To be honest, I should be editing right now. I should be flying through Jericho, doing everything I can to polish the story before sending it off for a final line edit…

Instead, I’m crying rivers.

My cat died. Since she no longer lived with me, but rather my parents because I’d moved overseas for a while (and they refused to give her back once I came home) I’m not entirely certain her death was necessary. I know the former vet misdiagnosed a tooth abscess, which progressed to the point that my cat was emaciated and too weak to move. We got a new vet, but it was too late and I’m left pondering all the things I could have done to change the situation.

I wish I had a better picture, where she was facing the camera with her beautiful golden eyes, but she was camera-shy for a cat, and there aren’t many good pictures of her (unlike my boy, who likes to pose).

Wednesday, February 21, 2018, the day the cat died, the day we buried her, I turn on the television (rare for me, anyway) and saw the kids in Florida showing just how dynamic their generation can prove to be.

And I’m still crying rivers, because those kids are breaking my heart and inspiring me anew with every passing second.

I do believe generations think differently from each other. Each one is their own mini-culture with various advancements in science, technology, thought and humanity creating a social pressure different in both subtle and enormous ways from those who went before as well as those who will come after. It’s a shift in ideas and ways of life, ways of thinking.

And it’s about damned time.

Generation X never had the numbers for real change. Millennials, for all their strength in numbers, haven’t been able to out-yell the Boomers on many issues. There is a stranglehold, the old guard refuses to back down, refuses to listen, and the new guard refuses to fight all-out for the changes they believe in so much.

Millennials prefer grassroots—and maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s how the next generation will be able to implement real change. Millennials are providing the foundation for what will come—EVOLUTION—and this next one, Generation Z? They’ll go the distance.

I’m so proud of them. So many of us have seen the problems, we’ve begged for change, only to fall short of achieving our full potential, as individuals, as communities and as a nation. But these kids are standing up, and other kids all over the country are standing up with them and putting our politicians on notice.

They demand action. We demand action. Your time is up.

There are many solutions, and we can use a lot all at once to reach the best compromise possible.

  • Age limits to buy guns: 18 for a rifle (hunting) 21 for a handgun (defense)
  • Replace the assault weapons ban, no more AR-15s!
  • Biometric trigger locks
  • School security teams (arming teachers is stupid and dangerous)
  • Restructuring education and school meals so kids don’t bring any bags with them at all
  • Reopen mental health facilities
  • Increase funding to mental health awareness and detection programs
  • Mandatory monthly meetings with school guidance counselors
  • A better system for reporting suspicious persons or a central database for those flagged
  • Stronger background checks and longer mandatory waiting periods


I can promise, if at least some of these things aren’t implemented, the idea that the left is coming for the guns and the eradication of the 2nd Amendment will turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophesy. Our future is in the generation that is tired of the Boomer bullshit. They are tired of being scared, tired of being sitting ducks, tired of the grown-ups around them acting more like children than these kids have ever known how to be. We will return to compassion and commonsense, we have already turned away from the greed that characterized our past, the greed that is currently taking its last agonizing breaths, struggling to hold on in the face of fierce opposition.

Quite frankly, every old guard had their chance to shape the world to their liking, to their comfort. Whatever is status quo is at least the devil you know, right? Change is hard and it’s hard to embrace a new path when you don’t know what it might entail for you, your safety or your comfort. But time marches on.

Revolution is for the youth. The old don’t like it, by nature.

So they come up with disgusting conspiracy theories. This time, it’s all a lie, fake, the kids are actors. The right-wing conspiracy theorists did the same with Sandy Hook. In reality, these are heartbroken kids, parents and teachers that have gone through something they should have been protected from. The adults failed them, the politicians failed them, the law failed them, and if you’re still in support of everything that allowed this to happen, everything from NRA-sponsored politicians to legal ownership of military grade weaponry, and you’re buying into the false belief that these kids and their pain are not real, then you’re a monster and you’re just trying to make yourself feel better by claiming these kids are actors.

This is pain on a grand scale. Sorry you can’t handle it, because you reap what you sow.

I am heartbroken, both on a personal level, and on a human level. There is too much heartbreak in the world, too much pain, sadness and anger. But there is always hope and we will find a solution. Time’s are a’changing… Ready or not.

I, for one, am more than ready.

