Sunday Brunch with Friends...

saupload_mad_20hatter_20tea_20partyLast week we talked about being busted in a BDSM club, and this week we take a more in-depth approach.

With the popularity of BDSM themed novels and the explosion of pretty velvet blindfolds, furry cuffs, and gray silk ties, a little fetish play seems to have taken the world by storm!

This week, I ask my pals the big question:

Whips or Chains? (Explain)

Leave your own answer in the comments section for a chance to win an ebook! Don’t be shy! Three great authors are standing by (and of course I’m waiting) to hear your response!

Last Week’s Winner:  Lisa G!


Whips, baby, whips.

Chains are hard, unyielding, and to a degree, inflexible hunks of cold metal. And while I do have a fondness for big hunks of metal, as anyone who has seen the scads of silver I wear on my hands can attest to, for me chain is an impersonal tool. It smells of the dentist’s office. The mental weight of it carries the taint of torture and bondage of the bad sort. The word that comes to my mind is brutish – an implement used to restrain dogs who’ve been mistreated instead of loved. There are those who love chain for just those and other reasons, but not me. It’s merely a device in the game.

Leather, however, is sensuous. It has its own warmth. The smell of leather is the smell of sex – like a lover’s skin in the afterglow. When you run it through your hand the texture licks your flesh like a ghost of a caress. It breaths through every sense and wakes up your body with a promise of supple, yet stern, pleasure.

It is flexible. It bends to your will. It becomes an extension of you. You hold the handle of a whip in your hand long enough and it begins to conform to you, give into you, becomes part of you. The strands of the flogger are like your own fingers clawing into your lover’s back. Leaving your mark on their skin.

It can be in simple of form as your belt used to bind or beat or as complex and wicked as a braided flogger. Leather has the potential to be the tool only a skilled master of a single tail whip can call to life; make speak with a gunshot crack as it splits the air at one and half times the speed of sound. In essence, as it once was part of a living, breathing animal, it never truly looses it soul. It lives again in the hand of a master.

And it’s just fucking sexy. ~ Author James Buchanan

Purchase Laying Ghosts: MLR Press   ARE   AMAZON



Whips definitely. Why? Because I’m the one holding it. I’m not being whipped and there’s this thrill that goes through me when I’m holding the leather of either my flogger or my whip in my hand. If I’m holding that whip then there’s at least one, if not two subs bare-assed in front of me waiting for the delicious sting of “Daredevil” which is what I call him. They are bound and breathless waiting for me. It’s a delicious feeling being able to give back to them just as they give to me.

Plus, I am against chains just on principle. LOL.

~Author Victor Alexander

Purchase The Beginning (Sons of Adam): R&P   ARE  Bookstrand   Amazon


3-9 Sunday Brunch - JP Barnaby - Cover


Whips or chains…. Whips or chains….

Metaphorically, that’s a tough call. I like bondage and spanking just as much as the next girl. Moving that up a notch, though, I’d say I’ll take the chains. A whip will cut the skin when used effectively, so I’ll stick to straining, arching, begging submission with Sir above me, a stern expression, and arsenal of toys and…. Oh, uhm… sorry.

I’ll take the chains.

~ Author J.P. Barnaby

Purchase In The Absence of Monsters: Wild City   ARE    Amazon




My Heartache CowboyI know you probably think I forgot, but NO WAY would I forget to do this!

Thanks to Viviana, my very excellent Enchantress of Books blog tour coordinator, we have a winner!

The game is over, the numbers have been crunched, and the winner of the Amazon $50.00 Gift Certificate is


Congratulations, your winning gift certificate is on its way!

Many thanks to everyone who participated in this with a special thank-you to the reviewers,  bloggers, and friends who hosted me while I was on this journey!

XOXO, I love all of you!

Stay tuned, there’s more to come,


Back to Sunday Brunch Blogging!

saupload_mad_20hatter_20tea_20partyHiya ZAMmers! I got pretty bogged down there for a bit, and was unable to get my Sunday Brunch posts up. Thanks to William Cooper, my awesome new “lovely assistant”, (photo below), I am able to get this started again.

I’m happy to report that I have three guests today, Cynnara Tregarth, Vicktor Alexander, and the incomparable, very busy Ethan Day!

I’m so lucky to have wonderful people who will share their thoughts with me.

Readers, please share your answers in the comment section for a chance to win an ebook from these authors!

Today’s question: You’re busted in a BDSM Dungeon. What were you doing?


When it comes to BDSM clubs and me– anything is possible. But normally– it’s me, a flogger, and a lovely male or female sub. Though I’m a switch— I submit very rarely and only with a chosen few. When I’m at a club- I’m normally a Dominant and I love to play and I love watching. Flogging is fun to do and I love teasing. It’s also one of the things I love writing about in my books.

