Friday, 10 April 2015

Raven and the Vampire's Breakfast

Now look here you lot - you all know that Raven is my most fave author and she's here today for a quick flirt.
I know, I know... she's that kind of girl.
So, Ms McA. - tell us about breakfast:

The Vampire's Breakfast

When I started to write this, I knew it had to be short, sharp and have a sting, or a bite in the tail… and tale…
Has it? Only the reader can decide, but I do hope so.
(well I achieved the short bit… bit not bite, if nothing else. This is a wee flirt.)

The vampire's breakfast was well overdue. There was just one thing to discover. Who was the vampire and who was the victim?
When Dorissa and Rafe got together, sparks flew and sex was always on the menu. This time though it went deeper. And became a game of dominance and a race to win.
Dorissa knew her life depended on Rafe—he didn't. Could she show him how?
Rafe wanted Dorissa in every manner possible, except perhaps in the only way she could live. Would he agree to her terms?
In this game of life, could there be two winners, or would they both lose?
As dawn approached one of them knew that once the sun rose, nothing would be the same again.
"What do you mean it's vampires at dawn?" Dorissa stroked the silk of her ball gown into place and looked up at the elegant man who stood next to her, with a loo mask dangling from his fingertips. "I thought it was a mere masked ball?"
He bent and kissed the nape of her neck. As ever his kisses made her scalp tighten.
 "Not just that," he said, as he trailed his fingers over the tiny hollow at the base of her chin. "It's said at dawn we unmask and see who are vampires, and who are mere mortals. Then have breakfast."
She snorted. Some ladies would do anything to get the cream of the ton to attend their extravaganzas. Little did they know. "Choose your feast and bite?"
He smiled.
"Something like that. Are you not a believer Dorissa?" The tiny nip he gave to her soft skin sent delicious tingles down her skin and into her cunt. So much emotion from a tiny touch. But what a touch. The hairs in her arms stood on end and miniscule droplets of perspiration began to gather on them.
She squeezed her thighs together to stop the steady trickle of her juices from sliding down her legs. Rafe was all too likely to lift her skirts, see the evidence of how he made her feel and taste it. Before flipping her over and taking her there and then. Sadly with this damned ball looming they didn't have time.
"Shall I be a vampire, Dorissa? Bite you drink and your blood?" The gleam in his eyes made her ache to answer. But what would he think if she did?
Wait, just wait.
 "Then," Rafe continued, "turn you and make you mine forever in that other world? Would you like to be mine, all mine?" His voice deepened and became husky with something she couldn't define. His rough tongue licked her sweat-slicked skin. "I want more, Dorissa. I want it all."
Yes, it's only a short wee excerpt, but it's only a short wee tease.
However, I do hope it teased you enough to want to read more. if it did…well… here's how you can…

Of course by the time you read this, it will be on Amazon and Bookstrand  as well… (I hope)

And to find out more about me…

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Friday, 20 March 2015

L'Wren, hawk and the Doves: Srey Chanda and Dr Kelly Forest

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

Let's meet two of the characters from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a 27th March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

Srey Chanda - hostage and pivotal in Ouranian the peace process:

"Why were you with your mother, Chanda? I thought all children of the Omiai were taken away at birth to be either Parangada or Naranari. How were you not given to them?" whispered Cytheria while Chanda scanned the camp.
"I am not the only one who was not given over at the end of the Omiai," said Chanda. "We know that some fathers have taken their daughters back with them, just as my mother and some of her sisters kept their sons. We are the generation who will make the peace last, the peace that you will bring. I have brothers in Sarkare's camp just as in the Parangada there are sisters who are kept secretly. The old order has had its day, and we will change it."
Cytheria nodded and smiled at this wise head on young shoulders.
Dr Kelly Forest - ship's surgeon on the starship Sulaco:
"Sick bay, Forest here. Where am I needed?" she asked. Her voice was calm, confident and warm, and belied an inner core of steel and an encyclopedic knowledge not just of human medicine but also a wide range of humanoid alien anatomy. There wasn't much that could rattle Dr. Forest.
"Incoming shuttle on autoreturn, doctor. Captain requests medical assistance in shuttle hangar for possible phaser injuries," said the chief.
"Acknowledged, chief. Shuttle occupants are?"
"Uncertain, doctor. We are anticipating that either one or both of the Turacoenan negotiators are onboard. We haven't been able to make contact."
"On my way. Forest out." She stabbed at the button and grabbed her medi-kit. She hurriedly scrolled through the display and selected T, then clicked on "Turacoena—physio and anatomy download." The device displayed a gray bar that quite swiftly swept to blue from left to right. It bleeped and displayed "100% download complete."
"Okay, that was too quick. So not much known about Turacoena then," mumbled the doctor to herself. "Guess I'll have to go with human until proved otherwise." She punched the door button and jogged along the corridor to the shuttle hangar.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD


Friday, 13 March 2015

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Jenabe Aghaye - Parangada guerrilla...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who are the major players in the Ouranian peace talks?

