Wednesday, 13 December 2017

#MidWeekTease where Clara and Vicky have no idea who they are...

welcome to another #MidWeekTease

And as yesterday was my birthday.


For #MidWeekTease today,

I'm heading back in time.

When Doris O'Connor and I worked this story out, we never realised how much fun we could have.

Follow your heart and cross space and time…
When Clara lands the job as curator of Faversham House it’s a dream come true. Especially when her favorite Regency Erotica writer Vicky Hopewell shadows her in the run up to the annual estate ball—a tradition left over from Regency times.
The costume ball is always the highlight of the year, but neither woman expects to be confronted by two drop dead gorgeous Dukes.
Daniel Danvers, the Duke of Hockwell thinks Clara is one of the servants invited to the estate ball.
Kit Capel, the Duke of Aulban cannot understand why his wife Victoria acts as though she doesn’t know him.
As both couples slowly come to terms with the reality of their situations, can they find happiness? Is it as simple as following your heart?

“I say, James, would you be so kind as to show us to the withdrawing rooms for the ladies?” Vicky’s stilted accent shook Clara out of her musings about the state of Haversham House, and focused her attention back on her friend.
James’s lined face broke into a wide smile, and he bowed again.
“Certainly, my lady. If you follow me to the gallery, you will find private rooms off there.”
Vicky grinned and grasping Clara by the elbow, hissed in her ear.
“Gallery, eh? That’s pictures and portraits of the family. Does that mean he’s taking us to the private wing?” Clara had to smile at the excitement in her friend’s voice.
“That means chamber pots and stuff, or is there a loo there?”
“There’s a loo.” Clara smiled at the look of disappointment that spread over Vicky’s face. “You don’t really want to pee in one of those gravy boat things you showed me, do you? Isn’t that taking authenticity a bit far?”
“I guess but...” Vicky punched Clara on the arm as Clara howled with laughter. The noise echoed around the gallery and Vicky shh-ed her. “Stop it,” Vicky hissed. “You’ll get us black balled. No don’t.” Clara sniggered and snorted until tears ran down her cheeks. Vicky tried to be stern and didn’t make it. “Oh Clo, shut up or you’ll start me off.”
“B ... black ... balled. I thought lack of sex was blue-balled and okay, I’ve zipped it. Just look around and remember stuff.”
This would be excellent research for Vicky’s next historical romance, after all, and had been the main reason why Clara had ensured Vicky had received one of the coveted invitations to the Christmas ball. They were usually reserved for the cream of society. With a glance back at the crowded ballroom, Clara allowed herself to be led away, satisfied that the evening went as planned, even if the supposed heir hadn’t turned up.
In truth, she was quite curious to see the private wing too. James and his wife, the resident cook and housekeeper, kept the keys for this wing. Clara was due to catalogue all the items in that part of the great house soon. She hadn’t managed to do so yet, her attention
taken up with the parts of Haversham House open to the public, and thus paying her wages. Which, should the estate not sort out this missing heir to the dukedom issue, wouldn’t happen for much longer.
James stopped outside the imposing oak paneled door, and unlocked it with great flourish. A strike of lightning lit up the dark interior before the lights came on, and Clara jumped.
“It seems the predicted storm is approaching faster than anticipated. If my ladies will excuse me, I’d better make sure our guests are taken care of.”
James inclined his head, and before Clara could get over her astonishment at the fact that James was leaving them on their own in this sacred part of the house, Vicky had pushed through the door.
With an impending sense of doom, and accompanied by a loud clap of thunder, Clara followed into the dimly lit long hallway. The heavy door clicked shut behind her. Goosebumps broke out on her skin as the temperature instantly dropped, and she rubbed her hands up and down her exposed forearms.
Vicky, who by all accounts ought to be shivering in her barely there outfit, jumped up and down in excitement.
“Wow, look at all these old paintings. These must be their ancestors, and I have to say these two don’t half look yummy. Cousins it says. I think they’ve got the same great grandfather. So there’s a bit of a gap, you know second cousins once removed or something,” Vicky said as she peered at the metal tags on the frames. “But, boy, you can tell they weren’t born on the wrong side of the blanket. Come here, have a look.”
Vicky waved her on, and with a sigh of foreboding Clara stepped forward. The entire hallway lit up in a blinding flash as she did so, and the most enormous rumble of thunder deafened her. Vicky screamed and darkness descended.
Someone or something brushed up against Clara’s back, and she barely suppressed a shriek. She hated the dark with a vengeance, at the best of times. Through the driving rain lashing against the windows now, she heard the sound of a match being struck.
“Deuce, Kit, where the devil are you?”
Spinning round to the sound of that deep masculine rumble, Clara lost her footing as the rug on the floor gave way. A strong masculine arm snaked around her waist, and hoisted her up, against a broad, warm chest. Scents of horse, tobacco, and some woodsy
cologne teased her nostrils, as the unknown invader lifted up the lone candle, placed in an old fashioned candle holder, seemingly to study her.
“What have we here? I’m not sure what game my cousin is playing, but I think I shall keep this bounty.”
The man, who looked as though he’d stepped straight out of one of those paintings smirked, and raised one perfectly shaped blond eyebrow at her. A flash of lightning made the diamond in his cravat sparkle, and the ring with what looked like a crest on his pinkie shine brightly in the dim candlelight. He bowed from the waist and took her limp hand in his, to kiss it suavely.
“Daniel Danvers, Duke of Hockwell at your service, Miss...?”
Pressed against him as she was, Clara couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and for the first time in her twenty five years swooned like a good old Regency heroine.

you can get your copy here

or from Amazon, kobo, bookstrand or smashwords

you can catch the other #midWeekTease posts here

Happy reading,

love Raven x

Sunday, 10 December 2017

#SexySnippets where Sandy wonders why sex is not on the cards (or on the menu,) but lives in hope.

