Friday, December 31, 2010

New Cover Yummies


Here it is, the long awaited cover for the Mammoth Book of Hot Romance, and while it hasn't got my name on the cover, it does have one of my stories, We Were Lovers Once, inside.

Keep track of the release date in the sidebar.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Advent Calender Day 25: Merry Christmas


Merry Christmas Everyone!

Friday, December 24, 2010

Advent Calender Day 24: Xmas Eve Giveaway

Yeah, it's present giving time. I have the following selection of goodies to give away. Leave a comment to enter and I'll do the drawing when I get home from the cold north some time after Christmas.


Print:

A Gentleman's Wager - Georgian set menage a trois
Phantasmagoria - Georgian set menage a trois, sequel to A Gentleman's Wager
Dark Designs - Contemporay, gothic wedding setting, menage a trois, with a yaoi twist.
Lust at First Bite (which contains my short story El Alquimista) Anthology of vampire erotica


Ebooks:

Pure Folly - m/m Regency ghost story
Enticement - Contemporary menage a trois

Freebie:

Don't forget that Indiscretions is still available to download in .pdf format here for the next week.


Thursday, December 23, 2010

Advent Calender Day 23: Fortuna & the Snowman

 A Wintry Snippet from Fortuna.

Giles had held her, overlooking the garden, for a long time the previous night, but there’d been no deeper show of affection between them. They’d eaten dinner early, and then he’d read to her for a while, something about the rights of women. How crazy we are, she’d thought, as she’d lain awake in bed, hoping he’d come to her. We want each other, and yet we’re apart. She fell asleep with her hand pressed to her puss and the memory of his touch sharp in her mind.

“Where’s Mr. Dovecote?” she asked his servant the next morning, when Giles failed to show for breakfast.

“Taking his customary turn about the park, miss. He doesn’t want no one suspecting that he’s harboring you.”

Ah! “Oh! Of course.”

When two o’ clock came and went, and Giles still hadn’t returned, Leach provided her with short boots and a woolen pelisse and ushered her into the walled garden. “You can pace out there, Miss. He’ll be back before long. Nothing will have happened to him. He’s not generally home much during the day.”

Outside the frosty air stung her cheeks. Already, the daylight had begun to fade, leaving the sky a muggy shade of gray.

Fortuna crossed the square lawn and headed beneath the archway cut into the towering rhododendron hedge. She’d been out twenty minutes and her fingers and ears were turning numb, when a voice startled her from her thoughts of home and husbands.

“Miss Allenthorpe.”

Fortuna shielded her eyes and peered back towards the house. A man, not Giles, was jogging towards her. His hat slipped off, half way across the lawn, revealing a flash of vivid-red hair. Neddy Darleston skidded onto one knee before her. He seized her hand and raised her icy fingers to his lips. “Good afternoon.”

“Mr. Darleston.” A lick of heat spread across her icy cheeks at the attention. “Have you brought me some news?”

Neddy rose and laying her arm upon his sleeve, tucked her close to his side. “Just expressing my relief at finding you so well.”

Fortuna blinked at him, finding it difficult to look at him and not imagine him sprawled before the drawing room fire, as she’d seen him last: muscled, naked and perfect.

“Why, if your mama and sisters were to be believed, you’re virtually at death’s door, having succumbed to the most terrible sore throat.” He grinned. “In short, I regret to inform you that not only has your absence gone unrecorded, your reputation is also safe.”

She didn’t want her reputation to be safe. “They are claiming I’m ill.”

Neddy squeezed her hand where it lay upon his sleeve. “I believe one or two other families have used that ploy before. A disobedient daughter doesn’t show the family in terribly good light, you know, and you do have rather a lot of sisters for your parents to auction off.”

“Yes, but I want Sir Hector to think I’m ruined.”

“I concede that is a problem. Of course, you’re family are probably expecting you to turn up again at some point as Mrs. something or other.”

There was sense in that. They probably did think she’d eloped, not just run off to save herself from Sir Hector. Her family had never been able to see that she hated him because he was vile, not because she wanted someone else. “Actually, I ran away to escape marriage, not to make one?”

Neddy patted her arm, his customary easy grin plastered across his face. “How very wise. I’ve never much fancied the matrimonial coif myself.” He squeezed her tight as they strolled on a little further, following the high boundary wall, over a lumpen rockery, to a set of trellising hung with the remnants of last years peas.

“Giles isn’t much of a gardener,” Neddy observed, as he plucked one of the blackened shriveled pods from the stalk. He balanced it above his lip like a moustache, making her laugh. “Do you know what I think this garden needs?”

“Some love?” she suggested.

Neddy tilted his head forward, and peered up at her from beneath his furrowed brows as if considering. His expression loosened into a beaming smile. “No, Miss Allenthorpe. A snowman.” He darted around her and capered away across the uneven earth, scooping snow into a ball.

Fortuna clapped her hands in delight. He reminded her of an exuberant puppy dog; nothing like the sculpted, sexual being she had previously watched copulate before the drawing room fire. Neddy, like Giles was a curious dichotomy, two seemingly opposite things at the same time.

“I saw you with Lady Darleston,” she admitted, when he caught her staring at him.

Neddy peered up at her from beneath his long fringe, from where he was bent rolling a second snowball. “I know. I saw you too. So, which was holding you back from joining us, my brother, your morals, or the fact that I’m not Giles?”

She gasped, shocked by his lack of embarrassment, and the impertinence of the question. If he’d known she was there, had he heard her describing him? Had he thought about touching her, filling her with his cock, in the same way he’d driven into Lucy?

“I know you practice free love,” she blurted.

“Has Giles given you the indoctrination speech? Wonderfully idealistic, ain’t it?” He lifted the snowman’s head into place, then faced her, his eyes slightly narrowed behind his curtain of hair. After a moment, when she hadn’t replied, he shrugged his shoulders, and started hunting about in the snow. “Say, help me find some arms and eyes, wont you? I have a carrot for a nose.” He dug in the pocket of his great coat and pulled out a brilliant orange specimen, which he jammed into the center of the head.

“You carry carrots about?” she spluttered, startled into speech. Truly, he was incredulous.

“Why yes, now that you mention it.” He thoughtfully squeezed his cleft chin. “I have had this one on me for a few days. Quite a few,” he flicked it dubiously, “given that it’s rather bendy. But, one never knows when the opportunity for these pleasures will arise, and it’s always the nose I struggle to find.”

Fortuna gave a rather un-lady-like snort of laughter, imagining him sneaking up on unsuspecting women in the park, brandishing his orange root and blithely suggesting they roll snow together. No wonder the society mamas warned their daughters to stay away from him, he was impossible not to like, easygoing, and totally charming.

“How are you doing finding those arms?” he asked.

Fortuna among the beans and found him some twigs, which he pushed into the snowman’s sides.

“You’re not really alike, are you? You and your brother.”

“We’re identical.”

“Physically, maybe, but not inside.”

He rested his elbow upon the snowman’s head, and considered. “That’s a curious way of putting it. The thing you have to remember about us is that Robert carries all the burdens. I just bear a meager allowance. And I know which of us I consider the most unfortunate.” He winked at her; then pressed two stones into the giant snowball for eyes. “Anything else you’d like to know or get off your chest, or shall we save them for a future tête-à-tête?”

“There is one thing.” She pursed her lips. “Why do they call you Neddy? Isn’t your name Alberic?”

Neddy snorted, and a tear ran down his cheek when he tried to stifle a further explosive laugh. “Miss Allenthorpe, you’ve seen me naked. Work it out for yourself. If you can’t, you’re too innocent to know, and I shall mercilessly rib Giles when he appears for comprehensively failing with your education.”

Perplexed, she crossed her arms. Nothing she’d observed of him while naked provided any clue to his nickname.” Her petulant frown lasted but a moment though, as Neddy waved and called out at two gray clad figures strolling towards them across the lawn. Finally, Giles had come home, and he had with him Neddy’s brother.

“Look at them, thick as thieves. They’re always like that you know. Watch out, Robert will get horribly jealous if you start squeezing between them.”

Fortuna glanced at the pair, who were hunched rather close, clearly deep in conversation.

“Let’s have some fun.” Neddy rolled a third, much smaller snowball, and lobbed it towards the other men.

Aim, perfect, the snowball exploded across the front of Darleston’s chest.

His lordship looked down at the frosty smear and dusted it off. He raised his gloved hand in a kind of tensed warning, before launching a retaliatory volley that hit his brother square in the face.

