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Afton Locke: Find Me — Go “off the grid” (Excerpt)
Sunday, March 22nd, 2020

Ready to go off the grid? I’m not sure why I’ve been so fascinated with it, but after a fan asked for a sequel to Follow Me, I couldn’t resist roughing it once again.

At the moment, it also happens to be a hot topic. With schools, restaurants, and bars closing from the pandemic, we are being forced to live a simpler life — at least for a while. It makes us appreciate what we usually take for granted, and some of us may end up realizing the simpler life can be better.

While Follow Me hung out in the West Virginia mountains and rivers, Find Me’s setting is a Louisiana swamp. Hot, sticky, and oh so sexy… Sheltering-in can be a thrill instead of a prison sentence if you’re locked away with the hero of your dreams. Away from outside distractions and conveniences, you can immerse yourself completely in the other person’s body, heart, and soul.

Find Me by Afton Locke

contemporary romance
Release Date: 28 March 2020

Preorder it now on Amazon:

Can a civil rights attorney and a southern rocker find love at a Confederate statue rally?

Weary of climbing the corporate ladder to care for her aging hippie parents, Dee Dobson marches in a rally. When violence erupts, Rodney Walker, lead singer of Breeze, comes to her rescue. Their dramatic picture hits the papers, but an interracial relationship is out of the question for both their careers.

Between a long-distance concert tour, her endless overtime, and his racist brother, Jack, they struggle to build a future from their powerful connection. When a senator pursues Dee and helps her run for political office, things get even more complicated.

But their biggest obstacle is Jack. As a southern gentleman, Rodney values family above all else. Due to a long-buried secret, he always gives his brother the benefit of the doubt, a decision that could cost him and Dee everything.

Free Bird by Lynrd Skynrd

You by Nicole Bus

Excerpt from Find Me

Copyright © Afton Locke, 2020

He grabbed an enormous green towel and washcloth from the metal rack and set them on the vanity. “Here you go. Soap and shampoo are inside the stall. Do you need anything else?”

Their gazes caught and held…too long.

When he grabbed the belt buckle of his jeans, her gaze dropped to his hand and didn’t let go.

“I need a shower, too,” he said hoarsely. “And, well, there’s no flag in here.”

“I expected you to have one as a shower curtain,” she joked.

But she caught his drift. Running water would mask any sounds they made in case the evil brother woke up. Without taking her eyes off Rodney’s waist, she stooped to remove her sneakers. She straightened and padded toward him in slow motion. The thick rug massaged her feet, which only fed the desire rising inside her like a high tide.

Her hands got a mind of their own as they fastened around the big, round buckle and tugged it open. He jerked his zipper down and pulled off his tank top. Her nipples tightened so hard they ached. Ever since he’d rescued her at the rally, she’d wanted him. No, before that. She’d wanted him the first time she’d heard him sing.

She ran her palms over the warm, solid planes of his chest, but he grabbed one of her hands and pulled it down. Lord, the man had a thick package. The bulge she’d always seen in his pants didn’t disappoint.

His eager erection was the best thing she’d ever felt, too. When she rubbed the length of him, a moan escaped him and he slumped against the vanity. Before she could do it a second time, he growled and peeled off her clothes.

“Don’t move,” he said as he reclined against the vanity, watching her.

His gaze felt as heavy as a caress. In response, goosebumps popped up all over her flesh. Without another word, he walked her toward the shower and turned on the water. In moments, the glass-doored stall filled with steam.

Hot water pulsed over their bodies. Rodney’s hair looked even sexier wet. Long sheets of it framed his muscled flesh, which turned rosy in the hot water. His jutting organ reddened, too.

He sat on one of the built-in seats and pulled her back-first onto his lap as he had in the boat. His cock, slick and hard, rubbed against her buttocks. When would she feel it inside her? To fill her aching need? If he decided to act like a southern gentleman now, she’d scream.

With his arms around her, he leaned toward the nearby soap dispenser, built into the shower wall, and squirted a dollop of pearly fluid into his palm. It reminded her of cum, which made her cleft burn even more. With exquisite gentleness, he rubbed it over her arms, releasing its herbal scent. Going back for more and more to cleanse her legs, back, and belly.

When he lavished extra care on the scar from her stab wound, it made her recall the rally. She’d been terrified of dying until he’d carried her to safety.
I must be dreaming! Never let this shower end, even if my skin turns into a wrinkled prune.

When would he wash the parts she needed most? As if reading her mind, he palmed her breasts. Through the soapy bubbles, the warm friction of his hands against her swollen nipples sent her into the stratosphere.

Then he shut off the faucet, dropped to her feet, and nudged open her thighs.

Oh, no he isn’t…

Coming Soon

Look Into My Eyes – in case you missed the Crossroads boxed set

Where readers can find me:
Web site:

Genevive Chamblee: The Creole Bayou and Voodoo
Wednesday, April 25th, 2018

More times than not, when I’m speaking about Creole, Cajun, or Louisiana lifestyle/culture, I eventually hear an association with voodoo and strange happenings. And while, yes, it is true that there is a certain degree of bizarreness surrounding some aspects of bayou country, it’s probably much less than most people think. It also provides a limited and stereotypic view into the Creole culture. The goal/mission of Creole Bayou is to provide useful and accurate information about Creole history, culture, heritage, language, etc.