If you don’t find me there, you’ll find me haunting rooms where I can see both Dominas and Doms doing their things, bringing subs and switches to fulfillment. From pony play to people on St. Andrew’s Crosses to medical fetishes– I love watching it all and sometimes being part of it, especially when I can learn new techniques to use for myself and my male. Plus, you never know what might be incorporated into a story line, like the time I helped a Dom tie up his sub on a gurney and helped do wax play. What a great experience, especially learning how to vary the drip pattern and to avoid burning the submissive. Very erotic and also so beautiful to watch.

~Author Cynnara Tregarth

to Purchase Pirate Queen’s Rebellion: Loose Id    ARE   Amazon  B&N



The police heard news that John Barrowman, Shemar Moore, Scott Hoying and Joe Manganiello had gone missing. After investigating their tweets and emails they discovered that they had been corresponding with author, Vicktor Alexander. Following the location their tweets and texts were coming from they tracked the celebrities to a BDSM club. They followed the sounds of groans, moans, and cries of ecstasy into a room where they found all four celebrities, plus Vicktor Alexander, engaged in what could only be described as a very complicated, very sensual game of Twister with Vicktor at the center of it all.

His tongue was “engaged” in a certain area of Scott Hoying’s body when the police first arrived so he was unable to answer any questions, and when the police tried to separate the men, they found that they were all tangled together. They were concerned when they noticed the ropes wrapped around John Barrowman and Shemar Moore’s limbs, but the happy smiles on both men’s faces led law enforcement to believe that perhaps they were not in danger. Even when Vicktor Alexander brought down the tail of his flogger on the flesh of the men’s asses they merely moaned happily,which caused the police officers to leave in a hurry.

Days later the police station received a fruit basket with a videotape inside. The video showed the entirety of the game of “Twister” between Vicktor and the four celebrities, but this was not what so intrigued the officers… well, not all of them, there were a few who grew quite excited by the images, it was what happened at the end that caused them all to stare at each other at wonder. Once all four celebrities had collapsed in a pile of sexual bliss. Vicktor Alexander turned to the camera, winked and shifted into a wolf before running off screen, his wolf howl sounding loudly through the speakers.

~Author Vicktor Alexander

To purchase The Beginning:   The Rooster And Pig   ARE   Bookstrand   Amazon



Okay, so firstly…aaaand that was fiRstly, not fisty…‘cause this homo don’t play that, mmmkay. I’m a person, not a puppet, so keep your hands where I can see ‘em. : )

So, fiRstly, I was totally there by accident! I can sense that your doubting the sincerity of that last statement, but I’m not lying, I swear! Not that I have anything against the BDSM, mind you. I’ve never tried it, so I refuse to knock it. That being said, it’s always seemed a little high maintenance, you know? A lot of setting up and tearing down…unless you happen to have one of those handy dungeons where everything can remain set up. But even then, there’s still gotta be a lot of clean-up, right? I mean, all those ‘toys’ that are used to slap, smack and get stuck up people butts have to make a sizeable dent in a dude’s sanitization budget.

It’s probably not the best fit for the guy who likes to screw on-the-go is all I’m saying. Not that I think you need all of the accoutrements in order to get your BDSM on – no reason people can’t MacGyver it and make do with what’s in the cupboard at home. Surely Martha would approve, no? : )

Anywho, I’m not the boy most likely to frequent the local BDSM club since I’m probably not going to partake in the shenanigans. I get antsy and start freaking out when my shoes are too tight, so I can only imagine what being shackled in a sling would do to me. Plus I have a tendency to talk even more (hold the snark people) when I get nervous and I doubt most people go to the BDSM club to have a chat. That doesn’t mean I’d never attempt to pay a visit, mind you, assuming it’s okay just to watch, though I suspect wearing a gag to keep me silent might send the wrong message, huh?

~Author Ethan Day

Zombie Boyz, Guess Who’s Coming At Dinner:  Wilde City   Amazon   ARE

And Heeeeere’s the promised pic of me and my sweet new PA, William, here we are in New Orleans. (The picture is from 2011. Can you believe it?):



Books To Love For Valentine's Day


In Nick’s perfect world, Valentine’s Day would be struck from the calendar. 

Nick’s dreams of a Happily Ever After were shredded long ago and the last thing he and his customers need is a bunch of happy loving couples rubbing it in their faces. </p>

Bouncer Fat Boy Newman is willing to bet he knows Nick’s heart better than he does. He has just six days to change Nick’s mind about romance and the holiday and the perfect man to do it. 

Too bad it’s not him. 

Too bad Nick’s not going down without a fight. 

Too bad he cheats.

 Available at Amazon   All Romance Ebooks



Bradley Parker has waited twenty years for Mr. Right, and on Valentine’s Day, he finally finds him. It’s love at first sight, and Brad even loses his virginity to the man of his dreams. But when he wakes up the next morning unable to remember anything—even what the man looked like—his best friend, Leslie, is convinced he imagined the whole thing.

