Today I’m taking the time to showcase five of my awesome author pals. I am very pleased to say I have met Lucy Felthouse, Lily Harlem, KD Grace, Janine Ashbless and Lavinia Lewis in the flesh. Lucy, Lily, KD and I even spent the wee hours in a hotel room together the other week…ooo err! These sweethearts also had their photos taken by the incredibly good professional photographer David Woolfall but unfortunately they didn’t make it in to the final Independent Article. So, today they’re going to feature on my blog. So please welcome The Veggie Lover, The Shy Seducer, The Northern Bird, The Tree Hugger and The Literate Lovely to Victoriablisse.co.uk!
In the beginning I thought writing erotica would be something I’d just do for awhile then I’d get bored with it and move on. That most definitely hasn’t happened. I started writing erotica for the experience and stayed because it was more of a challenge than I would have ever imagined, and it was so much fun. I’ve never met a more supportive group of people than erotica writers, and I’ve never met a more interesting, more varied, more together group of people than my writing friends. There’s a real sense of community. I guess it’s possible I got lucky, but if that’s the case, then I’m very pleased for it.
When I sold my first erotic romance novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly, to Xcite Books, my editor told me that no one ever wrote erotica to get rich, that people who wrote erotica were making a statement. Though making a statement was never my plan, there’s now no doubt in my mind that the world would be a better place if people were more comfortable with their own sexuality. With erotica and erotic romance, specifically, becoming more and more mainstream all the time, I think there’s a real opportunity for those of us who write erotica to heal some of the damage and to open the doors to a more enlightened, more human view of sex.
Anderson took Marie by the hand and pulled her into the back seat of Tim’s Land Rover. Before Tim had the engine started, the ghost had her blouse open and a heavy-nippled breast excavated and pressed to his lips. Up front Tim adjusted the mirror so that Marie could see his eyes. Then before he started the engine, she heard the zip of his fly, and he wriggled and shifted in the seat. She saw his eyelids flutter, heard the hitch in his breath, then he revved the motor and they were off.
It wasn’t a long drive, but Marie was sure the windows would have been steamed had they not been wide open. Anderson had greedily freed both her breast and suckled them alternately while one hand found its way up under her short denim skirt and into her panties. All the while his erection, straining at his black trousers, rubbed and gouged against her thigh. Though she couldn’t see what Tim was doing, he was definitely driving with one hand on the wheel, and the way he was struggling to breathe left little doubt where his other hand was. That only made Anderson’s stroking and tweaking feel even hotter.
They barely got out of the Land Rover before Tim, making no effort to zip himself in — though Marie doubted he could if he wanted to — dragged her bodily from Anderson’s gropings. Then he took her mouth for himself and yanked aside the crotch of her panties to finger his way in between her creamy folds.
So now, with a desk overlooking beautiful farmland, a rescue dog at her feet and a fat cat on her lap, she spends her days allowing her imagination to run wild. Her stories are made up of colourful characters travelling on everyone’s favourite journey – falling in love – and she prides herself that the bedroom door is always left wide open. If her readers have fallen in love with the hero – be it a kinky neurosurgeon, a sexy rockstar or a hot hockey player – they deserve to find out exactly how he performs between the sheets!
One hundred grand to babysit bad boy Logan “Phoenix” Taylor on a paradise island—seriously, how bad could he be?
Frankly, it didn’t matter. Not when it would make my dreams of going to nursing school possible. I wasn’t even expected to talk to him, just hang out in a luxurious villa on a private beach and study. Simple, right?
But I hadn’t counted on Logan being so deliciously bad that he was oh so good. And when the temperature cranked to boiling point, he knew just how to satisfy the deepest, darkest part of my soul and give my body exactly what it needed. Amongst the sand and waves, we transported each other to an exquisite world of pleasure where only we existed, only we mattered.
But the heady mix of emotions and lust couldn’t keep things from spiraling out of control back in reality, where I had to keep the secret that I’d been hired to entertain him…even if it shattered my delicate heart. Even if it cost my destiny.
Sipping my coffee, I turned to the sports pages.