I must make a disclaimer before continuing. Honestly, I never thought I’d write this post. As an author, many of you know that I often use voodoo or the occult as reoccurring subplots or themes in my stories (e.g., “Oasis Haze” in Mysterious Hearts-Holiday Heartwarmers Anthology and “Under the Magnolia Tree” in Haunted Hearts-Holiday Heartwarmers Anthology). For this reason, I have done research in this area. That, however, does not make me an expert on the subject, and I do not claim to be. I also am not an advocate of any sort and will attempt to deliver the information objectively. While discussing the research I’d discovered with a woman (not a native of or residing in Louisiana), she immediately dismissed it and said she would continue to believe one hundred percent in what the media has presented about the subject to the masses regardless of any data presented that indicated the contrary. She insisted that the pop culture view of voodoo is the gospel truth. In no way do I seek to change anyone’s personal beliefs or opinions nor do I claim to make judgments religions of any kind. The purpose of this post is not a conversion but to present what history states about voodoo. (BTW, it would be silly of me to attempt to convert anyone to voodoo when it’s not a religion I practice or intend on practicing. However, if I continue to use it as a theme in my writing, I need to be accurate in my portrayal of it, if for no other reason than to be respectful.) Furthermore, voodoo is practiced in multiple areas of the world. This post will focus on voodoo in the U.S., specifically, how its practice in Louisiana.

The best place to start is to answer the question: what is voodoo? Voodoo is a syncretic (the combining of different forms of beliefs or practices) religion that teaches the existence of a supreme being referred to as Bondye, the worshipping of multiple spirits, a universal energy, and the ability to leave the body during spirit possessions. It is mainly an oral tradition and lacks a primary prayer, holy text, or rituals. The people who practice voodoo are called “vodouists” which roughly means “servants of spirits”.

Bondye steams from the French term bon dieu, which means “good god”. Bondye is an uninvolved and unknowable creator god who cannot be communicated with directly. Bondye is also the main/superior god. Bondye is over all people and spirits. The spirits are called Ioa, and each spirit is responsible for a specific part/domain of life. They act as the “middleman” between Bondye and people. Spirit possession (temporarily displacing the host soul or medium while Ioa takes control of the body) is desired as it allows one to connect with the spirit world and are used to communicate with god (Bondye). Say possession to me, and I automatically think of heads spinning in 360 degrees and the projectile vomiting of green soup and am running for the hills. You’d find me hidden somewhere and not venturing out. Contrarily, voodoo believes that possessions are (generally but not always) a good thing.

So, what is voodoo’s ties with Roman Catholicism? In 1685, the practice of all African religions by slaves were forbidden, and slave owners were mandated to endocrine their slaves in the Catholic religion with eight days of their arrival. The Catholic Church, in turn, viewed slavery as a vehicle for converting slaves to Christianity. However, many slaves continued to practice voodoo in secret, and the two religions (voodoo and Catholicism) became blended for them. Voodoo spirits became associated with Catholic saints and elements of Catholic rituals/practices (e.g., hymns) are used in voodoo ceremonies.

Contrary to popular belief, zombies, pin-stabbed voodoo dolls, and animal sacrifices have very minuscule associates with the voodoo religion. These stereotypes were formed out of fear by Christians who did not understand voodoo and later were popularized by people seeking to exploit the religion for monetary gains. Face it, zombies and ghosts have well-established buyer markets. There are books, trinkets, tours, movies, books, clothing, relics, and the list goes continues. It is very easy for people unfamiliar with voodoo to assume these are strong elements (or the only elements) involved if these things are the primary aspects being presented by the media and/or local specialty shops. Now, this isn’t to say that zombies, dolls, and animal sacrifices aren’t included in voodoo or not some practitioners do not make it the focal point. However, originally, that is not how it began.

For example, a zombie was thought to be someone who the soul had left the body and only the mindless shell of the person was left behind. This might have occurred to a punishment as one of the spirits (usually an evil one) for the person not living a dutiful life or the soul not returning to the body to allow for a relief from pain or healing from illness. One legion indicates that this occurred so that the zombies would work as slaves on sugar and tobacco plantations without complaint (because zombies were said to be mindless) and need for much rest (because they were merely human form without feelings). This definition of a zombie differs greatly from the popularized version of a subhuman eating other humans brains.

Another example would be animal sacrifice. For many, this may sound cruel and violent. I for one as an animal lover wouldn’t be able to participate or view anything like that. However, a look at history indicates that voodoo is not the only religion that practices/practiced animal sacrifice. This is/was not a practice unique/exclusive to voodoo. Historically, animal sacrifices can be found in Hinduism, Islam, and Paganism/Mithraism, Judaism, and even Christianity. It takes no further looking than the Bible to see mention of animals being sacrificed. In Hebrews 9:22 it states “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness”. Mentions of animal sacrifices can be found in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Isaiah, and Genesis. Many of the aforementioned religions no longer practice this ritual. But for many, it is often overlooked that the sacrificing of animal is restricted to voodoo.

Not all Creoles believe or practice voodoo. I would go as far as to say that the majority do not, but I do not have any empirical evidence that I can site to support that claim. That is not to say that this evidence does not exist. I just don’t have it. It is documented that a large population of Creoles are Catholic, as is much of the population of Louisiana. Catholics do not practice voodoo. Voodoo and Catholicism are not the same. Voodoo did not stem from Catholicism, and Catholicism did not originate from voodoo. Louisiana is not the only state in the U.S. where voodoo is practiced.

Voodoo is far more complex than what has been presented in this blog. Anyone interested should research the subject further. What if any myths about Creoles and voodoo did this post support or destroy for you. I’d love to hear your views.

Don’t forget to visit Creole Bayou again. New posts are made on Wednesdays. If you have any questions or suggestions about this post or any others, feel free to comment below or tweet me at @dolynesaidso. You also can follow me on Instagram at genevivechambleeauthor or search me on Goodreads or Amazon Authors.

Life’s Roux: Wrong Doors, my steamy romantic comedy, is available at Red Sage Publishing. To order, follow the link to or to Amazon at

My new book, Out of the Penalty Box, a fiction romance is now available for at It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit

My sensual short story “Cargo” in Pirates: Boys Behaving Badly Anthology #3 is available for purchase. Find it at

Copies of all my books and stories are available in paper, eBook, and audio on Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. The links are listed in my Writing Projects page ( along with descriptions of each of my novels or stories.