Shayla Black – More Than Love You

I’m Noah Weston. For a decade, I’ve quarterbacked America’s most iconic football team and plowed my way through women. Now I’m transitioning from star player to retired jock—with a cloud of allegation hanging over my head. So I’m escaping to the private ocean-front paradise I bought for peace and quiet. What I get instead is stubborn, snarky, wild, lights-my-blood-on-fire Harlow Reed. Since she just left a relationship in a hugely viral way, she should be the last woman I’m seen with.

On second thought, we can help each other…

I need a steady, supportive “girlfriend” for the court of public opinion, not entanglements. Harlow is merely looking for nonstop sweaty sex and screaming orgasms that wring pleasure from her oh-so-luscious body. Three months—that’s how long it should take for us both to scratch this itch and leave our respective scandals behind. But the more I know this woman, the less I can picture my life without her. And when I’m forced to choose, I’ll realize I don’t merely want her in my bed or need her for a ruse. I more than love her enough to do whatever it takes to make her mine for good.

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“Hi, Sleeping Beauty.” She grins my way.
“Sorry about that. I can’t remember the last time I just fell off.”
“You obviously needed it. Feel better?”
“Tons. Thanks. How about you?”
“Great. I love drinking alone.” Her smirk says she’s poking harmlessly at me again. “But you gave me time to finish the dishes, do some laundry, read War and Peace…”
“Stop,” I groan. “Three hours is a long nap. I admit it. You going to ease up now?”
“When teasing you is so fun?” She raises a brow. “What do you think are the odds?”
Shitty. “How can I make it up to you? If you want to hop out of the pool and come to my bedroom, I’ll do my best to put a big smile on your face.”
“I’m intrigued,” she admits. “But in between chapters of the sad Russian saga, I Googled you. You’re, um…a big deal.”
I feel heat rush to my face. I’m used to people talking about me, but I’ve never been completely comfortable with it. “I’m told I was. But like I said, I’m retired now.”
“Hall of Famer, for sure.”
“So my agent assures me.” I shrug. “I’m trying not to linger in the past. I still have a lot of life to live.”
She splashes around a little more. “I don’t know. You’re practically ancient compared to me.”
Is this woman going to rib me about everything? Probably. And I still think it’s oddly adorable. It’s way more entertaining than the bowing, scraping, and yes-sirring I’ve been hearing for years. “How much older?”
“Almost nine years. When you were graduating from high school, I was starting junior high. These days, do you need vitamins before sex or a little blue pill?”
Now she’s laughing, and I find myself smiling in return. “Fuck you.”
“That is the idea…”
“Come here, baby.”
Her eyes sparkle under the moonlight, and it’s all I can do not to jump in after her, clothes and all. I want my hands on her now.
“Why don’t you drop trou and come in after me?”
“You’re all wet.”
She purses her lips together, and I know she’ll make one hell of a sexy bad girl. “Don’t you want me that way?”
The way I feel now? Every day, all day. “Just your pussy. That should be juicy and swollen and ready for my cock. The rest of you shouldn’t be wet unless I’m making you sweat in pleasure.”
“You sweet talker, you…”.

More Than Want You, Book 1

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More Than Need You (More Than Words, Book 2)

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Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty novels. For nearly twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold millions of copies and been published in a dozen languages.

Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past eight years.

Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her teenage daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

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Conspiracies Abound

I saw something today—a conspiracy theory I hadn’t heard before. It got me thinking about what I believe and what other people believe and also why they believe it—especially as it pertains to conspiracy theories.

The thing is, I’m a novelist. I’m a storyteller. I make up wild circumstances, take unbelievable events and craft a plot around them that my audience will, hopefully, enjoy. It requires what we in the business call Suspension of Disbelief…

And therein lies the problem with human nature. We are story tellers, or we are story listeners. We are a culture that not only enjoys being entertained, we demand it. We are hardwired to listen and convey tales of extraordinary happenings, extraordinary events and people, and our stories must have some sort of villain, some sort of obstacle to the goal, some sort of secret to discover on the quest.

We are, naturally, both liars, and willing dupes of liars.

We are also naturally curious, investigative and probing. Combine that with our love of stories, our willingness to suspend disbelief and a driving need to make sense of the chaos around us…well, that can cause some problems.

Humans like to think of themselves as scientific, which is ironic considering the growing number of people who disregard actual science. Full disclosure, in my heart, I’m a scientist. I’ve always loved science and I started my college career as a scientist before switching over to study human nature (politics and religion). I have a basis for my knowledge rooted in real education and commonsense, so I do know what I’m speaking about.

