Warning - the FAQs page may contain spoilers!
ebook release date Valentine's Day, Feb 14th.
Go take a look at the website of 31 Flavors. We aimed to inform, amuse, and of course add to the whole book experience! Links to BDSM sites, new developments, why we wrote the story...it's all there.
Warning - the FAQs page may contain spoilers!
ebook release date Valentine's Day, Feb 14th.
Here it is. This story's not releasing from Lyrical Press until June 4th.
This one is a historical BDSM romance with a luscious sexy man called Leonhardt Meisner chasing after my heroine, Faith Evard. Does he catch her? Several times, of course!
I now know so much about Cairo in 1910, airplanes in the early 20th century, the building of Heliopolis in the desert near Cairo, Paul Poiret and fashion, and corsets...that I think my head may burst.
A side benefit is that I'm pretty sure I could fly this airplane you see below across the English Channel. This is a bleriot. Amazing the things you can learn online. Care to hop on board as my wingman...or winglady?
Here's an excerpt from 31 Flavors that's on the kinky side. To be in the draw to win an ARC copy (Advance Reader Copy which has a watermark on it) leave a comment and follow my blog, Keyboard Fandango.
There are some things in life you have to try before you know how they will affect you.
After 5 years of awful sex, I was ready. Bondage and spanking had always featured in my fantasies, and one day, I convinced my husband to try them. That day was a turning point.
Ice cream comes in many flavors and that’s us too -- not vanilla, maybe not Rocky Road either. We can be a combination or make up our own and no one has the right to judge us.
But there will always be one question that tears at my soul: Will my husband, Nick, ever be happy with what I crave?
Release Date for 31 Flavors is Valentine's Day
* * * * *
What the hell possessed me to agree to this?
We have a support post right smack in the middle of our living room. It’s always been a nuisance. I look up at my arms stretched above me. What an understatement now.
My wrists are cuffed together then secured to the post with a rope. I’m naked and Nick has just walked back in the room with a bowl from the kitchen and an evil look in his eye. He still has his clothes on, jeans and polo shirt, and the contrast is disturbing in some nerve wracking way. I yank, trying to free my arms. I’m good and stuck. If I want to hide my body from him, I can’t. My breasts are out there in plain view, exposed and vulnerable. A familiar tightness gnaws inside me, like a hundred little bugs scratching at me, begging to get loose. If things go wrong, I’ll panic again.
“Relax,” he tells me, but the mischievous sparkle doesn’t fade from his eyes. “I won’t touch them with my mouth until you ask me to.”
Yeah right. “If I don’t?”
He lowers himself onto his knees and gives me a steady look. “Then I won’t.” With a smirk, he lifts an ice cube from the bowl. “But you will.”
My eyes must be wide as saucers as I watch him approach my nipples with the cube. Futilely, I lean to the side, trying to get away. The dull pain from the handcuffs reminds me that I asked for this. I take a deep breath and remain still.
The ice cube hits my nipple and I gasp and flinch back. God damn that’s cold.
“Look at it, Sid. Look at how hard they are.”
I look down and see my rosy pink nipples, firm and pointy like little targets for a curious mouth. I pull against the cuffs again. Oh please let him fulfill his promise not to touch them. He circles one nipple with the ice and the water drips down my belly, leaving tingles in its wake. Then he moves to the other nipple. I’m surprised to feel a slight stirring between my legs. My mouth opens. Mesmerized, I watch his fingers only an inch away from me, my skin, my areola. The ice doesn’t hurt. And it definitely doesn’t tickle. Goose bumps dot along my breasts. A drop of water hangs from one nipple. I imagine his soft tongue licking it off and I feel a rush of heat to my middle.
Nick looks me in the eye, excitement brimming in the depths. “I can warm them up for you. All you have to do is ask.”
His warm mouth on my nipples. I shudder. The stirring between my legs becomes a little hotter, melting like the ice. If he put his fingers on my lower lips, would they come away wet?
I never have thoughts like this.
“Okay,” I rasp. “You can lick them.”
The way he studies my breasts as if wondering where to start, creeps me out a bit. Knotted with anxiety, with my very skin constricting, I stop breathing and clench my fingers. The handcuffs clink. But he doesn’t touch me. He exhales a warm breath and heat swirls around my nipples, shooting through my body like hot little sparks.
I moan and strain toward his mouth. “More.”
He looks up at me. “Who’s in charge here?”
I bite down on my lip to keep back a smart-ass remark. But he obliges me and blows hot air on the nipple. Then his tongue inches out, softly flicking the tip. First one then the other. I can’t stop staring at him teasing me, his mouth near me.