NEWSLETTER! Want to get the latest information and updates about my writing projects, giveaways, contests, and reveals first? Click on and signup today.

If you enjoy reading this blog, please share it with your friends and family. There’s never too many people in the bayou. Spread the word.

About the Author

Genevive Chamblee resides in the bayou country where sweet tea and SEC football reign supreme. She is known for being witty (or so she thinks), getting lost anywhere beyond her front yard (the back is pushing it as she’s very geographically challenged), falling in love with shelter animals (and she adopts them), asking off-the-beaten-path questions that makes one go “hmm”, and preparing homecooked Creole meals that are as spicy as her writing. She writes contemporary romance, erotic romance, fantasy romance, the occult, Creole culture, humor/comedy, multicultural/interracial, and southern drama. Visit her at her website:

Novels and novellas include: Life’s Roux (Red Sage Publications) and Out of the Penalty Box (Hot Tree Publishing).

Anthology publications include: “Cargo” (Boys Behaving Badly Anthology #3), “Harmonious Variation” (Symphony Amore Erotic Stories of Love and Music), “Valentine Mistletoe” (Cupid’s Bow: Holiday Heartwarmers Anthology), “Oasis Haze” (Mysterious Hearts: Holiday Heartwarmers Anthology), and “Under the Magnolia Tree” (Haunted Hearts: Holiday Heartwarmers Anthology).

Where to Find Genevive

Creole Bayou/WordPress:

1 Day to His Every Fantasy! (Contest)
Monday, September 1st, 2014

NOTE: The Random Scavenger Hunt Contest ends tonight!
See details for entering three posts down!

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Tomorrow, His Every Fantasy releases! I certainly hope you give it a try. Sergei and Kara rock the bayou! The story has everything you could want: a hard-edged warrior, nefarious villains, suspense, and a group of sexy SEALs determined to keep a certain little virgin thinking about things other than her problems. 🙂 I know you’ll enjoy them. And I know you’ll be ready for the next story. So get your fingers walking to your favorite online store to pre-order the book! In the meantime, enjoy the intense opening of the story…

To Serve and Protect

Comment today and you may win a signed copy of

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His Every Fantasy_600

Buy at Barnes & Noble | Books-A-Million| iTunes

He’d been here before.

A makeshift tent city on a lonely stretch of Iraqi desert with a shamal wind kicking up fine, wheat-flour sand into a blinding storm.

Tar-paper shacks nestled in a rock-strewn valley in the Hindu Kush mountains under fat snowflakes whipping into a blizzard.

And just like those times, this ramshackle camp hidden in the middle of a Yucatán jungle was surrounded. About to be destroyed. The men guarding the perimeter, smoking cigarettes and bragging about their latest sexual conquests, were already dead. They just didn’t know it.

Sergei Gun drew a deep breath, inhaling scents of rotting vegetation and diesel fumes from the site’s generator. Dim lights burned in huts close to the entrance of the encampment. He’d chosen the far side of the camp, illuminated only by slivers of moonlight peeking through the forest canopy, for their attack. Checking the lit dial of his watch, he noted the time. Although he couldn’t see them and they’d maintained radio silence throughout their trek from the rutted road to the camp, he knew his team was in place.

He raised his arm and motioned twice with sharp pumps of his fist to the men beside him. Five seconds later, the soft muffled thuds of silenced rounds took down each guard. Seconds after that, his men, with faces blackened and bits of vines stuck into their helmets and the straps of their web gear to obscure the outlines of their tall frames, crept into the encampment, the crunch of their footsteps on the jungle floor masked by the howling wind from a tropical storm.

One by one, the security force paid for with drug money fell beneath swift, brutal knives and brawny, suffocating headlocks.

Sergei slipped past his men, making his way to the hut where their intel said the kidnapped Tex-Oil men were being held—one of a line of shacks with slatted wood sides that did little to keep out the elements. Tin roofs clapped with each gust of wind.

Through his night-vision goggles, he noted the shape of a man sitting beside the door of the hut, his head slumped toward his chest in sleep.

Sergei snorted softly. The guards were poorly trained, likely recruited from the local village to do the cartel’s bidding, given guns and more money than they’d ever see farming or leading tourists into the jungle. One or two actual cartel members were somewhere in the camp, and they’d be harder to take down than this one slumbering idiot.

With only a moment’s regret for the man’s poor judgment, Sergei slipped beside him and encircled his neck, his arm cinching to cut off his oxygen. He waited as the man’s heels drummed the dirt and his weakening hands clawed at Sergei’s arms, until the mercenary finally hung limply inside his embrace. Setting the body to the side, Sergei motioned to his second in command, Bear, to follow him while another extraction team member kept watch.

Inside, they found the two Tex-Oil men sleeping on the dirt. Bear moved to one man and went down on a knee beside him. Sergei reached down to the man nearest him and placed a hand over his mouth.

The man’s eyes sprang open.

“Shhh,” Sergei said softly. “Your name?” He lifted his hand an inch.

“Frank West,” the man gasped.

The ragged texture to his voice was a testament to the ordeal he’d endured the past weeks. “Is that Campion beside you, Frank?”

At the man’s quick nod, Sergei gestured to Bear to help the other man. “Mr. West, we’re here to get you both out. We’re Black Spear.”

The man’s relief, even in the green glow of the night-vision goggles, was written on his face. Frank gave another quick nod, signaling he understood, and Sergei backed away, holding the man’s arm to guide him upward. “Hold on to my shirt and follow me. Don’t let go.” He turned to head for the door.

