With Rough Surrender almost released, I've sent out a newsletter to fans with a nice fat excerpt and also a taste of my short story, Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love, a teaser for my next writing project, Cataclysm Blues - Awakening, Book One.
If you ordered my newsletter don't expect a great fanfare of trumpets and the descent of angels from the heavens. Apart from the fact that my stories are highly erotic BDSM - so no angel will come within a mile without self-combusting - apart from that, I also suck a lot at newsletter writing.
I rely on the attached stories to grab you round the throat, slap you around, and roughly encourage you to buy the book. My co-author and crit partner, Leia Shaw has just hired a publicist to do her promo, well I need a newsletterist! I have Mail Chimp, a system that purports to turn you into THE GREATEST newsletter person EVER!!!!
But I stared at all the buttons and ran away.
They send me emails now and then telling me what to do. I file them. Like I file all weird stuff. One day...one day I will read thee. With welding glasses on and a pair of tongs. Things like that drive me batty.
BUT I did do a newsletter. Expect one. If you wanted it. Read the darn thing. I sweated blood, and maybe even some actual sweat, writing that thing.
Here's my website for the book. Go look. Go drool. Go do something like jump up and down so I feel the floor rumble. It'd be nice. I promise it'll be fun. http://roughsurrender.weebly.com/
Orgasms however, are not guaranteed. I reserve those for the book.
Out June 4th from Lyrical Press!
Adults Only - 18 Years Plus
He’d never found a woman, he didn’t have to pay, who showed a true inclination for what he craved. Yet here was Faith, a wholesome normal woman who’d liked being dominated. Unorthodox and lovely and one of the most intriguing ladies he’d ever met. She wasn’t afraid to break the rules, and if she hadn’t done so earlier, he’d not be here, in her bedroom with this soft arousing bundle of femininity in his arms.
Maybe, after all, there wasn’t anything wrong with him and his desires? With one hand on her head and the other cradling her rounded bottom, emotions churned to the surface inside him -- both an overwhelming tenderness and a powerful need to spread her out on the bed and do everything to her body he could imagine.
This excerpt is from my next release - Rough Surrender - a historical BDSM set in Cairo 1910. Out June 4th from Lyrical Press
See my "books" tab for a longer excerpt.
Joining six sentence sunday can be fun! To join in, and find other participating writers, go here six sentence sunday
On twitter use the hashtag #sixsunday
This story is for a free anthology put out by my crit group. ERAuthors. But here's a little snippet. The story is the beginning/ teaser for a new series I'll be self-publishing.
PNR in a post-apocalyptic time.
Series title - "Cataclysm Blues"
This one has an American West background but with added sexy paranormal!
Expected Release Date - Winter (US) 2012
The move was fast and unexpected. Rose couldn’t counter it and barely knew what he’d done after it was over. Her pistol was gone, she’d been shoved into the brick wall hard enough to sting her back, and Talon held both her hands above her head. Each of his hands pinned one of her wrists. They were both breathing hard.
“Don’t scream. I’ll let you go. I just wanted you out here to talk, like I said.”
She blinked. How had he done that? No one, ever, bested her.
“You’re a freak.” She wriggled her wrists but all that did was chafe her skin on the brick.
Could kick him. But he crowded her—his body pressing close. Groin to groin, his chest to her breasts, and his mouth inches away from hers. And there it was—that kerthump sinking feeling again. The temperature between her legs went up several degrees, and wet…she was much wetter down there.
“Freak? Am I?” Rose heard that dead smile in his words again. “What about you?”
“Me? I’m the sheriff.” He still held her. “The letting go bit? Remember? My deputy is coming.”
“Not yet he isn’t. I can’t hear him.” The pause stretched to breaking point. “You’ve been stupid, Sheriff.”
Yeah, she guessed she had. She’d thought she could take him. Killing someone took seconds, if you knew how. Looking into Talon’s night-darkened eyes only reinforced her gut instinct—this man could kill. But he hadn’t. And now, though she could try screaming, that meant sucking in a heap of air, and he’d know.
On the flip side… “If you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
“True.” So close, she felt the waft of warm air from his mouth as he spoke. She smelled him every time she inhaled.
As if he read her mind, he leaned in and put his nose to her neck where it was bared by her collar. His warm skin on hers. The fine bristles on his chin rasped at her. She tensed.
Why am I not protesting? I’m not some floozy. No? Then why haven’t I screamed for Deputy Yale? And sod it, that man is slow.
