Raise your hand if you love dark, intense alpha heroes. Raise it higher if your dream hero owns any of the following: handcuffs, blindfold, ball gag, paddle, flogger, or spanking bench.
Ah! The allure of the kinky alpha hero.
Do they get any better than that tall, strong, dominant man who craves his heroine – over his knee with skirts raised and panties dangling?
Even before Christian Grey there were superlative erotic romance authors crafting super-nova hot tales of love, longing and spanking. But since the colossal popularity of FSOG, new readers have discovered they love to get their kink on – fictionally speaking – and the genre has exploded and BDSM romance continues to heat up faster than a naughty submissive’s derriere.
The intensity of BDSM romance is what makes me lust after these torrid tales. I adore intense stories all the way around: In the bedroom and out! Complex, tormented characters, nearly insurmountable obstacles as they battle for their HEA. Multiple areas of conflict both internal and external feed my lust as well, and even intense and heightened settings and plots are my preference. No middle of the road stories – or sexual journeys – need apply. And what better way to explore conflict, raise the stakes, and ramp up the tension than through exploration of these taboo desires?
So the BDSM romance, with all that rough, raw, sexy goodness; with a heroine tough and strong and loving enough to submit to her one and only – or her two and only (& raise another hand if you love love love ménage BDSM romance where there’s even more bang for your reader buck); and with a Master-ful hero who adores his submissive beauty, whether he’s got her plugged and spread-eagle under his flogger, or in his well-muscled arms sharing tender kisses. These are the couples who fight the odds, the aliens, and the bad guys of every stripe and then celebrate with a full-throttle love scene that could scorch the nose hairs of those hapless villains!
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My favorite characters fight hard – and they love hard. From the highest of highs, to the lowest of lows, the heightened emotion of these stories melds and blends perfectly with the edgy, extreme sexual relationships of the committed couple at the heart of the tale.
And that’s what makes me the happiest of romance reading campers.
Be they dramatic or hilarious, as Mae West once famously said, “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”
So, what’s YOUR favorite BDSM romance?
Do you embrace the loving sadist? Or the tormented Dom? The 24/7 slave girl, or the bedroom only submissive?
What alpha Dom hero gets you all hot & bothered?
The saying goes “whatever blows your skirt up”, so the last time you turned that final page in a BDSM romance with a satisfied sigh, what tantalizing tidbit had blown yours way, way up?
Come on, ‘fess up! I won’t tell!
Writing erotic romance as Lise Horton and erotica as Lydia Hill, her short story, “My Master’s Mark” in the recently released Cleis Press anthology (Ed. DL King), Slave Girls: Erotic Stories of Submission, earned a starred review from Library Journal and the praise “surprisingly poignant”. She loves kinky romance with heart and sting. Visit her at www.lisehorton.com and for a taste of what blows her naughty skirt clean off, check out her blog “Lust In the Afternoon” at http://blackrosediaries.blogspot.com/ .
From mundane internet searches to exotic trips to faraway lands, research can take many forms. I’ve called strangers, governments, secret agencies, and once even the student loan agency in California (they couldn’t believe I wanted to talk to the about something other than debt). I’ve eavesdropped in bars, sampled less-than-tasty cuisine, and taken cross-country motorcycle rides all in the name of providing readers with the most authentic experiences.
But nothing can top the days I spent with the fighters in a local MMA gym.
Oh the sacrifices I had to make for my readers! The hours I spent, pen and notebook in hand, following the hard-bodied White Rhino and the lean, mean Flash around the gym. MMA is a brutally tough sport. I learned about how fighters use grapple dummies (not anatomically correct, I noted), punch bags, free weights, cardio machines, gloves and helmets, cages and rings. I also learned that the hardest part is not always the fight, but the endless training sessions, drills, and head games.
Although I had caught quick glimpses of cage fighting on television, I never really enjoyed watching it until I understood the techniques and strategies. At a professional level, fighters have to train in and master several martial arts styles, the key ones being jiu-jitsu, muay Thai, wrestling and boxing. A weakness in any area makes a fighter vulnerable. A strength has to be used carefully because every strength can be turned into a weakness.