It’s so novel for this to be pleasurable, so wonderful, and every little tingle is mimicked below. My need rises to a fever pitch. He swirls his tongue around each nipple, warming me to my core. I squeeze my thighs together and, for once, the idea of him taking me inside his mouth and sucking is exactly what I want.
After one last lick, he sits back and looks me over. His gaze heats me up as much as his tongue did. My breasts seem heavier, fuller.
A sly smirk touches his face then he rises. “I’ll be right back,” he says and disappears upstairs.
Apprehension fills me. What is he doing now? My arms are starting to ache. My knees are getting sore. I wriggle to get more comfortable but it’s useless. I’m stuck until Nick finds it in his heart to release me. This thrills me at the same time as frightening me. I can always say “red”, I remind myself. It’s like a mantra now.
* * * * *
Would you pose semi-naked for a book cover?
To be in the running for the giveaway of the ARC copy, comment, pretty please, then follow my blog. The model for our book is Leanna Velez, a body-building friend of my co-author. Pretty brave? Maybe you'd keep your clothes on?
This draw is open for 48 hours from posting and the winner will be selected via www.random.org/
If you want to see a sexy yet funny excerpt from 31 Flavors click here for the striptease excerpt.
Not only that but I'm in with some of my favorite BDSM authors! There's Eliza Gayle, Cherise Sinclair, Eve Berlin and Sherri Hayes. Check them all out on Scorching Book Reviews for some great books.
OMG! Getting a great vibe building about our upcoming release on Valentine's day.Just woke up and my editor / writer friend Nerine Dorman has kindly done edits on 31 Flavors and she said this with the email :
"Wow, I really, really enjoyed this story, mainly because the characters feel like real people I could relate to. This is possibly one of the best contemporary erotic BDSM stories I've EVER read. And I'm not making this up just because I think you rock.
You ladies are cooking!"
From six hundred feet up, London’s harbor and the fleet of ironclads were as imposing as rubber ducks in a bathtub. Dankyo turned from his sightseeing. He wrapped his fingers about the thick gold rope that ran up to the balloon to steady himself against the push of the wild night winds. The party-goers on this opulent gondolier airship were getting into the swing of these early New Year celebrations. Eleven o’clock by his pocket watch. The overhead blue and yellow voltaic lights swung and sent shadows tilting.
The ambassador from Constantinople had brought his own entertainment and no one begrudged him showing them off. Two slave girls rose gracefully from their kneeling position at the clap of his hands. The other guests, in their suits and flamboyant gowns, spread to the edges of the gondolier.
Dankyo settled his back against the padded timber. The farthest slave with the short brunette hair reminded him of Kirsten. He sniffed and snagged a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Sadness wasn’t him. Neither of them had suited the other. After a few weeks of Kirsten’s craziness he’d wanted to throw someone off a cliff and that simply wasn’t done.
From only two yards away, while sipping the tangy riesling, he watched the second slave undulate to the wavering music of the sitar. A black braid of hair hung to her waist -- swaying and whipping in circles to the music…even her full breasts moved. The gold mesh and fine silk of her costume revealed enough of her figure to make him sharpen his gaze. Someone else’s, a slave…but desirable. Her long neck begged a man to set his teeth there.
Ever since Claire had showed him the way, this new appreciation of women distracted him way too much. Dankyo swallowed more wine. Damn life for setting him these challenges. He could do without them.
Light boomed, sprinkled and blazed across the night sky.
The sitar faltered, small screams and shouts broke forth from the guests as they turned to see what happened far below. Something burned bright as day, and whistled skyward in rainbow colors.
Fireworks. Dankyo’s well-trained brain didn’t fail him. Early fireworks set off down amongst the ironclad battleships…a distraction. Why? The thoughts barely took seconds.
A tiny squeak made him look at the ambassador, who was staggering backward, hand at his chest. A small knife had sprouted there. Blood spread across his white shirt.
Assassination. No one near the man. The direction of the blade, the glimpse of the raven-haired slave’s eyes, told him where to run. He flung aside the glass and took off from his toes, felt his good leather shoes bend as he reached for the woman’s arm.
Their eyes met. With a fleeting yet wide smile and a miniscule shake of her head, she spun on her heel, and sprinted for the far edge of the gondolier.
Did she mock him? His fingers closed on air and he tore after her, barely two steps behind. Disbelieving, he saw her dive for the edge, flip into a somersault and vanish. His shoes skidded. He grabbed at a rope to stop himself.
