Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Coming Together Triumphantly edited by Dorla Moorehouse. Post by Lily Harlem

Coming Together: Triumphantly is a collection of erotica that deals with reclaiming the body and sexuality after trauma. It contains stories of triumph, of healing, and of appreciating the body and its abilities after (and in spite of) the changes brought about by illness/injury. This collection will benefit the National Women's Health Network.

This collection is edited by Dorla Moorehouse, who pitched the idea to Coming Together as follows:

In late 2010, my friend and fellow writer Reesa Brown and I decided we wanted to edit an erotica anthology based around reclaiming the body and sexuality after trauma, such as illness or assault. This idea was very important to Reesa, who was a breast cancer survivor. We mapped things out, found some interest from other writers we knew, and put together a call for submissions, but then Reesa's cancer returned. She spent most of 2011 fighting, and most of the time she was too ill to work. We planned to relaunch our efforts as soon as she was well, but unfortunately, that day never happened. After grieving her death in January, I've decided I want to continue along with the project as planned, even though she is no longer here to co-edit with me. While more than a year has passed since our initial plans, my motivation is stronger than ever.

CONTENTS:  Shy Bird (Lily Harlem); Scarlet's (Maxine Marsh); Mine Like The Rest of You (Teresa Noelle Roberts); How Love Can Triumph Over Cancer (Mark Lawrence); Love the Second Time Around (Deva Shore); My Stillness (Corey Fisk); Finding Christine (Alicia Baines)

A note from Lily Harlem - I was keen to add to this collection of stories that aids such a good cause, and it's not the first time I've donated my work to Coming Together, I also have a steamy menage tale in Coming Together; As OneShy Bird was interesting to write, I made the guy in the story the one overcoming physical injury and although he's a big, tough, leather-wearing, tattooed biker, it is the shy, unassuming girl who he takes up bird watching in the Norfolk Broads with who finally heals his heart.

You can find out more about Triumphantly (available in print and ebook) here.

Thanks for reading

Lily x

Monday, 25 March 2013

On an eReader Near You...

So, I only just found out that this anthology was released, and it came out in November. So if you want 42 hot lesbian stories for a bargain price, including one of mine, check out the links below...

Seriously hot lesbian erotica from the top writers in the field – Olivia London, Lynn Lake, Catherine Lundoff, Eva Hore, Kannan Feng and Lucy Felthouse to name just a few. There are no fewer than 42 superbly-written stories in this bumper collection.

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US


Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women's Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

The Contract - Natalie Dae - Out Now!


From the moment I stepped on the path that I hoped would take me to a better life, things changed forever—for the worst. I was dragged into the belly of the underworld, where a gang lord had chosen me to do his bidding. Caught up in a trial that had nothing to do with me, I was forced to sign a contract, binding me to do whatever the gang boss ordered—or lose my life. With no choice but to obey, and me falling in love with the defending lawyer, my world was turned upside down.

Master Michael was that lawyer, a man who wanted to teach me the BDSM lifestyle and keep me safe, offering me an entirely different contract. But I couldn’t allow him to. If I did, he would also face danger. Being beaten, stabbed, and hunted down became the norm for me, and I ended up having to make a choice—his life for mine or go into witness protection.

I should have been safe. I should have been able to stop looking over my shoulder. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t. The gang were always there, dogging my every step. And so was Master Michael.

X-Rated Excerpt:

I grew wet between my legs, spasms there giving me a jolt. I hadn’t done anything like this for such a long time that I was out of practise, felt out of my depth and unsure what to do next. My cunt burned, seemed to inflate with my longing, and if I’d been alone I would have wrenched my jeans open and slid my fingers inside my knickers. Rubbed, smoothing my wetness over my clit and fretting it until the pleasure burst through me and I shook, jerked, and bucked with it. I wanted to tell him to do exactly that, to discover how he would do it, whether his touch was firmer than mine. I wanted so much all at once that it overwhelmed me.
He eased his head back a little, breaths hot on my wet skin, and said, ‘Tell me now. Tell me what you want, Rebecca.’
‘I don’t know. Don’t know if I can,’ I said, keeping my eyes closed.
He swirled his tongue around the edge of the scar, then swept it across my stomach to circle my navel. I pulled in a breath, shocked, and tightened my hold on his hair. I imagined him twisting me around, making me face the wall tiles, and wrenching my jeans down my legs. Gripping my hips and drawing me backwards while he stood behind me, naked, pressing his erection into the cleft of my backside. I wanted him to scoot his hands under my T-shirt and lift my bra cups, replacing them with his hands. To fondle my nipples until they hardened, so that I forgot everything except what he was doing. Was that what I wanted him to do? Could I tell him that?
I began talking, telling him what I could see in my head, faltering at first then growing bolder as he kissed and licked my stomach.
‘It isn’t…exactly BDSM, is it?’ I said, daring to open my eyes and watch him. ‘It’s just normal.’
He pulled back for long enough to say, ‘Keep imagining. Keep talking. Say what you can see.’
‘I want…I want you to take me roughly, to fuck all the bad things out of me.’ Had I just said that? ‘I want you to kiss me hard, shove into me, make me feel alive again, as though I’m the only thing that matters. Make me forget…make me know, just for a little while, that the only thing I have to wonder about is…what you’ll do next.’
Michael stood, my hand dropping away from his hair, and crushed me to him. He kissed me — hard — and I melted against him, pushed into him, wanting to feel his erection, to writhe over it and get myself off. I put my hands around his neck, locking my fingers, going up on tiptoes and kissing him back as hungrily as he was kissing me. A strangled sound got stuck in my throat, and this time I didn’t care. He broke the kiss, dipping his head to lick a path up my neck, to kiss my earlobe.
‘Tell me more,’ he said, his hot breath sending my lust level skyrocketing.
I closed my eyes while he nuzzled and kissed, me rubbing myself over him, the sensations between my legs growing with my excitement. My jeans gave extra abrasion, and I shuddered out several pants while trying to control myself enough to speak.
‘I want you to massage me roughly, all over, and force me to my knees to suck you…your cock.’ My face was hot, getting hotter with the telling. ‘I want you to grip my hair in your fist while I do it, and push in and out of my mouth telling me how you need me to suck harder. I want you to tell me how it should be, where I should kneel or stand, where I should be. And I want…I want you to use your free hand to grip my chin so my head doesn’t move.’
I could see it all in my mind’s eye, every bit of it, both of us naked. I imagined the strain in my thigh muscles from kneeling, the strain in my jaw from having my mouth stuffed full of him. I heard him grunting as he pumped in and out, using my mouth, using me, and telling me that he was going to come.
I lowered my head to nestle it on his chest, hiding my shame as I repeated what I’d seen in my head. The words were muffled against his top, but he heard them, groaning his response and holding me tighter.
‘That’s it,’ he said, kissing my jawline, licking my lips. ‘That’s it.’
I slid my hand under his top, reaching up, seeking his chest. It was smooth, not a hair to be felt, and I ghosted a fingertip over a hardened nipple. His desire for me had done that, perked that nipple, and I finally accepted that he wanted me. I’d dreamed of being his for so long, had convinced myself it would never be, that to see proof of what I’d denied to be true was almost too much. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly, then tilted my head, needing him to kiss me.
He did, slow and tender, the roaring fire of before dousing into something just as beautiful, just as heady. It was erotic, the gentle dance of his tongue, as though he was taking his time to taste me, to explore the inside of my mouth, getting to know it. I responded in kind and knew I could stand here kissing him forever. My head swam with the joy of it, of him wanting the whole of me, scar and all.
As our kiss came to an end, I reluctantly drew back, looking up at him as he studied me.
‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’ he said, cradling my cheek and running his thumb tip under one of my eyes.
‘It wasn’t difficult, but it wasn’t easy either,’ I said, the pounding ache between my legs making it difficult to focus.
‘Do you want more?’ he asked. ‘More of this?’

Sunday, 24 March 2013

Her Mystery Duke - Natasha Blackthorne

HER MYSTERY DUKE is an erotic Regency historical romance, light BDSM elements/spanking, Rubenesque /BBW, May-Dec, Nobleman hero-impoverished heroine. For adults 18+ only.

This novel length ebook is approx. 85,000.


Copyright© Natasha Blackthorne, 2013
All Rights Reserved.

Chapter One

London, England

Winter, 1813

Indecent. The tall gentleman’s stare was the most blatantly indecent assault Jeanne had ever encountered. Deeper than intense. Intimate, as if he knew everything thing about her.

That penetrating gaze set her palms sweating and made her mouth dry. It was a direct threat. No one could possibly know her. She kept herself too well protected, hidden beneath layers of aloof disinterest. Yet she found herself unable to look away. She just sat there and let that gaze burn her. Burn through the wall she kept between herself and the world. It even seeped under her skin and melted her blood into warmed honey.

A single pane of rain-splattered glass separated them. The thudding of her heart in her ears blocked out the sounds from the common room of the coffee shop and created a sense of isolation.

He wore no hat and his hair lay plastered like spilt black ink streaked across his high, broad forehead. Rain dripped over hard chiseled cheekbones, down an aquiline nose and square jaw, over shoulders that were made even more impossibly broad by a dark blue greatcoat.

He was like something from a dream. A harlot’s very naughty dream.

Oh really. A handsome, mysterious stranger, one who was intensely interested in her and seemed to know all about her? Her imagination was running away with her, taking a life of its own. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. The wine hadn’t been that strong as to make her conjure carnal fantasies in mid-afternoon. In public. She dared to look again.

The tall gentleman was gone.

There, see? An author of fairy stories couldn’t be fooled by a waking dream. And yet cold, heaviness sank through her insides, a feeling of loss. How utterly ridiculous. Irritated with herself, Jeanne bent over her mug, inhaling the fruity, spicy scent of mulled wine, and listened to the low rumble of conversations around her. Mrs. Roberts had a new blue bonnet and she was preening like a peacock. Mr. Taylor announced to his friends that he’d just become engaged to Miss Smith and his companions were alternately ribbing and toasting him.