Brad knows he didn’t make up the best night of his life, but he has no idea of the danger he’s putting himself in as he struggles to recall the details of his perfect man. His search may lead him to parts of New York City he never dreamed existed and a war being waged in the shadows.

Available at Amazon   All Romance Ebooks



Sometimes the thing you hate the most takes you to the love of your life.

Dire Wolf Shifter, Angel, may be the youngest of four brothers, but that doesn’t make him the stupidest. He knows that Valentine’s Day is nothing but one big joke. It’s just a way for candy and card shops to make extra money.

How does he know this?

Because there is no such thing as true love. Every man he’s met has proven this by stomping on his heart, leaving him bitter and jaded. Fellow Dire Wolf, Baily, has always had a crush on Angel, but he never acted on it. As one of Angel’s older brother’s best friends, Baily had never thought the time was right or appropriate. But as he sees Angel hurting, Baily can’t stop himself from reaching out to the younger man.

Will Baily be able to show Angel that there is such a thing as true love? Or had Angel’s heart grown too hard?

Available at Amazon   All Romance Ebooks



Author Spotlight - Heidi Cullinan

Heidi Cullinan head shot BWIt’s no secret I’m a huge Heidi Cullinan fan. The first book of hers I read was Special Delivery so it’s my very great pleasure today to announce the re-edited, re-released version from Samhain is available!

Special Delivery features one of the most breathtaking first lines I’ve ever read:

In the deserted men’s restroom at the back of Middleton Community College, Sam Keller knelt on the tile, braced his hands against Keith Jameson’s thighs and broke his mother’s heart.

After that, the book never lets you go. Revised, re-edited and re-released, it’s still the same beautiful, complex, compelling story that made me fall in love with this author in the first place.

Heidi will capture your heart, break it a few times, tape it back together, stomp on it, and then light it on fire and melt away any of your doubts. This book is a keeper.

Great new cover! Stay tuned for Double Blind and Tough Love…

SpecialDelivery300SPECIAL DELIVERY

Release date: February 4, 2014

Book One of the Special Delivery Series

When your deepest, darkest fantasy shows up, get on board.

Sam Keller knows he’ll never find the excitement he craves in Middleton, Iowa—not while he’s busting his ass in nursing school and paying rent by slaving away in a pharmacy stockroom. Then Sam meets Mitch Tedsoe, an independent, long-haul trucker who makes a delivery to a shop across the alley. Innocent flirting quickly leads to a fling, and when Mitch offers to take him on a road trip west, Sam jumps at the chance for adventure. Mitch is sexy, funny and friendly, but once they embark on their journey, something changes. One minute he’s the star of Sam’s every x-rated fantasy, the next he’s almost too much a perfect gentleman. And when they hit the Las Vegas city limit, Sam has a name to pin on Mitch’s malady: Randy.

For better or for worse, Sam grapples with the meaning of friendship, letting go, growing up—even the meaning of love—because no matter how far he travels, eventually all roads lead home.

Warning: This story contains trucker fantasies, threesomes and kinky consensual sex.

Available February 2014 from Samhain Publishing and wherever books are sold. This book has been previously published and has been revised from its original release. 

Buy links: SamhainAmazonBarnes & NobleGoodreads


Sunday Brunch Blog - 2/1/2014


Today’s Sunday Brunch Blog has been moved to next week on account of FOOTBALL! I finally got my entire family interested in watching the commercials…ER…big, important game with me, and we’re spending the morning making chili and whatever else those guys want to eat. That’s right. You heard it here. It takes massive bribes of food to make my men watch football.

Am I the only one who wants to watch the damn GAME around here???

**crickets chirping**

1620355_281839261969259_2104407165_nThis weeks questions is for the readers!

What’s your Superbowl Game Day routine? Do you have special foods you like to make? Do you watch just for the commercials? Do you take the opportunity to go shopping while the mall is empty?

Or like me, do you imagine watching your heroes pull off all that dirty, sweaty equipment at the end of the day so they can grab a hot shower and get warm!!! Oh, how I wish I could offer them all a cup of hot cocoa because the game is going to be so gosh darn cold!

Stay tuned for your regularly scheduled Sunday Brunch with my author pals Next Week!!!

Guest author - LE Franks!

77607a6d05fd0ad8976f1b.L._V358818427_SX200_This is so much fun! I get to find out all the new books my friends are writing this way. I’ll be covering Valentine’s Day stories soon, but this is a new one out from my pal LE Franks, and I wanted to give her an opportunity to tell you about herself and the book!

What inspired you to become a writer?

