Tag: blog tour

Today I’m delighted to welcome Queenie Black to my place as part of her

Hard-Pressed blog tour.

(Look out for the chance to win a copy of the eBook at the bottom of this page)

Over to you Queenie…

I recently found myself thinking about the issue of space.

As the oldest of many, many siblings (more than you can count on one hand) I never had my own room when I was growing up. A brief sojourn at university gave me a room of my own with a pash-killer bed (yes, they really did have beds known as that in the 80’s but I met my soulmate and got married before three years were up.

Thirty years, a shared bedroom and four children later I still don’t have my own physical space in my home. There’re plenty of rooms in the house that I could use now that the chicks have well and truly flown the nest, but I no longer know what to do with physical space. I write in the living room in front of the TV or in bed with the door open where I can hear the goings on in the rest of the house because I don’t like the feeling of being apart and away from the hub of where things happen, away from the living areas. Used to being always on call, (after my children, it was caring for elderly relatives) I feel the need to be available and shutting the world out behind a door makes me incredibly unsettled. I’ve tried writing in the garden shed but I couldn’t bear the sensation of being set apart. It felt like a punishment, not a privilege.

These limitations on having my own space made me realise that for me the ability to find space doesn’t rely on having a writing shed or a craft room or a reading nook. I learnt from early on in my life to be space self-sufficient. In other words, I might have been there physically, but I was elsewhere in my head. I learnt to carve space out in my thoughts while I was doing household chores, or driving to work, or sitting with my family in the evening. I found space in reading while hiding in the boughs of the tree overhanging my neighbour’s yard, or on buses to work, in my breaks. When I couldn’t read, I imagined. I created events and scenarios, characters that took me away to places where I could be alone, breathe, rest or have adventures.

These flights away from the hurly-burly of life are what fueled my imagination and gave me the material to write. They filled wells of creativity but also helped me become more emphatic and able to see other people’s viewpoints. The limitations of physical space throughout my life, have, in fact brought me to here, to the creative person I am today, and I’m pleased and proud of that person.

Doing without has made me able to do within, if you like.

I wanted to explore that a little in Hard-Pressed. Having Lucien take away Rose’s control and provide her with the care and support she needs while she faces her fears gives her a safe emotional space to discover who she can be. To learn what he always knew- that she is strong enough to surrender to her needs without losing herself.

Blurb:

Master Lucien has one night at Club Hard.

One night…to show bodyguard Rose Dainty that he can be the Dom she needs,

One night…to show her that submitting to him doesn’t make her weak, that true submission requires strength and trust.

Will pushing Rose to her limits prove to her she can trust him with her body and heart, and can she let go of her deepest fears long enough to enjoy her surrender? `

They both have everything to prove and everything to lose.

***

Excerpt:

I mounted the six shallow steps and faced the double front doors. Twin carriage lights cast a soft gleam over the brass plaque with its discrete lettering:

Club Hard

Private Members Only

I desperately wanted to run back down the steps, leap into my car, and drive home, but if I did, nothing would change, and I’d go back to dividing my time between working out, Candy Crush Saga, and the occasional night out with my friends. I might miss out on learning something about myself, something that could make a difference in my sex life. Worse, I might miss a chance at love.

I stayed, my feet rooted to the floor, but the insides of my hands were so damp, my finger slipped on the brass bell, setting off a short, discordant jangling. I winced as I rang it again properly this time. That certainly wouldn’t endear me to anyone.

Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep the blood circulating in my toes, I looked around. Behind me, the gravel drive snaked away to a discreet carpark, and trees and shrubs created shadows within shadows. Autumn had finally reached London and in this exclusive part of it, crisp, clean air and earthy leaf mulch replaced the smell of fast food and exhaust.

I shifted again, starting to get irritated. If you were going to demand a woman wear nothing but a skirt that barely covered her butt, and a top that was little more than a bit of elastic bandage—on me it was ridiculous, if I sneezed, I’d pop out over the top—then you should damn well open the door promptly. Now, despite wearing my warmest coat over the absurd ensemble, there was a distinct draught zipping under my hem and freezing my exposed butt cheeks.

I lifted my finger to stab the bell again, and the door swung open.

Bloody hell. A real butler. I was no stranger to mansions with staff. Working as a bodyguard meant I saw the inside of a lot of wealthy homes, but so far, a liveried butler was a new one to me.

