Friday, 25 March 2016

#FFF - Flash Friction Friday: Airplane mode.

#FFF - Flash Friday Fiction - one picture, one hundred words
There's a quiet little group of us on Facebook - the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read. Every Friday we write flashes of 100 words precisely inspired by a given picture.

"What do you think?" I asked, "Tall, check. Dark, check. Handsome, check. Beard, tattoos."
"Really? Well done. Metrics?"
"Six foot. One hundred and seventy pounds, all muscle."
"Good. He'll do. Have you tried him?" she said.
I nodded.
"Twice," I said.
She smiled.
"And?" she asked.
"Twice the first time and three times the second time. Well, two and half, kind of. I'd left my phone on and it attempted a Bluetooth connection. The software hung. It was very... frustrating."
"Oh, I can imagine. The mark three used to do that. Put him on airplane mode and I'll take him."

Check out the other Flash Friday Fiction flashers here

Sunday, 13 March 2016

#SexySnippets - seven sentences on a Sunday

Sexy Snippets are seven sentences, taken from a work in progress, or published book, brought to you every Sunday.
Here are my sexy Sunday seven taken from my Pride Publishing debut "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" which will be available for pre-order on the 19th April, for early download on the 3rd May, and on general release from 31st May

She’d never kissed another girl since, but the thought had crept into her fantasies now and then. Once it had even found its way into her imagination as she’d been in the throes of passion with Hawk. The fleeting image of Hawk being replaced by a girl as he’d so diligently applied his lips and tongue had not been unwelcome. Perhaps a girl might be more gentle yet insistent. She might know when to move from…there to…there then…oh, there. Not that she’d told him, of course. Maybe one day she might share that with him.
One day.

Check out the other writers supplying sexy seven sentence Sunday Snippets -

Sexy Snippets on Facebook
Sexy Snippets on Twitter

ps - the really astute will notice I've slipped in an eighth sentence there. Don't tell anyone, will you?

Friday, 19 February 2016

#FFF - Flash Friday Fiction: Cross. Dressing.

Flash Friday Fiction - one picture, one hundred words
There's a quiet little group of us on Facebook - the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read. Every Friday we write flashes of 100 words precisely inspired by a given picture.

“Shut the door,” I said, “you're letting the heat out.”
“We can't. We need the light to look for Cassandra’s bra. She's sure she left it here somewhere. And I've had to put on her headband as a pair of knickers seeing as mine have disappeared.”
“Yes it's so annoying. We’ve managed to find our shoes and Verity has at least retrieved my stockings but hers are nowhere to be found, Simon, and we are all supposed to be going out to dinner in ten minutes. Have you any idea where they are.”
“Yes,” I smiled. “I'm wearing the lot.”

Check out the other Flash Friday Fiction flashers here

Thursday, 18 February 2016

Raven McAllan talks about Bombers Moon

So delighted to have my bessie mate, Raven McAllan on the blog today. She's talking about Bombers Moon -

I never thought, as a child and asking my mum, dad, gran (known as nan) and aunts to ‘tell me a story about the war’, that all these years later, I’d still remember those stories and use them as the basis for a book.

I’m so glad I did.

When I first had the idea for Bombers Moon, I just knew it would be set in Northamptonshire, where my mum as a teen was evacuated to, with her employment.

As much as the idea of a book set in London, in the blitz intrigued me, all mum ever said was ‘it was scary, noisy and as your granddad worked for the railways we got out own railway employees and families tube station to hide in’.

Then I remembered the tales of Northamptonshire. Of being locked out, getting stuck up a wall, although not knickerless—well I don’t think so wink. How they used charcoal or gravy browning to put ‘stocking seams’ up their legs, and bought wooden clogs and clacked around the draught old stone-floored manor house they lived and worked in. The older ladies who worked with them, got so sick of the racket, they clubbed together and bought my mum and her friend a pair of slippers each.

My aunt went out with a yank (as all American service men evidently were called) another relative fell off her bike and was rescued by a farmer and evidently mum did dance with the local lord of the manor.

Thus, Bombers Moon was born.

