About a week ago I sat down to write a new story. Before I knew what had happened, Ia found myself taken hostage aboard a pirate ship by quite possibly my favorite hero and heroine to date….
“Put it down, lad. Don’t think to try me,” he warned her.
Defiantly she stepped out of line and faced him. He raised an eyebrow when he saw she was no lad. His distraction presented the perfect opportunity; her sword sliced through the air. Bree grinned fiercely as she scored first blood, but her victory was short-lived. It was humiliating how quickly he disarmed her. She found herself face down on the deck with the pirate captain’s boot planted firmly on her back.
This would never have happened if Papa hadn’t sent me away. Fighting had been yet another useful skill she’d had to abandon in favor of nonsense like bossing around servants. Maids were bigger crybabies than seasick boys on their first sail.
“This girl has more courage than the rest of you scum put together. At least she tried to kill me,” he said derisively.
The boot was removed and he hauled her to her feet. She immediately cocked a fist. “Quite the spitfire, aren’t you?” He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
Her blood boiled. “Go to hell!” She beat at his back ineffectively as he carried her to the quarterdeck. She was put down with her back to the railing.
The pirate imprisoned her hands in one of his own. “I have a proposition for you, minx. You’ve given me more amusement in the past five minutes than I’ve had in a long time. Amuse me tonight and I don’t kill your crewmates. Maybe you’ll even please me so well that I’ll let you keep your ship.”
The roar in her ears wasn’t the ocean. “What?”
“Don’t disappoint me now. Is the idea of my bed so repulsive that you’d rather lose your ship?”
Brianna swallowed. “How do I know you’ll honor the bargain?” My body is to be a bargaining chip no matter what.Better to use it for the Maya than submit to whomever Papa chose.
He gave her a feral smile. “You don’t.”
I’ve submitted this to an anthology, and will hopefully have news for you about this story in the future.
I want to thank Lace Winter for joining my beta readers for this story. It’s so helpful to have a fresh set of eyes, and Lace gave me really helpful feedback.
I’ve been stuck on Chapter 6 of my ghost book for over a month. I’ve tried writing it multiple ways and no matter what, I hate it. HATE IT.
Burn, chapter 6. Burn.
I am giving myself permission to suck. To write it, knowing it will be weak and will likely be cut entirely or hacked to pieces in the second draft, so I can move on with things.
I have tried to write this novel on and off for about a decade–a draft of it was written for a Halloween contest, and the characters have never left me alone. But this is what inevitably happens to me when I’ve tried to write full length pieces–I hit a speed bump and get mired in the desire not to suck. So the book has gone through several incarnations with characters of different names, different plot lines, and so forth. But it always seems to hit a point where I can’t move past the momentary bad writing. I second guess every choice I make until I have a zillion starts to the chapter, but no finish line.
So what changed?
Lynn Townsend. I’m going to have to paraphrase because otherwise I’ll spend forever trying to track down exactly what she said to me, which was “Just write. It’s okay that it sucks. Just keep writing through it.” Which is obvious. Which is advice I’ve given. But hearing it from a REAL AUTHOR who actually is willing to put one of my stories in her anthology (and thus thinks I don’t suck) changed something for me.
Now, you may say “but Delilah, you’re an author.” To which I would tell you “Yeah, but I’ve never written or published a book, so I’m not a REAL AUTHOR like Lynn or Alison or Insert Name Here.”
So I’m going to suck it up, and I’m going to suck. So I can move on.
September 30th. I’m stating it publicly–I will send some terrible sad chapter 6 to my editor and move on with my life by September 30th.
**Updated with a link to Wicked Wednesday #200–The Best. I think this is the best post I’ve written on Delilah Night.***
If you can, I’d advise you to watch the video because I actually tell the story, but if you don’t, there’s a written version below. They’re a bit different in a word or phrase here and there, so pick your medium. Be aware that there are some NSFW moments (I’m talking about erotic fanfic), so headphones or no kids around are advised.
**I first told this at a Singapore Story Slam in September 2014***
In early 2001 I was a college senior. I hadn’t written anything besides essays and research papers in years and I was feeling burnt out. Around this time, an ex boyfriend introduced me to the world of online fan fiction, online erotica, and online erotic fan fiction. I read through some, and my takeaway was “Pshaw, I can do that.”