“Can I help you?”

I cleared my throat, wondering if there was any etiquette for addressing a butler, aware that my finger was still lurking in the vicinity of his eye. “Umm, I’m, ah, it’s Ms. Dainty. To see Mr. Dufort. I’m expected.”

He waved me through into a large marble-floored hall with a fire burning at one side. A wide, elegant staircase at the back curved away to the upper floors.

“I’ll inform Mr. Dufort that you’re here, if you’d like to take a seat.” He indicated a collection of sofas and easy chairs huddled as if for warmth around the fireplace. I made a beeline for the heat.

“May I take your coat?”

I crossed my arms tightly. No way was I exposing my scantily clad self. “Ah, thanks, but I’m a bit cold.”

“I see my guest has arrived, Henry.”

I turned away from the fire to see Lucien Dufort crossing the hall toward me. The floor seemed to drop a few inches and I had to grab the back of a chair to steady myself as his delicious, rich chocolate voice with its faint French accent wound around me, setting my heart hammering.

A tall, elegant man, he moved toward me with predatory intent, covering the floor in loose, confident strides, but it was his eyes that held my gaze, dark eyes, sharp with intelligence and power. He wasn’t a handsome man. His narrow-bladed Gallic nose, inherited from his mother, was slightly overlarge for that, but his lips were sensual, and the mix of tenderness and lust in his expression as he looked at me sent electric tingles charging down my spine.

“Rose, welcome to Club Hard.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his tongue flickering into the little hollow between my two smallest fingers, mimicking the act of sex. Normally, that would be an instant turn-off, but when Lucien did it, everything inside me melted. I tugged my hand free and shoved it into my coat pocket. This was bad. We hadn’t even started yet and my hormones were doing a happy dance.

“Your coat, ma petite.”

I undid the buttons reluctantly and he stripped it off my shoulders, giving it to Henry before indicating my feet. “Barefoot, please.”

I obeyed, steadying myself with one hand on Lucien’s forearm. I could have rested it there all day, enjoying the feel of thick bone and the flex of hard muscles, but I quickly unzipped my boots and gave them to Henry, who took them as solemnly as if I was handing him the crown jewels for safekeeping. He disappeared, taking my things with him, and I stood shivering, waiting for Lucien to say or do something. I shouldn’t have felt vulnerable. I fought with this amount of flesh on display, so it shouldn’t have bothered me, yet insecurity and apprehension crept hand-in-hand up my spine. “Lucien?”

He cupped my chin, his palm warm and sure, his thumb stroking my cheekbone in a gesture I found calming. “Tonight, you will address me as Monsieur, or Sir.” His words sank deep inside me, reaching a place I wasn’t aware existed. A place I didn’t want to believe existed. I stepped back, dislodging his hand.

Lucien’s cheek creased in amusement. “So, ma belle perle, the challenge begins. Are you ready?”

Buy links:

Amazon USA: https://amzn.to/2lXpCSP

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2kswibm

Evernight: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/hard-pressed-by-queenie-black/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/958783

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/hard-pressed-18

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/hard-pressed/id1480423303

***

Author bio:

I’ve always loved writing and I won my first prize for a short story when I was still at primary school. I’m an avid reader of romance and erotic romance and can usually be found with my nose in a book. The dynamics and sheer variety of human relationships fascinate me, and this is what I like to explore in my writing. I live in North Yorkshire with my husband and cat where I enjoy running and Tai Chi.

Social media links:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/queenieblackwr1

Website: http://www.queenieblackauthor.com/

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/queenieblackauthor/

Don’t miss out on your chance to win a copy of Hard Pressed!

GIVEAWAY!

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/8b9ec5be192/?

***

Happy reading,

Kay x

The Golden Shana Series: Blog Tour

By Kay Jaybee

On January 29, 2019

In Book Publications, eBooks, erotic romance

The Day I Interviewed – Hang On Right There! –

Roman Alastair F*ck-Me-Rigid Castell!

By Emancietta “Emasculetta” Berkley

Sunny morning, late spring, and I still can’t wrap my head around it – I’m sitting on a park bench with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, admiring the riot of colours in the park gardens. It’s his park, open to the public six days a week. I mean the man is not even twenty-nine yet. He’s wearing one of his signature suits – no tie, cufflinks the price of Midas.