Once a week, she ventured from her garret to this little coffee shop to be among people, as an observer. A customer, keeping a protective distance.

“Miss Darling.”The slightly nervous, boyish voice broke into her peace. “You usually come here on Saturday.”

She forced the irritation from her expression and looked up to meet his freckled face. “Yes, Paul, this week I decided on a change.”

She kept her tone cool and polite, as always.

Mr. Ratherford, her publisher, had sent a note, informing her that she must present herself at his offices and bring the fairy tales he’d requested. As an author of children’s stories, she’d been working for months on the stories but she still had one more story to write, the grand finale in a leather bound volume of the stories that she hoped to have printed. However, she’d been unable to write for several weeks. The harder she tried to create a story, the less she liked anything she wrote. Today, that note had put her into a state of desperation. She’d come here to try and stimulate her mind. It had worked a little too well judging from the daydream of the handsome, mysterious stranger.

“A special occasion?” Paul’s words cut into her thoughts again.

Oh bother! She took a deep breath and struggled to find more patience. Once Paul Cook started, he never let up. But he was just a boy, and a kind one at that. She bit back an impatient response.

Her concentration, her peace, however: they were gone. Never mind. The wind was howling with more intensity outside, and the winter’s day was growing dark far too early. It was time to leave.

As she reached down to retrieve her reticule, the odor of wet wool intruded on her senses, mingled with the citrus-soapy scent of a gentleman’s shaving lotion. A body close to hers. Too close. She jerked her head up and faced a waking dream.

His greatcoat was opened to reveal a fine, silk, embroidered waistcoat that encompassed a broad chest, which narrowed into a flat-as-boards stomach. Water dripped from his hair, leaving wet spots on his hopelessly crushed cravat. He didn’t seem to be aware of his dishevelment.

She met his eyes. His gaze intensified, turning to brilliant, intimidating greenish fire, like an emerald catching the sunlight. Thick, dark lashes and heavy black brows made the color appear even richer.


His voice was deep yet hushed and utterly masculine. It sent another curl of heat through her, stronger, penetrating all the way down from her chest to her navel and into her womb. However, it was the note of despair that made her catch her breath.

Pressure swelled in her throat, a pang of sympathy. Sympathy for others was the most dangerous emotion of all. It could lead one to make painful, unwise sacrifices.

She’d never had such an immediate reaction like this to any man. Tingles raced from her midsection to her toes, not arousal this time but an urge to run. He was dangerous.

 And Thérèse? Clearly he was grossly mistaken. Or foxed.

She stood, then took a deep breath, released it and raised her brows up in a haughty mask.“Pardon me, sir?”

His expression sharpened. He took her arm, harshly. “Don’t toy with me.”

She pulled back and he tightened his grip. His hand was large. His hold stronger than any gentleman she’d known.

He leaned so close she could have brushed her lips against his. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know me?”

His deep, hushed voice sent pleasurable shivers through her but Jeanne pushed the sensation aside. As his breath wafted over her, she inhaled deeply but couldn’t detect any odor of spirits. Prickles raced over her scalp like a thousand needles.

Perhaps the gentleman wasn’t in full control over his mental faculties. Dear God. Just like Papa. She’d spent her youth caring for her father in his varying stages of insanity. Life with him had become a prison. Since his death, she had lived in fear of the unbalanced. Now she’d become the target of a stranger’s madness. Another series of prickles raced over her scalp.

She met the stranger’s gaze levelly. “What’s your game?”

“Thérèse, don‘t be this way.” His whisper, laced with steel, was so low, that she unwittingly leaned closer. “We needn’t make any dramatics here. We’re going home.”

This near to him, Jeanne noted the glassiness of his eyes. Again, she sniffed. No hint of alcohol. But then again, having experienced all of Papa’s variances of sanity, she had an instinct for spotting others who were likewise afflicted. This man was definitely afflicted in his mind.

This was the exact situation she always dreaded. Since her girlhood, she always watched others, seeking any sign of madness. She’d had to cope with Papa, that had been her duty, but she was always careful to keep others who showed any inkling of mental instability at a safe distance. How stupid of her to have let herself be distracted by this man’s masculine beauty.

Angry at herself, she jerked her arm, trying once again to free herself. His grip remained relentless.

“Thérèse!” Again, the low steely whisper. “Behave yourself.”

How unwise of her. An insane person could react unpredictably. She ought not provoke him. Yet she knew it was important to present a strong, confident front.

“Sir, I am not your Thérèse and have no wish to be. So please unhand me.” Her heart was hammering at her chest wall so violently, she had trouble keeping her voice even. She lifted her chin and stared at him steadily. “Now.”

“You are deliberately pushing me, Thérèse. I don’t appreciate it.”