Who gets caught by the man of her dreams bare-assed and halfway up a wall? Lady Chrissie Stride, of course.
It’s just her luck that she encounters Baronet Archie Duggan. On top of that, the house her London employers requisitioned to keep its staff safe from The Blitz is locked. Climbing the wall seemed like a good idea, until Archie turns up. At least he doesn’t seem to know it's her.
Archie recognizes Chrissie almost immediately. He never expected to meet her again in deepest Northamptonshire. This time around he is determined to claim the woman he loved and lost. With the war on, priorities change, and love is too important to conform to niceties.
Will the star-crossed lovers finally find their happily ever after?

a wee tease…

Chrissie gulped. He was big—everywhere. She looked downward, her vision drawn to his long thick cock, which stood out proudly from its nest of hair. She averted her eyes from the crisscross of scars on his leg and arm. Those she understood, he neither wanted to think or talk about just then.

And that’s going to fit in my daffodil? The euphemism used by so many of her friends seemed silly now, but there was no way she could use the words she heard bandied about so freely in the pub or by the older women at work.

Honey pot! That’s it. Merle’s expression came to her. My honey pot! Or Pussy. Okay I can live with that, but…cu… She couldn’t even think the word.

She looked at his body with frank regard. Who knew if she’d ever get a chance to see him like this again? Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the scars on his leg and arm were still red, angry-looking and pronounced. She bit her lips to stop her moan escaping and held back tears. It was hard not to cry for all he and thousands of others had been through and were still going through. But yet again, her eyes were drawn in one direction. His massive erection stood out stiff and proud. Chrissie gulped, her earlier fears resurfacing. That would really fit inside her? Oh, my.

Archie correctly read her expression. “Not only fit, but a perfect fit,” he assured her. “With room to move. Come and lie down here.” He walked to the bed and rolled back the sheet and blankets before kneeling awkwardly in front of her. “Hold on a sec, something needs doing first.”

It was on the tip of Chrissie’s tongue to tell him she’d do it, whatever it was, when it hit her that he didn’t want help or sympathy. He wanted to woo her. Her insides turned to mush. How perfect.

“Think we’ll have these off as well. Can’t ruin nylons, can we?” He rolled them down before putting one hand behind her, unhooking her brassiere, and putting the clothing on a chair. The pressure that moving the straps down had put on her chest immediately lifted, as Archie ran his thumbs over the swell of her breasts, and chuckled.

“God almighty, Chrissie you are so bloody receptive for a virgin. It’s marvelous. I’m going to enjoy showing you what we can do together.” He pinched each nipple in turn and kissed the nape of her neck as he kneaded her breasts.

She could tell he’d had plenty of practice. Her pussy clenched at the unwelcome thought of him doing all these things with someone else.

Grow up. He’s almost thirty, and there’s a war on.

“Now, let me see. What have we here?” Once again he kissed one nipple, then the other. “Time to itemize I think. Two breasts perfect to fit my hands. Two nipples to suckle.” He moved his hands to let his fingers play with her clitoris, teasing her hairs, and her navel. “One cunt all for me.”

Chrissie blushed. Why could he say that with such insouciance and she not even think it? It must be a man thing. However, emboldened, Chrissie licked her lips, heard him groan and then reached out to touch Archie’s manhood. His skin was warm and soft and he jolted and moaned as she feathered her fingers over him. One step further than she’d ever taken. Only once had she dared rub him through his trousers, and his groan had her moving her hand in a hurry.

She mimicked his movements, kissed his nipples, and then, heartened by his response, bent double to put the tip of his penis in her mouth and taste the juices there. They were salty and thick. Chrissie rolled them over her tongue as she remembered a leaflet one of the girls at school found in her brother’s room and brought to class to show them. Crudely written and badly produced, the drawings had them all giggling and blushing for weeks. She wondered just how many of her peers had tried what it suggested. Chrissie moved and circled Archie’s tip with her tongue again.

I could get used to this. The more I do this, the bigger he gets. A thought crossed her mind. Would he get too big for her? It wasn’t a question she felt she could ask.

Archie groaned, and she tried to pull back, scared she was doing something wrong. “Hell, Chrissie, that’s so damned good, I’ll come,” he said in a strangled tone. “For the Lord’s sake, get onto the bed and give me a chance to get inside you.” He moved over her, his tip barely touching her curls.

“Archie, what if I don’t want to, you know…” She didn’t know how to put her fears into words, and flapped her and in the air like a demented owl flapping its wing. It was lucky he understood her incoherent beseeching.