The Park, as it is popularly known in the city, as if it was the only park in Hamburg, surrounds the RAC Business Park, a building complex of chrome, glass and marble that reaches up to the skies. He dedicated the building to his mother, Lady Marissa. There’s a ginormous statue of her as the goddess Nike, the Goddess of Victory, riding a chariot, right in the middle of the park. So don’t mistake it for his other buildings, like the RAC Business Centre where he has his offices. We sit facing the statue. I decide that’s a good opener for the interview with this extraordinary man. But his blue eyes on me unsettle me and I say:

EB: Mr Castell, tell me about yourself, the real Roman A.N.B Castell.

[His smile is as straight as a shepherd’s crook.]

RAC: Ms Berkley, if you don’t know about me you’re yet to be born. There’s no Real Roman Castell and Unreal Roman Castell. I’m all of me.

[Those eyes and the smile are really hard to deal with. At least as a woman, and believe me I’m not the timid sort. But I’m thinking I only have one minute with him – yapp, ONE. He dictated that as the condition for this chance in a zillion to interview him out here in the open. There might never be another interview granted for the next decade. To anybody. So I skip asking about his mother, the woman he calls his favourite girl.]

EB: Is it true that you and Ms Berg broke up at the opera house La Scala in Milan? If so, why? You’ve been together for the longest time known in your history with the ladies as Europe’s Most Chased-After Bachelor & Dominant.

RAC: I’ll answer this for both of us. For me and for Ms Berg. We’re no longer sleeping with each other, but we’re the best of friends. In fact she may be my only close female friend. And I’m sure you can answer your Why question for yourself.

[Damn. I’m still chewing his first sentence in my racing brain. Was it a secret message to Ms Marie Berg? Or a coded one to me? Like: Don’t you dare bother her, Ms Berkley?]

EB: Mr Castell, there have been talk in certain close circles about you chasing after another lady, Ms Shana Lindqvist. We’re all wondering why you continue this quest when you can have any woman in the world at the—

RAC: Prof Dr Lindqvist is my novelty. She ups the anticipation while cancelling out the expectation. I prefer a woman with fire in the belly. The harder she battles me, the harder I get, pun not just intended but included. I don’t want a Stockholm syndrome relationship, with her bending to my will and doing everything I demand or anticipate, to please me, her captor. Instead, Prof Dr Lindqvist captivates me with womanhood defiance of the highest order. We are two sides of the same scale. In order for the equilibrium to be maintained, for us to work, we have to each have equal weight. That’s her, my woman.

EB: That’s not exactly what is associated with a Dom, Mr Castell.

RAC: You should never associate that with me, ever, Ms Berkley. Look for those breed of Dominants elsewhere. When all my commands are meekly followed, where’s the challenge? What’s left there to dominate?

[Lordamerceyanmeh!]

EB: You sound as if you and Ms—ah, Prof Dr Lindqvist are already an item. Anything we, as the public, should probably know?

RAC: You should learn the art of listening, Ms Berkley. I’m a ©Domristocrat. One of a kind. And I’ll make Dr Lindqvist my woman. My ©Subristocrat. I’ve patented those two words just for the two of us. A full century patent.

EB: I’m not sure I got that, Sir.

[I don’t know why I call him Sir – it just slips out of me. He smiles. I damn near fall off the bench, shift a little away from him. His aura-pull is forbidden and outlawed in Christendom. Or should be.]

RAC: Again, I derive no joy from boot-licking servility of the current trends in the scene, Ms Berkley. It has no originality to offer me and make me feel as if I were some feudal lord who needed slavish dependence to prop up my dominance. What I need is a woman with fire in the belly, dynamite in the brains and an indomitable spirit. A woman who would give me a good fight before I brought her down under my command. A woman who offers me half a dozen wars in hundreds of strategic battles simultaneously. A ©Domristocrat’s woman. My woman. The woman worthy of all of me, heart and soul. Did you get me this time, Ms Berkley?

[Gulp. OhJesusLordGulp. I’m not sure I have, and I’m not asking for clarifications. I dread what I might hear. For my own womanly safety. Normally I’m granite. I have a reputation and have been labelled “ball-crusher” and “Emasculetta” in my career as a journalist. My column, Emancietta’s Column, was dubbed Emasculetta’s Column.]