I was an early reader—my mom was an elementary school teacher and we always had books around. By the time I was in second grade, I was creating my own stories. By high school I had a strong voice—too strong in many respects. My AP English teacher would routinely give me A+++/D to average out my work to overcome the lack of proofreading. Who needs grammar when you have words?  I stopped writing my stories down once I left school—the stories just unwound themselves in my head, often going on for months. When my daughter turned ten I decided it was time to start again. Her birthday was rather a watershed time for both of us—spent on the Eiffel Tower in Paris. It’s wonderful how one’s perspective changes from up there.

6 Days was inspired by a bartender I met at The Hard Rock Café & Casino in Albuquerque, NM while attending the 2012 GRL Retreat. My main character’s profession, a mixologist, was inspired by him—one of the drinks my MC Nick makes is the one he made me in New Mexico.

If you could co-write with any author, living or dead, who would it be? 

I currently have a co-writer very much alive and I need to keep her happy until we finish our shifter series…and our hot marine saga…and, well let’s just say that Sara York can be kind of scary in that sweet southern way—she’ll look you in the eyes and smile the entire time she ripping body parts off you (one of my very most favorite things about her). So discretion being the better part of valor I’d be better off with one of the great dead storytellers…like Twain—I’d happily play ‘straight’ man to his genius just to watch him ply his craft.  But let’s be real. I think there is something distilling when you open yourself and your work to a co-writer. To be successful you have to be both open and defensive.  Sometimes the most valuable thing you get, regardless of outcome of your joint project, is a deeper understanding of your own work. Sara rocks, btw.

Where is your favorite place to write?

I just hijacked 25% of our master bedroom. I’ve got a corner walled off with two tall bookcases that I can see through so I’m still connected to the world but I have plenty of privacy when I put on my headphones. I have my desk, room for a futon and all my books and resource materials at my fingertips. Huge impact on my production with an inverse effect on my husband’s sleep—we may need to buy a bigger house because I have deadlines and two more jobs to keep happy. So I’ve been doing the 4:30am to midnight schedule with writing at both ends. Apparently they haven’t invented eyeshades dark enough or earplugs quiet enough to block the sound of my typing (and swearing).

Now for the fun questions!

What plans do your previous characters have for Valentine’s Day?

Pride of The Veld:

I think that Danie, Andrea, and Geo will be having the best time of it. They’ll have ditched South Africa by then and are now soaking up the sun in Andrea’s hometown in Italy. I suspect they’ll be celebrating by experimenting with the olive oil from the family’s groves and of course, since Geo has a sweet tooth, dark chocolate will be involved.


Kris and Tyr are still working things out so you can expect that Tyr will be pulling out all the stops to woo Kris. Since neither are welcome back at the only diner in town they’ll try to drive to Minneapolis for dinner. If the weather is bad you can bet they’ll snuggle in front of a warm fire and with a copy of Dark Voyager (Kris’ favorite) and The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo (Tyr’s), and Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown (Bun’s) and have movie marathon

PRODIGAL WOLF – co written with Sara York:

The guys on Hilton Head Island universally avoid Valentine’s Day. After all, wolves don’t eat chocolate—right? But in secret, there may be some tiny expressions of love for each other—just don’t call it that. For example, you’ll find Ted in the kitchen baking everyone special Almond cookies I the shape of surf boards with pink sugar icing. Joey actually vacuumed the downstairs and repaired the hole he made in the fence around the back deck from the last time he drunk shifted. And Carlo actually dropped by the pack house voluntarily and spent the day catching up on the paperwork he’d been promising Angelo he’d do for months. And Angelo? He may have just made Carlo’s favorite dish, lasagna with homemade pasta from the old alpha’s secret recipe, and if they may have sat and eaten at the same table and shared wine from the same bottle, but no one could call it a date, could they?

If your characters were at Frisson, what drink would they order?

Kris is from Los Angeles. He loves his cocktails. He wants them sweet and flirty like he is after two drinks. Tyr’s happy just ordering Kris doubles.

Joey is just happy when someone hands him a drink—it’s hard to keep a shifter metabolism tipsy and it’s the state he has the most fun in. The other day he did have a whiskey ice cream float and it was pretty good—he’ll probably bug Nick until he gives him something white and creamy.

Underage Twinks Kevin & Grady, try to sneak in and order Coronas but FatBoy spots them right off—bouncing them to a kiddy table in the restaurant—while Nick serves them Shirley temples and chicken nuggets for their trouble.

Carlo is brooding in the corner. Simone the waitress is about smack him with her tray if he doesn’t start talking soon, telling her what he wants. Angelo knows how she feels, but orders for him anyway. Someone has to be in charge. They’ll have a couple bottles of Morreti.

Which one of your characters has the biggest sweet tooth?

Without a doubt it’s Bun, Tyr’s cousin—she’s still a child at heart and in mind, and her love of all things sugary is just more proof. Sit her down with a bag of gummy worms and she’ll be happy. For a minute. Then she’ll be bugging you to take her to see Kris.