My hand began to shake. Drips of dark liquid spilled from my mug onto the paper, spreading like ink on silk. I read the headline three times before I believed what my eyes were seeing.
“PHOENIX AND HIS BIRD,” it shouted, then in smaller writing, “Orlando Vipers star Logan Phoenix Taylor was far from grieving last night as his team struggled to narrowly beat the Washington Capitals. Vacationing in paradise with a mystery woman, he looked the picture of happiness and contentment…”
I couldn’t read any more. Beneath the headline was a black and lime green night shot. It was me. It was me and Logan in the water. Logan was pressed behind me and my head was tipped into the curve of his shoulder. We were up to our waists in waves and his arms were wrapped around me. One beneath my breasts and one beneath the sea line. His lips touched my extended neck and my arms were raised and locked behind his head.
I pinched in a juddering breath and shakily set down my coffee before I spilled the lot. At least the paper had had the decency to a fix a black rectangle over my jutting breasts. But it was clear to anyone who looked we were naked and hot for one another. And by the look on my face, even through the shady grains of the picture, I was having a wild time.
Writing erotica happened quite by mistake. I did a Creative Writing degree at the University of Derby because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do as a career (by this point I knew that I couldn’t just sit and write and expect people to throw money at me, unlike my younger self). While I was there one of my fellow students made the suggestion that I should have a go at writing erotica. I laughed it off at first, but then he dared me… so of course I couldn’t say no then!
I really enjoy what I do, and it certainly doesn’t feel like work (though edits are another matter altogether!). I don’t write full time, but it’s always in the back of my mind. I get ideas from here, there and everywhere. I spend a lot of time out in the countryside, walking, visiting ancient monuments, mansions, manors and just generally exploring and I get quite a lot of inspiration from the things I see and hear. You’ll find lots of monuments, old houses, libraries, and outdoors sex in my writing – and now you know why! People watching is also a great way of getting ideas – sometimes all it takes is a name or a sentence and my imagination turns it into something sexy or romantic and the words spill onto the page.
What made her nocturnal visitor so unusual was its proximity to the house. Animals were braver in the city, where they’d become used to humans. But out here, they were still timid and very wary of man. Heidi’s little cottage was practically screaming that it was occupied, with its smoking chimney and blazing lights and yet the creature – whatever it was – was almost outside the window. Heidi frowned. Something definitely wasn’t right.
Another flash of movement, and Heidi finally identified her visitor. The beautiful russet fur, big bushy tail with flecks of white – there was a fox in her garden.
Grinning, Heidi rushed to dry her hands on a tea towel and then moved across the room to flick off the light switch. She waited until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, then made her way back to the window. She spied the fox immediately, crouched down beside the hedge surrounding her garden, as though it was hunting something. A life-long nature lover, Heidi smiled, truly appreciating the stunning beauty of the creature. But the longer Heidi watched the animal, the more confused she became.
The fox hadn’t moved for some time. If it was hunting, surely it would have pounced by now? A sinking feeling rolled through Heidi’s stomach. Perhaps it wasn’t stalking after all, but lying down because it was injured?
I started writing erotica because there was no one out there producing what I wanted to read – which was, basically, like Angela Carter only a lot dirtier. I’ve been writing it for over a decade now. I’ve six books in print and three more on the way, and I’m amazed and delighted to find that there still seems to be no end to exploring the strange and filthy niches of my imagination.
I’ve had other jobs in computing, forestry, education. But I was never happy until I started writing.
My proudest moment? Causing the editor of Black Lace Books to wail “It’s got to have a human head!” across a party at London Book Week. Honestly, all I wanted to do was write a Minotaur story. Harmless, surely?
There are a lot of trees in my books. Trees and deep woods; old wild places where people go to get lost, to be stalked by wolves or to search out a sleeping princess. Most of my writing is inspired by myth and folklore and fairytale. I feel that the themes you find in those stories – fear and courage, maturation and loss, the search for identity or for the sublime, the seizing or giving up of power – are the themes of sexuality too.
A hot snippet from Wildwood:
‘It’s not as if we’re attracted to one another.’ It’s hard to keep my voice steady.