EB: It was an intriguing explanation, Mr Castell. You’re a determined man.

RAC: In all I do, Ms Berkley.

[He adamantly refuses to call me Emancietta, even after I’ve asked him to do so several times before we embarked on the interview]

EB: Do you have a way of knowing which woman is submissive simply by a glimpse at them, Mr Castell?

RAC: That’s part of the nature, Ms Berkley. It’s what a ©Domri is all about. I’m a ©Domristocrat and a hunter. I must know how to locate and single out the prey blindfolded.

EB: So what’s the difference between a Dom and a Domristocrat?

RAC: Me. I’m one of a kind. Patented, remember?

[His listing-to-port-smiles are nipple clamps, you can quote me on that. And then the under-look? Lordamercey!]

EB: Suppose, just suppose, you discover Dr Lindqvist is not inclined to the BDSM lifestyle, what would—

RAC: I’m thrilled she isn’t. That’s why she is my woman. She’s no submissive, she’s Subristocrat, Ms Berkley. And now, [he looks at his watch – a piece that cost about a third of America] you said you needed a minute. We’ve surpassed that.

[He rises, like an unfolding laid-back panther, towers over me, and holds his hand out to me. I look at it.]

RAC: I enjoyed the minute.

[My hand has found its way into his ultra-soft palm… Emancietta is Emasculetted.]

EB: Thank you, Mr Castell. The pleasure’s mine. And good luck, Sir.

[Over his shoulder… with that go-shower-little-one look]

RAC: For once, I just might need it, Ms Berkley. But challenges are me.

I watch him stride smoothly across his park to his Limited Edition Veyron, not any of his chauffeur-driven limos. The black and maroon thing he left parked a few hundred yards from the statue on the gravel paths that only gardeners’ vans are allowed to drive on.

I watch him drive himself off like a god in his own version of a chariot, out to outdo any other modern Ben Hur who would dare.

Wow. Make a note and chisel it on marble: I, Emancietta Berkley, had a private interview with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, on a sunny May midmorning in front of the statue he dedicated to his mother, Lady Marissa, at the RAC Business Park, for over one minute…

***

Blurb: Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

An evening at the opera house La Scala in Milan twirled the lives of five people into a web of intrigues, heartaches, human hunts, loss and revenge.

Roman: I never chased after a woman. It was always the other way around. Then I caught a glimpse of the woman I would kneel for, at the opera, and I didn’t even know her name. But I determined to find her if it took me the rest of my life.

Shana: He stood in the room with her. The frisson in the currents freaking between them was as solid as a steel portal. The mutual force of predator and prey blasted its way into her core … her soul … Danger. Keep far away from him.

Marie: Some men were born to rule the world; others were born to ruin it. Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell was born to do both. But she loved him and awaited his baby.

Alyssa: He was the lover she wouldn’t tire of. Roman had something so damned perilous about him he was addictive. Who gets addicted to safe and riskless? Not her.

Grieg/Phoenix: Had His Girl interpreted that Friday night as abuse? He’d only done what she wanted – protection of her cherished innocence.

Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

What a difference a day makes… And it hadn’t been a day. It had been an evening in Milan. Brief moments of an evening. I didn’t care about the consequences to whomever. Through my obsession with Svadishana I became aware of the fact that I was a person. A human being, not an almighty god, with all the baggage that comes with being that. I too – eureka! – had a heart pumping white and red corpuscles through my veins. Blood, not icicles.

Was it love I felt for Svadishana? A woman I’d spoken three whiny words – Please call me! – to? Was it more than simple lust and desire? Did I want to possess more than just her body?

Pondering these questions alone was so unlike me. That woman had turned me into an alien even unto my own self. What I felt, my inner voice said, was more than the thrill of the hunt. More than lust, desire, need, passion, the excitement of possession, and subjugation.

Of course all that was part of it. But the basis or the source, the seedbed on which all that sprouted and was growing to full blossom in me, could well be something else.

When I thought of her, saw her image from Milan in my mind, watched how she moved in long smooth strides in YouTube, my brow beaded with sweat. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the few photos I’d fished out of the Internet. Group photos at a family birthday or the authorized biography of her father. Her movements in a YouTube conference clip were springy and powerful even in their smoothness. She exuded strength all over the place, laughing, talking, gesticulating.

