Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
egyptian cotton, 1200 threadcount - smooth, silky and non-sweaty
What are you wearing?
a black silk yukata
What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
ooo, a tough question . . . definitely something salty, I don't eat sweets. Maybe some rye crackers with smoked gouda . . . or seaweed wasabi puffs
If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
oh no - that's my junk drawer ;) all sorts of assorted odd bibs and bobs - key fobs, pens, lighters without fluid, hundreds of scraps of paper with ideas on them, a couple of kaleidoscopes, broken jewelry bits, spare change
Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
blankets on but one foot sticking out to regulate my body temperature
Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
good luck with that - my body temperature hovers in the arctic range (my son describes me to people as cold and bony - like a lizard)
What are we reading?
We're reading Shadow Wolf, the first book of the Shinobi Saga - a deliciously dark love story to curl up with. This excerpt comes right after the Shadow Wolf, Yoshi, is retrieved from his last assignment as a sex slave by the interrogator Makoto and is the start of their sometimes rocky relationship. You can find all the buy links, reviews and more excerts from the series at http://sesshabattousai.com/Shinobi.html
* * *
I know that voice. Yoshi peered at the large figure cradling him,
unconsciously leaning into the hand smoothing his matted locks.
“You know me,” Makoto whispered, raising a hand and tilting the shadow
wolf's head to face him. “I’ve been worried.”
The elite leaned against a broad chest as the interrogator's hand
continued stroking his hair. “Where are we?”
“A few hours outside Kanegawa. I came to retrieve you. Your assignment
has been canceled. Rin is no longer Shuhan of Kobayashi shuudan. No
one will be using you anymore.”
“Who?” Yoshi husked.
“I don’t know who they chose. I left to get you as soon as it was
decided,” Makoto explained as he ran a hand over his head. “Does
it really matter? Anyone would be better than that bitch.”
“Why you?” the shadow wolf asked.
“Because I couldn’t stand to see you hurt anymore. I’ll kill anyone who
Yoshi smiled at the response before shaking his head. Unfortunately, his
fate had been decided years ago and he couldn’t imagine it
changing, although it warmed his frozen heart to think that Makoto
would want to. “You don’t need to worry about me Sasaki-san. I’m
grateful you care enough to try.”
The elite molded himself to the interrogator's body, wrapping long arms
around his neck. “What would you like me to do to thank you?”
Yoshi leaned in and sealed their lips together, hesitating only a
moment before deepening the contact.
He knows who I am and he's still kissing me, was Makoto's last
coherent thought before abandoning himself to the feeling and
responding, pulling the lanky figure close and returning the kiss. He
tickled the tip of his tongue along the seam of pale lips, coaxing
them to part and allow him entry, sweeping inside to sample the feast
that was Yoshi.
“Kami, you taste good.” The interrogator crushed their lips back together,
tongues tangling sweetly as they slowly and thoroughly explored each
other's mouths. He adjusted their position, leaning back until he was
stretched out on the ground with Yoshi curled up on his chest,
massive arms securely enfolding the slighter figure, all the while
never breaking their connection.
Makoto suddenly realized just what he was doing. No matter how good it felt
this wasn’t right. Yoshi is just expressing his gratitude the
only way he knows. It doesn’t mean he cares. He pulled back
slightly, locking gazes with the elite's piercing mismatched eyes.
“Takahashi-san, you don’t have to do this.”
“You don’t want to?” Yoshi replied almost mournfully.
“I didn’t say that. But I don’t want your gratitude … or your
“I know, I’m dirty,” the shadow wolf stated in a heart-wrenchingly
small whisper. “It's wrong to like it, it's not supposed to feel
good.” He paused for a long moment. “What you must think of me.”
The interrogator pressed a kiss to the snowy crown and rubbed a soothing
hand up and down his tense spine. “I only think good things about
you, Yoshi. You’re so very strong, and brave…” Makoto trailed
off for a moment although his hand never stopped its tender strokes.
“But you’re so very sad, and lonely, I don’t like that.”
Yoshi turned his head to look at him with something like wonder as he
continued. “It is supposed to feel good, you know. It's normal to
“You’re so beautiful,” Makoto rumbled as he stroked a pale cheek, “and
I’m … I don’t even want to look at myself. The only reason someone like you would be with me is out of obligation. That makes me no better than that Yakuza.”
“You’re the first person who's cared about what happened to me since
Oonishi-sama died,” the shadow wolf said frankly. “What could
possibly be more beautiful than that?” Then Yoshi tipped his head
and pressed their lips together.
"I've saved up a thousand kisses, a thousand experiences
Good morning readers! Today I have a portion of an upcoming release- It's my current WIP, but it's also a short erotic piece from the heated Exchange line at Pulp Friction. If all goes according to plan, this will be releasing on Friday.
EXCERPT FROM CENTURION
Inspired by this picture.
with tension and uncertainty about his fate, Salicar huddled on the floor of
the tent. A few warm wool blankets helped ward off the chill of the earth. Still
he shivered in the evening air, cold and naked. Though he could smell woodsmoke and
hear the crackling of a fire outside, inside there was no flame to warm him. His
muscles ached from hours of unaccustomed walking that left his feet blistered
been separated from the other villagers almost as soon as they’d set up camp,
and brought to this place where he’d been handed a cloth and flagons of olive
oil and water and instructed in feeble, halting Greek to bath himself. His
tattered dusty tunic had been taken away, and he’d been left there alone for
hours. If it hadn’t been for the constant stream of voices outside, frequently
punctuated by the centurion’s deep, honey dark authoritative tones, he’d have
risked slipping out and escaping.
hands were bound by a thin but strong metal chain, but he wasn’t tethered to
any object. He had just enough fortitude to know that his life was at risk, and
not enough to take himself out of the situation. He should have preferred death
to slavery, but he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of his solitude to
find something to make it happen. A dagger, an herb, even a stout rope could
achieve his end, if he only had the courage.
this tent was hardly luxurious, it was larger and more opulent than the others,
and he had the impression it belonged to the centurion who’d eyed him with such
intent interest earlier. He’d been so stunned by the man’s pure masculine
presence that he’d forgotten to speak in the man’s language when he answered
It was possible, he supposed, that he was here because
the centurion understood Greek and was in need of a healer, but he had a
suspicion from the heated gleam in the man’s eye that he was more interested in
a catamite than a doctor. Would he rather die than be the centurion’s pleasure
"A sexy little romp with lots of erotic content to keep the reader excited.
Title: A GENTLEMAN NEVER DOES Author: Lee Brazil Publisher: Breathless Press Pages: 36 Characters: Gideon Westwood, Gareth Belmain POV: 3rd Sub-Genre: Historical, Erotic Romance Kisses: 5
Short of funds, Gareth proposes to wager for love. Does Gideon dare play out this hand? Gideon Westwood is passing time at a debutante ball when he encounters a man from his past he’d give anything to avoid. Unfortunately for him, Gareth Belmain isn’t in the mood to be pushed aside. A wager leads to a walk in the garden and a kiss to angry words. Will a public challenge put an end to any hope they might have for a future together?
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955