Something dropped with a crack and creak from the belly of the gondolier airship -- a black thing, spinning. Then, in the flickering light of explosions and with moonlight painting splashes of silver, he saw wings snap out from the falling object -- it slipped sideways then soared into the night, smooth as an owl on a predatory errand.
“What in all the heavens,” he whispered. Admiration stung his voice. My god, the woman had stored a collapsible craft on the underside, and used it to escape.
Minutes later, he had the first slave kneeling head down before him. It seemed he was the only guest with any sense of organization. The ambassador was dead and they were descending to the ground, but there was time for interrogation.
“This one must be questioned,” he said to the ex-ambassador’s flustered assistant.
“Are you sure, sir?” The young blond fellow tilted his head. “I doubt Riane is involved. She has danced for the ambassador many times.”
“Ah.” Dankyo made sure to keep his expression stern as the slave girl peeked at him. Mostly bluff but she needn’t know. The answers would come faster. He rolled up his sleeves. “We must be sure of her innocence. We have time before we reach the ground. There’s a flogger and some ropes in my bag. Bring them to me.”
Though his eyebrows raised, the man scampered away.
Dankyo eyed the dark sky and wondered where the pretty killer was headed. “After I question you, Riane, there is another I must find. But first, remove your clothes.”
The widening of her eyes and the way her fingers bunched in the fine silk spoke of nervousness. She folded her arms across her waist and her breasts pushed forward -- her nipples peaking and showing through the small holes of the gold mesh.
“Here, sir!” The blond assistant slapped the flogger’s handle onto Dankyo’s palm. “And this.” He showed a coil of rope.
“Quickly, my dear. I’m sure you don’t want to irritate me.” Dankyo smiled down at the woman and swished the strands of the flogger on his thigh, feeling them wrap around and stick to the cloth of his trousers. And now to test his theory of interrogation that a woman would confess in the aftermath of extreme pleasure. “When you’re naked, you may choose whether to be tied in a standing position with your hands above your head, or kneeling over one of the divans.”
She squeaked and trembled like a cornered mouse. After a long, steadying breath she gathered the diaphanous silk then pulled it over her head. Like a wave in clear water, the material shimmied down her arms and puddled next to her feet. The cobweb-fine gold of her tunic glinted and clung to her body, revealing the tempting curves of her breasts and stomach.
“Good,” he murmured. “The rest also.”
Something told him, morning would not spell the end of this matter.
I got this a while ago but have been on a bit of a beach holiday so here it is in delayed action.
My release date for Lust plague is the 27th of March. And here, to celebrate, is a snippet. For the zombie lovers.
* * * * *
The steam cycle grumbled slowly down the street, weaving in a wide arc around the zombie, who tangled his feet and fell.
A dead donkey lay on its side with a small cart still strapped to it by a harness. They swerved left at the end of the street and into a narrower one. A swarm of zombies hobbled toward them -- footpath to footpath, an almost unbroken line.
“Hang on!” Sten accelerated, the front wheel lifted, then thumped down, stirring up swirling dust. Engine screaming they headed for the far right of the zombie pack. With Sten's arms either side, Kaysana could only grip a fistful of the trouser fabric over his thighs and do exactly what he'd said -- hang on tight.
A gun would be nice. Shooting something would be even better.
Arms, black fingers, stretched toward them, heads turned, the growling and moans penetrated the cycle's glass and metal. Dead eyes swiveled and tracked them. Nothing seemed to register to the zombies except them -- pumping, breathing, living bodies. The gap ahead narrowed between footpath and a brown building wall. With a teeth-cracking thud the cycle mounted the footpath. A zombie appeared, clawed at the glass, went under the wheel, shrieking.
The cycle bumped, slewed and tilted, then rumbled over the top. Blackened blood splatted the windscreen, lower left. They zoomed through the thinning crowd of undead. The street ahead was bare. The cries dissipated. The blood dribbled down, tendrils spreading sideways with the buffeting of air like a spider web spun of darkness.
Here's a scene from 31 Flavors that got excised with extreme prejudice and didn't make it into the final version. Leia made me take it out because she said Sidney would never have allowed this.
Leia Shaw is my co-author on 31 Flavors, a contemporary BDSM romance, and since this story is based heavily on a real person...I gave in.
By the way, up there is the cover featuring Leanna Velez, a friend of Leia's who is a body-builder, and, good friend that she is...she volunteered to be photographed in her underwear and tied up for our book.