Boots sounded on the floorboards. The sound drew her attention to how quiet the public room had become. She glanced around. The other patrons were staring.

“Miss Darling, is everything all right?”

The tall gentleman turned to Paul and regarded him with an icy, haughty stare. “The lady is a friend. Please go back to your counter and mind your business.”

At the velvet over iron tone, the young man’s eyes grew round. He took one step backward and then another, then stood looking uneasy.

“Are you having a spot of trouble here, Miss Darling?”

Jeanne turned to face the shop owner, a large, barrel-chested man.

The stranger exhaled long and loud. A sound of complete exasperation. “As I told the boy, the lady is a rather close friend. I would appreciate a little privacy.”

The shop owner turned to her. “Miss Darling?”

Her heart froze and her chest constricted. She placed a hand to her throat. She didn’t know what to say.

“The gent don’t look right to me.”The owner’s wife squinted at the stranger.

Jeanne glanced at the gentleman’s handsome profile and the proud jut of his jaw. He gazed at her sideways and she caught her breath. There was something about that brief gaze. A lost, disorientated air. Just like Papa when he had been in one of his worst spells and he was trying to hide it by acting arrogantly assertive.

But she had seen. The stranger was truly not in his right mind.

He swayed then braced his hands on the back of the chair and caught himself. Arrogance fell over his face like a mask.

Jeanne’s throat ached. He was so vulnerable. So alone.

Mrs. Cook motioned to the chair Jeanne had vacated. “Sir, you better sit.”

The gentleman stared at the matron, well, rather he glowered down his nose at her. “If you please, the lady and I have some personal business to attend to.”

His eyes jerked from side to side. At the alarming motion, Jeanne started.He seemed to lurch forward. She looked down and saw his hands gripping the chair back. The knuckles were white. The ache in her throat increased.


Jeanne glanced back at Mrs.Cook. The woman wrinkled her forehead. “Go fetch Dr. Miller.”

Paul walked to the door.

“Quickly now.” Mrs. Cook’s voice carried urgency and she made a shooing motion.

A doctor.

Memories rose in Jeanne’s mind. Her father screaming, his face contorted in torment as the doctor painted yet another mustard plaster on his skin in an attempt to draw the poisonous humors out. The endless purges and emetics. None of it doing anything to cure Papa’s mad fits and mental lapses. And then finally, the insane asylum.

But that was how people dealt with madness. It would be how they would deal with this obviously touched gentleman. As if her stays had suddenly shrunk, her chest constricted. No, no, it wasn’t her place to step out of her way to aid this gentleman. He wasn’t her responsibility. She owed him nothing. Her breathing came shorter, faster. It wasn’t safe to stick one’s neck out. And yet the words rose. She tried to hold them back but they burst out, “There‘s no need for a doctor.”

Mrs. Cook frowned deeper. “But he called you Thérèse, that’s a French girl’s name, not yours.”

“He is calling me by my middle name.” Jeanne held her breath and waited to see if this lie would be accepted.

Mrs. Cook blinked several times. “You have a French middle name?”

“Yes. My mother’s mother was French.” Another lie.

The matron’s eyes narrowed. “Just how does this gentleman know you? He seems very well off to be on familiar terms with a decent girl from around here.”

Jeanne caught herself biting her lip. She quickly released it and gave the first answer that came to mind. “He’s my cousin, on my mother’s side, twice removed.”

Again, Mrs. Cook blinked a few times. Then her mouth twisted until she looked like she’d just tasted a particularly sour lemon.

“My cousin is not well.”

“Apparently. More likely drunk as a lord.” Mrs. Cook’s tone became sourer than her expression. “I don’t like this.”

“Pardon me?”Jeanne tried for genteel outrage.

Mrs. Cook’s tone became sharper. “I have known you since you started coming here on Saturdays with your Papa. I always thought you were such a dedicated daughter. A good girl. But I don’t like having fancy pieces courting trade in my shop.”

 “Mrs. Cook, this man is my cousin.”

“A wealthy relation who didn’t help you when your dear Papa was ill?”

 “My cousin was out of the country at that time—he was in India, making his fortune.”

Mrs. Cook looked from Jeanne to the gentleman and back. Several times. “I don’t see any family resemblance.”

Jeanne swallowed against a tightening throat. Could everyone hear the pounding of her heart? “I favor my father’s side. H-he is my cousin.”

Her voice came out so strained that she cringed internally.

The matron’s expression hardened. “I think you met this gentleman under less than respectable conditions. Perhaps in a place where you’re known by a false name, a fancy French name to make yourself sound more interesting to wealthy gentlemen.”

Jeanne’s mouth dried and anxiety twisted her insides. “That’s not how it happened.”

“I’d appreciate if you took your cousin and left. I’d also appreciate if you never came back. I run a decent shop here, not a place of disorderly assignation.”