Neddy spluttered ice. He coughed so hard that Fortuna was obliged to pat his back. She scurried away as further missiles flew back and forth, yelping as they landed around her feet, until her borrowed footwear snagged against a freshly uncovered plant pot. Neddy put an arm out to save her, and she ploughed into him, driving him backwards onto the snowman, which collapsed beneath their combined weight.

Shock stole her breath. Disorientated, she flapped her arms and wriggled. Neddy lay warm beneath her, his body a series of sharply defined ridges and sturdy prominences that molded perfectly to her own contours. Further panicked, by how close they lay, her hands fluttered over parts of his anatomy ladies weren’t meant to touch.

Neddy just lay back and laughed. “You know, it’ll be much easier to get up if you stop wriggling.”

Gloved hands closed around her upper arms and lifted her upright. Giles pulled her close and cradled her against his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she sniffed. “Uncommonly fine.”

Giles had held her, overlooking the garden, for a long time the previous night, but there’d been no deeper show of affection between them. They’d eaten dinner early, and then he’d read to her for a while, something about the rights of women. How crazy we are, she’d thought, as she’d lain awake in bed, hoping he’d come to her. We want each other, and yet we’re apart. She fell asleep with her hand pressed to her puss and the memory of his touch sharp in her mind.

“Where’s Mr. Dovecote?” she asked his servant the next morning, when Giles failed to show for breakfast.

“Taking his customary turn about the park, miss. He doesn’t want no one suspecting that he’s harboring you.”

Ah! “Oh! Of course.”

When two o’ clock came and went, and Giles still hadn’t returned, Leach provided her with short boots and a woolen pelisse and ushered her into the walled garden. “You can pace out there, Miss. He’ll be back before long. Nothing will have happened to him. He’s not generally home much during the day.”

Outside the frosty air stung her cheeks. Already, the daylight had begun to fade, leaving the sky a muggy shade of gray.

Fortuna crossed the square lawn and headed beneath the archway cut into the towering rhododendron hedge. She’d been out twenty minutes and her fingers and ears were turning numb, when a voice startled her from her thoughts of home and husbands.

“Miss Allenthorpe.”

Fortuna shielded her eyes and peered back towards the house. A man, not Giles, was jogging towards her. His hat slipped off, half way across the lawn, revealing a flash of vivid-red hair. Neddy Darleston skidded onto one knee before her. He seized her hand and raised her icy fingers to his lips. “Good afternoon.”

“Mr. Darleston.” A lick of heat spread across her icy cheeks at the attention. “Have you brought me some news?”

Neddy rose and laying her arm upon his sleeve, tucked her close to his side. “Just expressing my relief at finding you so well.”

Fortuna blinked at him, finding it difficult to look at him and not imagine him sprawled before the drawing room fire, as she’d seen him last: muscled, naked and perfect.

“Why, if your mama and sisters were to be believed, you’re virtually at death’s door, having succumbed to the most terrible sore throat.” He grinned. “In short, I regret to inform you that not only has your absence gone unrecorded, your reputation is also safe.”

She didn’t want her reputation to be safe. “They are claiming I’m ill.”

Neddy squeezed her hand where it lay upon his sleeve. “I believe one or two other families have used that ploy before. A disobedient daughter doesn’t show the family in terribly good light, you know, and you do have rather a lot of sisters for your parents to auction off.”

“Yes, but I want Sir Hector to think I’m ruined.”

“I concede that is a problem. Of course, you’re family are probably expecting you to turn up again at some point as Mrs. something or other.”

There was sense in that. They probably did think she’d eloped, not just run off to save herself from Sir Hector. Her family had never been able to see that she hated him because he was vile, not because she wanted someone else. “Actually, I ran away to escape marriage, not to make one?”

Neddy patted her arm, his customary easy grin plastered across his face. “How very wise. I’ve never much fancied the matrimonial coif myself.” He squeezed her tight as they strolled on a little further, following the high boundary wall, over a lumpen rockery, to a set of trellising hung with the remnants of last years peas.

“Giles isn’t much of a gardener,” Neddy observed, as he plucked one of the blackened shriveled pods from the stalk. He balanced it above his lip like a moustache, making her laugh. “Do you know what I think this garden needs?”

“Some love?” she suggested.

Neddy tilted his head forward, and peered up at her from beneath his furrowed brows as if considering. His expression loosened into a beaming smile. “No, Miss Allenthorpe. A snowman.” He darted around her and capered away across the uneven earth, scooping snow into a ball.

Fortuna clapped her hands in delight. He reminded her of an exuberant puppy dog; nothing like the sculpted, sexual being she had previously watched copulate before the drawing room fire. Neddy, like Giles was a curious dichotomy, two seemingly opposite things at the same time.

“I saw you with Lady Darleston,” she admitted, when he caught her staring at him.

Neddy peered up at her from beneath his long fringe, from where he was bent rolling a second snowball. “I know. I saw you too. So, which was holding you back from joining us, my brother, your morals, or the fact that I’m not Giles?”

She gasped, shocked by his lack of embarrassment, and the impertinence of the question. If he’d known she was there, had he heard her describing him? Had he thought about touching her, filling her with his cock, in the same way he’d driven into Lucy?

“I know you practice free love,” she blurted.

“Has Giles given you the indoctrination speech? Wonderfully idealistic, ain’t it?” He lifted the snowman’s head into place, then faced her, his eyes slightly narrowed behind his curtain of hair. After a moment, when she hadn’t replied, he shrugged his shoulders, and started hunting about in the snow. “Say, help me find some arms and eyes, wont you? I have a carrot for a nose.” He dug in the pocket of his great coat and pulled out a brilliant orange specimen, which he jammed into the center of the head.

“You carry carrots about?” she spluttered, startled into speech. Truly, he was incredulous.

“Why yes, now that you mention it.” He thoughtfully squeezed his cleft chin. “I have had this one on me for a few days. Quite a few,” he flicked it dubiously, “given that it’s rather bendy. But, one never knows when the opportunity for these pleasures will arise, and it’s always the nose I struggle to find.”

Fortuna gave a rather un-lady-like snort of laughter, imagining him sneaking up on unsuspecting women in the park, brandishing his orange root and blithely suggesting they roll snow together. No wonder the society mamas warned their daughters to stay away from him, he was impossible not to like, easygoing, and totally charming.

“How are you doing finding those arms?” he asked.

Fortuna among the beans and found him some twigs, which he pushed into the snowman’s sides.

“You’re not really alike, are you? You and your brother.”

“We’re identical.”

“Physically, maybe, but not inside.”

He rested his elbow upon the snowman’s head, and considered. “That’s a curious way of putting it. The thing you have to remember about us is that Robert carries all the burdens. I just bear a meager allowance. And I know which of us I consider the most unfortunate.” He winked at her; then pressed two stones into the giant snowball for eyes. “Anything else you’d like to know or get off your chest, or shall we save them for a future tête-à-tête?”

“There is one thing.” She pursed her lips. “Why do they call you Neddy? Isn’t your name Alberic?”

Neddy snorted, and a tear ran down his cheek when he tried to stifle a further explosive laugh. “Miss Allenthorpe, you’ve seen me naked. Work it out for yourself. If you can’t, you’re too innocent to know, and I shall mercilessly rib Giles when he appears for comprehensively failing with your education.”

Perplexed, she crossed her arms. Nothing she’d observed of him while naked provided any clue to his nickname.” Her petulant frown lasted but a moment though, as Neddy waved and called out at two gray clad figures strolling towards them across the lawn. Finally, Giles had come home, and he had with him Neddy’s brother.

“Look at them, thick as thieves. They’re always like that you know. Watch out, Robert will get horribly jealous if you start squeezing between them.”

Fortuna glanced at the pair, who were hunched rather close, clearly deep in conversation.

“Let’s have some fun.” Neddy rolled a third, much smaller snowball, and lobbed it towards the other men.

Aim, perfect, the snowball exploded across the front of Darleston’s chest.

His lordship looked down at the frosty smear and dusted it off. He raised his gloved hand in a kind of tensed warning, before launching a retaliatory volley that hit his brother square in the face.

Neddy spluttered ice. He coughed so hard that Fortuna was obliged to pat his back. She scurried away as further missiles flew back and forth, yelping as they landed around her feet, until her borrowed footwear snagged against a freshly uncovered plant pot. Neddy put an arm out to save her, and she ploughed into him, driving him backwards onto the snowman, which collapsed beneath their combined weight.

Shock stole her breath. Disorientated, she flapped her arms and wriggled. Neddy lay warm beneath her, his body a series of sharply defined ridges and sturdy prominences that molded perfectly to her own contours. Further panicked, by how close they lay, her hands fluttered over parts of his anatomy ladies weren’t meant to touch.