What interested me most, however, aside from the incredibly fit dudes wandering around in their tight shorts, was the fight terminology, and I couldn’t resist using it in my MMA fighter romance series, Redemption. A fighter on top takes the “dominant position” and might have an expertise at “mounting” (full, rear, half…you get the picture). Other fighters are “submission” specialists and some prefer to “ground and pound” where they get their opponent on the ground and pound away from a dominant position. Maybe it’s just me and I have a dirty mind, so I won’t share my thoughts on the “hold”, “collar tie”, “rear naked choke”, “missionary control” or my favorite…the “rubber guard.”
In Your Corner, the second standalone book in my erotic romance Redemption series, takes place in an upscale MMA gym. Our hero, Jake, is a cage fighter, trying to win back the girl who loved and left him. Yes, there are fight scenes (in the cage and in the bedroom), lots of sexual innuendo, and even more smokin’ hot smex. Oh, and of course, there is a love story. Because who doesn’t love a man who is all about holding on?
I just returned home from the Romantic Times Convention in New Orleans and what an amazing time I had. I ran in to many old friends and over the course of the week I made many, many new ones! I must say this was one of the best conventions I’ve been too! Even the hotel food was good.
Over the week I took part of a pub crawl on Bourbon Street, went to visit the warehouse where all the Mardi Gras floats were stored, tasted authentic New Orleans Cuisine, visited two amazing plantations, ate beignets at the famous Café Du Monde, took a horse trolley around the French Quarters (Brad Pitt was in town and I went by his house) and went on a bayou tour where I fed alligators marshmallow. Yeah, I know, who would have thought alligators liked marshmallows!
I also participated in a huge book signing, danced the night away at Samhain’s Saints and Sinners party, had hurricanes at Bourbon Heat, got my beads on Bourbon Street, wore matching sweater with my favorite gal, Nikki Duncan, went to see the mighty Mississippi, took selfies after to many Grenades, hung out with two hotties from the TV series Necrolectric, had breakfast with awesome Invitation to Eden authors at Court of Two Sisters, had some quiet time with other authors where we brainstormed new book ideas, and spent lots of time at the bar!
I was completely exhausted by the time I returned home and when my flight was late in New Orleans, I knew I was going to miss my connector. Even though I was anxious to be home to my family, a delayed flight was out of my control so I simply went with the flow. When I arrived in Toronto, long after my connector flight was on its way to Nova Scotia, I just collected my luggage and prepared to go check with an airline rep. Except they came to me first with a new boarding pass. I tell you, Air Canada is like a well-oiled machine, and now I won’t fly with anyone but them. They told me they were trying to get me on a later flight. So my travel companion and I grabbed a bite to eat and went to check in. At first we weren’t sure the flight had enough room for us, but then we were given tickets! Yay! When I looked at the ticket, I noticed we were in business class. Double yay! OMG, after being treated like a princess—salmon dinner, wine, nuts, more wine, blankets and pillow in my own private first class pod, I have no idea how I’ll ever go back to coach! Talk about the icing on the cake after a wonderful trip.
But now it’s back to reality and working!! But that’s okay, because I’m ready to focus on my new release, FLIRTY in WHISPERING COVE. I LOVE this story so much, and if you’re following the whispering cove series (p.s. Each book is stand alone but it’s a lot of fun to read them all) then you’ll have heard about my awesome Ghost Hunter Sam in SILK in WHISPERING COVE! I hope you’ll all celebrate the release with me, and check it out on your favorite site!
Flirty in Whispering Cove
A summer fling so hot, it can raise spirits…
Home renovation specialist Alexis Miller thought snapping up an old Victorian fixer-upper in podunk Whispering Cove would put her on the fast track to proving herself to her brothers.
She can handle cooling her heels to wait for the right permits. It’s the ghost hunter claiming he needs to spend the night to check out the “cold spots” that’s got her body temperature fluctuating.
When Sam Doherty responds to an emergency phone call to cleanse a haunted house in Whispering Cove, the first thing he notices is how Alexis hides her femininity behind baggy coveralls—and how she wants to cover up the old home’s beauty with modern frills. As a guy who “sees” things others can’t, he sets out to teach her to appreciate the hidden beauty, inside and out.
