A brand new wolf-shifter series debuts today from Siren-Bookstrand and Natalie Acres
Historical~BDSM~ Paranormal~ Ménage a Trois Romance~Werewolves
Spanking~ wax play~sex toys from a bygone era~bondage
Visit Natalie Acres at Siren Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/imprints
Two pack masters discover an unyielding love in one woman by altering customs and forming new traditions destined to change the Wyoming Territory forever. Imprinting upon and sharing a lover, the Alphas realize their packs must join together, but they will face great opposition when their chosen mate is confronted with a wrenching decision.
Pack masters Frank Smith and Jock Corrigan aren’t enemies, but they aren’t exactly friends. Still, their similar fates have been altered by an unusual union they cannot deny. Their relationship with Carla Cassidy forces several wolves to make their independent choices. One will stand with the newly formed pack, but another will fall victim to his own selfish needs and motives. A group of new shifters will emerge and change the course of history, but not before the expanding pack’s goals are tested and tried.
“What are you doing here?” Carla asked, propping her tiny clenched fists on her hips.
“Far be it for you to show a little appreciation,” Jock said, studying the spitfire of a woman before them. Wearing a light blue prairie dress, Carla apparently hadn’t stopped to check out the torn fabric and soiled material.
“You were attacked by a pack of wolves. I arrived in time to run them off.” Jock stood a tad taller with his announcement. Most women appreciated heroic efforts.
She paled then as he spoke. She looked down at the evidence of a ruined dress and her hands twitched.
“How did this happen?” Carla asked, suggesting her memory had failed her.
“You must’ve had a nasty bump on the head if you don’t remember,” Grant told her.
She held the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Everything is a bit foggy.”
“Well, don’t you fret none, Carla. We took care of ya.” Grant shot Jock a quick glance. “Yep, siree. Me and Jock here handled everything.”
Jock was beginning to think whenever there was a “yep, siree,” added to Grant’s speech it was nothing more than a bald-faced tale.
“Do you remember going to the barn?” Jock asked.
Carla took a minute before she answered. As if she suddenly recalled something of interest, her cheeks turned pink and she said, “I may have already been in the barn.”
Grant shot her a wink and a lopsided nod. “That was my best estimation, too.”
“Dear God,” Jock grumbled, beginning to believe Grant must’ve considered himself the most intelligent man in the West.
“Here’s how I figure things went down. Those wolves heard a lot of activity, maybe even some squealin’ and carryin’ on comin’ from the barn…” He paused and arched a brow. “How am I doin’ so far?”
Carla stared at him with this perplexed look which made Jock wonder all the more. Had Grant really watched Carla in action with these wicked props he’d mentioned?
“That’s all right, sweetness. Don’t worry ’bout a reply. I can make heads and tails out of this. Anyhow, you were in the barn doin’ whatever it is that you do out there—in the loft—and well, what I came up with after a-prowlin’ around is that you were makin’ a little too much noise.” He stood taller and his lips spread into a mischievous smile. Leaning against Jock, he added a whisper, “How’d I do? Did ya like that?”
Jock studied the pretty lady. “Carla? How close was Grant’s guess?”
“What sort of squealing?” Carla arched a brow and watched them through suspicious eyes.
Grant shrugged. “That voice of yours is as fine as cream gravy when you go to hollerin’ and such.”
“Grant,” Jock muttered, giving his buddy a one-word warning he would inevitably ignore.
Copping a strut, Grant approached the porch, working what little swagger he possessed. “Come on, Carla. You know what I mean. You can’t kick up a row and expect no one to hear ya. I ain’t been a man for all these years for nothin’. I can spot an experienced woman.” He cupped his ear, slung his arm off to the left, and quickly added, “And I can hear one from way over yonder.”
Before Jock had a chance to smooth things over, a disgusted gasp fell from Carla’s mouth. “Well I’ve never in my life.”
“Me neither,” Grant admitted. “But after what I’ve witnessed, I’d be the first man to say you are a soiled dove to the manner born. And I’d be the first to mention yer geared up to teach even an experienced fella a thing or two.”
Carla’s eyes filled with tears. Before Jock saw the slap coming, she opened her hand and her palm connected with Grant’s cheek.
“I don’t know who you think you are, Grant Ford, but if you’re trying to make a mash on me, I can promise you, I’m not impressed!”
Grant stared back at her with wide eyes. “Surely to God you ain’t offended.”
“I am indeed!”
And of course after that, Miss Carla Cassidy did what Jock suspected she might. She walked inside, slammed the door in their faces, and never so much as bothered to say good-bye.
“Happy now?” Jock asked, without blinking an eye.
“I like ’em a little hot under the collar. Trust me, friend. I know what I’m doin’. Let’s go for a run. When we get back, she’ll be fit to be tied—and I mean that in the literal sense.”