“No problem, darling. I’ll come like a gentleman.” He indicated the towel laid in readiness beside him. And moved again, nearer and nearer, and waited. “Yes?”

Chrissie held her breath. This was it. “Oh yes.”

His cock twitched, and without conscious thought, Chrissie opened her legs wide, ready to welcome him. This was it. Soon she, Chrissie Stride, would no longer be sweet and innocent but a woman of the world.

There was a loud hammering on the farmhouse door.

“What the bloody hell?” Archie stopped mid movement. His position looked precarious as he kneeled half on and half off her.

A voice, gruff and urgent, was shouting.

“Mr. Archie, Mr. Archie. Come quick. The rick’s on fire!”

Saved by the bell, she thought hysterically as she watched Archie scramble into his clothes, his cock being most reluctant to be treated in such a way. Not that she’d wanted saving. In fact, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t right. She’d at least climaxed. Goodness knows how Archie felt, still unreleased so to speak.

All Romance eBooks
As my mum would have said I hope it tickles your fancy,

Happy reading,

Love R x

Wednesday, 17 February 2016

What's coming soon?

"L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" is coming soon...

 Just your standard boy meets girl who both meet boy and girl who might be girl and boy while boys and girls fight it out over boys being boys and girls being girls thing.... in space.

So if you like your SF romance with a transgender agenda, watch this space.

And watch the Twitter-sphere for #LHaD...

Friday, 31 July 2015

#FFF - Flash Friday Fiction: Pearls

Flash Friday Fiction - one picture, one hundred words


"Come here," her lips said. So red, so beautiful.
"Yes," I said. There was nothing else I could say. No other words formed in my head, no other thought existed in my mind.
"Yes what?" the tilt of head said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I'd been wrong. I'd be punished. It was right. I deserved it.
I craved it.
"Kneel'" her eyes commanded.
It did not need to be said, I would always kneel for her. I was nothing to her. She was more than everything to me.
The pearls slid through her black-gloved fingers, my collar to wear forever.

Friday Flashers have 100 words (exactly) to tell a story from the provided picture prompt.
Please check out the other Friday Flashers

Thursday, 21 May 2015

Raven and Taken Identity

I did wonder whether I could ask the fabulous Faberge, to find an appropriate song to go with this blog about Taken Identity. All I could think of was Take my Breath Away by Berlin.
Lovely song, but my heroine doesn't quite have all of her breath taken away, although it is a close run thing at times.
As I'm someone who doesn't really have to have music—or for that matter quiet to write—I just sit down anywhere, open the lap top and write, I do love music. Pop master on the radio is a must. (I suck at anything after about 1990 unless it's one my kids drummed into me, and I only get the years if I associate a song with something major, like leaving school or giving birth.
So ask me about most modern music and it's er, do they play it on a plane to get you to sleep?
I do love music, even if my tastes as my kids often tell me are weird. Maybe that's why a lot of my character musical tastes are as well.
Anyway, to get back to Taken Identity…

(and if you read it let's hope it does take your breath away)