Neddy just lay back and laughed. “You know, it’ll be much easier to get up if you stop wriggling.”

Gloved hands closed around her upper arms and lifted her upright. Giles pulled her close and cradled her against his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she sniffed. “Uncommonly fine.”

Copyright 2009-10. Madelynne Ellis. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Advent Calender Day 22: Charlotte Stein Keeps on Giving

Yep, Charlotte is back. How could I possibly refuse her a second visit when she posts such delights as the Eric Northman comedy twirly penis hat? Answer: I couldn't. So I'll hand you over to Charlotte to tell us all about the things she'd like to hand out for Christmas. Oh, and there's a little present for her at the bottom too.


Things I’d Like To Give For Christmas

1. Something that the hubster actually wants. I mean, I know that men are hard to buy for. I’ve heard that familiar refrain. I’ve heard all my friends crying about the fact that their husbands will only tell them three things they want, and how they don’t know what else to get. But I just don’t have any sympathy because my fella won’t even tell me one thing that he wants. He’s like the box from Hellraiser version of Christmas. I have to press all over him until he springs open and reveals, like, “an alarm clock for my iPod”. Which is, frankly, very little return for my bloodied fingers and that dude over there with pins in his head telling me that he now owns my immortal soul.

2. An entire twenty-four episode, twelve series run of the new version of The A-Team. Complete with ridiculous storylines about saving South American villages from cowboys or whatever other bollocks they usually had, and all that rescuing they did of Murdock from loonybins, and you know, like, Murdock getting shot down in the middle of a forest and then building a new airplane out of one shoe and a bit of old tree. And of course, it has to have the actual cast from the movie, because God knows, that nobody Liam Neeson needs the work.

3. An entire twenty-four episode, twelve series run of the new version of Star Trek. Because I’m on a theme, okay, and talking about The A-Team made me remember how much I utterly adored the Star Trek reboot, and how much I can’t wait three years between each movie. Which is really just me saying that I want to see Spock Pon Farr. Come on. I know everybody else wants it, too. Can you imagine Zachary Quinto Spock freaking out and trying to have sex with everything that moves? And you know they’re never going to do it in any of the movies. Dammit.

4. The ability to play any Mario game to the hubster. He keeps falling in holes. It’s desperately pathetic to see. It’s like he forgets to jump. He just walks right into them. And it’s even worse around Christmas, because we have loads of time to play together (Heh. Dirty) and he’s got all the dexterity with a games pad as a monkey without thumbs. I have to help him by doing things like waiting at the side of a lava pit, so he can see that it’s dangerous. But sometimes he just runs right into it, anyway.

5. Christopher Pike his talent and dignity back. What happened, Chris? I used to live for your books. Now they’re riddled with silly inaccuracies and you turn into a whiny baby when some reviewer points that out. Bad Chris. No cookies for you.

6. Should I want to give something like world peace, here? I dunno. Everybody wants world peace, don’t they? Which is funny, because you’d think that if everyone wanted it, it’d be very easy to get. But I suppose it’s hard, when everyone hates each other.

7. I know. I’ll give everyone the ability to not hate each other. So someone spilt your coffee or said something dumb on the internet or tried to stop you being an absolute ass. It’s not the end of the world. Zombies appearing? That’s the end of the world. Call me when your Dad is eating your face.


P.S. In the spirit of giving, here is the link to my upcoming Ellora’s Cave release. It’s also called Giving, it’s very naughty femdom, and it’s out December 30th: 

Ahem, and now for that little pressie. Here you go, Charlotte. Merry Xmas with big smoochie kisses.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Advent Calender Day 21: Dear Santa


For this Christmas what I'd really like is a nice, empty room that I can occupy with my laptop in order to get down to some serious writing. I currently have five books sitting on my hard drive awaiting my attention and it'd be cool if I could get to them.

On which subject a contract or three would be super amazing. It's not like I'm asking for miracles here, since I have several projects already sitting on editors desks, so all you'd have to do is give them a bit of a nudge. Maybe threaten them with mince pie withdrawal or suggest you might leave Rudolph under the Xmas tree alongside their brand new kindle. I'm sure reindeer aren't that up on technology and so wouldn't think twice about where they were stepping. Not that I'm trying to be mean or anything.

I'd also like to pass my driving test, if that's okay with you. That's my car driving test BTW, not my sleigh flying test. I'm happy to leave that up to the expert. Besides, I really couldn't afford the reindeer upkeep.

If you could also make the house move go smoothly that would be ace.

Returning to writing, I'd like a fan letter please. One that is full of glowing praise about my world-building, and how amazing my characters are. I know I've had one or two before, but praise is good for the soul, especially when you're busy freezing to death.

BTW what's with the Arctic snow!

Hmm! Gloves! I think I'd better wish for a new pair. Fingerless ones, please, so that I can type my magnum opus while freezing to death. (I hope you're noting my dedication to my art here.)

Best regards,

Madelynne

PS. If you could see to persuading Gackt and Johnathan Rhys Meyers to drop round for a threesome that would be most awesome of you too. Failing that Zachary Quinto would do as a stand in. You might have to distract Mr Madelynne first. I suggest you write an updated version of Ultima Underworld for PS3 move or Wii. That ought to keep him busy for a month or two.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Advent Calender Day 20: A Little Sprig of Mistletoe




On the fifth day before Christmas, my Advent calendar gave to me a tipsy kiss beneath the mistletoe.

A forgotten prequel to ALL HE WANTS by Emily Ryan-Davis

“And a little splash of rum,” seventeen-year-old Telly Johnson whispered to herself as she topped off a fresh glass of eggnog with a generous pour. There was so much liquor flowing at her parents’ Christmas party that nobody would notice a bit of missing booze.

Masculine, laughing voices neared the kitchen. She hurriedly screwed the top back on the bottle and grabbed a handful of red-sugar-sprinkled cookies before heading for the back stairs. Nobody would notice as long as she didn’t get caught.

As she placed her Santa-slippered foot on the bottom step, “Jingle Bells” grew louder and a draft whooshed across the kitchen, cooling the backs of her legs. Cringing, she froze in place. Maybe if she didn’t move—

“Telly?” Warm and deep. His voice.  Heat rushed her cheeks before he said, “I didn’t know you were home.”

It’s the rum, she told herself, turning slowly to face him. One look at Keith Moss, U.S. Marines t-shirt stretched across his muscular chest, and she knew the rum thing was a dirty lie.

“I didn’t know you were home,” she countered. “Jamie didn’t say you were coming.”

“Did you ask him?” Keith stepped into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. He dropped three crushed beer cans into the recycle bin and reached for the refrigerator. Telly eyed his headgear. White fake-fur and crimson velour hid his short blond hair. A bunch of mistletoe danced on the end of a red spring coiled to resemble the cone of a Santa hat.

The mistletoe gave an alluring shimmy when Keith resurfaced with another beer. He popped the top and leaned against the ‘fridge door. Telly curled her toes in her slippers. Damn her sweet tooth. And the rum. She should’ve stayed upstairs with the holiday romance she’d bought for the weekend.

“It’s freezing outside,” Keith said. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

“Because I don’t wear pants to bed.”

“This isn’t bed. And I’m not the only guy who could’ve come into the kitchen to catch you in your nightgown.” Keith made a face and raised his beer to his mouth but lowered it without drinking. His eyebrows lowered and drew together. “Is that spiked?”

“Um. No?” She edged up another step. “It’s rude for guests to go into the kitchen at a party. Nobody’s going to see me. See? I’m going back upstairs now.”

“Uh-huh.” He pushed away from the refrigerator and caught her forearm before she could turn and dash up the stairs. Holding her in place, he raised her glass and sniffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Are you going to tell?”

“I should. Rum could stunt your growth.”

Telly stared at him. “You’re drunk.”

Her brother’s best friend laughed. “So are you. Difference is I’m allowed to be.”

His stupid mistletoe danced a jig to the tune of his mirth. Telly pressed her lips together, then asked, “How many kisses have you gotten tonight?”

Keith heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Not nearly enough. Jamie excluded young, single women from the guest list.”
He somehow managed to extricate her drink from her grasp. Telly let it go. She had something else in mind, and as long as he had both hands occupied…

“You have to get at least one. You’re standing under mistletoe.” Quick, before she lost her alcoholic courage and before Keith thought ahead far enough to dodge, she placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss his him.