Jeanne sucked in a deep breath. That had hurt. More than she wished to admit. This was her place of comfort and respite when her isolation became too much. And she was a horrible liar. But what else could she have done? Consigned this gentleman to Bedlam? Oh God. She’d known he was dangerous. Why hadn’t she listened to that inner voice?

She glanced up at the gentleman. He was gazing at her with an odd, confused expression. Were his eyes a bit glassy? Might he be ill, instead of insane? Surely, if he were that ill, he’d be in bed.

She reached a hand to him. “Let’s leave.”

The gentleman released the chair then took her hand and laced his fingers with hers as naturally as if he’d always done so. “Come, Thérèse.”

They walked sedately out of the coffee shop, just like that, with their gloved hands intertwined.

The rain had let up yet the wind still gusted. With her free hand, she readjusted her scarf. His hold remained firm on her hand until they had traveled a block away. The strength of his grip sent prickles of fear darting into her. He could easily overpower her, if his insane whim so dictated.

He stopped just as they were about to turn the corner, and he looked down at her. A slight smile softened his mouth. “My darling.”

Dear heavens, he was such a gorgeous man. Dangerous, utterly dangerous. But he was still a madman. Any sensible person knew well to be frightened of the insane, she more than anyone. She returned his smile but only to placate him.

“Are we headed in the proper direction for the mews?” he asked.

“Yes, we are. They are just down this street and to the right.”

“Esau has the carriage there.”

Well, there it was. She’d done her part keeping him out of the clutches of an overzealous doctor. God and this Esau fellow would have to watch over him now. She wasn’t about to get anywhere near his carriage and risk him shoving her bodily into it.

She offered another, hopefully warm, smile.

She must have succeeded for he relaxed his grip on her hand and they resumed walking. As they rounded the corner, she slipped her hand from his.

And ran.


Her heart pounded and she ran faster.

“Stop, please. For the love of God!” His tone was hollow with desolation. Her sympathy panged her yet again. Unwittingly, she glanced over her shoulder.

Wind whipped the gentleman’s dark forelock. He leaned against a street lamp, one hand holding his side. He appeared to be panting for breath, his expression a mask of loss and despair.

Just like Papa. She’d seen those emotions on her father’s face too many times. But the expression appeared so out of place on such an arrogant, masculine face. Her heart constricted. She turned to face the direction she was running and put all her energy into it.

Something came between her foot and the pavement. She lost her balance and fell forward. As the bricks rose to meet her, she threw her hands out to brace her fall. She cried out then reeled from the fall. Her arm began to burn like fire. She knew she wouldn’t be able to run easily for much longer.

She hauled herself to her feet and scanned the shop fronts.

Mrs. Mason’s Bakery.

Relief washed over her. Mrs. Mason had always been friendly. She had even given her day-old bread, on days when she couldn’t pay.

She darted into the shop and the scent of baking bread and spicy cinnamon and apples comforted her.

“Good day, Miss Darling!” Mrs. Mason sang out. “What shall it be today?

“I think I shall have whatever smells of apples and spice.”

“You sit and I’ll bring it right out.”

Jeanne sank into the nearest chair. Moments later, Mrs. Mason brought hot tea and apple pie. But Jeanne found the pie tasted like ashes and could only manage a few tiny bites. Unable to stop twitching and fidgeting, she kept catching herself glancing back at the window.

She jerked her head away.

No, don’t look. He is not your affair.

She forced herself to focus on Mrs. Mason’s steady chatter. The wind made a long, low, threatening howling sound. Such a dreadful day. What about—

No, he isn’t your responsibility.

A loud crash seemed to rumble through her body and shake her bones and resound in the pit of her stomach.

What happened? An accident? A carriage trying to avoid a disorientated pedestrian and yet hitting them all the same?

She jumped to her feet and rushed to the window. Some crates had blown over. Men were shouting and running about. The sky had grown darker.

Against all her caution, her gaze was drawn back to the direction whence she had come.

Oh God, there he was, staggering down the street in a wavering pattern. For such a stalwart-looking man, the gentleman walked so oddly, so slowly. Had he been in the war perhaps and suffered some irreparable head injury that had left him this way?

Almost completely in front of the shop, he glanced up. He had that lost, desolate look.

Her throat burned.

His gaze sharpened. Honed in on her.

Oh, damn. How stupid of her. Of course, he’d seen her at the window. She stepped back several paces. But it was too late. He began walking toward the door.

“Isn’t it just dreadful weather, Miss Darling?” Mrs. Mason exclaimed. “My Ben can take you home in the gig later, if you like. Come sit back down and have a chat.”

Jeanne didn’t answer, her gaze was fixed on the gentleman as he reached for the door. He was coming in. And he looked absolutely furious, in a cold, controlled way that was all the more frightening. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the cry of protest that sprung from the depths of her and she backed away from the window.

The little bell tinkled as he entered, an incongruously gay herald. His eyes blazed into hers. She gave a little squeak and took several steps backwards until her bottom hit one of the display cases.


