Sarah Masters's Blog, page 5

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When bounty hunter Sam McCallister sees Eden Pace playing poker for the first time, he loses all interest in the cards; instead, the thought of playing stud with the lady gambler stirs his cock to life. Eden's the prettiest woman and the best card sharp Sam's ever met. Good thing he has a few cards up his sleeve.

Eden's doing her own outlaw hunting. She's on the trail of her husband's killer and Sam's in her way. To get free of this hardheaded, softhearted, gorgeous man, Eden tries strip poker and naked truth-or-dare, but when Sam ups the stakes, carnal submission and desire are unleashed.

When Sam discovers Eden's wanted for murder, he figures his bed is the safest place for her. But taking Eden prisoner isn't as easy as Sam expects. He's in a high-stakes poker game with lust on the table and his heart on the line, because one taste of Eden just isn't enough.

Be sure to stop by Three Wicked Writers Plus Two every day from Dec 1st until Christmas. You can win a prize every darn weekday. WOOT!

Come and join me over at Three Wicked Writers Plus Two and tell me all about the silly things you've done in and around the home!

http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2010/11/five-stupid-things.html

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Blogging as Natalie Dae today over at Three Wicked Writers Plus Two. Contemplation. What makes you stop and pause?

WordPress appear to have changed the way you link. It's annoying and not working for me. So here you go: http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2010/11/contemplation.html

Ryan takes Lee away to recuperate, but once again, someone from their past catches up with them.

Blurb:

After Lee leaves hospital to further recover from being shot, Ryan takes them on a long weekend. They stay in a hotel and enjoy one another's company, taking strolls on the beach and eating in the local pub. During one beach walk, one of their old adversaries shows up, letting Ryan and Lee know in no uncertain terms that the gang leader hasn't finished with them yet.

Ryan has always brushed off the fact that some people are anti-gay, but now he is forced to accept that as much as he wishes people would just leave them alone, you don't always get what you wish for.

 

Drawn to the attic in her new home, Amelia finds a saucy nineteenth-century wench dress. At first glance, it's just a dress, but once she dons it, desire streaks through her and she's transported to the past. Overwhelmed by lust, she is caught pleasuring herself, discovered by the most gorgeous man she's ever seen, who turns out to be—her lover?

Amelia and Emmet join in an explosive sexual union, erasing the months—or is it centuries?—they have been apart as though they never existed. But suddenly Amelia awakes—alone.

Until the dress calls again.

Emmett's not the only one lusting after Amelia. Lord Graham wants her and he doesn't fight fair. He kidnaps her, sends Emmett on a deadly errand and forces Amelia to participate in his voyeuristic games. Although Amelia's body betrays her, she vows to remain true to Emmett, but will he return? And can she escape the clutches of Lord Graham's debauchery?

Amidst subterfuge, treachery and murder, Amelia and Emmet's love grows and they reach new heights of carnal passions.

EXCERPT:

Emmett ignored her, only sliding his hands to span her stomach. His mouth covered one nipple, teeth lightly nipping, and the shock nearly had her opening her eyes. He sucked, tugging on the taut peak the way she liked, as she knew he would. She cried out, almost reaching her pain threshold. Emmett eased the pressure a little, then sucked and reared his head back once more, the torment too much for her, too intense.

"Stop, I…"

He let her nipple go. It ached, and despite wanting the sweet torture to end, she longed for more. As though picking up on her thoughts, he tongued her nipple, sucking it as before. Amelia clasped her hands together tighter, wanting to cry out yet at the same time testing herself to see how far she could go. He pulled harder, his fingers stroking her waist, circling her navel, and she clenched her cunt, willed herself not to gasp.

She failed, snatching in air.

Breast free of his mouth, she lifted her pelvis, needing him to cater to her throbbing bud. The mattress dipped again as he shuffled his knees farther down the bed then settled between her legs, the heat of his breath on her slit forcing the air out of her lungs. Her torso juddered beneath his questing fingers and she itched to pinch her nipples. Instead, she squeezed her hands again. His tongue parted her. The tip swirled around her nub and a blaze of sensation warmed the folds.

"Oh God, Emmett…"

"I'm going to sup your cream. Lick you, make you want me so much you can't breathe."

He flattened his tongue, licking her with quick strokes, fingers smoothing down her body to widen her slit. She bucked as he worked faster, exquisite waves of pleasure ebbing and flowing in and around her bud. Panting, she writhed, unclasping her hands and gripping the headboard spindles. She dug her nails into her palms, the bite adding to her excitement. Tongue flicking from side to side, Emmett brought her to the brink of orgasm then stopped, kissing her mound and her lower belly. She hissed out between clenched teeth, frustrated but knowing when he touched her there again the pleasure would be stronger. He took his mouth from her belly and didn't move. She waited, eyes still closed, and listened to the sounds around them—their breaths, a creaking bed downstairs, faint moans from customers, footsteps on the wooden floor below. She longed to open her eyes, to see whether he studied her, but at the same time not knowing suited her. And she waited, her heart picking up speed, her wet nub throbbing in time with it. God, how she wanted to let go and slide her hands into his hair, pushing his mouth down onto her slit, directing his movements and orchestrating the pressure. To tell him to sup her now, beg if she had to. But she remained silent, confident he knew exactly when to begin again.