In Fall 1987 a tv show called Star Trek: The Next Generation began to air. Wil Wheaton played Wesley Crusher. Wesley Crusher was an obnoxious, know it all teenager –not even a member of the crew–who often saved the ship with his high school science projects. He was not terribly beloved the adult fanbase. I was 9, and I thought Wesley Crusher was the coolest, smartest person ever…because I’m a nerdy, bookish kind of girl, and he made it seem like nerdy bookish kids could rise up and be the hero. By the time he stopped being a series regular4 years later I was 13 and my hormones had kicked in. Some girls had Kirk Cameron, or Keanu Reeves, or New Kids on the Block, or Christian Slater as their imaginary boyfriend. Me? Wesley Crusher. I had the Wesley Crusher ST TNG official trading card hanging in my locker. But he left the show, and I stopped following his career because I was all about Wesley, not Wil.
Back to 2001. The deadline on my undergraduate thesis was fast approaching, so naturally I decided that there was no time like the present to write some Wesley Crusher fanfic. So I do. It was worse than you’re imagining. Yes, I wrote myself into the story. Yes, I described certain attributes in great detail. Clichés. Clichés as far as the eye can see. With 13 years of perspective, I can tell you that it was a truly truly terrible story. But as a rank beginner, I had no idea how bad this story was.
I was really proud of it. So I posted it online.
I keep writing and posting erotica, as I really like it and it’s a really good distraction from the big questions like “What the hell am I going to do with a degree in history?”
One day, about a year later, I log onto the website and there’s a message waiting for me.
“Did you know you’re linked on FARK.com?”
FARK.com? What’s a FARK.com? So I go to Fark.com. It’s a website-that lists dozens of links every day, each with a tag and a one line description. You click on the link and there’s the content and a comment thread. Remember how I said I hadn’t followed Wil Wheaton’s career post TNG? Yeah, if I had, I might have known that he was really active in the online geek community. Including posting and commenting on FARK, where he was so well regarded that he merited his own tag of “Wheaton.”
Wheaton: Idiot fangirl writes terrible Wesley Crusher fanfic (I don’t recall the exact one line description but close enough)
I click the tag and there’s a page with my story, and below it are HUNDREDS of comments.
The first rule of surviving the internet is NEVER READ THE COMMENTS.
So I’m reading the comments. While there are a few kind words here and there, the overwhelming majority are not. But they’re mean in a 2001 internet way, and not in a 2014 internet mean way.
So I’m scrolling, and I’m reading, and I’m cringing.
Then I see it.
There is a comment from the verified Wil Wheaton account
Oh.
My.
God.
In that moment, I want nothing more than the earth to swallow me whole. “No. Nonononono. Oh shit. nooooo.”
I debate creating an account to try and defend myself. To explain that it’s NOT ABOUT WIL, IT’S ABOUT WESLEY. But I don’t. Because while I was dumb enough to post the story online (which, meh, tons of people do), and dumb enough to follow the link on Fark.com, and dumb enough to read the comments, I’m not THAT dumb.
After a few days, the link is pushed off the homepage by newer links. Then I requested that they remove it, and they did. I survive the experience in relative anonymity. Thank god for screennames.
In a twisted way, the fact that I could ever want to write another word of erotic fiction, even erotic fanfiction after Wil Wheaton found out about my story meant that I must really love writing erotica. Which I do. So I keep writing, and I get better, and eventually I become a professional erotica author.
As a writer, I can tell you that submitting a story to an editor is a nerve-wracking experience. You never know what they’re going to say.
But there’s one thing I know they won’t say…
Oh.
My.
God.
**A few postscript notes***
I can’t emphasize enough how BAD this story was
Fark took down the story when I finally thought to ask them to do so
I feel bad for any embarrassment it may have caused Wil
“Oh. My. God.” is not nearly as bad as what he could have justifiably commented.
I’m over Wesley (because I’m 36 and ick) and no, I’m not writing fanfic anymore. I try to keep my fangirling to characters like Josh Lyman from West Wing, or Sandy from Alison’s book’s Those Boys and Those Girls, or other fictional characters.
I did my best to scrub THAT STORY (and everything written prior to my published days) from the internet. Please don’t try to go digging it up. No one needs to see that. There’s plenty of bad erotic fanfic (including Wesley Crusher stuff) for you to read now without finding my skeletons in the closet
I have a lot of respect for Wil and am glad for all the work he’s done on discussing things like net neutrality, cyber bullying, and that it’s ok to be a geek and to own it.
