Tag Archives: charity

Charity Anthology, Nuts About You, Now Available – Post by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Hi folks,

I’m very excited to announce that the amazing Nuts About You anthology, which is raising money for two cancer charities, is available now – and it’s already doing incredibly well, and has earned a bestseller banner on Amazon! Woohoo!

Here’s what it’s all about:

The Nuts About You charity anthology has stories from 18 different authors and it’s filled with 15 BRAND NEW romance stories written from a male POV all wrapped up in one amazing anthology!

There is something for everyone in this romance anthology, including comedy, contemporary, MC, M/M, erotica, BDSM and more.

It’s not for the faint hearted.

All profit will benefit The Male Cancer Awareness Campaign and Worldwide Cancer Research.

** Warning **

This content is for mature audiences only.

Please don’t not read if explicit language, violence, sexual situations including anything kinky or taboo offend you.

•Accidentally on Purpose by S.E. Hall & Ashley Suzanne
•Ashes to Ashes by Tess Oliver
•Without Question by Lucy Felthouse
•Nutt Cracker by Skye Turner
•Since I Now Have You by S M Phillips
•There’s No Place Like Home by Jade C. Jamison
•Love Letters by Jamie Lake
•Love Thy Neighbour by J. A Melville
•Right Here Waiting by T.a. McKay
•A pets Reward by Don Abdul
•Taco Tuesday by Xavier Neal
•Corban by Esther E. Schmidt
•First Ink by Amy L. Gale
•My Wicked Stepsister by T.S. Irons
•Catching Mallory by Xana Jordan
•The Ball In My Court by T.H. Snyder
•A Beautiful Heart by Michelle Rene

So, what are you waiting for? Grab your copy from one of the following places, and please do tell all your friends about this amazing collection, which is for such a good cause!

Amazon (universal link)
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

And don’t forget to add it to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34409833

Happy Reading!

Lucy x

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller) and The Persecution of the Wolves. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 150 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

More Smutty Goodness for Your eReader

It’s true, I have another new release – woohoo! A French Affair is an erotic romance novella just released by Xcite Books. As you may have guessed from the title, it’s set in France – mostly in a tiny little village in Northern France, but the characters also sneak off to Paris for a day – I couldn’t resist 😉

So, here’s the dirt:

A French AffairSydney Tyler is renting a barn conversion in Northern France, planning to spend the fortnight getting some words down on her novel. Unfortunately, construction work in the other half of the building puts an end to her peace and quiet. Genuinely upset that the builders are going to disturb her, the property’s handsome English owner, Harry Bay, offers to make it up to her. He’s a little flirtatious, and after spotting his wedding ring, Sydney keeps him at arm’s length. Sexy as he is, she has no intention of getting involved with a married man. But when Sydney learns the truth about Harry, will their mutual attraction spur them on to work through their emotional baggage and make this more than just a French affair?

And here’s an excerpt:

Sydney Tyler jumped so hard that her fingers slammed down onto the laptop’s keyboard and she typed a bunch of gobbledegook.

Kashfkjsdhlfknsdlfvn sdlkch awoeduioh ahdwklc

Gasping, she clutched at her chest as her heart thumped rapidly and painfully. “What the fucking hell was that?” she said to the empty room.

Pushing her chair back from the desk, she stepped over to the window. Peering out into the brilliant sunshine, she saw something on the lawn that she had absolutely not been expecting. Workmen.

She groaned. So much for her peaceful writer’s retreat. She’d planned to get a good chunk of her novel down in the fortnight she was away, and now it looked as though her peace was going to be monumentally shattered by banging, drilling and God knows what else.

Sighing, she gave the windowsill a pathetic thump in her frustration. She might have been pissed off, but she was no vandal. And besides, she didn’t want those noisy buggers in her part of the building fixing things—having them next door was bad enough.

Sydney really could not believe her shitty luck. When she’d booked the cottage in the French village of Monthiers over the phone a couple of months ago, she’d dealt with a fellow Brit called Harry Bay, who she’d suspected was the owner. On arrival, though, a timid French woman had met her and let her into the luxurious barn conversion before handing over the keys and explaining a little bit about the local area. Apparently, in the mornings, someone came along the village streets, selling fresh bread and pastries.

There wasn’t much else to tell, it seemed, as the village had nothing except a church—almost opposite her accommodation—and a tavern. It was also lacking—she’d quickly discovered—a mobile signal. Not even a single bar illuminated her screen. Her phone was now no more than a watch, alarm clock and calendar. If there was an emergency, she was screwed. But on a much lighter note, it was one less distraction. She could just get on with what she was here to do, blissfully undisturbed.

The arrival of workmen was incredibly irritating. Her temporary landlord hadn’t mentioned there’d be anyone working next door. If he had, she wouldn’t have booked the place—the quiet and idyllic location were the whole reason for choosing this property, this area. Even though there was no way he could have known she was there to work, common courtesy would dictate that he told her. Perhaps he was just interested in taking her money and didn’t give a damn about whether she had a satisfactory stay or not. There was nothing to be done about it now, unfortunately. She’d paid for the fortnight, and she was buggered if she was going to cut and run, pissing that money down the drain. She’d just have to find a way around the disturbance, and console herself that she could leave a snarky write up on a review site when she got home.