If you could have any actors play the characters from 6 Days to Valentine, who would you choose?

Davis FatBoy Newman is pretty easy- Daniel Craig from his Tomb Raider days. Nick is more of a scruffy James Franco type. Sort of a clueless smart ass with a good heart.



The man on the floor was hard to ignore. If I got up now, I’d be stepping on him—not that I planned on leaving anytime soon. It wasn’t every day a man fell at your feet, much less one of the pretty ones. I wasn’t complaining—I could use the distraction. February with its faux-holiday was always my own personal hell, and this week, with the tidal wave of red and pink already threatening to swamp me, things kept getting worse. Maybe my luck was finally changing. I hoped so.

I squinted in the dim light of the bar to get a better look. His strawberry blond hair was disheveled, uncovered now that the ball cap he’d worn into the bar was resting against the chrome leg of my barstool. He stared up at me with eyes like some cartoon character from a Looney Tunes classic. Comically huge saucers of Arctic blue overwhelmed a nose too pert for a man; his rosy lips forming a perfect O of shock and surprise completed the picture as he lay stunned.

I’d watched the cap spin merrily away as he landed face-first onto the industrial-grade carpet, and winced—not in sympathy for the blow to his face, per se. No, it was due to the knowledge that FatBoy Newman had thrown up on that exact spot the previous day. I groaned as unwelcome memories of FatBoy and the events of last night flooded my mind, distracting me from the blond.

FatBoy was the newest addition to our little Frisson bar family. He’d been working the door for a couple of months, doing his job by lurking in the background and monitoring the crowds stirring each other up on weekends. One minute, he would be wallpaper, and the next, he’d be hanging out at my end of the bar, playing a nightly game of twenty questions.

Last night it was a string of questions like “Marie Claire or Vogue?” and “Barbeque Beans or Pork & Beans” or, more disturbing, “Brad Pitt or Yoda?”

Normally, I would have blown FatBoy off as I do every other asshole annoying me while I’m working; even the bouncers who like to lean on the bar and steal olives and fruit don’t linger if I’m there. FatBoy was different. He might look like a giant hick with the brains the size of a pea and a case of ’roid rage, but for all I knew, he had balls the size of an elephant. He’d need them. He’d been pressuring me for weeks to date his cousin, ever since he figured out that I’m gay, and I’d been equally absolute in my refusal. I don’t date, no matter how smoky blue your eyes are when you ask.

Not that I tried to hide my orientation—it’s just none of your damn business and not a topic of conversation I usually led with. At six two with brown hair, green eyes, and a naturally muscled build, bar patrons just assumed I was straight; keeping things pleasant and light with our mixed crowd of tourists and local party boys and girls kept the mood fun and—most importantly—the tips pouring in.

I also wasn’t such a megalomaniac that I thought everyone wanted to sleep with me—though working the bar, I got plenty of come-ons and come-hithers. Despite the occasional tumble with Juan, I hadn’t met anyone who inspired me to make the effort. If you want to know the truth, in my heart of hearts, I was a romantic; I dreamed of being swept off my feet by the “one”. In the meantime, I kept my head down, mixing my drinks and keeping my dreams and hands mostly to myself.

Despite the nightly grilling, FatBoy wouldn’t have known any different if he hadn’t walked in on my attempt to bareback Juan, our bar-back, during a very slow Saturday afternoon. I’m kidding about the barebacking. Juan is a good kid, and I’d never risk him or myself that way, and our relationship was more about convenience than romance, but FatBoy did walk into the cold room just seconds after a collision had wrapped me around Juan’s wiry body, forcing our lips together. Fortunately, our tongues took the brunt of the accident, ensuring no lasting damage to our libidos.

No, Mr. Newman can take the blame for that particular injury and the subsequent ‘failure to launch’ sequence that resulted from it. Instead of backing out like a normal person, he stayed—leaning against the frame of the door and watching us quietly until I pulled away from Juan.

“Why the fuck are you still here? Can’t you see we’re busy?” I snapped in frustration.

FatBoy didn’t respond beyond a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth—though he did lean slightly out of the way as Juan slipped past him, buttoning his jeans as he went. I reached down and readjusted my own cock, sighing deeply and glaring at him while I waited.

“Soooo, Nick. Boys, huh?” he drawled, settling back into his lean.

“Not boys, men. I’m not a pedophile, asshole.” As I stomped back to the bar, I was running through a list of unpleasant scenarios I could subject the prick to before I had to see him again. I was contemplating his fall into an active volcano when I felt his eyes on my back, the same silent force field I’d felt ever since he started working here.

I whirled around. “What? What! What? Did you need something, or did your calendar say it was ‘Be a dick at work day?’ ’Cuz I have to tell you, I’ve got a serious case of blue balls going on here, and unless you plan on dropping and giving me head right here and now, I’m pretty sure there is nothing you can say or do that I’m interested in.”