But, here for your enjoyment is the uncut, cut scene! Sidney has just had a chuckle at Nick after a small accident, but she's still tied up to the kitchen tap.
Adults Only - 18 Plus
“I’m sorry I laughed. You okay?”
“Honey.” He looks sideways at me. Somehow his expression conveys both dark seriousness and amusement. “You just earned yourself extra punishment.”
“Umm.” I did?
“How’s your hands?”
“Good.” He’s not letting me go? Excitement climbs a notch in my veins. I eye the spatula. Truly the flat blue end on it looks promising. I can’t help doing a tiny wiggle.
Confidence back in his stride, he goes to the fridge and with a rustle of plastic gets something.
“Nick! Whatever’s in there is for eating. Not…not.”
A flat grin plastered across his face, he returns and pokes me.
“Stop! Nick!” I dodge, laughing, as best I can but the thing -- which turns out to be a cucumber -- gets applied to my belly and my breasts and then he holds me down and slips it along my cleft. “Nick!”
“Not for putting up inside your wet little pussy? Hmm? Stick out your ass.”
Before I can reply he steps away and smacks me with the spatula right on the crease of thigh and bottom.
His hand gripping my hip also has the cucumber, but at least the vegetable has warmed up a bit. My giggling returns as he lays a series of fiery smacks all over my butt. There will be marks left, I’m sure. By the umpteenth smack I’m going hazy and I arch my back out and up some more, seeking that odd fusion of pain and pleasure that sits there waiting for me. I sigh.
A few more swats and he swipes his fingers along my folds, wiggles some inside, deep, then slips them out and in with my moisture.
“You’re soaked down here,” he says distantly, painting my skin with coolness. I don’t care at all, lost in a foggy land where all is right.
No more smacking. I lean on my forearms as he makes me move my stomach away from the counter. I feel him get down between my legs. There’s a thump as maybe his back hits the cupboard door then his broad hands are on my thighs, parting me. Heat engulfs my clit.
“Ohh.” I moan and push into his mouth, still with my elbows braced in the sink, with my butt hot and the strong beat of my pulse spreading throughout me. My flesh is infused with fire and lust and wet molten lava that seeks out my little clit. It pumps up, filling. Blood. Hotness. Delicious slippery tongue.
The cucumber probes at my entrance, then he pushes it up, up inside until I feel as if I’ll burst. A fridge and food thing inside me. I want to say no, but can’t, won’t. God. Too much. I’m filled to the very top.
The coldness wars inside with my warmth, making me more aware of precisely where he’s put it.
He grips my clit in teeth and swipes that tongue across the top. I bunch my fists and arch into him, thighs straining. His hand splays across my belly, while I strive and push toward Nick’s mouth and his wriggling tongue that’s found every nerve in my clit and wakened it. The cucumber goes in, out, adding its forceful pressure to my walls. I clamp down onto the chill hardness, quiver and shut my eyes, pull on the tap to create tension. I’m here, trapped, for him to pleasure.
In and out, lick, wriggle of wet tongue and then, I come, and goddamn come, hurtling into white space. My legs and tummy jerk as I moan at the exquisite explosion of my senses. I settle, slowly, falling almost into the sink with my head laying on my wrists. I pant and recover, listening to the slithery metal sounds of a zip undoing and then the shuffle of Nick shedding his clothes.
“Now,” he whispers huskily at my ear, his hands on my shoulders. “I get to perform.”
Hmmm, I still think we should have kept this scene.
31 Flavors is due out on Valentine's Day as an ebook.
Leia's website: http://www.leiashaw.com/
Adults Only excerpt for 18 plus
Here's my six sentences from Iron Dominance, my BDSM erotic romance published by Loose Id.
Her breasts, round and inviting, swung free. The nipples shrank, wrinkling up into perky pinkish buttons.
“My question.” He found a small bunch of red grapes, examined Claire, naked apart from the opened jacket, all the way from her knees up. Too tempting. He put a hand above the twisted cloth at her knee and ran it up toward the delicious territory between her legs where the light tuft of pubic hair came to a point.
Thanks for stopping by to read my Six Sentences. Each week, the new listing of Six Sentence Sunday (SSS) blogs go live at 9 am (EST) each Sunday. This is a great way to find new authors to follow or read! For a list of this week's participants in the SSS blog tour, go to http://www.sixsunday.com/. Search #sixsunday on Twitter, too!
Join my reader list and get a free eBook
Books , books, books
Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
Cari Silverwood is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com.
Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night.
Follow Cari Silverwood on...
Book review sites