Hi all. A bit of a mouthful for my title for #sSexySnippets today, I know, but it had to be done.

(for those of you who have read snippets earlier, well you'll know Sandy is about to have a hot, non-sex-but-she's-hoping-otherwise date.)

I had to see what I could sort out for a pudding.
 Gah I had sex on the brain. That’s what not enough did to you. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had that sort of a sweaty work out. Well yes I could and it had been a disaster. A friend to a friend with benefits has its pitfalls believe me—Joe and I couldn’t look each other in the face—or anywhere—for weeks. It took us a long time to get back to the easy going friendship we’d enjoyed.

Catch all the other #SexySnippets here

Happy reading,

love, Raven x

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

#MidWeekTease with a couple setting out their limits

Hi everyone (even if by that it's one man/woman and the dog) welcome to #MidWeekTease

Hope you're all well this week and ready fro whatever the season brings to you.

Angie is is...

Christmas is a time for dreams and miracles—or is it Kink? Dreams and reality merge for Angie this season, and life may change forever.

It’s the season to be jolly and to decorate one’s kinky Christmas tree in peace. Instead Angie has to put up with her overbearing ex-boyfriend.
When she falls in the struggle over her beloved Christmas tree angel, Angie wakes up in 1818. Clearly she has hit her head too hard, or she needs to be carted off by the man in the white coats.
The Earl of Camberley’s relief at finding his beloved wife finally awake is only surpassed by his anger at the ruffian who dared to attack her on his door step. His lady-mine seems rather confused and he can only hope that she remembers who he is and what they share in private.
Theirs is not a conventional marriage.
As they work to piece together the mystery surrounding her angel, passion flares and Angie realizes that she loves this regency Dom as much her Dom back home.

Where is home however?

And your #MidWeekTease

"Do you love me?" Angie asked him.
 Cam cleared his suddenly dry throat, and wished to hell he had his tankard of ale handy. "Why do you ask?"
"It's not usual for a couple to be in love is it? Isn't it supposed to be convenient and expedient and a good match?"
Cam nodded. "All of those, but love may come into it." He hesitated. The air was still and heavy, as if every mote of dust waited along with Angelina for his answer. "I loved you, I still love you. I saw you, wanted you and soon realized that what I felt was more than want and lust. You completed me. My life was unfulfilled until we met."
She stared at him, and as he looked back, the color returned to her skin, and she breathed erratically. Cam took hold of her wrist and felt her pulse leap. "It's true, my love. It may be unfashionable, but we decided we wouldn't be conventional members of the ton and follow their diktat. We would be the Camberleys and make our own rules. One of which was to mean what it says in our wedding vows. We would love and honor each other."
"And obey?"
He laughed, and Angelina grinned at him.
"You told me you crossed your fingers when you said that, because you would only obey me at the appropriate times." Cam said, and tugged her earlobe. "You also, whether you meant to or not, gave me an insight into your psyche. So if you do this." He tugged her lobe once more. "It's a sure sign you don't really mean what you say."
"Sounds about right." She knelt on the floor in front of him, and looked upwards so he could see the mischief lurking in her eyes. "And did we define when those times were?"
"When I demand obedience and you agree, is something we worked out, yes."
"And, My Lord, just when are those times?" Angelina buried her head in his lap, and nuzzled his cock through his pantaloons. "Here and now?"
Damned if it doesn't have to be. Cam held her in place for a few seconds to savor the rush of blood to his cock, which was now rock hard under her touch.
"Here and now, lady-mine. If you are fit enough?" He tugged her hair so she lifted her head. "Do you remember now what we do?"
"I remember, but probably not as you think I do," Angelina answered, somewhat cryptically he thought. "So, My Lord, you may have to guide me. And I may be speaking out of turn, and earn that spanking I'm sure you promised me, but for fuck's sake, fuck me. I'm wet, hot, and horny, the only reason I ache is because I want you in me, and if I don't come soon I might well explode."
"I don't spank," Cam said. Has she really remembered anything? Only the cheeky look on her face made him wonder if she was pushing him to see what he would do. "I have other ways to bring you to order, lady-mine."
"Damn. I keep hoping you will do the spanking bit." She knelt back on her ankles. "Just to see what it's like. Ah well, sorry, My Lord, it was worth a try. Okay, brat time over. I well remember how you chastise me, and please, please, let me come. I think orgasm denial would be enough to put me back in a coma." She bent her head and nuzzled his cock once more.
The relief that coursed through him was well out of proportion to those words. Thank the lord she does remember. Orgasm denial had always been his form of punishment, with every woman he had bedded, although, since meeting Angelina Cam had bedded no one except her. He accepted immediately, she was the one for him, and hang the conventions which said a woman supposedly indicated—in a suitably subtle manner—to a gentleman, that he was the one. Yet again Cam bucked convention. But then didn't his activities in the bedroom go against what most people accepted? He hadn't earned his nickname of Dang for nothing. Coined by one mistress who said bitterly that to take her to the edge and leave her dangling there, unable to come was cruelty personified. He didn't disagree, although he would perhaps have substituted masterful and dominant for cruel. Cam was very definitely a dominant in every sense of the word. The only time he wasn't in charge was when he handed the authority to someone else. Like, on occasion, in play with Angelina. But did she remember that? It seemed not. So now perhaps was the time to remind her?

You can get your copy of  A Dom for all Seasons form all the good ebook site and Evernight Publishing here

And catch all the other #MidWeekTease posts here

Happy Reading,

love Raven x