Cytheria encounters Jenabe Aghaye, rebel leader of the Parangada guerrilla faction, in this snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release from Breathless Press to tease you -

Cytheria looked up to see a tall, heavily muscled, shaven-headed man opposite her. He lounged, one long, leather-clad leg draped over the arm of an ornately carved and decorated chair, his booted foot swinging idly. A sleeveless leather tunic studded with metal ornamentation—representations of phallic, bladed weapons and large, carnivorous animals—left his shoulders bare. A tableau of tattoos in the same vein adorned his huge biceps and thick, hairy forearms. One arm was draped languidly over the side of the chair. He played with the long flaxen hair of a slimmer, younger, and more gently featured man, not much more than a teenage boy, kneeling by his side. Cytheria realized the gentler emotions, and the loss, were coming from him, while it would have been plain even to a non-empath what the bigger man was feeling.
Cytheria took a moment to order her thoughts. She was not going to let anything slip, despite the pain and the circumstances; she was still a Dove, a diplomatic negotiator first and foremost. She had to play this situation very carefully.
"Greetings, warrior. I thank you and your esteemed house. I come seeking peace with honor for the good of all Ourania," she said.
"Fine words, feeble woman, but you will not sway me. I, Jenabe Aghaye, know you for what you are—a Federation lackey of the Naranari sent to tempt the honest, red-blooded men of Parangada with your wiles and your...body. The weak minded 'boys' who sit at the 'peace talks' know nothing of what it is to be a real man. I will not allow you to take the demands of the Naranari witches and tempt the feeble boys our leaders have sent to negotiate. You will feel our hidden power, and we will crush the Naranari. We will take Ourania in the ancient name of Ardhana, the warrior-hunter and rightful heir of Hymenaios. We need no...women," he said. He almost spat the final word. The hand that had been playfully toying with the long blond tresses of the kneeling boy had clenched into a fist as he spoke, and the boy winced.
"Honored Jenabe Aghaye, it would be foolish of a mere woman such as I to try to tempt a warrior, and I..."
"Be silent, off-world...temptress. The shape of your body and your long hair and your red lips are nothing to me. Nothing. We men of Ourania know that true pleasure is found among our own," he sneered as he dropped the boy's hair and stood.
He walked around Cytheria, lifting her hair, then letting it drop. He stroked his large hand over the shiny material of Cytheria's uniform, across her back and shoulders. The heavy press of it was tinged with the slightest hint of trembling. He was as scared as he was angry. He stopped and stood directly in front of her. His emotions were changing. Whatever he might claim, Cytheria's "wiles" were getting to him. She could tell he was starting to experience sexual arousal from touching the silkiness of her uniform and the smoothness of her skin beneath it. He was rattled. Cytheria saw the bulge already growing in the tight leather of his trousers. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up, leaning down to her as he did. His rugged features, weather beaten, a scar above one eye and rough stubble, were inches from Cytheria's lips. She could feel the warmth of his breathing growing more rapid as the tide of his emotions turned, the arousal sweeping ahead of anything else.
"Honored Jenabe Agha—"
"I said silence, off-world witch. I'll show you how men satisfy their needs. I need no woman. Boy!" he snapped, dropping her chin.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Friday, 6 March 2015

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Sarkare Khanome - Naranari matriarch...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who are the major players in the Ouranian peace talks?
Cytheria meets Sarkare Khanome, Naranari matriarch of Ourania, in this snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release from Breathless Press to tease you -