A breath-taking beauty. Such beauty that I dared not believe it at times.

And brains to go with it.

In love or not, I knew what I wanted and Svadishana was the answer. I wanted her and would do anything short of suicide to get her. Who knows – perhaps when it came to that as the only means available, I’d really murder too. I didn’t in the least care about the consequences, as long as they got me to where I wanted to get to.

Svadishana’s arms and knickers and… heart?

What obsession, Roman. Get back to real.

No chance. Real was Svadishana.

***

BUY LINKS IN KINDLE – Please note that the books are also available in paperbacks:

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Chase-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B00WA7M3OC/

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C#reader_1725967073

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C/

UK Untouchable PB: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry/dp/1725967073

Website http://www.Akinyi-princess.de

Twitter https://www.twitter.com/Apky11162

Facebook

Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAPVonKOry/

Facebook Timeline: https://www.facebook.com/apvonkory

FB Golden Shana Series: https://www.facebook.com/Goshanaliterotic/

FB Editor/Services: https://www.facebook.com/KOrindaYimbo/

FB AuthorMePro Press: https://www.facebook.com/Professionaless62bloggerP/

FB Readers & Reviewers: https://www.facebook.com/AkinyiReadersReviews/

Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.co.uk/A-P-Von-KOry/e/B00MDHD7ZS

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/a-p-von-kory/

Enter for your chance to win a Kindle copy of one of A P von K’Ory’s backlist books click here- http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/8b9ec5be190/?

When Three Isn’t A Crowd: The Story of Jo

By Kay Jaybee

On October 26, 2018

In BDSM, Book Publications, eBooks, erotic romance

It’s with a big smile that I welcome Justine Elyot to my blog today as part of her blog tour. It’s been way too long since this mistress of the craft of the erotica had a new book out- I can’t wait to read it.

Hello, I’m Justine Elyot and I’m here to talk to you about my new BDSM menage romance, The Story of Jo.

Hands up if you like a menage! You don’t have to be in a poly relationship to enjoy reading and fantasising about multiple partners – otherwise menage romance would be a lot more niche than it is. It’s popular for a reason. Double the partners, double the fun. And, when it comes to creating drama in a plot, the menage has plenty to bring to the table.

That’s why I couldn’t quite believe I haven’t written a full-on menage novel before. What was I thinking?

The book builds slowly to the menage situation, since I always think this is a dynamic that needs a lot of tender loving care prior to introduction. Jo and Emmett, blissfully happy in their own relationship, invite Emmett’s friend and long-term boss/mentor, Charles Fox, to their housewarming party. Jo and Fox head out to buy an extra bottle of champagne…and things start to happen..

Back at the top of our street, Fox looked both ways before sliding an arm around my waist and pulling me tightly flush against him. The movement was sudden and violent and made me drop the paper bag with the champagne in it on the pavement – happily, it didn’t smash.

“What are you…?”

“Listen,” he said. “We need to talk, don’t we?”

“I can’t…”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, Jo,” he said.

“Emmett…”

“You love Emmett. Emmett knows you love him. He also knows that I want you.”

“He knows that?”

“He knows it, and he encourages it.”

“Encourages it?”

“He told you, didn’t he, about Suzette?”

“Yes.”

“Neither of us minds sharing.”

“This is mad. You think Emmett would be OK with me…and you…?”

“I don’t think it,” said Fox, bending his forehead to mine. “I know it. We’ve discussed it.”

“But not with me!”

“Until now.” Fox’s lips were almost on mine. I could just push mine that little bit further and… “Emmett was worried about scaring you off, if it wasn’t what you wanted. But you’ve given me just about every signal there is that you want me just as much as I want you, so I think perhaps the time has come to raise the subject.”

“Emmett’s just being fair-minded,” I whispered. “Because he had something of yours, he feels he has to repay the debt. You aren’t equal. He sees you as his mentor, his superior officer. He feels obligated to you.”

“That’s not how it is at all. This is how it is – Emmett loves you, you love him, I love him, he loves me, I want you, you want me. It’s not complicated. It’s very, very simple.”

“If it was that simple…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t…know…”

But there was something I did know, and that was how easily Fox made every inhibition slip away, stripping me nude in some kind of dance of the seven emotional veils.

