Adults Only - 18 Years plus Grand Prize of the Demons vs Angels Blog Hop - ONE winner gets a Kindle Touch & ONE winner gets a $60 Amazon or Barnes&Noble Gift Card. Make sure you comment with your email address! Otherwise we can't enter you in the grand prize. All of my books are BDSM erotic romances. I'm giving away one e-Book from my backlist if you comment. To see my books, click here, or on the Books by Cari Silverwood tab above. I'll also do a one-off email to all who comment, telling you when the Erotic Escapades anthology comes out. As I'm not sure if it'll be free or 99 cents, I'll include that info in the email. If you don't want to be in that mass email, just say so in your comment. What is it about demons that so attracts us to stories? Their magical powers? The way they can pick you up and throw you around the room with their pinky finger? Or hold you against a wall while they deliver a sizzling kiss? The bad boy image? Mmmmmm. I like them all, but especially the last two. To me, angels just don't cut it. Give me someone just a little bit mean and I'll melt at their feet, then kiss my way upward when they ask me to. If you're an angel lover...why?! If it's demons, join the club, only don't steal mine, cause I might get all possessive. This story below is the start of a new PNR series with an American West theme. It's supposed to be a less erotic series than I usually do, but Talon seems to have other ideas. Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love - excerptThis is from a short story which will be in anthology called "Erotic Escapades" due out in July from my critique group - ERAuthors. It'll be either free or 99 cents. My story is also the first few chapters of a new book in a post-apocalyptic PNR series called "Cataclysm Blues". There will be demons. Cataclysm Blues - Book One, Awakening is due for release in the last quarter of 2012. Just so you know - this is Talon: No name still. But, he was kinda pretty. All in black—shirt, trousers, belt, weapons—like someone trying to look tough. Didn’t impress her. What did was the swell of his biceps when he raised the bottle. His profile was…she shifted in her chair…damn good too. Short curly black hair, a roman nose, big mouth…but an alcoholic? Can’t have it all in one package. That would spoil it. This way he was big and bad and kissable and broken. If it wasn’t for the row of shrapnel scars marching up his neck, she’d… ****** Talon had made it to where his motorcycle was parked next to the man-high brick fence. Even in the poor lights out there, the vehicle gleamed some dark color—black most likely, knowing him. As she strolled forward, he turned, spun even—and there was no wobbliness at all. Rose frowned and took the last yard fast, drew her S&W revolver left-handed, and slammed her hand up onto his throat. She lifted him six inches off the ground with most of the weight under his jaw so he could breathe. The pistol went under his ribs. “Okay, you cunning bastard, I can see you’re not drunk. No idea how, but when I let you down, you’re facing your cycle and showing me both wrists. Got it?” “You do realize, you should not be able to lift me.” “Huh?” The calmly said sentence was so out of place. “No woman can lift this much one-handed.” “Surprise, surprise. I can. It’s the croquet, and all the oatmeal.” Why wasn’t he sounding half-strangled? “I am not going to hurt you. I don’t like guns pointed at me.” Hurt me? As if. “At you? It’s only your ri—” The move was fast and unexpected. She 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. 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. As if he’d read her mind, 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?” She 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 the 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—man and scotch, with a hint of gasoline. 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. Above, he put her hands together and held them in one fist. She pushed outward but still couldn’t budge him. Her next deep breath pressed her breasts into his chest. And he put his hand to her neck—without asking, like it belonged there. Like he had the right to do whatever he wished. The sensation tripped her into another land. Here was a man unafraid to do what he wanted with her. Thumb on one side of her neck, fingers on the other, holding her there too, he spoke. “Done trying to escape?” She simply breathed, watched, like waiting for an avalanche. Then ever so slowly, without fuss, he came in for a kiss. Her brain kicked in. “My deputy—” His mouth covered hers. Warmth flooded through her. Slowly she closed her eyes, as he assaulted her mouth and claimed her. Fastened to the wall by his hands and body, she had no choice, for he leaned in harder and almost nailed her in place. His kisses, the subtle thrust of his thigh up into her pussy, the constant grasp on her throat and the way he let her have absolutely no way to move her hands, it all built into a storm that rumbled through her. The kisses grew rougher, he nipped at her mouth, and pushed her head to the side so he could bite and suck at her throat. Soon her moans and the sound of his lips and teeth and tongue on her were all she could hear. She writhed against his thigh, and his hand stroked where her shirt had ridden up above her navel. He leaned his head onto her neck so her head was forced to the side. Above her own ragged breaths, she heard his quiet words. “So soft. This is you. Not these.” He tapped her pistol, then his hand wormed down deeper between the top of her low-riding jeans and her skin. Too tight, he only got one finger down close…a small distance from her little throbbing clit. Oh, she could tell to a fraction of an inch how far that finger needed to go.