Frank tugged on his jacket. “Wait,” he whispered. “There’s a girl.”

Sergei stiffened. “We’re here for you. Only minutes remain before the whole camp knows we’re here.”

“She’s in the shack next to ours.” He pointed with his free hand. “They brought her in yesterday. She’s the only other hostage in the camp. You can’t leave her.”

Sergei hesitated. Their mission was to extract the two executives who’d been kidnapped. Ransom demands had been met, but the cartel had decided to squeeze the oil company for more. Sergei’s plan called for an extraction so swift that it wouldn’t give the guards the ability to escape or tip off the cartel that they’d been raided. Still, the thought of another hostage, this one a woman, rankled. Breaking protocol, Sergei tapped his headset. “We’ve got another lamb. Need two on West and Campion.”

Stepping outside, he kept close to the side of the hut as two more of his team peeled away from the trees and sped quietly toward them. He and Bear handed off the men, and then peered around the side of the hut at the other isolated shack. This one was guarded by two men, rifles slung over their shoulders, standing on either side of the door of the hut and peering up into the swaying canopy above them as limbs creaked ominously in the storm.

Signaling to Bear that he’d lay down cover fire if needed, Sergei raised his weapon, sighting on the man nearest to him.

Bear crouched then ran past him, but neither guard noticed his movement between the huts. Once safe, Bear knelt at the corner of the building, his weapon trained on the men as Sergei darted across.

Leaning against the hut, Sergei signaled thirty seconds, holstered his weapon, and drew his knife from the sheath on his web belt. Cautiously looking around, he circled behind the hut, coming to a halt at the front corner of the building. At the end of the thirty count, he slipped around the corner, rushing the man nearest as Bear launched toward the other.

The struggle was brief. Neither guard had time to draw a breath, much less shout.

Sergei wiped off his bloody hand on his jacket, then opened the latch of the hut and stepped inside. A scuffing sound from his right had him whirling. Liquid spilled over his head, the scent acrid. Urine. A bucket clanked next, shifting his goggles and blinding him, but he was already on his opponent, clamping an arm around a slim body that he backed into the rickety wooden wall. Sheathing his knife because he didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her, he slipped a hand over the woman’s mouth.

Her jaw opened.

“Don’t. Bite,” he gritted out. “Ma’am, we’re here to rescue you.” Her body quivered inside his embrace, her curves pressed so close she could barely draw a deep breath, but he considered that a good thing. She’d be less likely to scream.

“I don’t believe you,” she said in a harsh whisper. “No one knows I’m here.”

“I came for the two men in the cabin next to yours. They wouldn’t leave without you.”

When her wriggling ceased and she appeared ready to cooperate, he righted his goggles and stared downward. Even bathed in a blurry neon glow, she was beautiful. And terribly young. Dark-haired, slender, and wearing shorts and a very thin tee that hugged her upper torso. Braless. That fact bothered him even more than her youth. He wondered if she’d already been raped. His body tightened. “I’m your way out. Or do you want to stay here?”

Her lips pursed. Her gaze darted to the side. When her chin shot up, he knew her answer even before she whispered, “No.”

“Then do exactly as I say. Hold on to my jacket when we leave here. I’ll guide you out. But, lady, I’m warning you, I won’t allow any antics. If you try to make a run for it, you’ll put me and my team at risk.”

“You have a team?”

Sergei pressed a finger over her lips. “Not another word. Follow me.”

He turned, felt her fist gather a bundle of his camouflaged jacket, then stepped outside. She followed on his heels, her steps soft. A quick glance behind him confirmed she was barefoot. But better she suffer bruised and cut feet than remain trapped here. There wasn’t a thing he could do about that situation now.

Not that she was complaining. Her expression was tense, her mouth a tight, determined line.

From the periphery of his goggles, he noted his team, slipping into the forest, melting away. Sergei hurried toward the trees then pulled his compass from a pack on his web belt, checked the tritium-lit direction lines to orient, and took off at a swift pace in the direction of the rutted logging trail they’d used as their assembly area.

Sergei trudged quickly forward, not speaking, impressed despite himself when the barefoot girl behind him kept quiet, her breaths even as he set a swift pace. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped at the edge of a road, checking up and down the line as members of his team slid into their vehicles.

He turned and put an arm around the girl to guide her toward the second vehicle in the line, although here in the clearing moonlight provided plenty of illumination. When he felt stiffened muscles against his touch, he kept his arm around her, telling himself he didn’t want to risk her falling and injuring herself, but the truth was, he wanted her near. Wanted her close enough to grab in case they came under attack or she tried to run. His hand glided from her shoulder to the small of her back. All nicely fleshed, firm muscle beneath. Not relevant, but interesting.

At the SUV, he opened the rear door. “Get in.” Tapping his headset, he asked for a quick head count, and each of the team members chimed in using hushed tones.

They’d made it out without setting off alarms. And without a single casualty. Another tap of his headset. “You set the charges, Linc?”

“Yes, sir. Countin’ down now. Eight, seven, six…”

Sergei swung into his vehicle, tore off his goggles, and gave a quick glance at Bear, who tapped the ignition button. At one, explosions ripped through the air, light bursting above the trees. Satisfied the cartel camp would be busy for a while, Sergei said, “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Engines fired, wheels bit into the muddy trail, and they careened down the rutted track. Bear’s smile gleamed in the moonlight.

“Don’t say it,” Sergei said, not wanting to hear a celebratory whoop. “Don’t jinx it.”

Bear glanced into the rearview mirror at their unexpected passenger. “Get a name?”

Sergei aimed a stare at the young woman huddled in the center of the seat, moonlight filtering over her features. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was exquisite, despite the frown marring her dark brow. “Not yet. Time for introductions once we get to the helos. We’re not out of Omega territory yet.”