I was still claiming not to know when I opened myself up to his kiss, warming myself against him as if he were a fire, our feet moving aside to accommodate each other. He was unexpectedly well built underneath his shirt, a contrast to my rangy Emmett, and I took pleasure in the difference.

His lips were not the same either, and he had a different way of kissing, harder and less voluptuous, but with such strength behind it that surrender was the only option. I couldn’t have said which kiss I preferred.

Perhaps, after all, variety could be the spice of my life.

“You’re sure Emmett’s all right with this?” I said, gasping as he let me up for air.

“Emmett is the most admirable person I know,” said Fox. “He doesn’t allow room in his head for negative emotions. He doesn’t get jealous, he isn’t insecure, and when he loves somebody, he wants them to be happy. Do you know how incredibly rare that is?”

“Yes, and I know how lucky I am to have found him.”

“He knows you’ll never leave him, and he knows I’d never take you from him.”

“Like with Suzette?”

“Not quite. I never thought she’d be mine for keeps, but that didn’t bother me. This is different – a deeper bond. But look, I’m not going to ask you to decide now. Take as long as you need to think about it. If you decide it’s not for you, nobody will hold it against you. It’s completely up to you.”

He pecked me once more on the lips.

“Your decision,” he whispered, loosening his grip on me and bending to pick up the champagne. “Now, shall we get on?”

The walk back, short as it was, was severely impeded by my burning solar plexus and rubbery legs. How could I snap back into the Jo I had been ten minutes ago? Everything had changed. Nothing was the same.

The swagger of Fox’s stride, the roll of his shoulders a few inches above mine, the lingering sense of his beard on my skin all merged into a kind of hyperreality, making my surroundings vibrate around me.

Six weeks into marriage, and I was already unfaithful, adulterous.

But was I?

Walking back into the house, I was suddenly intensely conscious that my lipstick must have been kissed off, and I put my fingers to my lips in a textbook gesture of guilty concealment.

Emmett clocked it straightaway, his eyes holding mine as Fox dropped the bag on the table and said something about having to be careful opening it, as the bottle had been accidentally dropped.

“I’ll get the glasses from the kitchen,” said Emmett. “Jo…”

He didn’t come up with a pretext to get me in there with him, but I guess we all knew that none was needed.

Away from Fox’s eyes, Emmett pulled me quickly into his arms, putting his own finger to my ruined lips.

“Are you OK?” he whispered.

I couldn’t speak. I looked into his face, loving it more than I had ever done before.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He nodded. “Later, yes,” he said, then he kissed me fiercely. “I love you.”

I felt the brim of tears.

“I love you too,” I said. “So much.”

Blurb:

“I met a man called Emmett, and now I belong to him.”

Twenty-something Jo meets Emmett on a team-building course, and her initial disdain for him soon turns into attraction.
With Emmett’s strong but loving hand to guide her, Jo unleashes her inner submissive and they embark on an intense voyage of sexual discovery.
Their mutual fascination sees them exploring bondage, spanking, toys and more, and their romance is as perfect as Jo could hope for, until another man appears on the scene.
She knows that Emmett hero-worships his former boss and mentor, Charles, but when she finds out that Charles is the man who introduced Emmett to the art of domination, she has no idea how to feel.
With fierce desire growing between the three of them, can they find a way to explore this new dynamic without destroying what they already have?

The Story of Jo is available in print and ebook formats:

Amazon: http://smarturl.it/TSoJKindle

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-story-of-jo

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/the-story-of-jo/id1420094618?mt=11

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-story-of-jo-justine-elyot/1128642055?ean=9781910908303

Author bio:

Justine Elyot is the author of best selling erotic novels On Demand and The Business of Pleasure, as well as enough short stories to fill several anthologies.

She can often be found moaning about stuff on Twitter as @JustineElyot

***

GIVEAWAY!

Enter for your chance to win a £20/$20 Amazon gift card and a paperback copy of The Story of Jo.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/8b9ec5be188/?

***

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xx

Everyone Needs A Bedtime Story

Tag: blog tour

Blog Tour: Finding Space by Queenie Black @queenieblackwr1

The Golden Shana Series: Blog Tour

When Three Isn’t A Crowd: The Story of Jo