Expecting something brief – expecting Keith to recoil in shock – her eyes flew open when, instead of jerking away, he parted his lips and licked into her mouth. Telly dug her fingernails into the muscle padding his shoulders. A low sound of pleasure vibrated from his throat and he stroked deeper. Liquid heat rushed south, leaving her cheeks cold and her abdomen hot. Suddenly uncertain, she pushed at his shoulders.

Keith let her go but not far. He sighed against the curve of her neck, kissed her earlobe, and murmured, “I’m not sure who’s going to kill me harder, my dad or your brother.”

“Don’t tell,” she whispered shakily.

“I’ve had too much to drink. I probably won’t remember to tell.” He straightened and backed away. Telly watched him pour her spiked eggnog down the drain. He glanced sideways at her. “Really. No drinking. ”
He fingered his mistletoe, then pulled the hat off and tossed it in the trash before leaving the kitchen.
She rescued the silly hat and took it to bed with her, hoping it would come in handy again some day. Maybe when she was legal and Keith was home again.

-
Fortunately for Telly and Keith, the opportunity does come again this Christmas. For very legal kisses, check out ALL HE WANTS, available now at Ellora’s Cave.



Merry Christmas!
-Emily Ryan-Davis

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Advent Calender Day 19: Portia Da Costa

My guest today is my super duper fab-o-rific writing buddy Portia Da Costa. Who is, of course, also a star of erotica and erotic romance. Here she's sharing an excerpt from the first outing in her Ladies Sewing Circle stories from Spice Briefs.


Excerpt from A GENTLEWOMAN’S PREDICAMENT

Inquisitive widow Sofia Harewood attends the House of Madame Chamfleur in order to discover what sensual delights she missed out on during her marriage…

“You’re very beautiful, my dear,” whispers Ambrose, hand still upon me, “But you’re a modest young woman and I know all this is new to you.” His mouth is so close to my cheek that I almost imagine he’s going to kiss me. But he doesn’t. “Perhaps you’d like to retain your undergarments for the moment, to spare your blushes?”

Spare them? Too late for that. My entire body is in a state of conflagration. He’s barely touched me but I’m an inferno down below.

“Come along, Mrs. Harewood. Let’s get you settled comfortably on the chaise.”

Like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter, I let him lead me to the plush, upholstered couch and help me up onto it. As I settle into place, not knowing what to expect, I close my eyes. And as I prepare to meet my fate, Clarence’s skillful fingers ease the pins from my hair and fan it out across the cushions. All the while, Ambrose lightly strokes my hand.
What am I doing here? Why am I allowing these two men that are scarcely even acquaintances make free with my clothing and my body? I must have lost my wits or the Madeira was drugged.

But I know that’s not so. And I know this is what I’ve wanted for a long time. The thing I knew existed but was missing from my life.

When my pulses have settled, and I’ve calmed a little, Ambrose releases my hand and gets straight down to business. Slowly, seductively, he strokes my cheek, then my chin, then my throat. A moment later, he’s at the tiny silk ribbons that fasten the front of my chemise, undoing them swiftly.
Without speaking, he folds the soft fabric aside and exposes my pale body to his gaze, and to Clarence’s.

When he touches me, really touches me, I cry out like a child, and instantly Clarence is at my head, stroking my hair like a skilled groom calming a skittish pony. He murmurs to me, “There, there…” while Ambrose handles my breasts, gently fondling and cupping and kneading.

His actions are light, circumspect, almost respectful, but their effect is like nothing I’ve ever known. I squirm on the upholstery, my body excited, twisting and uneasy. When he increases the intensity of his caresses, I whimper helplessly. How can this be? How can such simple manipulations create such a cornucopia of delight. My late husband mauled my bosom, and I felt nothing then.

But now… now, Ambrose’s fingers are so clever, so devilish. He plucks at my nipples, playing with them in a way that feels like he’s playing with my entire body and setting light to the most divine, unknown sensations. I wriggle shamelessly, scissoring my thighs in a lewd and passionate frenzy, wanting more, more, more. Anything to assuage the rapidly gathering inner tingling.

“You see, Mrs. Harewood, you are a sensual woman!” Ambrose’s voice is both cajoling and triumphant, and yet an intimate whisper, right in my ear. While he still plays with my breasts, Clarence moves again, towards the foot of the chaise.

My eyes fly open.

Whatever are they planning now?

Discover more about A GENTLEWOMAN’S PREDICAMENT here:
And check out it’s sequel A GENTLEWOMAN’S RAVISHMENT here:
A Gentlewoman's Predicament by Portia Da Costa
Harlequin Spice Briefs ® 2010 ISBN TBA
© 2010 Portia Da Costa
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Advent Calender Day 18: Meme

Hopelessly cribbed from Cara McKenna's blog.

Favourite recent book: City of Ghosts by Stacia Kane.

All-time favourite book: Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien

Book that most changed your life: Lord Wraxall's Fancy by Anna Lieff Saxby. I started writing erotica after reading that book.

All-time favourite author: Probably Winston Graham

Favorite band or musical artist: There are too many. This really depends on my state of mind and mood. I'm still a huge fan of Gackt though. :)

Favourite recent movie: Defiance or Toy Story 3

All-time favourite movie: I can't possibly list only one. How about ten: Labyrinth, Amadeus, Dangerous Liaisons, Ashura, Infernal Affairs, Gothic, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, Desperado, Velvet Goldmine, & Barbarella.

Favourite actor: Jonathan Rhys Meyers is always a fave. I'm also fond of Anthony Wong, Andy Lau, Julian Sands and Sean Bean.

Favourite actress: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!nope ain't got one.

Favourite recent (last five years) TV show: Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes.

All-time favorite TV show: Either Poldark or Sherlock Holmes or maybe Lexx. Must be one of them as they're the ones I own on DVD.

Favorite game (video-, board-, parlor-, drinking-, anything): Boardgame: Space Crusade (but only if I get to be the monsters) Actually, pretty much any game where I get to be EVIL!

Foxiest person alive
: Gackt.

Coolest person alive: At this moment in time, probably the in-laws.

Funniest comedian, living or dead: Dylan Moran

Job you'd love to try for one day: Dragon Rider.

Play along in the comments... I'd love to learn about you.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Advent Calender Day 17: Agent Melissa Jeglinski and the Query Letter

More work than fun today as I have my fabulous agent, Melissa Jeglinski of the Knight Agency, as a guest. Melissa has kindly agreed to share a few pointers on what she looks for in a query letter. I've also posted the snaggle-toothed beastie that I originally sent her and mustn't have been too bad as she took me on.

 Welcome Melissa

Ah, the dreaded How to Write a Query Letter blog.  I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds.  And perhaps they all say the same thing; or perhaps they are giving out different information which leads to even more confusion.  I hope this offers some helpful information. 

As an agent I get numerous queries per day.  I’m also the gatekeeper of The Knight Agency’s submissions box where we average three hundred queries per week.   So I’ve seen everything from the sublime to the ridiculous.  True, your letter is one amidst hundreds.  But to stand out in a crowd you do not need to query with a wickedly fun font or address me as Madame Guardian of the Dreaded Query Gate.  Just tell me your story, but do so in a professional way. 

I personally prefer the three paragraph method.  Short and sweet (that’s me.)  Here’s my recommendation on what to place in each section.  

Paragraph One: 

Let the introductions begin.  State the title and word count of your finished project.  Note the genre (paranormal romance, contemporary women’s fiction, historical young adult, middle grade, etc.) and a one sentence set up.  I like when writers give a comparison such as:  Jane Eyre meets CSI.  Immediately I get the idea that this is a historical mystery with a possible medical twist.  You can compare your work to a movie, other books, TV show, etc.  It’s giving that point of reference that works for me.  This is also where you note if it’s first person or in a different format (diary, email, etc.)or if it’s the first book in a projected series.  Let me know what to expect.

Paragraph Two:  


Show me the story.  This is where you provide a brief synopsis.  By brief, well, yes I do mean just one paragraph.  It’s possible to collapse a 90,000 word novel into four sentences. It really is.  And practicing such a thing can really fine tune your writing skills.  Take out unnecessary adjectives and other descriptions and get to the heart of your story.  Not every detail needs to be noted, just the set up and crux of the conflict.  You want me wanting more.  Remember, this is only to entice the reader to ask for more of your project.  Later on, when you are asked to submit  a full synopsis, that’s where all the adjectives and conflict resolutions belong. 

Paragraph Three: 


It’s all about you.  Here is where you provide a short bio including writing credits, organizations you belong to and other relevant information.  Remember to keep the query businesslike.  Although you may have wonderful things to say about your family life, this is not the place to share them.   I find it odd when I receive glowing reviews about a person’s writing...from their aunt Dorothy.  If you have a quote from a published author—one who writes in the same genre as the project you are currently querying—yes, by all means, include it.  But do think about whether something is truly pertinent. 

