Y2P7741

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1142402

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940165838149

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rough-weather-elemental-passions-book-2

Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1619557657

Add on Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60820375-rough-weather

Read an Online Excerpt (PG)

Special deal! Get the first book of the Elemental Passions series, Hot Spell, for only 99 cents at all stores… for a limited time!

Excerpt:

“Wind is far less destructive than fossil fuels. You know that.”

The stranger cupped his tea mug in his big hands. Marut, he called himself. His handsome face wore an earnest expression, while his body was wrapped in her old terrycloth robe, the one she planned to donate to Goodwill. Meanwhile, Ondine herself wore a loose T-shirt and sweatpants that effectively hid her curves. No sense tempting fate.

She hadn’t intended to bring him here, but his clothing was soaked and, like her, he had bloody abrasions on his hands and knees from their fierce encounter on the rocks. So she’d led him over the dunes—careful not to touch him—to the weathered clapboard house she’d inherited from her grandmother. After giving him antiseptic and Band Aids, she’d left him alone in the downstairs bathroom to clean himself up and tend to his wounds. She certainly didn’t intend to play nurse to him, that was certain. She had no idea what had possessed her out on the beach, but she didn’t want to experience it again.

Not that it hadn’t felt wondrous. Indeed, every time she looked at him, she recalled the overwhelming hunger that had seized her. The memory of their frantic encounter unnerved her. The pleasure had been incredible. The loss of control, though, had been terrifying.

Ondine was no virgin, but she’d always been careful about sex. She was normally the one who chose the time and place. And after her mother’s tragic experience, she was unfailingly vigilant about contraception, all the more so because her body would tolerate neither the pill nor an IUD. As she showered off the grit, sweat and semen, she felt grateful that her interactions with Marut had not involved penetration. She didn’t normally carry condoms on a walk to the beach.

He was a stranger, possibly even an enemy. There was something unnatural about the intimacy they’d shared, so sudden and so potent. She would need to remain on her guard.

Rousing herself from her musings, she sipped her own tea and nibbled at one of her ginger snaps. “Of course. Oil, gas, coal—they’re bad news. But why not build your wind farm on dry land? You’d have a much smaller ecological impact.”

“Nobody wants a ninety meter steel tower in their backyard.”

“So you put it where there’s no one to object!”

“In many cases the winds are stronger and more reliable offshore too.”

“And that justifies the cost to wildlife?”

“Global warming’s a bigger threat to ocean life than any wind farm.” Marut’s abruptness suggested annoyance.

Smug satisfaction warmed her, though she recognized that reaction as childish. As a scientist, she was well aware that the tradeoffs and issues were complex. There was no simple answer to the problems facing humanity. Somehow, though, she couldn’t stop herself from baiting him.

“That’s a research question, I think.”

“Look.” He flashed a conciliatory smile that lit up his strong, even features. “Let’s call a truce. My company is in the preliminary stages of design, just studying feasibility and cost-effectiveness for different locations. The installation might turn out to be totally impractical.”

About the Author

Lisabet Sarai

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, BookBub, BingeBooks and Twitter.

Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

Like westerns and cowboys? Check out N.N. Light’s latest event!

Starting April 19 and going through April 28, N.N. Light is hosting the Western Fiction/Romance Bookish Event. Whoa, ma’am! Lots of great authors and books will be featured, all with the western theme and all about romance.

How much better can it be, you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you. By participating, you have the chance to win a $40 Amazon gift card! And, if you send Mrs. N. proof that you purchased one of the books featured, you will be given five more entries in the Rafflecopter drawing. This event is international. The winner will be drawn on April 29.

All of the details for the Western Fiction/Romance Bookish Event can be found on the event site.

Now, for my contribution, I submitted my historical ménage romance, Regan. Regan will be featured on Sunday, April 24.

Joining in the westward migration, Davey and Regan O’Ryan Stone bought an Oregon farm sight unseen, hungering for adventure. Davey regretted the impulse far past the point of no return, and then he died. Now, unskilled and alone on her farm, Regan fears going home a failure—as a daughter, a wife, and a farmer. With money quickly running out, she gladly accepts the offer of help from Seth Pratt, an acquaintance from the wagon train, and his friend Haywood Lawrence.

One-armed Seth seeks work at the remote farm at the end of an Oregon trail with low expectations. When he finds Regan, alone and widowed, he tamps down desire. She deserves better than a man handicapped in war, searching for his soul. She’s worthy of someone like his Shakespeare-spouting, best friend, Hay. Nothing could have prepared Seth for Regan’s simple solution—that both men stay. On the farm and in her bed.

I hope you enjoy Regan and the other books in the SIsters O’Ryan series!

Buy links

Amazon Kindle https://www.amazon.com/Regan-Sisters-Publishing-Menage-Everlasting-ebook/dp/B008MOOYC6/

B&N Nook https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/regan-jenna-stewart/

About Jenna

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Join her newsletter, Aussie to Yank (with Jan Selbourne) for exclusive access to stories, poems, and more.

Website: https://www.nomadauthors.com/jennastewart/index.html

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K