The vehicle hit a deep rut then bumped over it, unseating him. He reached for the strap above his window. “Better grab the oh-shit handle, sweetheart. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” And then he grinned because for the first time since his feet had hit the tarmac in Cancun, tension lifted. Still too soon to announce the all clear, but this operation had just gotten a little more interesting.

As VP in charge of special operations for Black Spear, Limited, his presence in the field was no longer required. He had well-trained teams he could scramble at a moment’s notice. Mercs on auto-dial. But he was fiercely glad he’d decided to accompany them this time. It was all about the woman. And the mystery surrounding her. Something about her pulled him in. Was it her youth? Her vulnerability? Or was it the courage she’d shown in those first moments when he’d entered her hut? His gut churned as he considered what else she might have endured. Women were often an easy casualty of war and crime. As many times as he’d stood witness to that truth, he still barely contained his revulsion for men who’d take advantage.

Again, he sought her lovely profile in the rearview mirror and his resolve solidified. No more harm would come to her. Not on his watch.

2 Days to His Every Fantasy! (Contest)
Sunday, August 31st, 2014

 NOTE: The Random Scavenger Hunt Contest is still ongoing!
See details two posts down!

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If you follow me on Facebook, you know I’ve shared snippets from this book, including the thrilling entirety of chapter one. Here, I share a little snippet of the sexiness that ensues in the second of my Sultry Summer Nights books. My heroine is a virgin. Something key to the trouble she is in. Something that helps Sergei redeem himself for a past mistake. Virgin doesn’t mean clueless. It also doesn’t mean she won’t be eager for a little “instruction.”

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Comment today and you may win a free Amazon
download of the prequel story, HER ONLY DESIRE!
I’ll be giving away a second Amazon copy!

His Every Fantasy_600

A Sultry Summer Nights Novel

The last thing ex-SEAL Sergei Gun needs is a complication. As part of a powerful black-ops company, he’s led an extraction team into the Mexican jungle to rescue two men who have been kidnapped. Everything has gone according to plan until Serge discovers a third hostage-an exquisitely beautiful woman with a secret haunting her stormy gray eyes…a woman who refuses to make this rescue easy. With no choice but to bring her back to the compound deep in the sultry, steamy Louisiana bayou, Serge vows to protect her, body and soul…

Kara Nichols never imagined that she’d capture the interest of a powerful man like Serge. Yet from the moment they met, she’s fantasized about his strong hands caressing her naked skin, his musky scent lingering on her sheets. What began as a simple rescue mission ignites into a passionate affair. As Serge teaches her the tantalizing art of surrender, Kara finds herself more than willing to shed every last one of her inhibitions and submit to him fully. But the dark, dangerous forces that captured Kara aren’t ready to let her go so easily…

“Sergei, I’m not a baby.”

She spoke with conviction, her voice sure and steady. Sergei cursed himself for this lust he could barely control. Already, and despite his best intentions, his fingers were working her stiff little peak. His cock thickened, throbbing beneath her squirming ass.

But she was a virgin. The last time he’d been with a virgin was Afya, and he’d been nearly as green as she’d been all those years ago. What Kara wanted from him was wrong in so many ways. She needed comfort, to know she was safe. From Las Omegas, from him.

But her eyelids were dipping dreamily with every tug he gave her nipple. Her warm body was nestled against him, soft and wanting. Thawing the hard, cold places inside him. “This Lucio isn’t likely to let you go simply because you’ve lost your hymen. Men like that don’t let go. Ever.”

“All the more reason why I need you, Sergei,” she said, her voice tighter, her finger tracing the back of his neck. “Give me something beautiful. Something Lucio can never give me.”

His whole body tightened in rejection at the thought of another man taking her. “He’s not coming anywhere near you. He’ll never have you.”

“Please.” She slid her palm along his cheek, her finger rubbing his bottom lip. “Please,” she repeated softly.

Her pleas caused a pang inside his chest. Her soft, slender body was beginning to move restlessly. A signal his own horny libido found difficult to ignore.

Well, there were ways to distract her from her purpose. Pleasurable ones that would give her release and help her relax. Ways that wouldn’t leave him feeling empty and like he’d failed to keep her safe. He leaned over her and kissed her mouth, groaning because he knew he’d be in blue-ball hell for what he was about to do.

When he pulled away, he saw her breaths were shorter; her eyes were darkened with passion. Her mouth was swollen and so lushly tempting, he wished he could take it the way he was dying to, but fuck, she was a virgin—she deserved more. Should expect more. Her first time should be with a man she loved, with someone she wanted to build a life with. Still, his cock jerked at the thought of her plump lips closing around him.

Her gray eyes were like little mirrors reflecting his desire. She stared back, her arm around him, her body pressing on his cock, which was getting fidgety beneath her bottom. Something she didn’t miss, because she slowly rubbed against him.

He placed a hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze, a warning to stop, but she only smiled. The temptation was there, her willingness shining in her eyes. Slowly, he moved his hand down her leg and then swept upward, smoothing up a petal of her flame-colored dress.

Kara’s fingers bit into his shoulder and she parted her thighs, giving him permission to continue. Her inner thigh was soft and smooth. Her pussy was hot as he cupped it, his fingers spreading, two on either side of her satin-cloaked lips, one dipping in between to finger her opening. Saved from intruding by the fabric of her underwear, he applied pressure, waiting as the narrow seam grew wet, soaking his fingertip.

Her lips parted, a ragged moan seeping from between her pursed lips. She inched her thighs wider and leaned against his arm, her breasts rising and dipping faster with each shallow breath.

He poked at the fabric, rimming her entrance, circling around and around, and then moved upward to find her clit. The tight nub was rigid to the touch and her breath hissed when he tapped it. When he paused, preparing to withdraw, she reached between her legs and pressed against his hand. “Touch me. Please.”