I might have caught a slight glimmer in his eyes when I said that—but really, who cared? It was going to be long days of skittish looks before Juan settled down enough to overcome his exaggerated fear of discovery and be willing to risk spending more time with me in the back. Something about losing his job and making his disabled mother homeless if he got caught screwing around at work—like that would ever happen…

“Blake was asking for you. I figured you’d rather I tracked you down myself instead of sending him into the icebox after you.” FatBoy smirked and pivoted, leaving me alone with the unhappy thought that I owed him one. With a silent apology to Juan’s fears, I wound my way back to the office to check on the latest from the boss.

So best efforts of ignoring the new bouncer aside, we were now out to the six five former linebacker from Tennessee—a Vol who’d majored in French poets of the seventeenth century. You haven’t lived until you’ve listened to FatBoy recite Molière in the original French, drunk off his ass, at four in the morning, in a thick southern drawl. Despite all of that, or maybe because of it, FatBoy was a bit of a prick—a trait I usually found entertaining when directed toward someone else, but after my fobbing off all the gentle nudges and hints about his cousin, he must have decided it was time to bring out the heavy artillery and press the issue once and for all.

In this case, he used his prickdom to force me into the drinking contest. He was, after all, he said, a gentleman of the South and therefore felt obliged to offer me a game of chance rather than the outright blackmail he originally had in mind—not that I believed he’d actually risk anyone’s job. But it did make me curious.

I still wasn’t sure what was so important about finding his cousin a date. I’d said no enough times that any other musclehead would have gotten a clue and dropped it long ago. FatBoy’s cousin must have been horribly disfigured or suffering from some social disease or on parole for unspeakable acts as a minor for him to be this relentlessly annoying.

More likely, his aunt was nagging him to death—afraid her baby was going to meet a big bad leather daddy now that he liked cock; I’d heard stories. I was just lucky to be the first gay he’d met. Not that I ever had that problem with my own family—I’m not sure they noticed the last time the door hit me on my way out.

All in all, I wasn’t surprised when he finally cornered me.

Terms of the bet were simple. We would each drink at the same time until we stopped. First one to pass out or throw up lost. Winner named his prize.

The reason I thought FatBoy might have been juicing—beyond the imposing build and lack of neck—was he’d overlooked the fact that I had total control over the very medium that would determine the outcome of the bet.

Buy 6 Days To Valentine at Wilde City Press


Welcome Author Kay Berrisford


It’s a total privilege to be here blogging, especially as it’s my release day!! *grabs champagne and tops up glasses all round*.

As we’ve both got new books out around the same time, ZAM and I arranged a little blog swap, and threw a few little questions at each other, including… What do we do on a typical writing day? I’ve had a little peep at ZAM’s answer (she’s at my place on the 2nd February) and her day sounds more fun, not least because she’s in Southern California and I’m staring out into the icy gloom of Southampton, UK. (Hey, one of the cruise liners is just setting sail from the port as I write this. How do I know that? Well, because they’ve let off the foghorn and the WHOLE FLAT IS TREMBLING!)

So, my typical writing day. Well, I write about half the week (and at weekends) and do my day job the rest. So on my writing days, I’m pretty focused and routine-orientated. After popping out for groceries, it’s a feast of writing (or editing) doused in coffee, then after lunch, maybe a short run or a swim to jog my creative juices into action. Then the coffee is replaced by mint tea for the afternoon and evening, and off I go writing again. If I reach my target for the day early, then I get to read. Yay!!!

I don’t write much in the evening, as I’m more of a morning person. I tend to watch TV, maybe fiddle on the internet and do some promo or admin while my husband works on his writing (He’s an academic and proud author of 200 published papers and books! I’ll never catch up.) Our fave shows to have on? Hmmm, I still love NCIS best, but I’m quite looking forward to the new series of Game of Thrones right now (though I shut my eyes during the gory bits.) I love history and travel documentaries too—they give me tons of ideas for characters and settings. And Brian Cox (the BBC science presenter) is hot!

Talking of books, okay, the new release—Bad Slave, what the heck’s that about? Yup, it’s a BDSM fantasy story, but it’s a love story at heart and it’s got a BIG HEART. Jay and Alix’s romance was a blast to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Bad Slave by Kay Berrisford. Published by Loose Id. Genre: LGBTTQ, BDSM & Fetish, Fantasy & Paranormal.

Blurb: When the king commands former war hero Captain Jay Ghair to find him the perfect royal sex slave, Jay’s quiet new life as a librarian is shattered. Jay discovers the boy he’s looking for in Alix, a lowly miner and wannabe court scientist, whom Jay can’t help but secretly adore. However, teaching the rebellious Alix to be a docile slave is difficult. Alix will behave for just one man, and it isn’t the king. It’s Jay.