Scary noises soon send Alexis into Sam’s arms, and when a kiss leads to passionate lovemaking, Alexis wonders if it’s possible to find common ground in this small town. Or, once the house is “clean”, if Sam will disappear faster than a ghostly apparition.
Warning: Contains enough sexual tension to raise spirits and turn any cold spot into a sweltering vortex of heat and passion.
Someone once asked me why I love romance novels. Reading, writing, they were genuinely curious what the big deal was.
I’ve got a thing for angst.
A big-raging-over-the-top-monster-sized love for angst.
As a reader I don’t want to read how easy love is for characters. I want them to work for it—burn for it. I want it to exist just out of reach until the very last possible second and hot damn I want to ache when they finally, finally get to reach out and clutch their Happily Ever After in their little hands and never ever let it go. When a story leaves me breathless by The End I can’t help but fall a little bit in love.
This love of mine translates to my writing. I love, love, love putting my characters through the ringer, if only for a little while.
Usually my guys need to work their own issues out before they can even think about accepting the love of another. They have issues and they’re comfortable with them. They see them as their penance for whatever hand life had dealt them. Really, they could all just used a big, sweaty, man hug. It takes a special kid of man to pull my broken heroes out of their (usually) self-imposed exile from mankind. They’re usually mouthy and a bit pushy. So, you know, the best kind of man.
My Southern Honor series stars a whole group of men who boldly wear their tattered, broken existance on their sleeves. They think they’re not worth fixing and they’re not about to let anyone close enough to really try.
And really…who doesn’t like their hero a bit broken?
Here’s a bit from Homecoming, book one in the Southern Honor series. Just a little taste of what Jack and Dillon are up against:
“What the hell, Jack?” he huffed, opening the passenger door and forcing the bigger man to the bench seat. “What were you thinking?” He pushed Jack’s blunt-fingered hand out of his way and probed as gently as he could at the ribs his friend had been holding. He tried to ignore the way the play of muscles under the body-warmed shirt brought his own body to life. “No, don’t answer that. You weren’t thinking, you big dumb gorilla. You were reacting.” He felt more than heard Jack’s painful hiss as his fingers passed over injured bones. “Nothing’s changed has it?”
When he moved his hand under the hem of Jack’s shirt and made contact with his bare skin, he thought he was going to lose it. This close, he could smell the essence of the man. The scent that would always be Jack—dark and seductive—it was the same and so much better than he remembered. Trying to talk his wayward body into believing he was only touching the other man to make sure he didn’t re-injure himself, Dillon let his fingers move slowly over lightly fuzzed rippling abs. His slow journey to the offending ribs ended abruptly at a puckered ridge.
He lifted the black shirt and couldn’t hold back the gasp at the sight of Jack’s torso. A map of livid bruises, all in varying stages of healing, colored the skin beneath the hand resting on Jack’s stomach. It was the sight of the angry red scar, a jagged semi-circle running from his ribcage to hipbone that made his heart stop. What had the Delta Force done to this man? Logically, Dillon knew it wasn’t the military that had put these marks on Jack’s skin but his heart was looking for someone to blame.
Under their own volition, his fingers began tracing the red line under them. He knew Jack was home on medical leave, but he’d had no idea it was this bad. These marks, and the other scars, some small burns, spoke of something horrible. Something Dillon didn’t know he wanted to face. When his hand reached the barrier of Jack’s jeans, he noticed Jack had stopped breathing. Looking up, the sight he was faced with made his blood run cold. Jack was staring off over his shoulder, completely shut down. His eyes were an empty void and Dillon had to fight the physical reaction to the sight of those dead blue eyes.
Dillon just stood there not knowing what to do with the rage and longing to take this wounded man into his arms and protect him from horrors he didn’t know how to fight. He just stood there as Jack brushed his hand aside and slipped past him. Watched as the man walked away from him. Just like he had ten years earlier. The bruises were different, but the pain settling in Dillon’s chest was just as deep.
All you have to do to be entered to win is leave a comment below with an answer to a question. Tell me what you first thought about the title. Been wondering what people think of it! *GRINS*
So without further adieu, I give you…Orgasm University…
Victoria’s been called frigid by every boyfriend she’s ever had. Having never gotten off during sex with even one of them probably has something to do with it. But none of them knew how broken she really is. She not only hasn’t gotten off having sex, she’s never orgasmed…ever.