So, three paragraphs in total.  Short and to the point.  Use enticing language, really work on pinpointing the most exciting aspects of your book.  Think of it as a movie trailer and you have sixty seconds to make me want to spend those twelve dollars to see more. 

Should you be interested in querying myself or another agent at The Knight Agency, first take a look at our submission guidelines located on our website: www.knightagency.net.  You’ll find lots of helpful hints there as well.  Query letters should be sent only to submissions (at) knightagency (dot) net where they will be responded to within two weeks. 
 

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Advent Calender Day 16: The Bloody Book


At the end of Broken Angel (in Possession) I really didn't want to say goodbye to Blaze and Asha. They'd had twenty-four hours of madness together and I wanted desperately to discover what happened next. The result is the Blood Book, actually titled Blood Moon.

Blood Moon picks up immediately after Broken Angel. Asha and Blaze are still on the run and Blaze at least, doesn't have a clue what's going on or who to trust. It takes him a good long while to figure it out-- nearly a whole book of gothic urban fantasy style excitement in fact.

Enjoy the excerpt.





Sneak Peak at Blood Moon
(Copyright 2010 Madelynne Ellis. All Rights Reserved)


Blaze leapt off the far end of the bridge. He didn’t look back but dived for cover amongst a pile of abandoned furniture stacked next to an overflowing bin. The stench of rotten fish assailed his nostrils; he turned his head away from the refuse and huddled behind an overturned sofa riddled with protruding springs.

There was no point in arguing with her. When it came to a fight, Asha was a veteran. He’d experienced the thrill of gang violence on numerous occasions, but mob dynamics and one on one with a flock of youkai were entirely different things. Asha didn’t feel remorse over every blow. When he’d skirmished, he’d bloodied a few noses. Asha generally lopped off the whole head.

Having caught his breath, Blaze drew the knife Asha had given him earlier that morning. Just holding it left him feeling cold. He’d driven a halberd into Talon’s chest in order to escape his clutches and had watched the life drain from his body, sensed the man’s heart stop. He carried that guilt with him, and yet Vervain said Talon still lived. That knowledge didn’t bring him any relief. It just made him wonder how he could have so comprehensively failed. But everything was crazy at the moment with the sounds and symbols of dead languages scarring the landscape.
A horrid screech tore through the sky. The sound reverberated off the side of the building making his ears ache. Blaze shrank back against the damp upholstery, his palm clasped to the demon mark on his chest. Through a tear in the sofa base he could see Asha. Safely off the bridge, she stood poised on the quayside, as lovely and coldly perfect, as she’d been when he’d awoken last night to find her tending his wounds. Although she’d abandoned her fellow demon-hunters to become his guardian, at this moment her Talon mask remained firmly in place.

With her stark alabaster-white skin, long raven tresses and her fanciful outfit of velvet and lace, she looked like the beloved concubine of some business magnate from the Heights—an expensive toy cast aside on the riverbank. While in truth, she was an angel of darkness: a passionate and lethal herald of all that had befallen him. Somehow since last night—and he didn’t pretend to understand it—their fates had become entwined. Without her, he didn’t doubt that he’d already be dead.

“Asha,” he whispered, but the encouragement was drowned out by a second unholy screech.

A triple shadow rose before her. It approached in a wedge of flesh, scales and fur.

Asha remained perfectly still. Not even the breeze stirred the fabric of her funereal garb. In the space of a blink, she moved. Blaze caught the flash of reflective steel as the first of the youkai lost an arm. It fell squalling to the ground as an amalgam of flesh and quills. Not quite youkai, not entirely human either. The second, she split across the middle, her sword swinging in a single vicious arc. Blood splashed her face and clothing. It soaked into her skirts. The vibrant red running into the weave and transforming the brocade: a new pattern to mark the passing of another foe.

Blaze winced at each gristly smack. His bare back itched as if the skin were about to split. He rubbed it uncomfortably up against the protruding sofa arm, only for the recently inked tattoo upon his stomach to glow bright green.

Frantically, he tried to hitch his leather trousers over the light, but his fingers locked into arthritic claws. “No,” he sobbed. Heat pulsed through his body, and he began to shake.

Another caw sounded over the canal, and Blaze screamed as the sigil tattooed upon his stomach countered his body’s urge to transform. His skin stretched, but it didn’t rip to enable feathery appendages to sprout from his back.

Damn. She hadn’t cured him. He was still polymorphic, just stuck in human form.

Through a veil of tears, as he lay stretched flat on his back against the dirty cobbles, Blaze watched Asha back towards him. She spun, whisper fast. Calm. Precise. Lethal. Her blade flashed, and left streamers of coppery dust behind in its wake.

The third demon gave a baleful squawk, and stretched his feathers. Tawny wings frantically flapped, each beat sending a tide of litter rustling towards him. The youkai tried to soar, seeking freedom amongst the clouds. Asha held it skewered upon the end of her sword, until it burst. Its final form dispersed as a shower of coppery dust.

Then calmly, she returned to the water’s edge and stabbed through the heart the first demon, who still lay hollering at the loss of its limb.

“It’s done,” she called to Blaze, her voice emotionless.

Still performing as one of Talon’s dolls, still a perfect demon-slaying marionette. He wondered how soon she’d realise the truth of him and drive her sword-tip through his heart.

He didn’t answer her call; just lay clutching his stomach staring dazedly at the sky. Slowly, the pain ebbed away. Blaze wiped the sweat from his face and cautiously pushed himself to his feet.

The remains of the youkai lay in two neat powdery piles on the ground. The essence of the third remained suspended in the air as a cloud of coppery particles. The dust would eventually fall, likely onto cotton sheets. The city’s alchemists always knew where to find Blood Rain.

“Are you all right?” Asha asked.

Blaze brushed a soggy piece of newspaper from his shoulder and nodded. He’d worry over his body’s reaction to the calls of the other youkai later. Maybe it was just coincidence the two events had happened together.

Asha gave a crisp nod, then gracefully dipped onto one knee and scooped up a handful of the demon dust. She let it slowly sift between her gloved fingers before running her tongue over what remained upon the middle digit.

“Should you be doing that?” Blaze asked. There was a reason the stuff was illegal. It was highly addictive. A teaspoon’s worth purportedly enough to make a love slave of anyone.

Asha’s eyebrows twitched and the tiniest hint of amusement lit up her face. She turned her wrist and offered up her remaining fingers for him to suck clean.

Blaze took a wary step back.

“What are you worried about? Do you think I’ll be so overcome with lust I’ll have to pin you to that sofa and tear your clothes off? Credit me with some resilience, Blaze.”

Still hesitant, Blaze folded his arms across his chest and hugged his biceps. If he’d had boots on, he’d have stomped the damn demon dust into the cracks between the cobblestones, so that it couldn’t hurt anyone. The only thing Blood Rain had ever done was turn sensible men into sex-craved lunatics. “Asha,” he pleaded. How could a demon hunter be so blasé about tasting the stuff?

And yes, that’s exactly what he feared. Wasn’t that how this trouble had started in the first place? She’d licked his wounds clean and got high on the taste.

With a terse smile, she blew the remainder of the dust from her palm. “They were foot soldiers, not out for us specifically, just looking for an easy meal.”

“You can tell all that from one taste?”

“Believe me, Talon made sure I was a connoisseur. The high ups taste different. They smell different too.” She leaned in close and sniffed him. “None of them smell or taste like you.”

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Advent Calender Day 15: Janine Ashbless

Please welcome the terrific queen of erotic horror, Janine Ashbless, who is sharing an excerpt from her current WIP with us.
 
Intro:

"The King's Viper is an erotic romance novella about two people who are not allowed to fall for each other but who do. It has a late-medievalish fantasy setting and, because it's my idea of romance, the characters
suffer horribly for their Happy Ever After. And if I could just stop being ambushed by new scenes that need to be included, it might be finished by Xmas."

Excerpt: 

The touch jolted through her: suddenly she could move. She wrenched herself from his hands and toward the door, smacking her knuckles on the wood, stumbling out into the sunlight. Severin was out there, walking across the yard with a drift of other servants, and she felt a great flood of relief at the sight of him. As Heloise hit the bottom of the steps she was almost running; she threw herself against him and wrapped her arms tight about his torso, burying her face in his chest.

Severin went stock-still. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

She looked over her shoulder, and he followed her glance. Duggan was coming down the steps from the scullery. His loose peasant trousers were tented by the jut of his erection and he had a genial smirk on his face.

