Tag Archives: erotic

#SecondChances, Revealing Me and What Might Have Been with @MeganSlayer #mmromance #shortstory

Have you ever wondered what might have happened if you’d gotten a second chance with the one who got away? Ever wondered what it would be like to have the love of a lifetime? What if that guy happens to be a male model? Then you might be like the characters in my short story, Revealing Me.

Kenley is very nerdy and computer geeky. He knows he’s not the most handsome man out there, but he’s not awful. When the guy he had a one night stand with comes back…will the sparks fly again?

I love second chance romance stories and this one was a delight. I got to know Kenley and Peter so well and couldn’t stop their tale at only this one. They’ve got a whole series. Check out Revealing Me. It’s short, sweet but hot and yummy. I hope you love it as much as I do.

Revealing Me by Megan Slayer 

M/M, Anal Sex, Short Story, Contemporary, Second Chance Romance

From MLR Press

Can a one-night stand lead to the love of a lifetime?

Kenley Kissinger knew from the moment he met Peter, he’d never be the same. The white hot memories of their fling imprinted themselves on his mind. He can’t get over the handsome blond man. But since their night together, he hasn’t heard from Peter. Do they have a future or should he quit while he’s ahead?

Peter Barnes hasn’t forgotten Kenley, but he’s got a few secrets he’s not ready to spill. With the help of a masquerade ball thrown for the neighborhood and one nosy neighbor, he’s out to get his man. Once the masks are off, he’s ready to bare his soul. Will Peter be able to convince Kenley to give him a second try or is this pairing destined to be just a fling?

Available at:
MLR Books
Amazon

Check out an excerpt on my website: http://www.wendizwaduk.com/revealingme.htm

 Now for a Sexy Excerpt!!

©MeganSlayer, 2015, All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Kenley Kissinger loved balls, but not this kind of ball. Fantasy gatherings with elaborate masks and groups of people together having fun-not awful, but not great for a guy who preferred to keep to himself.

He adjusted the mask over his eyes. He hated masks. Truth be told, he hated to have his face covered. He preferred honesty, but this damn ball wasn’t about honesty. It was a celebration, and no one gave a rat’s ass about his feelings.

He stepped into the Annex building and sucked in a long breath. His neighbor, Nadine, had rallied the neighborhood and conned everyone into holding a masquerade ball to celebrate the end of the summer. The kids were back in school and the floods that had ravaged the neighborhood over the summer were finally gone. The water levels for the Jeromesville Creek had reached record heights. But then the whole summer had been full of crazy weather and most people in Jeromesville, Ohio weren’t used to so much rain.

He turned his attention back to the dancers out on the street. He didn’t see how a party would make much difference, and boost morale after flooding, but whatever. He played along.

Maybe Peter would be there.

His breath clogged in his throat. He’d had a one-night stand with Peter two months ago, even called his cell phone a couple times afterwards, but Peter was always too busy to get together again.

In the course of one night, he’d fallen into lust with Peter Barnes. He had to be crazy. Peter wasn’t interested, but he kept thinking about the blond guy down the street. Why did Peter seem so sad? Why wasn’t he interested in getting together again? Why couldn’t Peter give him some sort of closure?

God only knew.

He and Peter hadn’t said anything about not wanting to share personal information. They seemed to be rather tight during the evening they’d shared, but then in the morning Peter disappeared. He wasn’t even sure what Peter did for a living.

He turned his attention back to the makeshift dance floor in the street. The DJ played 80’s dance music requiring everyone in the crowd to do the same steps. He’d never been good at those kinds of dances. His coordination didn’t work that way. He usually tripped over the person next to him or ended up five steps late on each move.

Leaning against the brick mailbox structure, he watched the dancers. A man with blond hair and a tailored suit danced along to the music. The black masquerade mask covered his eyes and forehead, but the rest of his face was up for viewing. When he smiled, a dimple deepened on his right cheek. Did he have scruff? Too hard to tell from so far away. He admired the build of the man’s body, strong like a bodybuilder, but wider in the shoulders and narrow around the waist with long legs. He sighed and bit back a grin. He liked men with long legs.

Peter had long legs and a dimple. He shivered. The memory of Peter’s kiss lingered in Kenley’s mind. He wanted to feel that desire again, and wanted to be loved.

#Free backlist title … 69 Mustang #RevvedandReadySeries #Erotic #Contemp (@KaceyHammell)

 

Good morning everyone! Happy Thursday! I hope you’re having a great summer!

Speaking of summer, I thought I would share one of my backlist titles, which happens to take place on a hot summer evening. In 69 MUSTANG, friends, Hales and Rory, take their relationship to a whole new level in the pages of this steamy hot erotic story.