Jeanne Darling spent her adolescence coping with her father’s increasing illness and insanity. Left alone by his death and plunged into poverty, she did what she had to do to survive. Now still reeling from the overwhelming physical and emotional demands her father’s care required, she values her peace above all. She doesn’t need anyone or anything except her writing and the safety of her rented garret chamber. She’s about to rise above her past and create financial independence for herself. What she absolutely does not need is the mysterious and possibly insane stranger who walks into the coffee shop and into her life.

David Somerville, the Duke of Hartley, has known pain and betrayal from the people closest to him. Born to privilege, power and wealth, and filled with idealistic vision for humane change, he gives all of himself to his political career. He keeps his life circumspectly under control. But one day, all the carefully arranged threads of his life unravel and his life intersects with Jeanne’s in a way that challenges his view of everything he thinks he knows.

Leagues apart in society, they can only have one possible future, that of protector and mistress. And neither wants to risk deeper connection. However, their overwhelming attraction and resulting sexual games provide them with pleasures neither of them has ever known. Will their sensual journey lead them to discover something rare and magical? Or will their seemingly insurmountable differences and passionate personal goals drive them apart?

Reader Warning: HER MYSTERY DUKE is a work of historical erotic romance. It is not meant to be a guide to or an accurate portrayal of modern BDSM lifestyles or practices. This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts and frank sexual language. It also contains light bondage, anal play, sexual toys, cunnilingus, fellatio, voyeurism, masturbation and spanking. Please be aware, there are no scenes of ménage or sexual sharing in this story.

To Purchase: Amazon, Amazon UK and Smashwords

As a bonus, two erotic Regency era romances from my backlist, A MEASURED RISK and GREY'S LADY, are both on sale at Amazon and All Romance E-Books for .99 for a limited time.

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

Beautiful Britain by Lily Harlem

I just can't help but be inspired by the wonderful country I live in, but none more so than the Cotswolds. I spent last week there with Mr Harlem and we had a wonderful time. The cute, topsy-turvey villages are quintessential England. From their sandy colour brickwork to their tiled roofs and walled gardens, there is nothing remotely ordered about the mishmash of houses and shops. The roads go from wide to breathe-in narrow, hills flow right down to the entrance of the villages and gurgling streams pool into ponds full of mallard ducks.

I've been several times over the years and I always have the urge to walk for miles then settle in one of the many welcoming pubs by a fire and enjoy some good food and fine wine.

Of course I like to find time for a little shopping too, and last week in the slightly-larger-than-average village of Winchcombe I had a delightful few hours mooching around shops with names like -  Sprogs and Boogiebeat (kids stuff) The Winds of Change Gallery, Just In, Me Me Me (clothes), and enjoyed tea and scones in Food Fanatics Delicatessen - yum!  I came home mainly with tasty treats in my bag though having a particular fondness for art, had money been no issue there were several pictures in the gallery I would have treated myself to.

I always play a game with my lovely man, which house we'd have if we could have any. I'm always hard pushed to decide if I would want a small cute one, all chintzy and cosy...

Or one with an obligatory thatched roof...

Or something big and sprawling, mansion-like...

Or even something quirky - of which there are many to chose from...

Whichever one I choose, in my imagination, I'd be sure to see something else on my next visit that grabs me more, depending what mood I'm in. And I'm already looking forward to my next Cotswold trip, though between now and then I wonder if I'll set another story there? Without intentionally setting out to, I have three books all based in the Cotswolds, I guess that shows how under my skin this beautiful part of the world has got.

Thanks for reading

Lily x

PS - My books set in the Cotswolds...

Friday, 15 March 2013


I'm so excited! You can now pick up my two new releases! 
Instant Attraction is available at Total-E-Bound and Yield to Me is available at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid

Thomas is a motorcycle cop, new to the rural area. He needed a change from the hectic big city, and the pressures of being on the SWAT team. A little more peace and quiet to reflect on what he wants in life, and maybe find someone to share it with along the way. He never expected to find his perfect match in the form of one sexy, little animal activist. From the moment they meet their attraction is hot and out of control.

Julie is an animal lover and works at a no kill shelter. Living next door to the new cop in the area, she's asked by someone at the small town hall to welcome him to the neighborhood. When she meets Thomas for the very first time instant attraction causes the sparks to fly. And they can't keep their hands off each other. The hot anywhere, anytime sex is great but she wants more. Can instant attraction turn into love?

Most women look forward to their wedding day. But not Senator Adams daughter, Sophie. She was being blackmailed into marrying a man she detests, in order to keep a family secret from being revealed. So when she finds herself in the arms of a sexy kidnapper on the eve before the nuptials, she looks at it as a godsend. Until she realizes that her abductors every touch sets her on fire.

Brent was preparing for a long over do vacation on his boat when the senator talks him into kidnapping his only daughter. It would be a piece of cake, he was told. The woman in question was a sweet, southern belle. So why, then, does he suddenly find himself with a hellion on his hands? One who arouses him without trying, and knows how to keep him satisfied. He falls for her, but they can only have a future if she admits the truth.