Finding out the builders’ working hours would be a good start—she could attempt to write around them then. Or perhaps she could make use of the headphones she’d stuffed into her case, without ever thinking they’d get used. Some loud rock music would drown out the din from next door and hopefully allow her to work. It was worth a try. She hoped they were only doing a small job that would only take a couple of days, but deep down she knew they weren’t. They were renovating the whole place so it was as beautiful as the half she was in.

She was just about to go in search of the aforementioned headphones when one of the men pottering around on the lush back garden stepped away from the others. Standing in a shaft of sunlight, he pulled his arms high above his head and stretched, dragging up his t-shirt to reveal a lean stomach with a fine line of dark hair leading enticingly into the waistband of his jeans.

Oh yum, she thought, perhaps having builders next door wouldn’t be so bad after all. Especially if they all looked like him. She continued to watch as the man dropped his arms to his sides and watched the others. His dark hair was overlong and stuck out at crazy angles, as though he’d been running his fingers through it. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes from this distance, but she could make out enough detail of his features to see that he was handsome. Gorgeous, actually. Close up he could be much less attractive, but from her upstairs window, the view was pretty fine.

Just then, he glanced across at her side of the long barn, which was divided into two holiday cottages. He caught sight of her standing there, and his face dropped. He looked back at the builders, then returned his gaze to her again. Pointing at the group of noisy men, he slapped his forehead with his other hand. Finally, he pointed at his chest, then up at her. He was indicating he wanted to come in. She paused, then nodded. Common sense told her she shouldn’t be letting a strange man into her temporary home, but then, there were several large, bulky men milling around, so if they were a dodgy sort, she and the locked door would have no chance against them, especially with no means of calling for assistance. She could scream, of course, but she doubted anyone would come. The walls of the building were extremely thick—though sadly, no match for banging and drilling—the nearest house was a little way down the road, and by day, the village was all but deserted. There was only one business that she knew of—the tavern—so the other inhabitants would have to go elsewhere to work. To nearby Chateau-Thierry, perhaps, or even further afield.

She’d just have to hope that the handsome man—probably the head honcho of their group—was also a decent one. Presumably they were a reputable company, as they’d been hired by the British owners, who were usually more wary of cowboy builders, and given the horror stories and dedicated TV programmes back home, it was understandable.

Before she got even halfway down the stairs, a knock came at the door. Okay, so he was polite enough to knock, that was good. She moved a little faster, careful not to trip in her flip flops and go hurtling downwards. Once she was safely on the ground floor, she twisted the key in the door and opened it.

Want to find out more? Then splash out a small amount of cash here: A French Affair.

P.S. Because I’m happy you read this far – here’s a giveaway for a print copy of Coming Together with Curveshttp://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/52971?utm_medium=api&utm_source=giveaway_widget

Coming Soon – Coming Together with Curves

So, Victoria Blisse and I have been super busy this past few months. We co-edited Smut Alfresco and Smut by the Sea Volume 2. We also co-edited our first charity anthology – Coming Together With Curves. Our deliciously naughty Rubenesque anthology is now in the hands of the publisher and should be hitting digital bookshelves very soon. It also contains three stories from Birdies – myself, Victoria Blisse and Lily Harlem. It promises to be a raunchy ride! In the meantime, why not add it to your Goodreads shelves?

Coming Together With CurvesBlurb:

Curvy girls and the men (and women!) that love them is the theme of this charity anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From Zumba classes to Burlesque dancers, all kinds of big and beautiful women are portrayed between the pages of this book. Read about birthday surprises, smut at the gym, horse riders, lusty couples, naughty neighbours, skilled bakers, rope bondage and misunderstandings from some of erotica’s best authors.

Sales proceeds benefit Parkinson’s UK.

Contents: Six Lengths of Red Hemp (Tilly Hunter), Cross Trainer Number Four (Lily Harlem), Bella Buxom, Just Squeeze Me (JoAnne Kenrick), Captivated (Elizabeth Lapthorne), Red Rag to a Bull (Victoria Blisse), Girl Next Door (Bella Blake), Lush Buns (Sommer Marsden), The Big Reveal (Giselle Renarde), The Wrong End of the Stick (Lucy Felthouse), Riding School (Bella Blake), Flesh For Fantasy (Lexie Bay).

And here’s an excerpt from my story, The Wrong End of the Stick:

Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work. She was the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her eat, she could feel the judgment rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. She was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.

Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.

Deep down, she knew she was going to have to go over and say something to him. After seven days, he wasn’t going to suddenly amend his habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn’t like it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single other way of stopping him from doing it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying “Please stop staring at me.” But if he couldn’t take the hint when she’d glared at him, he wouldn’t take any notice of a piece of paper.

Several minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in her now as he had been when she’d been eating. Damn, confrontation it was then.

Draining the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.