“Kill you? You smell too good, beautiful. I think I have other plans.”
Beautiful? Other plans? She stopped breathing. No one called her that. Especially not a six foot plus hunk of man who could, for once, eat her all up without half trying. His thigh moved in, denim to denim, pressing upward to where her clit resided. God damn, that’s…
The wall seemed to slide a half inch upward, because her knees had caved. She’d melted—bone, muscle, everything. The only thing stopping her slide was his knee between her legs, and her arms fastened above.
Around her wrists his grip rhythmically relaxed then tightened as if he was thinking. She thought about swallowing again, but that would be a dead giveaway to her arousal.
“You’ve never been kissed, have you, Rose?”
“Of course I have.” The huskiness in her voice bothered her. He’d know. Got to get back on the job. Get out of this hold for starters.
“No. You’ve never had a man kiss you, though you might have kissed them. There’s a difference. I doubt anyone else could handle you. I can.”
Stunned, she gaped at him.
The winner of my ebook Lust Plague is Mineliz, from the Sinful Sirens Blog Hop.
I sent an email to you, Mineliz, so look in your inbox!
See how tasteful my winner pic is? I was tempted to use the one below since Lust Plague has zombies, but I was kind and didn't. Aren't I good?
18 Years Plus Only
Okay that's it for the bad analogies. Below is my excerpt from Lust Plague to tease you, tempt you and make you wriggle in your seat.
I'm giving away one ebook copy of Lust Plague. Comment to enter!
Drawn after midnight May 20th
When airship captain Kaysana meets Sten, the last thing she wants to do is have mad rough sex with him while bound by ropes and clamps but fate pencils in their appointment. The lust plague strikes. From her infected crew, zombies arise.
Sten and Kaysana unlimber weapons, and set a course for the origin of the plague. Yet their victory will be hollow if they cannot also solve the puzzle of their hearts.
“Stay still,” Sten said quietly, firmly, then put his hand to her bare back and felt her jerk at the press of skin to skin. The transformation made his dick quiver as always, and damn, he was already hard. The way Kaysana’s face changed fascinated him. It was like watching a flower unfurl. The hardness, the wariness, drained away. Instead she looked at him with adoration and acceptance in those toffee brown eyes.
Yet after a few seconds, he saw awareness return. This is new. She’s resisting this thing that affects us. He didn’t bother trying to resist anymore. He wanted her, knew he would’ve anyway. This just made it easier. The Zen let him see the truth. Having Kaysana kneel at his feet -- this was his fantasy, want, need…whatever. Having her want him back sent his libido soaring into the stratosphere. Done deal.
The intriguing thing was watching her wriggle to get out of it. To deny her needs.
“Come.” He tugged, then towed her to the front of the rooftop by the leash wrapped in his hand.
“Sit here. Stop trying to push me away. You’re right. Last time I touched you, those zombies zeroed in on us like flies to…” Blood.
Keep your shit focused. Zone them out. Zen, man, Zen. Took him a few hard seconds, but he managed. He had to. Their lives depended on this working. The difficult bit was keeping her in a mental space where she forgot.
At the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she sighed. Quivering with need already? Her smart, thinking side was clearly miles away. He spread his fingers on her warm skin and smiled.
If not for the effects of the plague, this would never have worked. The zombies waiting below to rip them apart weren’t exactly love potion ingredients.
Sten pressed his palm on her nape, made her kneel, turned the leash around his fist until his knuckles brushed the angle of her throat and jaw. He bent down, staring at her. Her gaze went all gooey, her pupils dilating, gorgeous -- if he could’ve bottled that, he would’ve.
“Let’s kiss,” he murmured.
The feel of her soft lips under his near unhinged him. Their hot breaths mingled as he explored her mouth. At first passive, then she struggled a little and tried to pull away. With his hands at her neck and throat, he held her to him. “No,” he whispered, licking the corner of her mouth. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”
Then he crushed her resistance, shoving his tongue between her lips, taking over her mouth with his while he slid his fingers into her hair. He turned his hand to screw those fingers into the roots, wrapping hair about each finger -- harder, tighter. When she gasped and her mouth fell open, he knew he had her. He kept at her. Not until she moaned uncontrollably into his mouth did he let up and slowly lift away.
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: anal play/intercourse, BDSM theme and elements, exhibitionism, spanking, strong violence.
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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.
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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.
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