“What’s wrong?” repeated Severin, his voice going suddenly hard.  He pulled her off him and dropped his rake on the flagstones with a clatter, his gaze fixed on Duggan. “What did he do to you?”

Duggan’s smile broadened. He was a head taller than Severin and saw nothing to worry about.  “She just got a bit splashed, that’s all.”

“What,” said Severin, almost hissing the words, “did he do?” And he took the first steps toward the farmer. Heloise saw it even if Duggan didn’t: the shift in the way Severin moved - no longer the amble of a tired field-hand but the coiled, silky poise of something far more dangerous. His left hand slipped to the small of his back, up under his loose shirt.

To where the knife was concealed.

Fear spiked through Heloise. They were surrounded by witnesses, and this was Duggan’s farm. Everyone was stopping to watch. “Nothing!” she gasped. “He didn’t do anything!”

Duggan’s smirk became unbearable as he nodded at her in approval. Severin took another step.

“Sev! He did nothing!” she moaned, catching his arm. “Please!”

For a moment he seemed to take no notice of her. Then he uncoiled and turned and caught her arm. His face was a mask. He marched her out of the yard, past all the incoming fieldhands who stared and grinned. He took her round the corner and then when they were alone at last he pushed her against the wall, her back to the stones, and gripped her shoulders tight enough to make her squirm.

“What happened?” he demanded in a low voice, leaning in close. “Tell me.”

“Nothing!” Her hands made their own protest, catching the front of his shirt. “He didn’t have the chance – I walked out.” She could hardly believe, now, that it had happened: so quickly, so completely without reference to her will.

Severin’s jaw clenched and she saw the muscle jump in his cheek. “Ella,” he breathed. “You must never give any man even half an opportunity-”

“I didn’t!” Tears flooded, burning, to her eyes. Severin let go of her abruptly and put his hands on the wall instead. She was as cornered as she had been by Duggan.

“Shit,” he hissed to himself, fury dancing in his narrowed eyes. Then he blinked, shook himself and asked, his voice hoarse but much gentler, “Are you all right?”

She nodded, sniffing back the tears before they could fall. Her hands were still snagged in the front of his shirt.

“Are you sure?”

“Mm.” She stared up at him, breathing hard.

“Right then.” He covered her fingers with his dusty hand and detached her gently from his shirt. “Let me think this through, Ella. Go ... go finish your work. I’ll join you.” Then he turned away and walked off, head tilted like a man trying not to see what was before him.

Heloise didn’t understand why his thinking couldn’t be done in her presence. She didn’t want Severin to leave her on her own. She wanted him to stay, even if he was angry with her. Sagging against the wall, she shut her eyes in misery and then flashed them open. She was starting to shake. Nothing had happened – or almost nothing - and yet it had left her shocked and lost and filled with horrible guilt. She could still feel the pressure of Duggan’s fingers on her nipple, on her sex. She pressed her hands to herself and stifled a whimper. She could still feel the effect that Duggan had had on her betraying flesh – and yet when she shut her eyes it was Severin she saw in his place. Severin’s hand on her breast. Severin’s lips, parted and hungry. Severin’s fingers holding her nipple captive, and pushing between her thighs to take possession of her aching, eager body.     

©Janine Ashbless 2010
All rights reserved.


Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Monday, December 13, 2010

Advent Calender Day 13: Christmas Marzipan Pigs

Because I want to wish you all good luck for the coming year, here's a simple way to make your own lucky christmas pig.



Ingredients
Marzipan (or royal icing if you prefer)
Red food colouring,
Chocolate Digestive biscuits
Dessicated Coconut
Chocolate

How to

1. Split the block of marzipan into two larger balls and one smaller ball.

2. Take the two large balls of marzipan and make a well in the top of each. Add a few drops of red food colouring. Then knead the marzipan until the colour is uniform throughout and hopefully pink.

3. Use one of the larger balls as the pigs body.

4. Roll the other larger ball into a long sausage shape. Cut into six pieces (4 legs and 1 snout, plus one spare)

5. Stick legs and snout onto the body.

6. Use the fifth piece to form 2 triangular ears, eyes and a tail.

7. Divide the remaining ball of marzipan into thirds. Keep one third white(ish). Using the method in step 1 turn the remaining two thirds red using food colouring.

8. Form the red part into a cone shaped santa hat.

9. Use the white(ish) part to make a trim around the base of the hat and a pom pom on the tip.

10. Using a cocktail stick or fork put two indents in the nose to form nostrils and add indents to the eyes.

11. Place the hat on the pigs head.

12. Melt some chocolate.

13. Spread chocolate on a chocolate digestive biscuit (okay so it doesn't have to be a chocolate digestive but more chocolate is good right). Stick pig to the biscuit, then sprinkle dessicated coconut over the chocolate before it sets.

Voila. Your own Christmas Piggy standing in a snow covered muddy field. (Should you want a spring piggy instead, use green food colouring to dye the coconut before applying to the chocolate biscuit.)

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Advent Calender Day 12: Charlotte Stein

Today's guest post comes from the wonderfully magnificent and stupendously funny, Charlotte Stein.

Things I Would Like To Get For Christmas

1. The A-Team. No, I don’t mean the DVDs of the movie version, or the TV version, or maybe one of those little toy vans with doors that really open. I mean the ACTUAL 2010 A-Team. I’ll even take that extreme fighter who played BA in the new one. I want them all, like collectable action figures with eyes that I can move on the backs of their heads, only instead of their eyes, I move their…you get the picture. I’m a pervert who wants a voodoo A-Team.

2. I was going to say a Kindle here, but I won’t, because it’s useless to waste Christmas wishes on things you know you’re already getting. I’m getting a Kindle, okay? I’ve seen it. I ordered it myself on Amazon. All the mystique and wonder has gone out of Christmas because of this present I ordered myself. So instead, I’ll say I’d like to get the Holodeck, from Star Trek. Suck on that, Santa.


3. I think I’d really like to suck on Santa. You know– maybe like the Tim Allen version? I mean, he’s jolly, he’s got a sexy beard, he gives presents, he’s got a good grasp on naughty and nice. What’s not to love?

4. Again, I want to say chocolate, here. But I know I’m already getting chocolate. I picked it out myself from Hotel Chocolate, because if I leave it up to the hubster he’ll get me lemon curd wrapped in dark flakes. Which as everyone knows, is the most evol of all chocolates. It’s a cheating chocolate, a chocolate that punishes rather than rewards. It tastes like eating Fairy Liquid, and who wants that? No-one, that’s who. But anyway, instead of wishing for the chocolate I’m already getting, I’m going to wish for Sharlto Copley, covered in praline soup. Yeah. That sounds suitably insane and impossible to get. I mean, I’m not even sure if praline soup exists.


5. A seven book deal with the Guaranteed Billionaire Publishing Company. And don’t try to fake me out, Santa, by making the Guaranteed Billionaire Publishing Company some kind of bogus nonsense with typos on their website outfit. They have to live up to their name. And not because I really want a billion dollars, but because I figure if I do everyone will buy my books anyway just to find out how I made a billion dollars.
See. I’ve thought this thing through. I really have.

P.S. I have a Christmas novella out, soon! Closer is out from Ellora’s Cave on December 7th, and you can find lots of sexy details about it right here:

P.P.S Thanks Madelynne, for letting me ramble on your blog!

P.P.P.S Thank you Charlotte, for rambling. (Not that you were rambling.)

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Advent Calender Day 11: 11 Places I've Co-opted for Stories.

1. Stokesay Castle, Shropshire (became Pennerley, in Phantasmagoria)

2. The Stiper Stones, Shropshire (appear in a as yet unfinished short story about a faerie)


3. The Gothic Temple, Stowe (the folly in which Alastair and Jude spend the night in Pure Folly)

4. Carn Euny, Cornwall (setting for Carn Euny in Dirty Girls)

5. Djoser's Pyramid, Saqqara (location of Saddler's party in Passion of Isis)

6. Kabukicho, Tokyo (location for Woe in Kabukicho)

7. Shugborough Hall, Staffordshire (Gardens feature in current WIP)

8. The White House, Aston Munslow (from my current WIP)

9. Castle of Park, Glenluce, Scotland (the castle from Dark Designs)

10. Beaudesert Hall, Cannock Chase (Lauwine Hall  in A Gentleman's Wager)

11. Keele Hall Amphitheatre (site of a boxing match in my current WIP)

Friday, December 10, 2010

Advent Calender Day 10: Emily Ryan Davis

Christmas is Sweet


It's now fifteen days until Christmas. I've re-memorized every holiday song, Christian, Jewish and non-religious (Jewish holiday songs are my favorite). I've wrapped almost all my gifts. The tree is decorated, the Thanksgiving pounds have melted away, and all I have left is anticipation. And holiday baking.