‘Not in the least,’ he says, his hand shedding birchbark curls like confetti as he runs it round and over my breast, spiralling in. ‘We’ve never been like that, Avril.’
‘I know.’ I’m finding it hard to speak as he closes on my exposed nipple. ‘Oh God.’ My fingers scrabble clumsily at the oak-bark, revealing swathes of ivory flesh.
‘You’re not enjoying this.’ His voice is teasing, his breath warm on my ear.
‘Neither are you.’
His next pass bares my right flank and hip. I lift my thigh against his to allow him access all the way down and I feel his response – a surge in the plated region of his groin. Ash winces.
‘It’s okay,’ I tell him, gently stripping him of his oak-bark armour and exposing the warm velvet flesh beneath, inch by inch. He moves in my hands like a hatchling struggling from its shell and I cup his balls and caress his cock, urging it erect. It jerks between my palms, flushed and proud. ‘I can see how reluctant you are.’
‘Yes.’ He looks dizzy. ‘That’s quite obvious.’
‘Very, very obvious,’ I say with appreciation.
But of course writing erotic romance is not a natural progression from a love of making up stories, and putting words down on paper. Personally, I discovered erotic romance through reading Twilight. Yep, the one with the sparkly vamps. Of course, there is no erotic content in Twilight, but it was the first paranormal romance I’d ever read and so I trawled the internet in search of more. And what I found surpassed my wildest imaginings. Vampires, Shifters, Angels and Demons were all there at the click of a mouse.
Through the many online romance bookstores I came into contact with male/male romance, a genre I hadn’t even known existed, and from there my fate was pretty much sealed. I read voraciously, and the more I read, the more convinced I became that it was something I could do too. I completed my first novel, an M/M were shifter erotic romance, submitted it to Total-E-Bound, a publisher I knew had a good reputation, and a week later they contacted me, informing me their wanted to publish my book. I’m currently working on book seven in my shifter series and I have a few contemporary novels due to be released in the coming year, along with many other works in progress.
When bodyguard Brent Hawthorne moves to India to start a new business, he thinks his biggest problems are going to be the language barrier and coping with the intense heat in Mumbai. But when he starts working for one of Bollywood’s top actors, Rajkumar Khan, Brent has to rethink that estimation.
Raj is not only handsome and sexy but also secretly gay, and sparks fly the instant the pair meets. But Raj is being blackmailed and the unknown sender of the letters is not only threatening his life but also to reveal his secret.
As Brent battles to find the identity of Raj’s blackmailer, he finds himself growing closer to the sexy Bollywood star. He struggles at first to resist Raj’s advances, fearing any sort of relationship between them could cost the star his life, but Raj is a hard man to resist. Can Brent keep his hands and heart to himself long enough to find the culprit, or will he give in to his Bollywood desires?
“All-Star Security, how can I be of service?” Brent rested his elbows on the desk and used his thumb and forefinger to massage his temple. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand Hindi…or Punjabi. Do you speak En—?” Brent stared at the handset open-mouthed before slamming it down in its cradle. He cursed under his breath.
“Another hang up?” Jessie leaned back in her chair and applied bright red polish to the nails of her left hand.
“Fifth time today and it’s only ten in the damn morning. Do you have any idea how much work we’re losing because Jack won’t get his head out of his ass and hire us a secretary that speaks Hindi?”
“We have a secretary who speaks Hindi.” Jessie held up her hand to the light and admired her newly painted nails. “Yes, and Jameela is great, but she only works three days a week. What about the rest? I’m a bodyguard not a damn receptionist. I’m tired of this shit, and don’t you have any work to do?”
“Tea break,” Jessie explained.
Brent looked at the clock on the tiny office wall. Jessie had been at work precisely forty minutes and he hadn’t seen her do a damn thing. And when did he start using the word ‘damn’ so much?
He tugged on the collar of his white linen shirt and groaned out loud. The lousy air conditioning unit in their small rented office only seemed to work when it felt like it. Mumbai had two temperatures it seemed. Hot…and ridiculously hot. Brent wasn’t a fan of either.
More from Lavinia at her website: http://lavinialewis.com