Damning himself for being weak, he slid his fingers under the band of her underwear and touched her sex directly. Moist, fragrant heat surrounded his fingertips as he slid between her folds, tracing them up and down.

Again, her lips pursed and she ground down on his cock, her bottom squirming so deliciously he gritted his teeth against the sensations rocketing through him. He’d love nothing more than to ease open his pants and slide her onto his cock, but he was in control here—the one tasked with keeping her safe. However, her shallow pants and gently rocking hips were doing a number on his good intentions.

Sergei continued to fondle her while he wrestled with his conscience. He tugged her lips, rimmed her opening, but never penetrated, mindful of her inexperience. But he was loath to leave her without providing a hint of the pleasure he could give. Wetting a finger in the well of her pussy, he transferred the moisture to her clit and gently rubbed it. He knew his finger was slightly callused, and by her sharp breathy gusts, she was sensitive, so he returned again and again for more lubricant, careful to keep her tiny bud wet while he swirled.

Her eyelids dropped to half-mast, and a thin sheen of sweat sprouted on her forehead and upper lip. Her teeth bit into her lower lip, and she sucked it inside as her body grew more and more tense. One thigh pressed hard against his torso while the other widened.

Her skirt inched higher and higher, until it swathed her hips and he was looking down at her sex, his fingers disappearing beneath a scrap of red satin. She was soaked, so was his hand, but he couldn’t stop, not until he’d given her what he could, without betraying his unspoken vow.

When he heard a tight moan seep from between her lips, he leaned to whisper in her ear, “Let go, now, baby. Come for me. I’ve got you.”

Her head dropped back, and she arched.

He held her against him, while he circled faster, pressed a little harder against the hard nub. At last, she came, her eyes rolling up, her mouth opening, her thighs tensing, before finally relaxing while she hung inside his embrace, limp and replete.

Sergei had never seen anything so beautiful. Her abandonment sent a wash of possessive heat throughout his body. His cock was unbearably tight, his balls hard as stones. But he gathered her up against his chest and held her close until she began to stir.

Her eyes blinked open, and she stared upward, a frown drawing together her brows as her focus narrowed.

“You’re welcome,” he drawled.

Her eyebrows lowered. “You think you did me a favor?”

“No, I gave you a gift.”

“It’s not what I wanted.”

“And yet you’ve drenched my legs.”

“Huh.” She pushed against his chest, then slid her legs to the side, standing. She wobbled for a second, but batted away the hand he extended to steady her. “That wasn’t what I wanted at all.”

Maybe it was because he was hard as a post, but hearing her, irritation flooded him. “You’re a virg—”

Kara pressed a hand over his mouth and bent toward his face. “Don’t repeat that. I know very well you have no interest in fucking a virgin. That you just did this poor little virgin a huge freaking favor.”

Sergei grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand from his mouth. “I’m protecting you,” he gritted out.

She bent closer until her face was level with his. “I don’t need your damn protection.” Her chest was billowing around her angry breaths, but her face suddenly fell. “Don’t you want me?”

That dejected look was more than he could take. He cursed under his breath, and reached for her, bringing her body between his open thighs while his arms encircled her. Again, she perched on a thigh, and he kissed her, hard, while he dragged her hand and cupped it against his straining cock. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”

“Sergei…” She frowned. “I don’t want to be something you won’t let yourself have. If you don’t take care of it, I will. It’s a technicality. An excuse.”

She was right. He felt her words resonate all the way through him. Her inexperience was just another reason for holding himself apart. To keep himself from caring too deeply.

Her hand squeezed him again, then her fingers slowly trailed his length before falling away. “I won’t beg you.”

Still holding her hand, he moved up, ringing her wrist. Her hand curved away and she pulled, but he refused to let her go. He couldn’t. “I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly.

3 Days to His Every Fantasy! (Contest)
Saturday, August 30th, 2014

NOTE: The Random Scavenger Hunt Contest is still ongoing!
See details in the next post!

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His Every Fantasy_600His Every Fantasy releases in most places next Tuesday! Some of you nag me to write longer stories. Well, here’s one. Sure, Amazon’s being a butt, which hasn’t helped readers find it or the one before it one little bit. But both are here (almost) for my friends to enjoy. Everything you love is there—sexy, Alpha, ex-SEAL, Black Ops guys; suspense; some light, BDSM to get your heart thumping; steamy Louisiana bayous; hot merciless Mexican sun, Caribbean sea…

But before I show you all the reasons why you will love this story, I’d like to remind you about its prequel novel, Her Only Desire. Enjoy a brief taste!

Comment today, and you may win a free Amazon download of HER ONLY DESIRE!

Her Only Desire

“Her Only Desire is a red hot erotic romance that wow’d me, shocked me, and left me wanting more of Tilly, Boone, and his hunky ex-Navy SEAL friends… I was really quite impressed by Delilah Devlin’s writing style. Erotic/BDSM novels can be pretty intense, for obvious reasons, but she managed to inject both a sense of humor and a thread of mystery to this story.” ~ 4 1/2 Stars from Harlequin Junkie

A Sultry Summer Nights Novel

The moment Tilly Floret sees the sleek Bentley driving down Main Street, she knows trouble has arrived in her sleepy little town. A mysterious job posting keeps appearing at the diner where she works, and she can’t resist applying. No matter that the entire town of Bayou Vert is whispering about the wealthy, powerful man behind it all and his scandalous return home. The moment his ice-blue eyes meet hers, he ignites an all-consuming desire she never imagined possible, one she can’t deny.