This weekend, I'm attending a cookie exchange party hosted by the lovely and talented Stephanie Draven. I'm sure I'll bring something fabulous home with me but I'm even more sure everybody else will take something beyond fabulous home with them.

That something? My peanut butter cookies. Soon, I'll tell you all about them. First, though, I want to share a very different kind of Christmas cookie with you. That delectable treat is named Aya and he is the very best of everything gingerbread. (You should know in advance that Aya is not meant to be shared with the under-18 set and he does not leave crumbs in bed.)



From MORE THAN A MAN 
(excerpt copyright 2010)

Except face to face was really face to chest. Her face, his lovely chest. Because she liked tall men, and she'd specified he should be tall. And oh. His chest. Noelle swallowed. She could clearly see the ridges beneath his shirt, spaced evenly apart. Piercings. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She raised her eyes to meet his, which were green and serious and, oh, Deity, intense as he watched her examine him.

Stupidly, grateful she managed to make her tongue work at all, she said, "I didn't know you were coming."

"I asked them not to notify you." His mouth tilted at one corner.  He straightened and glanced past her into the house. "If you're not ready, I can go back and wait."

He could go back. She could shove all her haphazardly-strewn Christmas decorations into a closet and dial up cleaning service to scour the corners of the house and change the linens on her bed to something less feminine and frilly. Something that would match him. She could fix her hair and change into the leg-baring sheath she'd bought to wear January 6. But that would involve letting him out of her sight. Chest tight, Noelle shook her head once and stumbled back, making room for him.

She slapped the security panel and the door closed behind him. Spicy, fragrant heat enveloped her immediately, cinnamon and ginger and brown sugar. Something sharp beneath that, tickling her nose. Her stomach rumbled low, a murmur of approval and hunger. He heard it. One of his dark eyebrows arched and his half-smile teased into a full grin.

"Sounds like you're...hungry." He dropped his bag in the foyer. In the soft imitation natural light she preferred for her indoor fixtures, his complexion wasn't as dark as it had appeared when he stood outside. Instead, his skin was a rich ginger tan, sun-baked despite the weak sun this time of year.

Noelle kept walking backward, not quite sure what she should do or say. She'd done this twice before, but she had received advance warning. She'd had time to prepare. She'd known their names, for Deity's sake. Giving herself a mental shake, she planted her feet and met his eyes. "I don't know your name."

*****

But you know his name. :)

Sadly, I am allergic to ginger so I can only enjoy the gingerbread from afar. I'll be nibbling the following Best Peanut Butter Cookies Ever during my holiday reading. If your preferences run to peanut butter, too, you will need:


Tools & Ingredients

1 mini-muffin tin (like a regular muffin tin, only with 24 mini cups instead of 12 full-size cups)

1 bag of Reese's Miniatures (freeze these before you bake; if you're not in the United States, find chocolate-covered peanut butter cups)

1/2 cup creamy peanut butter (I always increase by 50%...I love a very peanut-buttery peanut butter cookie)

1 stick butter, softened

3/4 cup white sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 egg

3/4 cup brown sugar (packed)

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I sometimes use whole wheat)

3/4 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Farenheit.

Combine butter, peanut butter, white sugar, brown sugar, vanilla, egg, and peanut butter in one bowl.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt.

Add the flour mix to the peanut butter mix and stir to combine (a mixer works great, and I have been known to use a potato masher in the absence of any other tools).

Drop by tablespoons into your ungreased muffin tin and pop them in the oven, 8-10 minutes.

While cookies are baking, unwrap 24 frozen Reese's miniatures.

After you pull the cookies out of the oven, press a miniature down into the center of each cookie. The hot cookie dough should form a cup around the chocolate candy.

Using a spoon, gently lift each cookie from the muffin cups and place them on a wire rack to cool.

Repeat until you're out of cookie dough (or only have enough dough left to eat with a spoon, since there's no point in putting an entire muffin tin in the oven with only a quarter of the cups filled).

And that's it! You have the power to make the Best Peanut Butter Cookies Ever.


I hope you'll think of me when you're enjoying these, not when you're suffering a cookie-binge hangover the next day! (Feel free to join me in a January 1 commitment to diet off the holiday cookie pounds.)


Thursday, December 09, 2010

Advent Calendar Day 9: We Were Lovers Once

This is something of a favourite among the short stories I've written, probably because it's so damn melancholy. This unfortunately means it's not an obvious hot candidate for inclusion in an erotic romance anthology. It starts at a funeral for heavens sake. This story languished a fair old while waiting for the right opportunity to come along. I guess the waiting paid off, as it eventually found a home in the Mammoth Book of Hot Romance. Yeah, to Maxim Jakubowski for loving it too.


Excerpt from "We Were Lovers Once"
which appears in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance, published July 2011. (Copyright 2010 Madelynne Ellis)

I’m going back. My God, I’m going back.

The last time I saw Ray, he threw me from this place in little more than a gymslip and a camisole, my shoes rolling down the stairs behind me. I’d fallen from grace, and had been summarily banished. As if I gave a damn what he thought, or so I told myself and anyone else who would listen. I’d already made other arrangement, was headed for a life with someone who appreciated me, who offered marriage and stability, not an on and off relationship built upon torment and ego stroking.

Slanted light from the skylight shows up the butterfly dance of the dust motes as Gabriel prowls across the pitted wooden boards of the garret studio. There’s a certain familiar swagger to his gait as he grasps a large frame propped against the back wall and swings it around. I stare at the colors in disbelief, dazzled by their vibrancy, splashes of orange and violet, and a broad rainbow of creamy pearlescent flesh.

Twenty-five years ago I stood here and posed in that dress. I run my hands over my body recalling how the vivid violet fabric fanned out from my hips, and how I was so in love with the orange blooms dotted across the front.

“My Sophia”, the painting is called, which depicts me rudely displaying my bottom in order to show the criss-crossed red welts left behind by his belt. I had no idea that he’d finished it. In truth I thought he’d probably dowsed it in alcohol and set it alight the night I left.

“You haven’t changed,” Gabriel remarks.

“Oh, but I have.” Although, perhaps I’ve weathered a little better than most.

Gabriel lets the painting fall. When I jump, he grabs me, and his tongue, hot and invasive fills my mouth.

“Get off!” Shocked by his actions, I tear at his jacket lapels, but he only kisses me harder, until I feel it, a tiny long dead spark of arousal, which flickers into life and grows brighter, until instead of resisting, I’m responding.

Gabriel’s gloved hands slide down my back. “I’ve wanted to see this image made flesh ever since I was old enough to understand its significance. What did Ray use to stripe you with?”

“His belt.” I bite my lip until it hurts, and my first visit here flares like a beacon in my brain. Ray—with his artist’s palette and brush—naked from the waist up, his feet bare, the toenails so shiny I’d swear they were lacquered, striding across the splintered boards to daub a cross upon my arse.

“There,” he yelled. “Keep your fucking hand there, and don’t move until I tell you to. I didn’t hire you to preen.” This from the man who’d taken forty minutes the previous night to fasten his bowtie. “I hired you to keep your damned arse still.”

Hired! Oh, yes, Ray paid me both in cash and kind, but what exactly was my role, model or apprentice, girlfriend or whore?

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Advent Calendar Day 8: Justine Elyot

Please welcome my fantastically wonderful guest for today, Justine Elyot. Hi Justine, thanks for providing a sneak look at your new release and a heads up on the world of Smashwords.


Christmas Time, Mistletoe and Kink...


Is that not what Cliff said? Ah, my mistake. But it's what you might find in my brand new festive tale, Reindeer In Training, which is up at Smashwords now.

Yes, Smashwords! I have been bitten by the self-pub bug (a big leech-like thing that sucks the formatting out of you). At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never do the paragraph breaks the way it said in the style guide. But then I spent so many nights working under the tyranny of this symbol that I grew strong. And then I uploaded it.

Actually, self-publishing via Smashwords turned out to be much easier than I expected. They have an exhaustive style guide which is clear and takes everything step by step. My chapter headings are still all to cock, but I think I'll be able to sort that out once they have reviewed the story for Premium Listing approval (this enables it to be sold through Apple, Sony, Barnes & Noble etc.). Though of course, they may not approve it. They may, in fact, disapprove.