Standing by while the king’s treatment of Alix becomes cruel is torturous for Jay. He longs to return to his library, yet he can’t bear to leave Alix, or his people, unprotected. To rescue Alix—and save the realm from the increasingly tyrannical king—Jay must confront the demons of his military past and take up the sword again. But his most important battle must be won through returning Alix’s love and learning to master this bad slave who submits only for him.


ADULT EXCERPT from Bad Slave

Jay leaned forward so his brow nearly touched Alix’s. Hot breaths mingled. “Listen. I’ve been charged this night with finding the king an attractive young man. Somebody ready and willing to, uh, well—”

“He wants to know if you’ll suck the king’s cock,” interjected Gareh, coming to the rescue, albeit in a crude fashion.

Alix’s jaw dropped. “You want me to become one of the king’s sex slaves?”

It seemed everybody knew more about King Lyam’s lifestyle than Jay had. His stomach clenched.

“King Lyam’s a good-looking chap,” added Ned, who’d warmed to the task of procuring Alix, probably because time pressed on. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and evening dew beaded the grasses and cooled Jay’s blazing visage. “From what I’ve heard, his boys live a coddled existence.”

“The choice must be yours, Alix,” said Jay. “But Farmer Derren might find you and kill you if we let you go free, and we can’t take you back to the palace with no reason. You must face trial or elect to serve the king.”

Jay’s conscience stabbed like an ice pick, because there was little choice, really. He wished the lad, who remained motionless, would say something to put him out of his misery. Alix raked his fingers through his short brown hair. Then, sudden as the first morning cry of a cockerel, he laughed. And sweet mother of all the starlords, it was the dirtiest and most charming sound that’d ever blessed Jay’s ears. Alix’s smile was delicious too, though he couldn’t disguise his trembling or the gleam of fear in his eyes. Jay suspected this unforeseen mirth to be an act, so it didn’t make him feel any better.

Nevertheless, Lyam had asked for a man with some spirit. Alix indeed possessed that.

“All right, I’ll do it.” Alix dabbed away the last of the blood. “Um, should I thank you? I mean, yes, I really should. You just saved me from—”

“No. That’s not necessary at all.” Any decent man would’ve done the same thing.

Without requesting the rescued party become a sex slave.

Jay rose, then took Alix’s arm and helped him up. Once upright, Alix hissed in pain, then balanced on one leg. Jay clamped the lad’s shoulders. “Are you badly injured?”

“Just a minor sprain.” Alix mustered a faltering grin. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“We’ll tend to your wounds when we get back.”

It seemed the least he could do. Then again, he had saved Alix’s life. Serving at court, even as one of the king’s pets, could well be preferable to laboring in the mines, let alone languishing in prison or facing the chop.

Not quite reassured, Jay scooped an arm about Alix and supported the lad in hopping over to the horse. He helped Alix up—involuntarily confirming that Alix had a firm and rounded butt and sinewy thighs—then sighed and nodded to Gareh and Ned.

“Lead on back to the palace.”


Want more? Read chapter one at Loose Id

Buy Kay’s books at Amazon   Loose Id   All Romance Ebooks 

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Twitter: @kayberrisford


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Sunday Brunch Blog - 1/26/13

saupload_mad_20hatter_20tea_20partyHappy Sunday everyone! I woke up to a gray cloudy day today. Three boys home but running around. They’re currently in a robotics club that has a competition coming up in Vegas. That’s right, Vegas, baby. Nothing like letting smart kids loose in a town full of possible moral pitfalls. pffft. Guess who’s going as a chaperone.

They could do worse.

So, Last week we talked about whether we felt we were optimists, pessimists or just realists. So many good comments on that. You are great thinkers out there, and I loved reading your replies. Thanks! Last weeks winner (random pick, of course) is:

Andrea! *throws confetti*

This week’s question:

What’s the worst prank you ever pulled? (Of course this could also, given that we discussed glass half-empty/glass half-full last week, be called the BEST prank you ever pulled.)

I’ll tell you what, only ONE author was brave enough to sign up to share her prank with me: LE Franks is here to tell us about it.

My thoughts on pranks is I’m not really good at them. I don’t like making people feel uncomfortable. I never have. I’ve done things to surprise people. I let my daughter go to sleep on the eve of her fourth birthday in her toddler bed and then took her out and put her in a “big girl” bed, complete with dreamy bedding and nice pillows in its place so when she woke up her room was different (I pictured it like the Shirley Temple Version of A Little Princess, although the transformation was nothing so spectacular.)

Last week, I let my twin son Zack tell his brother Max they only had one iPhone left so we got him a clamshell phone they had leftover from the nineties with big button technology, but then that was Zack’s practical joke, not mine. I gave the game away as soon as I saw him, because he looked so resigned. I can’t stand to see people off-kilter. As a kid, I couldn’t watch shows the Beverly Hillbillies, because I don’t like to see people made the butt of jokes. I rarely watch reality television at all.