Jules walked into the restaurant, her long, tanned legs—courtesy of a certain fake tanning spray—bare, and her feet encased in vertiginous straps that could loosely be called shoes, that she hoped to hell she wouldn’t fall off of. Shoes this high were not made for walking. Showing off legs, looking sexy—she hoped—but not for putting one foot in front of the other and moving. Her short, floaty dress, she prayed hinted at—rather than showed—her body and she’d kept her makeup minimal. She might want a certain part of his anatomy to sit up and beg, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious. She still hadn’t made her mind up if she was stupid, or lacking sense because she fancied the socks off him.
Probably both.
Gray stood up as Jules entered the restaurant and walked towards where he waited. She tried to stop herself from drooling. If she’d thought he was drop-dead gorgeous that morning, when he was tired and irritable—well, she’d been deluding herself. Be still, my heart, she thought flippantly as she took in every last, luscious inch of him.
Bloody hell. I sound like a corny, cheesy chic flick, but sheesh, the man’s dynamite without even trying. Heaven help any woman if he turns on the charm. Seen from a distance, he was pulse jumping. Up close, he was heart attack material. Just that lazy smile, those deep, dark eyes and that sexy mouth were enough to get a girl’s pussy eager for action. And if you added in that tight butt and toned body? Oh my. Jules mentally fanned herself.
She tried not to let any of her X-rated thoughts show as she allowed him to lead her to a deep comfy sofa. The hostess took her serape, and with a slight nod of thanks she held on to the bit of satin and ribbon laughingly called an evening clutch, which held her phone, keys and what her mother called ‘mad money’. Not money to spend madly, but to spend if she or her date got mad and she needed a taxi. A wise woman, her mother. Although she’d never needed to use it yet and didn’t think this would be the first time. She’d tucked the twenty-pound note and a credit card firmly in the inside, zippered pocket of the tiny bag. Jules didn’t go as far as her mum suggested by pinning the note inside her bra. She wasn’t that paranoid.
“Right on time,” she said lightly, as they followed the maître d’ to an intimate bar area. She was impressed and showed it. Jules thought there was no point in dissembling. If you appreciated something, why not show it? “Bloody hell, you are pulling out all the stops.” Nerves and excitement made her chatter nonstop. “Tables are like hen’s teeth here. How on earth did you manage to get a reservation?”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Insider information. Jeff and I were at school together. I’m part owner of the restaurant.”
Jules considered his statement. Obviously a man of means, which from the top of the range Mercedes she had seen driving away from her gate earlier, to the material and cut of his suit, she had already deduced.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked. “You know what I do, where I live, the fact that I have an impersonator—who may or may not be going to get me into deep, er, um…trouble. But apart from your name, I know next to nothing about you. And as it’s your not-yet-ex-wife who is the one causing any not-yet-seen problems, a wee bit of info wouldn’t be amiss.”
She watched him consider his words. Did he know his nose crinkled when he was deep in thought?
Finally, he spoke. “I’m a businessman. I have very diverse interests, all over the world.”
Jules waited, but the clam impression continued. Well, that tells me a lot. Info central he isn’t. “Hence the restaurant and your visit to Melbourne?” She did her best to prompt him.
“Hence the restaurant and my visit to Melbourne,” he said, and then he gave his drink order to the wine waiter. “Champagne now and the rest I’ll choose when we decide on our meal. Thank you.”
So that, Jules my girl, is all you are going to get, she thought, as he made no move to expound further. A smiling youth of around twenty came over to them and handed a set of keys to Gray. Jules tried not to look as if she wanted to know who he was and why he had what must be Gray’s car keys.
“Jeff’s nephew. I have him on the car hire insurance, so he can help me when needed.”
Obviously he had noticed.
“He’s parked the car and will drive us both back tonight. As a result, I can have a glass of champagne with you.”
Jules looked up at him, not commenting on the inference that they would drive home together, but noticing the way his body moved under the superbly fitted suit as he pocketed the keys.
“Who says I want champagne?” She felt a frisson of excitement run down her spine as he smiled back.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage a glass or two. To toast our, shall we say, collaboration?”
I’m a goner. Done and gone. Collaborated, under, over, any which way, I’m your girl. And you are the man. Think, Jules, and not with your hormones. Use your brain. Ask him if he’s spoken to his investigator person.
“Of course.” He answered her question, one eyebrow raised as if to signify his surprise that she’d ever doubted him. “Before I flopped for an hour due to sleep depravation—or tried to. You didn’t make it easy.”
His twinkling eyes made Jules think her first impression—and every one since—had been spot on. Sex on legs!
“Me?” She tried to look innocent, but inside she was shouting, Yay!
“You, and those damn legs to your armpits, and that secret smile you have. I’ve been in a permanent state of arousal since I met you.”
She risked a quick glance towards his crotch. A definite outline of a hard cock showed beneath the material that covered it, and she swore it moved.
“Yeah.” He noticed her look. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to do anything about it—yet. Be warned… When I do, you’ll know about it. It won’t be easy, and you’ll need to be very sure it’s what you want.”

Hope you are intrigued now…

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Raven lives in Scotland, in the land of the midge, whisky (no E) and men in kilts. Both she and her hubby have learned to put repellent on for the first, savour the second, and blink when they see the third, as really there's not a lot of men in kilts around most days.
(Okay her hubby doesn't pay any attention to the MIK and she give them marks out of 10)

 You can find out more about Raven on