Then she sees an interdepartmental memo for a university study that claims it can help with her little problem. Once she signs her name on the dotted line, Dr. Hotlidge, finds all the right buttons to push.
He’s been looking for the perfect subject for his grant study, but something’s been missing from each of the women he’s questioned so far. Everything changes when Jane Smith #129 steps into his exam room.
It’s supposed to be anonymous, clinical research and nothing more. But when he finds her inner submissive hiding just below the surface, they both find more than they bargained for.
A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
No matter how tightly she crossed her legs she couldn’t stop the shimmy. Tiny tremors raced up from her stiletto heels, which continued to vibrate at a nervous frequency.
She tried focusing on the magazine she’d already flipped through three times, but couldn’t have told anyone in the doctor’s waiting room if she’d read Marie Claire or Horse and Hound.
Throughout the day in her office across campus she’d decided to cancel her appointment a gazillion times. The same number of times, plus one, she’d convinced herself there was no harm in coming.
Coming. That pretty much said it all, or not at all in her case.
A two-syllable word, completely absent from her sex life and the reason she sat in the non-descript tan vinyl chair waiting for her name to be called.
Jane Smith #129, at least that’s what it said on the top of her mandatory anonymous paperwork. She’d already filled out and handed back the stack of signed forms to the friendly receptionist behind the sliding glass partition.
Victoria tossed the magazine onto the glass of the metal coffee table in front of her. The multi-colored stack of pages slipped from the slick surface, landing in a puddle on a rather beautiful rectangular rug. Her aim was remarkably akin to her ability to orgasm, close, but no cigar.
She stood on shaky legs, her gray linen pants falling precisely to the top of her arched foot while she straightened her tailored white blouse.
She retrieved the offending pile of articles and advertisements, laying it safe and secure onto the low table. If only finding her “O” face were as easy, she wouldn’t have to be here. If any of the other John Hopkins department heads found out she’d signed up for this study, she’d be the laughing stock of the whole university. She could even lose her job as assistant dean of the physics department if word got out she—
A door off to the side whooshed opened and her heart lodged in her throat as a nurse said, “Jane Smith #128?”
A shy brunette maybe a few years older than her, grabbed her purse, making her way toward the woman who held the door along with a clipboard.
Victoria collapsed back into her chair, thankful she was the only woman left in the light blue-walled room. The colors were lovely, the décor probably tasteful if she could focus on anything other than her rapid pulse.
She glanced out the window, trying to calm herself. The sunset from the top floor of the graduate research building warmed her.
Being called “frigid in bed” by her last three boyfriends had really started to wear on her confidence. Something, she’d never had to deal with before, growing up in a wealthier than average household.
Nervousness was the sign of a weak mind, her late father had always told her. She never got anxious at doctor’s visits. Normally, there was no point, but her appointment with Dr. Hotlidge was as far from normal as anyone could get.
She smoothed her shoulder-length curly hair, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath.
Learning why she couldn’t orgasm was something she’d wanted to know for a long time and honestly didn’t think anyone was out there who could help her. The interdepartmental memo that crossed her desk a few weeks prior said differently. It was a memo like so many others she’d seen and tossed in the round file. But the research this study was granted money for? A spot light might as well have illuminated it from above as little kinky angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus.
They were looking for women just like her.
Ages twenty-five to forty-five, open ethnicity, healthy, with a recent check-up from a physician proclaiming them functional in every way. Well, almost.
But it’s not research on a new skin care product or a diet pill. No, this was something much more important. This was about orgasms. Well, the lack of her ability to have them during sex, or in the shower, or with toys. She batted a big fat zero at the ripe old age of thirty-three.
She almost grabbed another magazine for distraction, but an unbelievably sexy guy stepped up to the counter behind the glass partition.
He gestured toward a folder, saying something she couldn’t hear. Whether the glass was soundproof or if all the blood rushing in her ears blocked the vibrations she didn’t know.
He flipped through the contents of the folder then looked right at her.
The world paused for a few brief seconds.