The new and improved,sexed up version of  The Senator's Daughter.

I hope you'll check them out, thanks!

Thursday, 14 March 2013

Spanking teaser from Wicked Teacher

So I felt like being a little naughty today - and decided to tease you all with the start of a spanking scene in my recent short story - Wicked Teacher. Eva and Aiden have a very hot, extremely wicked time together - and the scene where Aiden spanks the naughty Eva is one of my favourites.

Here's a quick exerpt:

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A part of him wished he had been born in a different era. A few slim, red cane marks over the backs of these pretty legs would look delightful. Or maybe he would have used a hard wooden flogger, or smaller paddle.

Aiden grew hard just at the thought of the way Eva would moan and buck under the corporal—but highly sensual—punishment. She would wriggle and try to get away from him, her body twisting and heaving in a painful mockery of a far more enticing and sexual act.

Aiden felt his cock twitch again, both at the thoughts he entertained as well as the warm, sinuous feel of the girl spread out over his lap. Lifting his fingers, he traced a delicate pattern over her skin. He stroked the pads of his digits over her softness, but stopped just shy of her panties.

“You’re wet, my little slut,” Aiden crooned. He was delighted by the discovery of her copious cream. The aroma of her feminine musk was delicious, but it was the slick juices that coated Eva’s upper thighs that really turned him on.

The searing heat of her cunt beckoned to him, radiating so he could feel it on his fingers from the tops of her thighs. Aiden drew in a deep breath to resist the overwhelming impulse to spread her legs wide open and bury his face between her lower lips. His mouth watered. He ached to lap his tongue over the curve of her pussy and taste her cream.

Eva moaned, but did not articulate a response to his words. She wriggled beguilingly on his lap, appearing torn between seeking more pleasure and trying to escape the further pain which she must know would be coming. Aiden drew out the moment and avidly watched her body writhe. Eva finally turned her head so she could look up at him with those large eyes.

Her curls fell forward to cover her gaze. She raised a hand to pull the liberated strands of hair behind one ear before turning her head in his direction. Aiden became lost in her chocolate-brown gaze. Eva pleaded silently with him, but he couldn’t decide if she was aching to be fucked, or whether she was begging for him not to spank her too ferociously. Either way it really didn’t matter—he was going to do both.

“You’re lucky I don’t keep a flogger here, my beautiful slut,” he rumbled. “I think red marks on this beautiful, perfect skin of yours would enhance the seductiveness of your ass. For this afternoon, at least, it is not to be.”

Eva groaned and appeared on the verge of saying something, but Aiden didn’t give her the chance. With a quick flick of his wrist he flipped her skirt over her butt to gather around her waist. As expected he found her ass primly covered by a pair of white cotton panties.

Another quick motion, with both hands this time, and he’d hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. Aiden dragged Eva’s panties down over her cheeks and left them bunched around her thighs. He watched as she squirmed, her luscious, naked ass undulating in the cool air.

“Oh!” she cried out.

Aiden smirked. With her head still turned towards him, he knew Eva couldn’t help but notice his joy at her sexy writhing.

With a sharp movement he brought his open palm down onto her round cheeks, and a loud slap filled the air. As he lifted his hand he noticed with deep satisfaction the red mark his palm had left on her pale skin. Pleasure welled within him.

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You can click the cover above to purchase this short stroy from TEB, or follow the links to this and my other books over on my website: ... Hope I've added a little naughty spice into everyone's day :)


Tuesday, 12 March 2013

Urband Seductions #5 - Seductive Tracks

I love the concept of how there’s almost always more to anyone (or any situation) than initially meets the eye. We all know the “common” labels thrown around all the time: mother, son, lover, friend, co-worker. But even the more exotic labels hardly scratch the surface of any given person or tale: erotic author, belly dancer, vibrator collector, dirty story aficionado.
I’m not just talking about those deep, dark, dirty secrets – but even ordinary things. When people ask you what you do for a living there’s a big difference between saying “I’m an accountant” and saying “I travel to clients (frequently interstate) to help train their book-keepers on the new tax laws, showing them the loopholes and helping them impress their bosses with all the savings they can give to the company.” Or how about the difference between: “I’m a nurse” and “I’ve worked in most of the hospital sections, and let me tell you what I encountered the other day in Accident and Emergency…”  Btw - go check out the lovely Lily Harlem’s Naughty Night Nurse if you want the full dish on the rest of that particular story ;)
My point being, there’s nothing as a person and a writer that I love more than knowing the full story behind those seemingly normal, bland and uninteresting façades we all seem to portray.
In my new release, Seductive Tracks, Matthias falls headlong into a mystery just like that. Kelli Robbins appears the quintessential boring witch. She works in the Archives – musty old tomes and file after file of ancient paperwork. When he scratches the surface, however, there’s a wealth of knowledge, sexy shenanigans and all kinds of enticing twists in store for them both. Security breaches, thieves, uncovering drug rings and of course – plenty of sizzling hot sex!
Seductive Tracks is the fifth book in my Urban Seduction series over at Ellora’s Cave. While it’s not necessary to read them in order – the Underground, Magical world of Chicago gets explored in more depth and many of the secondary characters have plenty of action of their own. In order they are: Retrieving Love, Retrieving Desire, Enforcer Seduced, Enforcer Ensnared.
I always love hearing from readers - feel free to email me at

Saturday, 9 March 2013

Special Guest - Wendi Zwaduk

Vampires! Oh my!