My husband is great at pranks and surprises, although he knows better than to pull them on me. He once bought me a car and told me the garage door remote didn’t work, knowing it’s snatch it out of his hand and try it anyway cause I’m that person who pushes “walk” even if you already did, who test things, opens doors, and generally has to see with my own eyes.

That was a GREAT prank/surprise and one I’ll remember forever.

482502_10202980968035615_487060924_nOne Man’s (er—woman’s) Prank is Another Man’s Worst Nightmare, or Our Road to Tying the Knot:

It’s really not my fault. I think it speaks more to his psychology than to my impulse to poke. Honestly.

It’s not like he secretly thought I was psycho…

Wait…there was that time I visited him in Princeton NJ about a month after we started dating—he was on a long-term job site, I was a travel slut looking for a good time and a 45 minute ride to the Big Apple…a match made in heaven. So what if he’d been staying in a tiny room no bigger than a closet filled with three weeks of stinky man-clothes?

He may have been a little disconcerted when at midnight (9 pm our time, for frack’s sake!) he awoke and found me leaning against a wall staring at him. Did I mention it was only 9pm on the west coast and the room was the size of my thigh? God’s great gift to mankind – the iPhone – had not been invented yet. And there was nowhere to sit. It was either lean against a wall or wake him up every 5 minutes moving around on the double bed.

He may have also jumped to conclusions that helped reinforce this idea of my shaky credentials the next day when he walked into his hotel room and found a naked man in the shower. (Stop it! I know what you’re thinking…I said travel slut, not slut-slut. Sheesh).

It’s really not my fault that he had a moment of crazy when he convinced himself that I’d traveled 2900 miles to steal his dirty clothes, especially since he’d stopped by the front desk to arrange a larger room for us before leaving for the day. So sue me. I did what any reasonably bored and efficient person would do…I got the key and moved us.

While that would have been a KILLER prank—it doesn’t count as one—but it may very well explain why when I did eventually prank him he thought I was serious. Deadly serious. Honestly, so much drama and yet, he still married me. [Editor's note from ZAM: Knowing you -- and adoring you as I do -- this does not surprise me.]

Tiny more bit of backstory: I actually have really excellent taste. No, don’t scoff—don’t confuse my jean’s and t-shirts for fashion ignorance, because hey, California. It doesn’t mean that I can’t slide my hand across a nice white cotton broadcloth covered chest and not know the thread count and whether you’re rocking the perm-a-press. And there really is nothing worse that a lousy polyester or ugly print necktie. But I digress.

We’d been living together for a few weeks at this point—about six months after the whole unfortunate “you stole my dirty underwear” episode on the East Coast—still not the best of arrangements, but I’d moved in with him and his roommate who was her own brand of crazy-with-cat. She had weird rules, and we tiptoed around a lot. It just added to the atmosphere.

Moving in with him the first thing I noticed was a large mirror leaning against a corner, covered in neckties. Horrible, horrible, ghastly, ugly, polyester, and knitted cotton, and old, (not cool-old either. Not hot retro “my fashion is editorial”. Nope. The really, really unredeemably bad kind.) Ties that made my eyes bleed and teeth ache just to look at them…and he had a lot of them. No joke—dozens upon dozens, even ties from the eighties with their mauve and peach color schemes…soft blurred images with cow skulls on them. Nightmares. [Editor's note from ZAM: You didn't accidentally marry my husband did you? 'Cause he has those too, and even older ones from his dad. 70 years of bad ties]

The Prank. I may have threatened the ties with extermination a time or two. He may have been in genuine fear for their lives…but still, I think the day that he came home from work, saw my note telling him I that I’d offed them (I believed I used words like “cut up” and “never see them again”) he might have paused a second to look around the room and notice the trail of dropped neck ties leading to the downstairs hall closet where they remained unharmed. Nope. Did not see a-one. (Editorial note from LE Franks: as I write this, I realize he had to have stepped over several of these ties on his way up the stairs, which is an entirely different post about why men’s clothes become invisible the second they touch the ground.)

The Result. Total Freak Out.

I almost wet myself laughing. Honestly. Like anyone would go to all that trouble to cut them up with scissors when there’s a perfectly good trashcan outside. (Oddly he didn’t consider that argument to be an improvement.)

Yeah, he eventually married me anyway—but I did use it as a teaching moment to point out how hideously awful his taste was (why let all those props go to waste) and in the end, he let me dispose of the worst offenders with the following caveat: for every tie he coughed up, I’d replace them with two very cool ones. And I did—I even got him nifty grown up tie hangers—Ties as colorful and cool as he is. Now, I hardly ever see him dressing like an 85 year old man anymore, because scissors. – Author LE Franks

Purchase 6 Days to Valentine on January 29th from Wilde City Press.