Ex-navy SEAL Boone Benoit never thought he’d set foot in Louisiana again. As soon as Tilly starts her new job in his pleasure club, he senses a kindred soul. One who has carefully guarded secrets of her own-and a simmering hunger for the taboo rites of mastery and submission. The only difference is she doesn’t yet know it. Now as Boone tutors Tilly in the tantalizing world of leather and lace, she will shed her every inhibition and surrender to him, body and soul.


“Tell me, Tilly. What do you think BDSM is all about?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said faintly. No way would she describe the images in her mind.

“Blunt talk. You were ready for that from me. Give me the same courtesy.”

Her fingers were clasped tightly in her lap. She drew a breath and let her gaze fall away. “I think it’s for people who haven’t learned to connect with others in a healthy way. Or who have something missing inside themselves.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Are you open to the possibility that entering that world can help a person find what’s missing in their lives?”

She raised her gaze and gave him a frown. “Maybe that’s what you choose to believe about me, but twisting my words doesn’t make it true.”

“What do you think might be missing inside me?”

She shook back her hair and lifted her chin. “Like I said. Connection. Being forced to leave everything and everyone you knew behind can’t have been easy. You were the high school football star. On the honor roll. Everything was ripped out from under your feet.”

“So, you think my lack of control over what happened made me seek the ultimate control over my body and someone else’s?”

Her chest pinched, and she sucked in a deep breath before she gave him a nod.

His gaze studied her. “Does that thought disturb you? Surrendering control to someone else?”

“I can’t imagine trusting anyone enough to allow them to tie me up and do whatever they want. It’s dangerous.”

“It can be,” he said, nodding. “But creating fear in my submissive is never my goal. Inspiring trust. Giving pleasure. Helping her discover her own potential for pleasure and submission… Now, those acts are things that excite me.”

A shiver worked its way down her spine, although whether from what he described or the silky tone of his voice, she didn’t know. A knot lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “What did I do to make you think I might be like…that?”

His grin was easy, startling, and at odds with the stern set of his jaw. “You gave me your foot.” He leaned over the table, his eyes alight with humor. “You didn’t want to, but you were curious. The action, lifting your foot, put you physically off-balance. You, Tilly Floret, gave yourself over to me.”

Her breath hitched. The memory flashed in her mind and she remembered the jumble of sensations and emotions that simple action and his care had engendered in her. “All you did was slide a shoe on my foot. I wasn’t acceptin’ anything else from you.”

“You let me touch you,” he said softly.

She blinked. A subtle tell, she realized, because his crooked smile widened. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. His expression was…expectant, his body unmoving. “Can I show you it’s not all about whips and chains?”

The silkiness was still there in his tone, a teasing quality that tugged at her willpower.

“Will you allow me to show you that surrender can be subtle and beautiful? That the lifestyle isn’t really about sexual perversion at all?”

Maybe the wine was to blame for her body’s reactions. Her skin tingled, flushing hot. Her nipples tightened. She shifted on her seat, squeezing her thighs together, because the timbre of his voice, so deep and smooth, felt like a physical caress.

He leaned closer. “We’re alone. Just you and me. Answer me.”

She cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly, a halfhearted gesture because her body was already leaning toward his. “That’s a lie. You have people all around us. For all I know, you have this courtyard filled with bugs and cameras. Observin’ people is your business. The way you live.”

“True, but only my most trusted are here. They won’t intrude. Or ever speak about what they see or hear.”

Tilly drew in a deep breath. “And that’s supposed to reassure me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are the bedrooms wired?”

This time he blinked, and her back stiffened. She’d paraded around nude after her shower, while she’d sifted through clothing to find the most flattering outfit.

His mouth tightened a fraction. “The cameras are for your protection, you know. You entered my world willingly. This is one of the prices.”

She remembered the way he and Serge had watched her on the flight to Monterrey. Certainly his large, rugged next-in-command was one of those overseeing her “protection.” Renewed irritation tensed her muscles. “You expect me to learn to be comfortable knowin’ your men watch me?”

“I expect you to learn to take comfort from the fact that I’ll keep you safe.” He said, his words slightly clipped.

Tilly’s shoulders drooped. Suddenly, she felt weary. “At what price?”

Boone leaned back and set his napkin beside his plate.

A door opened onto the patio and a servant walked to the table and took their dishes.

When the woman’s dark-eyed gaze rose to Boone’s and he gave her a nod, Tilly snorted. Not just for her protection or his. For his comfort and amusement as well. He didn’t have to ring a bell to bring the staff. All he had to do was give a subtle signal, placing his napkin beside his plate, to bring someone running.

“You’re entitled to your anger,” Boone said, his voice once again soothing. “But please stay for dessert. Marta will be disappointed if you don’t try it.”

“I think I’ve had enough,” she said quietly. Right this moment, the only thing she wanted was to run as far away from this man as she could.

“If staying would please me, would you? A taste is all I ask.”

And he wasn’t talking about the dessert. She was certain of that.

The door opened again. The woman, Marta, brought out a tray. She set down plates with molded flan and half a dozen raspberries beside the custards. Then she left again as quietly as she’d come.

The chair across from hers scraped.

Her pulse raced as Boone carried his chair and his plate toward her. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her damnable curiosity kept her frozen in her chair because she was dying to know what he intended to do next. If he moved close enough to touch her, would she have the will to resist?

He sat the plate beside hers, his chair as well, and then leaned back. “The fact that a table separated us gave you courage,” he murmured.

“Now you want to intimidate me?” The quaver in her voice matched the trembling in her body.

“No, I want to be close enough to you that I won’t miss anything.”

Close enough that he couldn’t help but note how flushed her skin was or how her erect nipples pushed against the front of her thin bra. Pretending she didn’t care, she lifted her chin defiantly.

Boone gave her a half smile and leaned toward her. “Indulge me?” he whispered. “I promise I won’t do anything that will embarrass you.”