Thanks to Lily and the gang for having me here at Outrageous. I love chillin’ with the girls. J I thought I’d talk today about my latest work, Until the Night, part of the Immortal Love Collection over at Total-E-Bound.

What is the Immortal Love Collection? A group of four stories with paranormal slants and lots of hot sex. In the case of Until the Night, there’s my first foursome. Grin. Talk about a lot of outrageous. I knew when I sat down to write Gypsy’s story, it would be complicated. Gypsy first showed up in My Immortal and she had a ton of issues. Plus, there were three hot guys sort of vying for her attention. But MI wasn’t about her. She ended up on the back burner in that story, but that was fine.

I’m glad they all talked. Allan and Todd were a twosome, but Gypsy was good at turning heads. Then there was Kendall, the faithful friend who happened to look like Bradley Cooper. Who could turn that down? Apparently not Gypsy.  I had the tools to start, but there were a few issues.

Like what?  Each time I sat down to write her story, things didn’t gel. Nope. She didn’t want to talk and the guys didn’t want to cooperate. I must have had about five starts for her story. None of them worked. Then I saw the call for the Immortal Love Collection. That sparked me. It did! And it got them talking, too. Turns out, Gypsy didn’t have one mate. Not two, but three. Yes, three. How to work that all out? Yeah, a lot of choreography. I won’t tell how it works, you’ll have to read UTN to find out, but it’s white hot and a lot of fun.

I hope you enjoy my foray into the paranormal world of MMFM. I had a ball writing it and the characters loved...making all that love!

Here’s an excerpt:

“You’re paler than normal.” Kendall put both hands up. “I know. Vampires are pale. But this isn’t like you.” He curled his fingers under her chin. “What can I do?”
Her heart hammered. What could he do? Get naked and take her on the couch, then offer his neck, that’s what he could do. Help her slake her need for sustenance and sex then confess he liked her for more than a friend.
Like that would happen. He had a girlfriend, last time she’d checked.
“Just tired.”
“I see that. When did you sleep last?”
“I haven’t.”
“Or fed, either.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Then I’ve got just what you need—a hot and hunky male to share your bed.” His eyebrows bobbed. “Like someone tall, blond and handsome who has lots of blood he’s willing to part with in the name of rescue?”
She laughed despite her tears. “Don’t tell me you’re applying. That’s one of the most horrible come-on lines I’ve heard.”
Kendall cupped her jaw in both hands. Hunger shone amongst the green and blue flecks in his eyes. He worked the muscle in his jaw and the light caught the subtle colour changes of brown and gold in the scruff on his cheeks. She gulped to catch the breath she didn’t need. No heartbeat anymore meant that oxygen didn’t help her body like it had when she’d been alive.
God, she wanted to be amongst the living and for things to be normal again.
“Would you rather I be blunt?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I want you. I don’t care if you’re a vampire or if you have those two guys who hang out over here. You infiltrate my thoughts and make me think about you when you’re not in the same room.”

How about the blurb and where to buy? Here you go!

Having a mate can be a pain. 
Having three…now that’s unheard of…

Gypsy volunteered to become a vampire, but she had no idea just what she’d agreed to do. As a human, she’d had her pick of willing males to warm her bed. As a creature of the night, she’s striking out. Until she meets Kendall. He knows what she is and doesn’t care. He’s loved her since he met her, but he had no idea just how complicated her life truly was. Her protectors refuse to leave her side. But what if he wants them on his side, too?

Allan and Todd are mates, plain and simple. Gypsy is in their charge. Period. Until they start to see her not as a problem, but a sexy solution complete with an adorable human thrown in for fun. Can they come together as a foursome or will they destroy everything they’ve built in the name of passion?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of mm sex, anal play, ménages of the mmf, mfm, and mmfm persuasions, as well as lots of biting and spanking. They’re having one hell of a party.

Available at:

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Like spicy romance? So do I! Come along on this journey with me.

I’ve always dreamt of writing the stories in my head. Tall, dark, and handsome heroes are my favorites, as long as he has an independent woman keeping him in line.  I love playing with words and letting the characters run wild.

NASCAR, Ohio farmland, dirt racing, animals and second chance romance  all feature prominently in my books.  I also write under the pen name of Megan Slayer. I’m published with Total-E-Bound, Changeling Press, Liquid Silver Books, Turquoise Morning Press, Decadent Publishing and The Wild Rose Press. Come join me for this fantastic journey!  

If you like my work, tell your friends and email me. I love hearing from readers!