At last, movement! He hooked his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her, setting her lower half on his thighs. His balls rested against her ass, their softness and warmth arousing her beyond measure. Emmett brushed his hands up and down her legs, thumbs skating close to her thatch each time he reached the top. When he drew away she almost cried out in frustration, wanting more of the touch of his fingertips beside her mound. He leaned back to caress her shins, then her calves and she loosed a strangled moan. God, he teased her so! She needed his hands higher up, at her nub, which pulsed and swelled with every passing second. Sliding his hands beneath her knees, he pushed so her legs bent and she placed her feet beside him on the bed. He spread her legs and she could only imagine the sight of herself open for his viewing.

"Beautiful, wench. Beautiful."

Her stomach flipped at the hoarseness of his voice, a voice that belied the fact he was in control. He was close, she sensed it, and it wouldn't be long before he could hold back no longer and plunged inside her. She hoped it would be soon, because she was close to coming herself. The slowness of his actions had brought her to a high state of arousal, and just the slightest touch now might send her over the edge.

Thumbs sliding up and down each lip of her slit, Emmett tortured Amelia some more. She jolted, eyes nearly springing open, and waited to feel what he would do next. He placed his thumbs together then glided them down to her opening, easing them inside with his fingers splayed over her mound. He pressed his thumbs and fingers together, her pelvic bone in between, and moved his thumbs up and down the upper wall of her sheath. Suddenly, he curved his thumb tips and touched something deep inside her, a place he had never been before. A sharp sensation had her abdomen jerking and she almost, almost opened her eyes.

"Did you like that?" he asked, dragging his thumbs down then returning them to that place, pressing there with his fingers.

The sensation came again, and now he concentrated on the area, rubbing what felt like a ridge inside her. She nodded, wondering what would happen if he kept stroking. Amelia didn't have to wait long before successive shots of fierce pleasure momentarily took away her ability to breathe.

"I told you I'd take away your breath. Good. That feels good, doesn't it, wench?"

She nodded and gasped, riding out the new feelings his thumbs produced. As the bite receded, her bud still throbbing and in need of attention, he eased his thumbs out and gripped her waist. Without warning, he thrust his cock inside her, fucking her hard and fast. She clenched her sheath around him, gripped the bed spindles tighter and gave in to the rising tide.

"Ah, wench!" he ground out.

His firm thrusts nudged her up the bed and she crossed her ankles at his lower back, her whole body tingling with excitement. Juices coated his cock, the length of him gliding in and out easily, the aroma of sex heightening her desire. She came, bucking, keening, emotions running so high they overwhelmed her with their intensity. Emmett's low moans and grunts brought on another wave of pleasure and her cunt ached with it. Wet heat filled her and her lover loosed a strangled yell, pushing into her with short jabs as he emptied himself into her contracting sheath. He slowed to a stop and lowered his body to hers, brushing her cheeks with sweet kisses.

Amelia opened her eyes, staring into his. Love shone from him and she wanted so much to tell him how she felt, but the words wouldn't come, halted by the lump in her throat.

I love you, Emmett Dray. Love you…
 
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Hi gang!

Today I've blogged at Four Strong Women, ranting about people messing up my house after I've cleaned it…among other things.

Okay, so today I'm meant to be food shopping, but it only took one glance out the window this morning, and I thought, quite honestly, eff that. It's one of those days where it's raining AND there's a gusty, bugger of a wind blowing. This is not good. The one day I decide to do my hair "properly"—you know, hair straighteners, a bit of hairspray (yeah, I'm stuck in the eighties)—it's going to get messed up.

"Oh, well," I said to myself and proceeded to put on my exercise attire (see THIS post for more information as to why the general term "jogging bottoms" has been referred to in such a manner). I realised, once I pulled them up and it appeared my feet should really be asking the hems to join them for afternoon tea, that I'd SHRUNK my bottoms in the dryer. Not only was I now wearing ankle swingers, I had the dreaded camel's toe (or is it foot? I always get that wrong).

So, with the shortage of time, I told myself that wearing the bottoms on my hips was a good idea. The toe would be eradicated, and because they were worn on the hips, I could tell myself I was trendy and feel all manner of fabulousness because of it.

Off we go, out into that bastard weather. Bear in mind I have an umbrella in one hand and a heavy book bag, lunch bag, keys, and a sports water bottle in the other. Actually, I held the bottle by sticking my finger through this small plastic loop on the lid. It's cold out there, and my finger started going numb…

While walking to the main road, highly conscious that I might well have an animal's foot in place of my lady garden, trying to battle the winds with an umbrella that kept turning inside out—to the point the fabric was ripped off one of the metal prong ends—I spotted a double decker bus. Just in time, I told Smallest to "Get back! Quick!" before the bus trundled past and sploshed water all over us. Catastrophe averted, we then waited for what seemed the world and his wife to pass us in their cars, and I'll confess I muttered an exasperated For fuck's SAKE! We crossed the road and found that despite the weather, people were dawdling. Right. So I'm fighting with my umbrella, Smallest is trying and failing to ride her bike to school for any significant stretch of path, and all the while I'm thinking: Camel's toe. Camel's toe. Camel's toe…

By the time we reached the school, my finger—you remember me mentioning that?—resembled a frozen pretzel and I had a bit of trouble getting it out of the plastic loop. A particularly feisty gust of wind decided to batter my hair-do to death and rip yet another bit of my umbrella off a prong, and amazingly, I was still smiling!

I managed to get home in one piece, but I'm telling you, I don't relish going back out there this afternoon to pick Smallest up. Straight after school ends I have a parents' evening appointment, so won't get home until after four, but hey, I have the next six hours to myself. Peace. No stress. So, I'm off to write for a bit then mess about on Photoshop.

Whatever you're doing, have a great day, and watch out for shrinking exercise attire and camel's toes!