Jock couldn’t help but think about Grant’s earlier words. One of these days, Carla would open the door and greet her husband. Considering what had transpired, Jock had a feeling she’d slam that door just as quickly if she thought her potential suitor was named Grant Ford.
Copyright ©2013 Natalie Acres
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Welcome to Hump Day Hook, where authors tantalize you with brief excerpts every Wednesday! Please click HERE if you’re looking for the Spring is in the Air BlogHop.
Our last four Hump Day Hooks have focused on the first four books in our Meghan’s Playhouse series. In case you forgot, Meg Keenan is a sprite of a woman who takes on Aphrodite’s role of bringing other couples together, up close and personal. As we got to know her through the series, we began to wonder if she’d ever have a happy ending of her own—and if so, just what it might look like!
We’re not giving away any secrets today, but here’s the blurb and an excerpt, with a little hint of an upcoming four-way ménage…
When Meghan Keenan’s old flame Josh Hendricks unexpectedly shows up at the Summer Shakespeare Festival where she has a leading role, Meg has a brilliant inspiration: he’ll be perfect for Camila, the hot Latina who currently shares Meg’s bed. If Meg’s scheme works, she can continue to enjoy sexy escapades with both of them.
Josh has a different idea. He’s come to the Festival with one goal in mind: to marry Meg. Will Camila buy into the plan and help him spark Meg’s jealousy? Can Josh escape this tempting triangle unscathed? And if he does, can he claim his would-be bride before she flees in panic?
My apologies for a longer-than-usual excerpt—since Meg’s bisexual, this seemed like an appropriate excerpt, given the historic hearings taking place in the U.S. Supreme Court this week.
Yawning, Meg glanced at the living room clock. It was well past midnight, hardly a late night for theater folks, but she knew Josh must still be on Eastern Time. They’d dissected his play about every which way possible. With his long legs crossed at the ankles, he slouched in the easy chair sitting across from the couch where she and Camila sat.
“What are you working on now?” Camila asked. “Or are you one of those superstitious writers who won’t talk about a work in progress?”
Meg knew Josh wouldn’t hesitate to talk about current work. Josh reveled in carrying on about writing—his own or others. Meg squeezed Camila’s fingers. She was pleased with how the girl responded to Josh’s presence. For his part, Josh engaged easily with both of them. She’d noticed his arousal pressing against his trousers several times. It felt as if she and Josh hadn’t been separated for so many months.
Josh smiled and shrugged. “I often bounce ideas off of people who appreciate the ins and outs of telling stories. I’m sort of between things right now. Of course, as you know, a writer has lots of plots floating at the same time. I’m considering a play that’s been percolating the last several months about the struggles bisexuals confront, not quite fitting in any world except their own.”
“That has a familiar personal ring,” Camila admitted. “Straights and gays think I’m either just playing around or can’t decide.”
Meg’s response was quick. “I haven’t felt particularly at sea because of my sexual orientation.”
Josh’s grin split his face. “Why would you? You’ve created your own network of like minded people.” Josh winked at Camila. “You must know that our Meg’s favorite role is that of matchmaker.”
“I’ve noticed.” Camila nibbled on Meg’s right ear. “She’s already failed with me.”
Meg glowered at Josh.
“That rather uneasy fellow I met at the theater?”
Camila arched an eyebrow at Meg. “I didn’t see Philip tonight.”
“He was there.” Meg brushed a hand along Camila’s thigh. She’d been inching her short skirt higher for the past twenty minutes. From Josh’s look he must have a superior view of Camila’s satin v-string and the outlines of the treasure it barely concealed. “I told him we’ll be rather busy the next few days. He’ll be gone most of the week. I’ll take care of Philip. He’s been a good friend this summer.” Meg stuck her tongue out at Camila. “Who knows, if Josh sticks around long enough we may want a fourth.”
Camila’s eyes rounded as she shuddered. “Double the fun.”
“Or trouble,” Josh countered.
Be sure to catch all the
Hump Day Hook excerpts at this
We’d love to hear what you think is going to happen next…
Lust, Death, Vampires – you’ll love Valentina Cilescu’s modern erotic classic, Kiss of Death! Please click HERE if you’re looking for the Spring is in the Air BlogHop.
Kiss of Death by Valentina Cilescu
In the forgotten and bricked-up cellars of Winterbourne Hall, the Master’s spirit feasted . . . At last, his deliverance was at hand. Hidden deep in the English countryside, Winterbourne Hall is the finest whorehouse in the land, where no fantasy is too wild to be acted out, no desire is too outrageous to be satisfied – and in its splendid isolation, secrets stay safe. Andreas Hunt is a cynical tabloid journalist. He lives a louche lifestyle, with any number of willing women at his fingertips – but he doesn’t want most women. Most women bore him. He wants Mara, the luscious-bodied white witch, who has seduced him thoroughly. Where Mara leads, he follows – and she leads him to Winterbourne, where commences a sexual adventure that will soon become a deliciously forbidden nightmare: for at Winterbourne, Andreas will meet the Master, a real life sex vampire . . . Kiss of Death is razor sharp erotica at its edgiest and most thrilling. The first in a captivating series.