And a bonus … it’s FREE!!! Grab your copy asap.

Hope you enjoy!

Blurb for 69 Mustang…
For Hayley Fitzgibbon, the heat wave blanketing her small town is nothing compared to the inferno inside her whenever she looks at her best friend, Rory. On the night of his parents’ anniversary party, she no longer resists her burning desire and makes it known how much she wants him. Secluded under a willow tree, down a lover’s lane, she’s revved and ready to claim her man on the top of his ’69 Mustang.

*****

“The party was fantastic, Rory. Your parents looked so happy.” Hayley Fitzgibbon shifted in the front seat of the black ’69 Ford Mustang her long-time best friend owned since he turned twenty-one. She’d come to love it as much as he did, how it handled. It still hummed like it had when brand new. No car was sexier to her. Mustangs, especially the classic ’69 had lines that were slick, masculine and just screamed fast and hardcore. The vibration from the engine tingled through the back of her thighs and buttocks causing a delicious thrill through her body. “Thanks for driving me home. It was a great celebration. I can’t believe your parents have been married fifty years.”

“Yeah. It’s practically unheard of these days.” Rory clicked on his blinker then turned right. “They really seemed to like the gift Max and I got them. You think so?”

She nodded and brushed the white shrug off her shoulders. The heat wave spreading through Belleville, Ontario had reached staggering levels in the last couple of days. The air conditioning in the car barely cooled her skin. Plus being such an enclosed space alone with him after hours of dancing, soft touches as they mingled and were less than five feet away from one another all night had her on edge. “Of course they did. Who wouldn’t want to take a three-week cruise around the Caribbean? I’ll be sure to remind you and your brother of your generosity for my next birthday.”

He laughed and winked. “You’d have to be a very, very good girl.”

I’ll show you just how good I can be. Hayley pushed the thought away. For weeks she’d been having the same dream over and over. The erotic fantasies starring herself and Rory had left her breathless every time she woke, sweating and panting. It was all she thought about anymore. Images of the two of them having hot, sweaty sex—anywhere and everywhere—consumed her day and night. She trembled, flashes of heat zinging along her spine. Heart racing, she drew in a deep breath.

He captivated her in so many new ways these days. His kindness had always been there, but lately, she’d smile if mentioned helping an elderly lady get her groceries to the car. And the way he talked about himself, she got upset and angry. He complained about being a ginger, especially in the summer when he burned easily, but she loved his unique looks. Kind of geeky and studious mixed with sexiness and cute buoyancy he didn’t realize he possessed. She disliked hearing him put himself down.

How were any of her new reactions possible? They’d been best friends forever, and had shared all their secrets with one another.

Maybe the intense and potent way he looked at her now. At times when she’d glance at him, she’d catch darkness and smoldering heat in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. Was it because she’d slimmed down over the last eight or nine months. She didn’t want to think about him like that, knew deep down that he wasn’t that shallow. But he had been giving her the eye lately, passion-filled stolen glances. Since then, the air around them had shifted.

He hadn’t hidden his reaction to her tonight when he’d picked her up for his parents’ anniversary party either. Rory’s normally soft hazel eyes had turned a golden rich hue, and when she walked out of her bedroom, he’d let his gaze roam over her body. She knew she looked great in the bright blue satin, off-one-shoulder, mid-thigh gown that really made the azure in her eyes pop. Perhaps he agreed. His breath had hitched, his hands shook as he’d helped her with her shrug. His touch had lingered on her shoulders longer than needed. The warmth from his palms scalded against her already hot skin. He’d stood inches behind her, smoothing his hands down her back, and electricity tingled through her body, filling her with sudden fervor and desperation to feel his embrace. And make some of those naughty dreams she’d been having come true.

“You’ll be what, thirty-seven in a couple months, Hales? Maybe we should plan a cruise or something awesome for your fortieth? You’d look amazing in a skimpy bikini you know. Maybe a nude beach?”

The sound of Rory’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She gulped and cleared her dry throat. “Um, yeah. Sure.” The air in the vehicle was nearly smothering.

“Hey.” He laid a hand on her thigh. Hayley gasped. Heat shot along the skin, hitting her straight to her pussy. Her pulse raced. “It’s like you’re in another world. You okay?”

“Of course,” Trying to mask her nerves, she laughed away his concern. “Fine. Just warm in here.” And I want you.

 

Where to buy/learn more about 69 MUSTANG…
Book Page

 

 

Happy reading!!