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Adults Only - 18 years plus 100s of authors of sexy stories are in this blog hop so if you want something to warm up your nights follow the links at the bottom of this post! Every person who comments is entered into the draw at each blog as well as one of the grand prizes shown below. Grand Prize One - the "Digital Erotica Gift Basket with over 40 books." My book "Rough Surrender" is in this BIG huge gift basket of books. Grand Prize Two - the "$100 Gift Card to EdenFantasys, fun sex toy shop." The prize here, at my blog, is a copy of one of my ebooks (your choice - see the tab above "Books by Cari Silverwood" Kinky sex surely has to be best in the summertime? I seem to have a lot of it happening on rooftops in my stories and you can't get naked outdoors unless it's hot. Or you shouldn't. *shiver* Doing it when it's snowing or there's a blizzard howling past just seems wrong. Below is an excerpt of my latest erotic BDSM romance, Rough Surrender, that's already a bestseller at ARE.
At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly. The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn't have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor's prayers. Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all. WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage. Rough Surrender - Excerpt of Chapter One The last three lashes of the whip striped across her naked back. Molly jerked only a little, moaning softly, hanging limp in the rope tying her hands to the top of the post. Red lines crisscrossed her buttocks and a few places higher up. Waves of her glossy brunette hair clung to her shoulders, shimmering in the yellow light of the electric chandelier dangling from the high ceiling. Her white cotton drawers were pulled to ankle level and long silk ties trailed over her feet. No blood showed--he’d judged it right. Hard to do sometimes with the whips Smythe provided at his brothel whenright was as delicate a matter as painting a butterfly’s wing. Leonhardt smiled. Molly had a love of the whip and it seemed he’d taken her to exactly the place she wanted to go. Her inner thighs glistened with moisture. “Molly?” He dropped the whip, stepped up to her and ran his hand down her back, feeling her ribcage move with each pant, tracing the raised lines where he’d laid the leather. Sweat slicked under his hand. She whimpered and flinched at the press of his fingers. “There, there. Shh.” He kissed her neck and caressed the lines, watching her mouth, the rhythm of her breathing and the other tiny signs that spoke of arousal. When her squeaks changed into soft sighs, the familiar electricity zapped him into higher awareness. He never grew tired of seeing how far he could take a woman. His cock pressed into his trousers. Every response of her body--every moan and movement, every mark on her skin, made him wish he could record it somehow, a symphony of the whip with her beautiful pain and pleasure written for him to treasure. He might have asked her if she wanted to come but the mere act of not asking thrilled him more. Making her come, whether she wanted it or not was far better. The slickness between her legs let him glide two fingers into her, exactly as like his cock might enter her. The clench of her hot flesh and her little shudder made him smile. He inhaled her scent while slowly increasing the pumping tempo--in and out, a little faster, a little rougher, a little farther when he pushed hard. Buylinks for Rough Surrender
Click HERE to find the other blogs, or on the bloghop image above. Adults Only - 18 years plus From Rough Surrender - BDSM historical romance. Out on June 4th  “Stay there.” Leonhardt placed his hand on her ass and pressed down. A vulnerable position -- facedown on the bed, bottom up, it emphasized that new strange place inside her that responded to him. Off balance in an instant, quivering, Faith shut her eyes and waited for his next command. Liquid seeped from her cleft. After a few seconds, a familiar scratching told her he was redoing some of the writing on her bottom.  This excerpt is from my next release - Rough Surrender - a historical BDSM set in Cairo 1910 Out June 4th from Lyrical Press. On sale for the first week at 50% off the normal price See my "books" tab for a longer excerpt. Or go to the website below 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  My Rough Surrender website is here
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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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 AuthorCari 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...
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