She met his steady gaze, her fearless pose unraveling because he was so close she felt the heat from his thigh right beside hers.

“Tilly…close your eyes. I want to feed you.”

She searched his expression, carefully neutral except for the slight curving of his mouth. He was teasing her. “This is silly. I feel silly.”

“Indulge me. We’ll both enjoy the experience.”

Huffing a breath, she closed her eyes. Not trusting him for a moment, but she’d let him play his game. Fact was, she enjoyed the intimacy of sitting so close to him. She liked the way he smelled: like cinnamon and male. Liked the heat emanating from his body.

“Open your mouth.”

She complied, opening like a baby bird waiting for a worm. At that thought, she wrinkled her nose. Then she tasted the metal bottom of a spoon on her tongue and an explosion of sweetness as she closed her mouth around the flan. She groaned in ecstasy.


She opened again and received a second spoonful of the sinfully delicious dessert—creamy, smooth, sweet like caramel.


This time, she didn’t hesitate. But a spoon didn’t enter her mouth. Instead, two fingers, tasting slightly salty, deposited a raspberry on her tongue. She shivered, fighting the urge to close her lips around his fingers as she had the spoonfuls of flan.

A fingertip dragged across her tongue as it left her mouth. She bit into the berry, tart, sweet, and salty exploding on her taste buds.

“If we were lovers,” he said beside her ear. “I’d take advantage of the fact you can’t anticipate my moves,” he whispered. “Open.”

Without a thought, she did, and his finger daubed flan on her tongue. The taste was even better than before without the metallic aftertaste of the silver spoon.

“I’d open that clasp and part your pretty dress. Open.”

Again, his fingers entered her mouth, dropping another raspberry. Her breaths grew ragged. Her heart raced.

“I’d thumb open the clasp of your bra and expose your pretty breasts. Open. No talking.”

She was just about to ask how he knew her breasts were pretty. How had he known? The thought of cameras entered her mind and for the first time, they didn’t horrify her. They became part of his seduction.

Flan, again, was delivered by two fingers.

The urge was too strong. She latched her lips around them and sucked.

His breath gusted against her cheek.

Not as steady as before.

She almost smiled.

He withdrew his fingers. “Open.”

She did. And this time, a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head back. His lips touched hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She could taste the flan on his tongue and she swallowed greedily, taking him even deeper inside her mouth. An arm settled on her shoulders, turning her slightly. The kiss deepened.

Flan, wine, raspberries—none tasted quite as wicked as Boone Benoit’s mouth. His lips sealed hers. When he began to move, dragging her lips in slow circles, she was helpless to follow his lead, drugged by the sensual tug.

When he drew back, she licked her lips and slowly opened her eyes.

His blue eyes gleamed. “There’s pleasure in submission, Tilly.”


Her Only Desire — in 10 Days (Contest)
Saturday, April 26th, 2014

UPDATE: The winner (chosen by a random number generator) is…Carle Lee Detweiler!

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Yes, there’s a contest, but you keep reading!

Just to get this out of the way up front, Her Only Desire releases in 10 days. It’s a full-length novel. Not something you see from me all that often. And it’s the first in a series. Genre? Erotic romance, suspense, mystery? There’s action and then there’s more action, baby. 🙂 And it’s releasing in both ebook and print.

Here are the buy links: Amazon | B&N | BAM

This is what my publisher says about the book: “For fans of Sylvia Day and E. L. James, comes awarding-winning author Delilah Devilin’s first book in her sensual eroitic romance Sultry Summer Nights series.”

What do I think? My book’s very, very sexy. Yes, you have a young, not very experienced woman who enters the world of a very wealthy man, but that’s where the comparison with any other book ends. My guy’s disgraced, suspected of murder, an ex-SEAL who built a Black Ops company. My girl holds the key to freeing him from the past. Blah, blah, blah. It’s all in the execution, and you know me by now, there’s sex, more sex, kinkier sex, plenty of humor, and some kick ass action. It’s also set deep in the Louisiana bayou with a brief jaunt to Mexico for the hero to conduct some biz-ness.

The cover’s pretty, yes?

Her Only Desire

Does the blurb write-up intrigue you?

The moment Tilly Floret sees the sleek Bentley driving down Main Street, she knows trouble has arrived in her sleepy little town. A mysterious job posting keeps appearing at the diner where she works, and she can’t resist applying. No matter that the entire town of Bayou Vert is whispering about the wealthy, powerful man behind it all and his scandalous return home. The moment his ice-blue eyes meet hers, he ignites an all-consuming desire she never imagined possible, one she can’t deny. Ex-navy SEAL Boone Benoit never thought he’d set foot in Louisiana again. As soon as Tilly starts her new job in his pleasure club, he senses a kindred soul. One who has carefully guarded secrets of her own-and a simmering hunger for the taboo rites of mastery and submission. The only difference is she doesn’t yet know it. Now as Boone tutors Tilly in the tantalizing world of leather and lace, she will shed her every inhibition and surrender to him, body and soul.

Tell you what. Read the excerpt below, post a comment, and you’ll be entered to win a signed copy of my latest collection, Cowboy Heat.

Excerpt from Her Only Desire…

“Tell me, Tilly. What do you think BDSM is all about?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said faintly. No way would she describe the images in her mind.

“Blunt talk. You were ready for that from me. Give me the same courtesy.”

Her fingers were clasped tightly in her lap. She drew a breath and let her gaze fall away. “I think it’s for people who haven’t learned to connect with others in a healthy way. Or who have something missing inside themselves.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Are you open to the possibility that entering that world can help a person find what’s missing in their lives?”

She raised her gaze and gave him a frown. “Maybe that’s what you choose to believe about me, but twisting my words doesn’t make it true.”

“What do you think might be missing inside me?”

Read the rest of this entry »