Kacey xoxo

 

The Door in the Wall – A Guest Post By Monique Roffey (@MoniqueRoffey13)

Sexual love can be a gateway to the divine, a common trigger to a full blown mystical experience. So say the mystics and tantrikas. Most of us have experienced moments of utter bliss, a lift into an altered space, after and during sex, in short, we have touched spirit. Many religions believe in this too, including Christianity, that sexual love can be the ‘door in the wall’, or a hidden window onto a spiritual reality. The writer George Feuerstein says that today’s sexual malaise, addiction to porn etc, is a spiritual, not a societal problem. Feuerstein (a scholar and tantrika), says that most crucially, we have lost contact with our bodies. We both deny our body and are pre-occupied it. We distrust our body, and we are ashamed and afraid of it, and there is an absence of ‘true sexuality’ in today’s world. Many of us can ‘perform’ sex without being present. We have a fear of the body, and especially a fear of the feminine, seen in our disrespect for nature/gaia and the way we exploit it. I totally go along with his ideas. He wrote about this in the 90’s and he was ahead of his time, and well ahead of the internet. Today’s world of internet sex often misses this component of sex and spirit. Porn offers hard, quick fix voyeurism; it often only offers us a wilderness.

Years of tantra have informed my views on sex, the way I think about sex and the way I write about it. Scared sex, to me, is sex that sustains me, morally and spiritually. It is the opposite of routine, unfeeling, goal orientated sex, the goal being orgasmic release.  However, you have to practice this kind of sex, and find a partner who practices it too. Tantric sex is the sex of woman worship; it is a woman’s call for intimacy and more intimate relating, sexually. And so, I’ve mostly sought tantric lovers in the last ten years. A bed isn’t just a place to get it on; it’s a place to connect with spirit. I believe it’s important to cultivate an awareness of the spiritual dimension to sex and to know how to lead others to this door in the wall.

I joined a tantric group recently, after years of being on the outside of the tantric world. A lover died, I broke up with another. I needed time away. Rejoining was a good thing to do. Recently, one dimly lit spring evening, I found myself seated yab yum style on a handsome half-naked man, our energies connected and flowing and the kundalini energy rising. It was simple and easy to get there, too. We were entwined, softly, and yet charged with desire and I felt like I was glowing there, lit up like the full-blown frigging Goddess. For a moment this handsome man stopped and chuckled as if reading my thoughts; he gazed deeply into my eyes and whispered welcome back.

My novel, The Tryst, is written from my own POV, as a tantric woman; it is woman-centred, and it is about a call towards intimacy for Jane, towards an awaking of a different life, a new way of being. Jane knows something is wrong with her current life, that there’s more out there, just as I did in my early 40’s. She senses a call to a greater sexual life in the form of numerous fantasies and dream trysts that pester her day and night. The sexual part of her is active in her imagination, only. She wants sex, but just doesn’t know how to break out of her own confines to find the type of sex she needs. It takes another woman, a Kali type Goddess, Lilah, a predator and a sexual connoisseur, to throw her into crisis and to force her to leap, to activate her sexuality Then, there’s healing. Jane finds her scared whore and her full sexual potential, the part of herself was missing. The Tryst is about a woman finding her sexuality, and it doesn’t come easily. There is a fight for it.

*****

The Tryst (Dodo Ink)

Extract

By Monique Roffey

I found Bill still asleep in our bed. He was naked, covered to the waist by a thin sheet. It was dawn, a fragile time of the day. July too, and the sash window was fully open, the curtains not drawn. I hadn’t seen Bill in ten days. Now, I feasted my eyes on him – so vulnerable in sleep. He was half-turned on his side, cradling himself with one arm, his hair had grown decidedly longer and fell about his face and shoulders, and his torso was summer tanned. He was a man in his late 40s and big framed, both muscular and voluptuous, a sight of a man. Gazing down at him there, I came to understand that Bill was a piece of my puzzle too. Just like Lilah, he was part of my solution. A longing for him sprang inside me, warm and reassuring – my husband. I put a hand across my belly and welcomed the sensation, letting it spread slowly, thinking I had needed Bill all along, for part of me to heal.

And now I saw him lying there, I had a choice. I could go, leave him sleeping. Or I could step forward into another life, fully open. On the side table next to him, I saw the small polished egg I’d left behind, a part of me too. A gift, a message I’d never fully understood myself. I took out the stick of chalk I had with me and bent to the ground, drawing a thin white line around our bed, whispering incantations. The sprite had gone but she had left her energy in the room; I could still smell her there, dense earth. I lit a small sprig of sage too and uttered banishments at each corner of the room and when I was done, I sat down carefully on the bed. I had never fought for Bill, let alone protected him or what we had.

Bill’s eyes flickered.

I smiled at him. He groaned and shook his head. His eyes flew open and he stared. His alarm faded when he registered who it was.

“I’m here,” I said.