The silence of the inner tent greeted her ears as her eyes grew accustomed to the subdued lighting, again from candles and lamps but in here even softer. The air was suffused with a heady mix of fragrances from discrete oil burners—jasmine, an undertone of a muskier, more sensual smell, akin to sandalwood, and a hint of being in a deep forest, of leaves and mosses.
"Cytheria of Turacoena, welcome. I am Sarkare Khanome." From the shadows, a woman, not so tall as the guards but matching Cytheria in height, emerged. Her silver-white hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her eyes were a striking blue, as bright as a sunlit, clear summer sky. She was older than the guards, but her body was young and fit with lean, taut muscles. Only the lines around her eyes spoke of anything other than youth and power. Her long, softly flowing robe in a myriad shades of blue celebrated the same figures and scenes from the tunnel friezes and the outer tent. Her confidence hit Cytheria like a wave crashing on the shore but one that broke over her rather than crushing her. It was followed by a depth of compassion and caring that almost brought tears to Cytheria's eyes. There was fear as well, but not borne of doubt. A fear that was aware of itself and knew its boundaries.
Then it hit her—the intense depth and power of sexual allure and hunger that all but defeated Cytheria's self-control. Her pussy reacted suddenly, getting wet and even hotter. Her clit almost throbbed with an ache to be touched. Her breath was suddenly rapid and shallow. She'd learned that this might happen from the briefing on Halo Five and from her extensive reading of Ouranian culture. The Naranari bonded and shared sexually as a way of formalizing their status. She had to play this situation correctly or her credibility, and hence her bargaining position in the peace talks, would suffer, or worse, be blown out of the water altogether.
"I greet you, Sarkare Khanome, from my mother to your mother, sister to sister," she managed to get out.
Sarkare Khanome smiled and nodded. She walked around Cytheria and looked her up and down. She came back to face Cytheria and stroked her hands over her hair then held her chin in her long, slim fingers. Cytheria knew, like a physical presence, that this woman was sexually in charge and was used to being in total control of those around her.
I am Cytheria.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Wednesday, 4 March 2015

Raven's been in some Hong Kong Heat...

My bestest bestest author friend is the lovely Raven McAllan and the moment she stepped off the plane from HK (now technically a Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China, you know. A handy freeffrenchfact there...) I grabbed her for a blog spot. So, while she drops off her cases and I pour her a small reviving glass of something chilled and white I'll let her tell you all about Hong Kong Heat:

It's a well known fact I like to travel. Indeed I met my host by a swimming pool in South Africa. (There's a book in that somewhere, I'm sure.)
So I guess, given that Hong Kong is one of my favourite places, it was inevitable I'd set a book there.
Sometimes the words just flow, and this book was one of those times.

The names were suggested by a friend and the rough idea plotted over a bottle of wine, with her, in Amsterdam.(and there's another book's setting I'm sure.)
However, this is the result of that fantastic few days in Holland.