Readers, today I’m taking part in the “Snog for Sommer” event hosted by Smut For Good
We love a bit of Smut for good over here at Blisse towers and what is better than getting sexy and contributing to a good cause? Doing that and have it help out someone you know.
Sommer Marsden is a fantastically talented erotic romance author, Check out her blog, pick up a book or three, you won’t regret it!
Not only is she very talented she’s an all-round lovely lady. Anyone who’s had the pleasure to interact with her will tell you.
At the moment Sommer’s family are going through a really challenging time, her husband is fighting pancreatic cancer and it is putting a strain on then in many ways. What I’m hoping we can do with our Snog for Sommer is to help take a little of the financial strain off their shoulders.
Today I’m going to feature a kissing scene from my story “Love is a Virus.” I’m proud to announce it will be part of Coming Together: Among the Stars, edited by Lynn Townsend
Captain Lily Dawes has just ordered Ensign Saanvi Patel out of her quarters…
Captain Dawes closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for the sounds that would signal Ensign Patel’s departure. She would re-establish boundaries. There would be no more lapses of judgment in the future.
Shields up, Dawes.
Everyone on board the Seattle took Captain Lily Dawes’s orders. It came as a shock, then, when a hand touched her arm. Automatically, she turned to face Ensign Patel. When soft lips pressed against her own Lily froze, at war with herself. Captain Dawes would push the delectable Ensign Patel away and order her to leave. Shove her into the hall and slam the door in her face. Lily wanted to drag Saanvi to the bed she’d admired earlier. Getting naked and sweaty with exertion and spending every last second there until Captain Dawes had to be back on duty was the best idea Lily had had in weeks.
You should stop.
Saanvi’s lips moved to Lily’s neck, licking and sucking. Saanvi’s hands slid under Lily’s tank top and her nails scratched Lily’s soft skin. Lily moaned as her clit swelled—how could Saanvi have guessed that was exactly the thing that would ruin her resolve? She had never been able to resist a lover—male or female—with long nails who knew how to use them. Giving in momentarily, Lily kissed Saanvi frenetically , not bothering to try to catch her breath between kisses, until they were both gasping for air.
“Let me stay,” Saanvi whispered.
I love this story, and I’m looking forward to your reading it in full when the book comes out!
CONTEST
In honor of A Snog for Sommer I’m running a contest. Winner gets a free pdf copy of Among the Stars when it’s published (very late 2014/early 2015).
Comment that you’ve donated, and tell me your favorite sci-fi romantic pairing…either actual or the ones you wish had happened.
I’ve mentioned on and off that I have a novel in progress. One of the things I need to do to really progress as a writer is learn how to do this faster, but that’s not the focus of today’s post.
Today I’m going to share a peek into my Work In Progress which for blog purposes we’ll call “The Ghost Story”
I have a dual timeline going on. In this section, we’re in the past–1834. This timeline’s heroine, Vivienne, is at the Quadroon Ball looking for a man to make a plaçage arrangement with. She has met Ben–a man who excited both her mind and body on the dance floor, but he’s an American and not a Creole, and is thus unacceptable. Her mother–for it was mothers most frequently who formalized plaçage agreements–has decided to make an arrangement with one of her father’s contemporaries, Monsieur Fortage.
Danielle’s hand squeezed Vivienne’s arm painfully. “Allons y, Vivienne! Fortage is waiting for you on the balcony. Maitenent!” Now. It was an order, and one she did not know how to avoid.
“Oui, Maman. But—just a moment. I wish to freshen myself before I go to Monsieur Fortage,” she said, ducking her head obediently.
“Don’t tarry. You secure both our futures tonight. You’ll see—the hours out of bed and our return home will make up for any—unpleasantness—you may endure in the bedroom.”
She knows. She knows how horrible it will be to have that gaping carp of a man thrashing about in my bed. Vivienne began to make her way to the ladies lounge, trying to decide if one drink would be enough liquid courage to accept his offer or if more would be needed.
Benjamin fell into step beside here. “I see you got in trouble because of me. My apologies, Vivienne.”