Her heart pounded away in her chest and at the top juncture of her thighs. That realization alone made her look away. Tunnel vision clouded her sight because she’d stopped breathing. She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. When she could see again, she stole another glance but he was gone. The same female nurse who’d been calling for patients stood in his spot.
Wondering if it was relief or disappointment running through her veins would have to be left for another day.
The locked door opened into the waiting room and by process of elimination it was her turn.
“Ms. Smith, we’re ready for you.”
After grabbing her things, she prepared to bail.
Excuses disguised as explanations swam in her head. This isn’t for me. I got called away. You can’t help. I’ll figure it out on my own.
But she surprised herself, going so far as attempting to smile at the nurse ushering her through the doorway.
Jennifer Kacey is a wife, mother, and business owner living with her family in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.
Quickly… Thank you so much to everyone who bought Once is Never Enough. I’ve loved getting messages from y’all. Yes, it may be the last of the Delta Heat cop books, but I am continuing the series with the firemen. Apparently, you are all a very kinky bunch. 🙂 If you’ve read the story, please consider leaving a review. I’d appreciate it very much! Now, onto the question…
My grandmother receives more non-bill mail than anyone in the house. But then, she’s the only one who actually writes letters. Without fail, she writes her sister once a week. She corresponds with old friends. (She’s 95 and her friends are elderly as well.) We offered to get her a computer and get her set up with Facebook, but she refused. A written letter is much more personal for her.
So here’s my question…
Do you write letters and/or send cards? Do you still send holiday cards?
I am Leigh Ellwood. I write smutty stories about people who like getting naked and having sex. Some have more sex than others, some have sex with people of the same gender, some have sex with more than one person, and still others have sex with toys and things that require the use of batteries. My stories range from a few thousand words to well past 70k. The book list link above breaks everything down for you – genre, length, and other attributes. My books are available at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Kobo, and ARe. Really, just type my name in any bookstore site and something is bound to show up. I prefer ARe as a vendor because they rock, but feel free to buy my books anywhere you like.
I have won awards for writing, and I have received 5-star reviews. I have also received 1-star reviews and people have looked at me funny at cons and events. I enjoy reading, yoga, and rock music. I liked the 9th Doctor best. I don’t wear dresses. I won’t cut my hair or color it. I will not limit myself to one genre when it comes to writing. I write contemporary, paranormal, gay, lesbian, menage, geek, short, long, purposely funny and hilariously sad. If I never win a major award or make a list, I will live content in the fact that I have written something, and that’s the dream.
Many authors you read may specialize in a specific pairing or genre. I know authors who only write M/M or ménage, or only write paranormal or Regencies. If ever they decide to write outside the box, they’ll take on a second pen name. When I first published an erotic romance ten years ago, it never occurred to me to assign different names to different genres. I thought it would be easier to do everything as Leigh – one website, one Twitter, one blog to rule them all on release day. A decade later I look at my backlist and see the variety – gay erotic romance, lesbian romance, three and four-way sexy shorts, paranormal, contemporary, sci-fi… It’s like a game of Around the World where you drink every imported beer at the pub. I have something for everybody.
Sometimes I’ll wonder if I did myself a disservice by writing a bit of everything. Would I be a bigger success if I stuck to one pairing, one genre and kept at it? Maybe, maybe not. I do know I enjoy coming up with new stories, and if I had to use a pen name for every genre I’d go broke buying domains for each new site! Perhaps for now it’s best to stay the course. I find I write better when I write the stories I enjoy.
Speaking of, my latest release is an ARe Bestseller. Check out A DIFFERENT CLASS:
FDR High Class of 2004 graduate, Glenn Carson contacts fellow alumni to get a list of who will be attending the upcoming festivities. One call to a disgruntled former student leaves him shaken—apparently, not everyone is looking forward to the reunion. Hoping to ease his frustration, he contacts the 1Night Stand service for a relaxing and passionate encounter.
Known as “Mumbles” to former classmates, Rod Maloney would prefer to focus on the present and his successful business. However, past tragedies continue to haunt him, so he requests Madame Eve find him a man to show him a hot time and help him forget his troubles.
Will their one night together lead to a reunion after all?