The most terrifying aspect of the whole rigmarole was designing a cover. As you can see, I still have rather a lot to learn when it comes to the visual arts. But hey, it's an experiment. Sophisticated artwork can come later. Probably much later.

In the meantime, here is a festive extract:

“So then.” Reuben turned around from the kitchen cupboard, having placed the last piece of breakfast crockery in its allotted space. “Training.”

Liv, a little nervous, wrapped her silk robe closer around her and contemplated biting a nail until she remembered that nailbiting was punishable by the painting of bitter aloe and two strokes of the strap on the palm of her hand.

“What do I have to do? Have a very shiny nose?”

“Shiny things are involved, Liv, but your nose isn’t one of them. The first thing we must do is visit a specialist shop. Get dressed into…hmm…no underwear, pleated kilt, loose blouse, I think. And those socks that go up to the middle of your thighs. I do like those.”

“Hair?”

“Up.”

“Make-up?”

“Not required. Up to you.”

Liv loved how dressing for the day had become a sexy adventure since getting together with Reuben. What had once been a case of crawling sleepily over to her wardrobe and finding the least-creased, least-stained collection of garments was now an exotic activity, akin to getting oiled and perfumed ready for the Sultan’s pleasure. Like a harem girl, Liv sometimes wore chains of tiny silver bells between nipple clips, but today was not one of those days. Today was a no-underwear-in-public kind of day, and those were always the best. Liv slathered cocoa butter all over her body, knowing Reuben’s weakness for the rich, chocolatey scent and the softness it conferred to her skin. Then she pulled on the brief red and black plaid skirt, fastened it with the big silver safety pin and teamed it with a crisp white shirt, the cool cotton rubbing against her nipples and bringing them to hardened life. She left the top button undone, revealing the wide strip of black leather with its silver dog-tag that she had to wear around her neck at all times. The black stretch-wool socks, clinging to her thighs and leaving that tantalising band of pale flesh between them and the hem of her short skirt completed her adult-schoolgirl look to perfection. She posed in front of the full-length mirror, twirling her hair and pouting, then looking over her shoulder and flipping the skirt up to reveal her naked bottom, still marked from yesterday’s paddling. She piled and clipped her hair into the messy bedhead up do that made her feel like a sixties sex kitten, slicked on some lip gloss and clear mascara and presented herself to her masterful lover, ready for whatever his plans required.

“You look edible,” he told her, pulling her in to him and kissing her forehead before heading out to the hallway and grabbing his long wool coat. “Mary Janes and your blazer,” he ordered, and Liv scurried to the shoe rack, dressing the part, missing only the straw boater and satchel for the full St Trinians Miss outfit. Well, and the navy blue gym knickers.

The rest of the story can be found at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31718

Thank you, Madelynne, for including me in your brilliant Advent Calendar of Pleasures. It's a privilege to be one of the treats behind the doors.

And thank you, Justine, for joining us.

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Advent Calendar Day 7: Indiscretions

For today I've given Indiscretions, which has previously been available on my website, a bit of a spruce up. Meaning that I've rewritten it a bit and turned it into a pdf. The new version is available below for the duration of the advent calendar ie 19 days.

Indiscretions is a little vignette about Vaughan, Bella and Lucerne and the state of their relationship. Sequentially, it comes between A Gentleman's Wager and Phantasmagoria. 
 
Happy reading.

Madelynne

Monday, December 06, 2010

Advent Calendar Day 6: Xmas Cookies

Recipe by Christine Price as cooked by Matt and Brennan in the Usual Apocalypse.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Advent Calendar Day 5: Sedonia Guillone

Please welcome guest blogger Sedonia Guillone, who is sharing a sneak peak of her current WIP - Delicious Love Triangle, her first MMF menage. In her previous menage stories there has been no sexual relationship between the two men. I know we're going to be in for a treat.

Delicious Love Triangle
 
No sex between roommates! This is the rule that Hana and her two best friends, Hiko and Shinji live by. So, Hana decides, it's not really breaking the rule to ask her two handsome buddies to pose in erotic positions for her while she sketches what she hopes to be the manlove graphic novel that will launch her career as a manga artist. After all, Hiko and Shinji are both straight. Even better, they're both agreeable to the plan. It's the perfect arrangement until...

Seeing Hiko and Shinji together arouses Hana to no end. How will she be able to control herself watching their naked bodies entwined, watching them engage in acts that are the stuff of her wildest fantasies? What's more, bit by bit, the three of them are starting to break their most important rule.

Hiko and Shinji have both been in love with Hana for a long time and out of their love for her, they've respected her stupid rule about no sex. But when Hana asks them to pose for her, they see their perfect chance to do away with regulation and get the woman they love into a position of their own.

Content warning: Contains male/male sexual acts, voyeurism, exhibitionism and multiple partner sex.

Excerpt:

Ohhh. Hana covered her mouth to stifle her cry. Then she blinked. Was this possible? Keeping her hand firmly over her mouth she sank to her knees in the hallways and leaned forward as much as she dared. Her heart leaped into her throat. Had Hiko really just rolled on top of Shinji? Were they really naked in the bed together, their mouths locked together in a deep hot kiss?

The soji was slid back the few inches she'd left it when she'd gone back to her room to draw, fully expecting that Shinji would leave after her to go to his room. How absolutely wrong she'd been.

Her heart pounded, sending heated blood down every vein in her body. She could just feel it, like darts of fire. The searing warmth concentrated at the apex of her thighs, which pulsed now, and her breasts felt suddenly full and heavy, her nipples grazing her camisole.

Like lovers, her two friends undulated in the bed, their bodies entwined. Hana blinked again, still thinking the vision would dispel. But it didn't. Hiko's muscular body and pale skin contrasted with the tan hue of Shinji's slim, leanly muscled frame. Shinji's legs were locked around Hiko's hips, the soles of his feet resting on the backs of Hiko's sloping thighs. Like every yaoi manga she'd ever read, the two men sighed and moaned, and
emanated passion.

Guilt assailed her. She was violating their privacy, spying on them like this. But then, they shouldn't have left the door slid back, right? She started to turn, pulled back by another masculine moan. Her gaze whipped up to the bed. Hiko had pulled from Shinji's kiss and now nibbled at the other man's collarbone. One of Hiko's large hands spanned Shinji's hip.

The throbbing in Hana's pussy intensified. She sat, frozen, staring at them, feeling her eyes stretched open as wide as they'd go. Hiko's tongue came out and licked across Shinji's dark nipple. Shinji arched his back, as if to push his flesh deeper into Hiko's mouth. Hana stifled another moan, lest her friends catch her spying. Her cheeks burned mercilessly, both with excitement and guilt, yet she couldn't have moved even if
someone had set her on fire.

Gleaming ribbons of cum still streaked the two men's muscles. Hana realized Shinji had climaxed all over Hiko when she'd passed by the door on her way to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hiko skimmed thick fingertips over Shinji's stomach, gathering the milky fluid. Lifting his mouth from Shinji's chest, he leaned back. Hana's mouth gaped open. In all the years she'd known Hiko and Shinji, she'd never seen either of them naked. Hiko's erection pointed upward with the angle of his body. Thick and veined, it jutting from a nest of inky black pubic hair that fanned around it and funneled into a thin trail up to his navel.

She gulped, her eyes feeling as if they were bulging from her head. She shifted her a few inches and felt then how swollen and moist her pussy was. Her gaze locked onto Hiko's movements. He was smoothing the cum up and down the shaft of his cock. He gathered more cum and reached down, between Shinji's legs. Ohhh. His thick fingertips worked over Shinji's hole while Shinji groaned and arched his back. Shinji was a natural uke, the way he submitted to the man who was preparing to take him.

Behind the book:

In Delicious Love Triangle, Hana is a clothing designer. She is a popular designer of of looks for the fashion tribes of Tokyo and works for one particular shop that features her work. The fashion tribes are a phenomena in Tokyo. The various styles originate spontaneously and are a vibrant part of the culture of young people in that city, changing every few weeks, literally. The looks there differ from anything we're used to seeing in fashion - they're fun, whimsical and very visually alive, incorporating so many different elements into one outfit. My favorite name of one of the types of fashion is Gothic Lolita. You can imagine. When I did my research for this story in order to portray the heroine, Hana, I went to http://www.style-arena.jp/en/ . However, the story opens with Hana being laid off from the store where she works because the owner's new wife wants her position. Well, as the story unfolds, Hana finds a new, much, much better position!

In addition to be a clothes designer, Hana is a talented mangaka (Japanese for graphic novel artist). This is an example of one of her sketches.



Thanks for reading.