“No. Thank you. I’ll treasure the memory of our dances while—“ she stopped abruptly.
“While you submit to whatever man your mother orders you to?”
She nodded.
“Why?” he demanded. “Why not your choice? Why not me?”
The ache between her legs at the thought was nearly unbearable. He’d be someone she would welcome to her bed. “You’re American. I just….. It’s not…. I can’t. I want to say yes, but I–”
He took her hand and pulled her past the entrance to the ladies lounge and into the deserted hallway beyond. “Tell me what I must do to convince you.”
“It’s not me you’d need to convince. Maman would never consent. She has already found me a match, and I am to obey. The only thing that could change her mind would be—“
“-Would be?”
Her face burned. “Would be to find me in bed with a man who would swear to take me as his left hand wife. At that point it would be too late for her to negotiate a contract with Monsieur Fortage.”
His breath was ragged. “Would you take such a risk with me?”
She intended to say no. Fortage was security. She owed it to her mother to secure their future. To get their home back. She opened her mouth to tell him as much.
“Yes.”
Not about the quadroon balls, but I can’t wait to see the movie “Belle”. It’s similarly relevant to my interests in race and gender.
If you follow my book reviews, you’ll notice I’m all praise all the time. There’s a reason for this–if I don’t like a book, I’m not going to review it.
On a personal and a professional level, I don’t see any value in me throwing out that kind of karma. I know how much a negative review of my story or an anthology I’m in can sting, so I don’t feel the need to dish it out to anyone else. Not every story is going to resonate with a reader, and not every author is.
Is there erotica I’ve read that I don’t like? Absolutely.
Writing a blog post takes time–I’d rather use it to share my love of something, or to progress on my own WIP’s (work in progress) instead of tearing down someone.
The schoolgirl is an iconic sex symbol. I certainly own a plaid skirt, and bought a faux Hogwarts sexy schoolgirl costume for Halloween one year because of my own weakness for the schoolgirl look. The problem for the author and the schoolgirl skirt fetishist is to make it sexy and “real” without sliding into the “ick” factor, which can be a delicate balancing act. Luckily we have these three authors keeping us flushed red as the plaid of our skirts and loosening the buttons of our little white shirts with their very different takes on the subject.
I’ve Got a New Girl Now by Sommer Marsden
“Please Mr. Parker. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
“I don’t think so. Veronica, I’ve got a new girl now.” He walks the perimeter of the room with his hands behind his back and I tap the toe of my saddle shoe to the floor. Hardwood floors that I have scrubbed for him. While reciting math facts! And here he is talking about a new girl.
Mr. Parker keep tormenting Veronica by telling her about the new girl as she does everything she can to please him. Who is this new girl? You’ll have to wait until the end to find out.
The more of Sommer’s work that I read, the more I love her writing. Sommer has a talent of taking the clichéd and putting a unique twist on it, making it new all over again. This story is one more example of that at work.
A Lesson in Lust by Sophia Valenti
She and I may have both been dressed in campy schoolgirl fashion, but she was the bad girl I’d never dared to be–and just the sort of bad girl I’d always wanted
I like my men nerdy. I like my men sweet. I like my men quirky. I like my women bad. Bad girls have done it for me for ages, both in fiction and in real life. I avoided the bad boys, but I’ve fallen prey to a bad girl or two in my time. And I would follow this particular bad girl anywhere she told me to. The first person narrator remains nameless, so the reader has no trouble stepping into her shoes…shoes I’ll likely step into a number of times.
Want by Alison Tyler
Vincent had Lia over his lap, and he was punishing her sweet, sassy ass with a paddle. I’d seen that ass swish down the hallway. I had seen it when she’d bent over to unload the laundry. Seen it when she went prancing out the door in a far too-short schoolgirl skirt, which I now saw was in a crumpled ball on the floor. But this was my favorite time. Because he was wielding that paddle with finesse, and Lia continued to cry out and kick her heels and pound her fists useless in protest. Or mock protest.
That bitch Lia is going to get what’s coming to her. And the narrator get to watch….for a price. Alison’s BDSM twist to the schoolgirl skirt is hot, and gives us one of my new favorite phrases–“menage-a-fuck” when the narrator is trying to convince herself not to watch.