His eyes opened wider, his long hair fell over his face and he pulled it back. His beard looked stronger too, as though Bill had been quietly growing richer over the last week or so. He didn’t say anything; he just looked at me. He gazed and mouthed the words hello, Jane.

He looked clear-faced and older. The worriedness I’d associated with his features had somehow lifted. I said hello back and moved across the bed and lay myself down next to him, face to face, our bodies aligned and close, not touching. I was clothed. Bill was naked. The sheet separated us. We gazed at each other for several minutes. Sadness swelled in me, a wave of regret and devastation at the loss of him. For those ten days I’d been unable to contact him by phone or email. Lilah had interfered. I had understood some kind of separation had been imposed; it was out of my control. We’d been cursed. I’d wept for days in a hotel room. Tears fell, looking at him. He touched my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He moved closer and kissed my tears. I felt relaxed, like that tender feeling after a bath. Or maybe my own grief had softened me. I felt older too, and womanly, and forgiving of myself and him. Bill kissed me on the mouth and pulled away the sheet and I reached down to hold him.

I kissed him back and he moved across me, pulling open the buttons of my shirt. Then we were together, in motion, kissing, responsive to each other, tongues searching, words flowing between us. My back arched as he smothered my breasts with kisses and whispers of his own sadness and regret. Both of us uttered our mantras, sorry, sorry for the past. I was wet and soft and half-clothed.

I saw Bill then. Big-boned and full-hipped and sexy. Both of us were somehow sexier for being this age. Had I lost confidence in my body? If so, I seemed to suddenly have it back. Then Bill was on top of me, naked and hard, his cock pressed into my stomach. He peeled off my white lace bra and I showed him that I was a little unsure of my breasts and he said ‘yes’ with his eyes. Had this been part of it? The loss of my younger body, was that also in the mix? Bill peeled down my jeans, taking my panties with them. He sank his mouth between my legs and I gasped, burying one hand in his hair. I laughed and he laughed too and drank. I opened my legs and sighed and opened my eyes and even said the word out loud, “Lilah”.

I could feel her presence in the glossy silkiness between my legs. Bill’s tongue was strong and agile and I writhed with the pleasure he provoked. Then he stopped and looked at me, as if to say, this is only beginning. He pulled my jeans away so that I was naked and yes, my nakedness brought on a feeling of extreme shyness. And at the same time I felt open and full of longing. Then Bill was using his knuckle up and down, up and down on my clitoris, stroking me and dripping his silky serum on to me. My breath quickened and a spasm came from my groin, from his tender loving hands. An orgasm sprang upwards from my centre and swept through me. I’d never known this husband-lover Bill, had never tempted him to me, ever. He laughed and watched my body tremble and then he said “my wife, my wife”, and slowly, oh so slowly, he sank his long hard cock into me.

*****

The Tryst, blurb

By Monique Roffey

London, midsummer night. Jane and Bill meet the mysterious Lilah in a bar. She entrances the couple with half-true, mixed up tales about her life. At closing time, Jane makes an impulsive decision to invite Lilah back to their home. But Jane has made a catastrophic error of judgment, for Lilah is a skilled and ruthless predator, the likes of which few encounter in a lifetime. Isolated and cursed, Jane and Bill are forced to fight for each other, and, in doing so, discover their covert desires.

Part psychological thriller, part contemporary magical realism, The Tryst revisits the tale of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, to examine the secrets of an everyday marriage.

*****

Praise for The Tryst

“What makes The Tryst an unexploded virus isn’t just the quality and brightness of Roffey’s writing on sex, even as it uncovers inner glades between flesh and fantasy where sex resides – but the taunting clarity of why those glades stay covered. A throbbing homewrecker of a tale, too late to call Fifty Shades of Red.”

DBC Pierre, Booker Prize winner

*****

BIOG

Monique Roffey is an award-winning Trinidadian-born writer. Her novels have been translated into five languages and short-listed for major awards including 
the Orange Prize, Costa Fiction Award, Encore Award, Orion Award and the OCM Bocas Award for Caribbean Literature. In 2013, Archipelago won the OCM BOCAS Award for Caribbean Literature. Her memoir, With the Kisses of his Mouth, was published in 2011. She is a Lecturer on the MFA in the Novel at Manchester Metropolitan University. She divides her time between the East end of London and Port of Spain, Trinidad.

Buy at Amazon:

UK: http://amzn.to/2snABX2 US: https://www.amazon.com/Tryst-Monique-Roffey-ebook/dp/B072BX51PV/

Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esSTfsbP3P4&sns=em

Twitter: @MoniqueRoffey13

Facebook: @MoniqueRoffeyAuthor

Instagram: @MoniqueRoffey

Website: www.moniqueroffey.com