It was happening at last.
The Master was awakening: his immortal soul was rising through seas of consciousness, thoughts unfreezing, clarifying, memories melting the icy prison of enforced forgetfulness.
His spirit hovered, like a formless black shadow of unspeakable evil, above his motionless body, trapped and impotent within the unforgiving crystal; looked down upon the heavy lid of the sarcophagus and was filled with rage, grief and the longing for sweet revenge.
But his powers were still at a low ebb. There was a dim flickering where before there had raged a sulphurous furnace of chaotic energies, the servants of his perverse and terrifying desires.
He was going to need time, imagination, cunning. But he was patient. He could wait. The world would know his power once again, and this time there would be no mistake.
There had been long years of imprisonment, betrayal, defeat. But he was back now. The arrogant fools had thought they could kill him: that in trying to kill his body they could annihilate his spirit. Soon they would know that there are some things in this world that are beyond understanding: some things that never, ever die.
He wondered what had provided the stimulus to his reawakening, what had struck the spark of consciousness into his frozen heart. In his weakened state, he was still blind. He could not even see his own face, fixed in an expression of unbearable agony beneath the heavy stone coffin lid.
He did not even know where he was. His memories were muddled, clouded by pain and long slumber. A dark cellar, somewhere beneath a great stately home. That was all he could recall. A silent and deserted place, walled up and forgotten for – how many years? He could not tell.
But he could feel. And already he sensed the power-source, as yet just a trickle of feeble electricity, but soon, soon he knew, to burst forth into a great surge of life-giving energy.
The sexual energy on which he fed. The power-surge generated out of the chaos of frenzied coupling. Someone, somewhere very close at hand, was preparing an orgy and, although they did not realise it, the Master was to be their honoured guest.
The girl wore nothing but a thin white shift made of the thinnest, most diaphanous cotton lawn. Her body was pale, firm, perfect: the body of a young and beautiful girl. She could not have been more than eighteen years old at most.
‘Beautiful,’ breathed Delgado, reaching out a bronzed hand and running an incautious finger down the girl’s cool, white arm. She shivered slightly, as though she were cold, but she did not flinch. The girl seemed unusually docile, and her eyesale stared almost sightlessly before her. ‘You have drugged her?’
‘Of course,’ replied Madame LeCoeur. ‘A little injection to calm her down, a shot of something to make her more . . . receptive. Our lovely little child will enjoy her initiation, never fear. It was so good of Herr Königsberg to volunteer his daughter’s . . . services . . . for our opening night. Such beauty should not be wasted. Among us, she will learn to be a skilled whore. One day, she will thank her father for what he has done to her tonight . . .’
Delgado surveyed the girl and took in her charms. Tall, slim-waisted and full-hipped, her body was enough to delight any man. The bright blonde triangle of her pubis showed clearly through her thin dress and proved that she was a natural blonde. Her pert breasts were cherry-tipped and hard, bearing witness to the efficacy of Madame LeCoeur’s aphrodisiacs. Her eyes were a brilliant blue: clear and deep as an August sky. He was pleased with her. He turned to Madame LeCoeur: ‘You are quite certain that she is a virgin?’
‘You would like to see, perhaps?’
Delgado nodded. He was not easily moved by feminine beauty. A lifetime spent masterminding white slavery and the brothels of Marrakesh had left his palate jaded, and it took something exceptional to whet his appetite these days. He noted with approval and some surprise that he was salivating, and his hardened penis was bulging appreciatively inside his Savile Row trousers.
‘Lie down on the bed, child.’
Slowly, mechanically, like a sleepwalker, the girl obeyed. Her pale golden hair flowed over the pillow as she lay down on the blue silk bedspread.
‘Pull up your shift.’
Other Modern Erotic Classics available:
The Houdini Girl by Martyn Bedford
Lie to Me by Tamara Faith Berger
The Phallus of Osiris by Valentina Cilescu
Kiss of Death by Valentina Cilescu
The Flesh Constrained by Cleo Cordell
The Flesh Endures by Cleo Cordell
Hogg by Samuel R. Delany
The Tides of Lust by Samuel R. Delany
Sad Sister by Florence Dugas
The Ties That Bind by Vanessa Duriés
Dark Ride by Kent Harrington
3 by Julie Hilden
Neptune & Surf by Marilyn Jaye Lewis
Violent Silence by Paul Mayersberg
Homme Fatale by Paul Mayersberg
The Agency by David Meltzer
Burn by Michael Perkins
Dark Matter by Michael Perkins
Evil Companions by Michael Perkins
Beautiful Losers by Remittance Girl
Meeting the Master by Elissa Wald