If you’ve got a weakness for schoolgirl skirts, you should pick up your copy now. While it’s a supershort book of only three stories, I’d encourage you to read them one at a time to draw out and savour the experience. The three stories are also such different takes on the theme that reading them together doesn’t create as satisfying an experience. Pick the one you’re in the mood for and you might just be inspired to pull your own skirt out of your drawer or closet…or convince your lover to wear theirs. Then proceed to the next tomorrow
After he read my review of (among other favorites) “POW! It’s Shibari Girl!” by Tamsin Flowers in my review of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica, my husband told me that Tamsin had published a collection of zombie erotica.
Readers, I married the man for a reason. He gets me. I immediately opened my Kindle app and bought it.
This 5 story anthology by Tamsin Flowers will gross you out, make you squirm for all the right reasons, and then finish you off with a laugh.
Why does it even cross my mind to entertain this idea for a nanosecond? it’s go so many things going against it and so much about it just plain wrong. Zombie cock? The risk of death by zombie. The risk of death by marauder. A skanky club–and I hate clubs, even great clubs. Just for the chance to stick some zombie’s grey and rotting cock into my sweet tight pussy. Yeah, sure Id’ love to get back in the saddle. One day, in the scheme of things, when the right guy–who definitely isn’t gonna be Skylar–comes along. But I don’t want to screw a zombie who’ll probably bite my neck in the process and undead me.
Red Hot Zombie Cock features a club where you can have sex with a chained zombie. Which, humans being humans I can totally see happening post Zombie Apocalypse.
You know that when you’re a teenager, every problem you have is magnified a million-fold. What you might not realize is that when you’re a zombie, every problem you have is also magnified a million-fold. That’s a million times a million and, as I’ve never been very good at math, I’m going to leave you to work out the answer for yourself. It’s a fucking lot, if you can’t be bothered to work it out either.
I was a Teenage Zombie Virgin features the sweetest end to a zombie love story.
But, ultimately, screwing zombies wasn’t satisfying, wasn’t much of a turn on, after the first few weeks. He did it to scratch the itch but, more and more, Stanley found himself dreaming of a wholesome, young, uninfected human flesh. Ripe, peachy girls with a pink flush of health and no scabby scales or sores or missing body parts. God, what he wouldn’t give for a piece of cheerleader squirming underneath him or a nice beach volleyball player he could lick and suck and eventually bite.
My favorite story was Peeping Zom. Not only because it features the first reference to Paul Revere I’ve ever seen in an erotic story, it showcases a zombie pervert spying on a human couple. The human sex is red hot, and the final sentence of the story made me laugh out loud.
However, the newspapers would have you believe that once you’re zombie you’re going to look gross–and that you’re going to be mind-numbingly dumb. You won’t. I’ll share a little secret with you–eating brains makes you smart–smart enough to play dumb. But new zombies always have a bit of a self image problem. It’s something you get over pretty quickly –as I said, most zombies look normal. It’s only the ones that have been undead for a really long time that start to look like they’re falling to pieces.
The Joy of Zombie Sex features a zombie Samaritan, who facilitates the transition period to being undead. Including learning about the various zombie appetites.
I pulled the top up over my head and dropped it to the floor. Then I lowered my hands to my pants and popped open the fastening. As they slid down my legs to the ground, I slipped my thumbs into the rim of my panties, running them round the waistband provocatively.
“You want to see more?” I asked.
“Is a zombie hungry?” he answered. Black humor was the only humor at a time like this.
Bar the Door is a bittersweet but sensual goodbye between lovers, one of whom has been bitten.
I realize the idea of Zombie Erotica might be a little outré, and in someone else’s hands it would never work. Tamsin, however, is mistress of making what would otherwise be a bizarre concept accessible and erotic.
But if you really can’t get your head around zombie erotica, but still need a new source of braaaaaaiins….I recommend The Newsflesh series by Mira Grant and World War Z by Max Brooks, both of which are some of the best books I’ve read in the past few years. I’m now a raging Mira Grant fangirl, and I hate the Brad Pitt movie for ruining a fantastic book.
When I wrote “Baby it’s Hot Outside,” it was important to me that Singapore be integral to the story. The heat and humidity, the oddness of a tropical Christmas, even the essential phrase “cannot” that is woven throughout the story are all drawn from my daily life over the past four years. I really like Caroline and Erik as characters, but their story would be very different in another city.