And a wee tease…

She felt like a secret agent—or someone up to no good as she entered the hotel later. One doorman was busy hailing a taxi for a customer and the other was wheeling five suitcases and several suit carriers into one of the lifts.
Debra waited until its doors had closed and called a different one. She got to her floor without it stopping and when the doors opened looked out into the corridor with caution. It was empty apart from a cleaner’s trolley at the opposite end of the corridor to her suite.
Numpty, she berated herself. There is no earthly reason why Braam should be lurking on your floor, especially at this hour. Get a grip. Nevertheless she still made it into her room in record time. And hated herself for scuttling as if she was in the wrong.
Frustrated both mentally and emotionally and getting more annoyed with herself by the minute, Debra poured a large glass of wine and took a long, leisurely shower. It didn’t cool her temper, but it did go a long way to cooling her ardor and her skin. By the time she’d toweled off, dressed in a long, loose kaftan and dried her hair, she was in a happier frame of mind.
Debra sang along—off key—to an old James Taylor song on her iPod as she plated her dinner and sat on a high stool at the kitchen area work surface that doubled as a table. She propped her guidebook up against the pepper mill and plotted her next day’s activities.
She hadn’t been to Sai Kung on her last visit, owing to the distance from the center of the city. This time she had promised herself she would go there. So tomorrow was Sai Kung day via the MTR and a green minibus. Once she’d finished her simple, and to be honest boring meal, Debra worked out her route. There were a couple of options and she thought she might go one way and back the other. Pleased that she’d sorted the next day with an excursion well away from the hotel, Debra opened her laptop.
One of the good things about Wi-Fi was that she could tune in to her favorite radio station from home. Listening to golden oldies and singing away, often with the wrong words, as well as answering trivia questions was a perfect way to pass the time as she wrote her diary—without reference to Braam or Shade’s revelations.
The knock on the door was unexpected and startled her. Debra looked at it as if somehow she could see through the wood and find out who was on the other side. The next knock was louder.
Had she omitted to put the ‘do not disturb’ light on? When the third knock sounded, Debra stood up, irritated and ready to tear a strip off someone who didn’t take silence for an answer.
She forgot there was a security peephole and pulled the door open, saw who was on the other side and went to slam it.
“Fuck off.”
“Naughty, naughty.” Braam put his shoe-clad foot between door and jamb and held it open. He bet she wished she’d remembered to put the chain on, or at least look through the peephole. Then he reckoned he could have hammered until he put a hole in the paneling or she called security and she wouldn’t have opened the door. He hadn’t needed his hand over the peephole or his rough “Housekeeping” statement.
“I wonder what Mr. Scotburn would say if he heard that language coming out of his wife’s mouth and if he would condone your behavior of the last few days. Does he get a kick out of knowing what his wife’s up to?” Braam could hardly believe the vitriol spilling out of his mouth. Every nasty thought he’d had since seeing her name in the guest register bubbled up and demanded to be said.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Debra’s hazel eyes were almost black and as he glared at her, tears appeared and clouded them.
Ha, a woman’s wiles, what next?
“He’d be hard pressed to make any comment unless he can speak from the grave. And that would be difficult, he was cremated.” Deb sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Please take your foot out of the door. You’re hardly one to talk. What was it the waitress said? Oh, yes, I remember. ‘Have you bumped into Braam Van Meister yet? I hear he’s back in town. My god what a man and hot, hot, hot. Mind you, his reputation goes before him. Love ‘em and leave ‘em Van M we call him. A girl in every hotel’.” She glared at him. Her voice rose to a shout. “Now move your bloody foot.”
~~~ Can they resolve the misunderstanding? Ah well, you'll need to buy the book to find out…

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Raven lives in Scotland with her long-suffering husband. Luckily he's a dab hand at choosing and pouring wine, working the Aga and ignoring the dust bunnies as well as a welcome and informative travelling companion.
She's the author of over seventy published stories, and intends to continue writing, and growing old disgracefully.
You can find out more on

Monday, 23 February 2015

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Cytheria - Dove, diplomat, negotiator...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who is Cytheria, the mysterious alien empath from the planet Turacoena?

Here's a snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

Diplomatic Negotiator Cytheria stepped from the shower and looked around for her dress uniform. For a moment she stood, naked and barefoot, and let her hair fall down from the towel she'd wrapped around it, enjoying the luxury of feeling its wet caress drape her damp skin. She pulled the towel over her hair, rubbing the ends dry, massaging her head as she stretched her neck and shoulders. She'd not used the auto-dry function of the sonic shower, preferring the tactile sensation of the towel, soft and warm on her smooth skin and silky hair. She knew she only had a few minutes to herself, a few minutes of down time, a few minutes of indulgence.

The towel slipped down over and then off her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air after the shower, and she stroked it over the flat, firm muscles of her stomach.

The mission was tiring, exhausting, the schedule punishing. Anchises had briefed the captain and first mate, then returned to his quarters in the adjoining room. It was her turn. She needed to dress, then find her way to the shuttle hangar bay and meet Mr. James to make the modifications to the subspace comms array. The thought of working alongside a Trapichean, a race that had long interested her, was intriguing. Anchises's meeting with her had left him almost swamped by the emotional intensity of her feelings for the captain, and now Cytheria had to face her.

She moved the towel lower to brush against the damp, soft hair of her pussy. The emotional pressure in the briefing rooms down on Halo Five had almost swamped her at times, and the wash of the heightened feelings on the Sulaco were not helping. She fell back onto the couch, leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and slowly circled the towel around the tightening button of her clit and up and down the moist warmth of her lips.

It would be ideal, now, to give into the emotions, to let them play across her mind and ease the stress in her body, to indulge the physical response to the empathic connection her mind made. She needed release.

The days ahead were fraught with danger, with the need for secrecy, diplomacy, and tact. And self-control. It wasn't going to be easy.

I am Cytheria. You are not my emotions, you are not me. I am who I am.

She dropped the towel and sighed.

I am Cytheria.

There was no time. The first mate had arranged with Anchises that she would meet her in the hangar in... Damn. No time at all. She grabbed the blue uniform on the couch beside her and slid her legs into the tight one-piece garment. Her feet slipped easily into the boots as she pulled the body up and her arms in. The self-fastening seals closed and flattened as she ran her hand down the front. She pulled a brush through her hair and looked in the mirror. Blue-gray eyes looked back at her with a tiredness in them. Her hair was a lost cause, so she just let it fall, deciding to find some way of tying it up when she got to work on the shuttle comms system.

The access pass Anchises had brought from the briefing lay on the table. Cytheria picked it up, hit the door button, and hurried down the corridor to find the shuttle hangar bay.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Friday, 20 February 2015

#FFF Flash Fiction Friday - flower girl

The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.

Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.

She emerged from the flowers and faced the sun. Warmth flooded her body. New, fresh, her skin welcomed the energy, embraced the power. Movement, free, chosen, no longer the whim of the breeze; she explored and tested the range and extent of her limbs. Her fingers stretched and found her hair. Through the silky flow her hands moved and met curls and petals and buds. Jewels, from her seeds, tumbled down her back.

Her lover's wish had been granted when he'd scattered her in the meadow by the light of the full moon and the morning star. She was reborn.

Please check out the other Friday Fiction Flashers