Authors are finding new ways to build support and interest in their stories and to connect with their readership. I’ve been wanting to do something special like that, but have struggled to figure out what would make sense. Then I realized that I do have something unique to offer that I hope you’ll like.
I’ve posted a picture here and there before, but for the next 30 days, I’ll be posting a daily picture of Singapore on my twitter account. If you enjoyed the story I hope you’ll be interested in this sneak peek into life in Southeast Asia. Remember that Singapore is 12 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time, so my posts will likely happen while you’re sleeping. Be sure to look for them!
If you haven’t read” Baby it’s Hot Outside”, read excerpts 1 and 2, and then buy Summer Loving, edited by Alison Tyler
When I was saw that Rose Caraway was looking for people to review The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica, I was happy to volunteer. I received a copy of the book in exchange for a review, but all opinions expressed are my own.
Imagine a library—a very special one run by a librarian whose only concern is pleasing her patrons. In fact, this librarian will stop at nothing to service her readers. To that end, she has carefully collected a fantastic and fantasy-filled set of stories guaranteed to satisfy literary lusts in The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica. This voracious volume is simply bursting at the binding with amorous archives and bibliophilic bliss; it is a veritable dictionary of desires with stories by top eroticists Rachel Kramer Bussel, Tamsin Flowers, and Salome Wilde, as well as Rose Caraway, the sexy librarian herself.
The strength and weakness of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica is that it encompasses so many styles of writing and genres. Contemporary. Sci-Fi. Horror. Steampunk. Speculative Fiction. It’s all here.
Will you like this anthology? To answer that, I’m going to give micro reviews to my favorite nine stories. (Yes, nine. I had so much trouble trying to pick three–my usual review style–that I decided to highlight all nine).
Sensate Silicone by Lilian Douglas
If you’re a woman who has ever used a strap-on, you’ve probably wondered what it would feel like if the toy were a real cock. Or maybe you’ve just wondered what it feels like for a man when he’s fucking a woman? In this story, tech savvy sex toy inventors have created just that—a strap on that feels like a real cock to the wearer. The descriptions had me squirming in my seat in the best possible way. My biggest complaint is that I can’t go out and buy one now!
Three Legs in the Evening by Janine Ashbless
One of my daughters has a middle name from Greek Mythology. A story premised upon an interview with Oedipus, with the focus on his encounter with the Sphinx instead of Queen Jocasta had me sitting up and paying attention. It’s a really imaginative premise, and the twist at the end had me going back through the story to see if there were any hints I’d missed. Kudos for creativity.
The Secret Game by Chase Morgan
In the author’s section, it’s noted that this is Morgan’s first published story. With well paced sex and a twist ending that gave me a good chuckle, it won’t be his last. Solid contemporary erotica.
POW! It’s Shibari Girl by Tamsin Flowers
I always enjoy Tamsin’s stories. A superhero named Shibari Girl and her encounter with the new villain in town, complete with snappy dialogue made my day.
The Perfect Massage by Olivia Archer
Getting a massage from two men and having things take a sexual turn is a fantasy I’ve entertained more than once while on the table. Archer does a fantastic job of turning fantasy into a sensual story.
Full Frontal Neighbor by Lynn Townsend
I applaud Lynn for submitting and Rose for accepting a story with a plus sized heroine. I’m plus sized, and I don’t often see women who look like me in anthologies that aren’t specifically centered around BBW’s, so it made for an unexpected and welcome suprise. I liked the main character, the voyeurism, and deft way that the encounter between our heroine and the object of her lust is handled. I’d read a full length novel with these characters, Lynn.
The Whole of Me by Katya Harris
I had never read speculative fiction erotica before this story…and now I know I’m missing out. A husband downloads his wife’s memories into his own brain as she lays dying…and a year later finds out he got more than he ever expected. The sex was well written, but for me the real pull of the story came from the idea that you never fully know your partner. Getting access to every last secret corner of someone’s brain is going to be more than you bargained for.
Appetizer by Sommer Marsden
Sommer fulfills a fantasy I never knew I had with this contemporary story. Best. Anniversary. Gift. Ever.
From Greek Myths to Super Heroes to Contemporary Erotica to BDSM and beyond, Rose has pulled together an impressive collection. I’m linking to the goodreads page for the book for you find the full range of purchase options.
delilahnight.com 