Now then…

Science starts with a theory. This is why so many people persist in thinking a Scientific Theory is the same as me saying something like, ‘I have a theory that all the alligators  people have thrown into the sewer grow up to dress like humans and act like humans until such time as people believe they are human, then they go to law school. Gator People walk among us. That’s a theory, but it’s not a Scientific Theory.

Science starts with a theory such as ‘What if the sun is the center of the universe?’ We have a question, now we start looking for evidence. This is where the difference between scientific study and conspiracy theories diverge. Scientists aren’t invested in the answers—if we prove, in the course of our study, that the sun is not the center of the universe, well, c’est la vie. We don’t have a stake in the answer because if our theory is wrong, we’ve still proven the opposite is true. Win-win for a scientist and they get credit either way. Also, more scientists then come along and challenge the research and the findings, repeat experiments and, if the theory holds true, come to the same conclusion BUT, they ALSO have no investment in the answer. They still get credit for a job well done no matter what they find to be truth.

But conspiracy theories start with a question, a hunch, an inkling…then evidence is gathered to support that hunch. Any contrary evidence is either disregarded completely or considered a deception by the Deep State, Big Pharma…or maybe aliens. It’s all a cover-up, you know, and everyone is working against The People, and all the thousands of people involved that must remain quiet naturally keep secrets better than anyone else in the history of mankind and if they can’t, well they die under mysterious circumstances.


First off, you can’t prove anything true or untrue with biased information. You can’t disregard the facts you don’t like just because they don’t fit your theory. If that’s what you’re doing, you are not being as ‘Truthful’ as you believe.

Conspiracy theories are actually very dangerous things. Not because they’ll expose the Deep State (and I promise you, I’m a poor person living Baltimore, Maryland and am the farthest thing from a Deep State recruit anyone could imagine—or am I???). We live in a time of deteriorating education and rising religious fundamentalism. We live in an era where the term ‘Alternative Facts’ has been used publicly by people in charge of the American government.

Look, I’m all for religion (kinda, rather I think faith and spirituality is truer to human ideals). It helps people live an ethical life in many instances, it helps define morals and gives people a sense of peace. I myself have a great deal of faith—not necessarily of a kind that my mother understands, but it brings me peace and helps me live a life that is more generous than not. If your religion doesn’t hurt others, I have no problem with it (there’s a lot of modification that would need to be done by lots of religions, huh?)

In much the same way, conspiracy theories offer a way to make sense of the chaos of life. Life is messy, it hurts, shit happens for no good reason, and often bad shit happens to good people. On the flip side, bad people can be highly rewarded with gifts like money, prestige, status and fame. We see that and it seems unfair.

A conspiracy theory takes the hurts and ills of life and blames it on external influences, or influences beyond our control. A shadowy elite, the Deep State, enemies of the state, traitors to the cause, whatever… And sometimes there is a grain of truth there. That’s part of the danger in these conspiracy theories. One small truth can be stretched until it’s a major lie—and when faced with that major lie, it sounds so outrageous, it must be truth, or it’s so simple it can’t be false.

But it’s harmful to society, to governance, to evolution and progress. Therefore, I can’t support your conspiracy theory the way I can support your religion.

Not so long ago, I wrote a post that mentioned the hoarding of resources by rich people. By that token, it seems I must be a communist who wants to redistribute wealth. In truth, I’m nowhere close to believing the Communist systems have anything to offer human society (we’ve tried, it’s failed, move on) and I don’t believe that our former president meant ‘redistribute’ in terms of taking from some people to give to the poor. Yet, this could all count as conspiracy theory, but what I meant, had I articulated it better, was that those with money would do well to invest in small businesses, not just hand out charitable donations, but actually loan money to those with solid business plans who would then pay the loan back. Invest in educational opportunities, youth  programs, social service initiatives. I meant for people with a good amount of money to visit boutiques, rather than Walmart all the time. Support local ice cream parlors, local coffee shops, something like that.

I don’t believe that rich people cause poor people, but I do believe that rich people manipulate a system that naturally favors rich people. Is that a conspiracy theory?

We need to be careful with the information flowing around us. Some of it is dangerously wrong, but if we come to believe the wrong info above the true, it’s often hard to rethink our beliefs. Look at vaccines—don’t you dare write to me about your anti-vax bullshit. Kids die from these diseases, and if you’re living in a more developed nation, than you’re blessed to have a better health care system to help ease the issue. I used to live in a third world country, and until you watch a baby burn to death with fever, convulsing as seizures shake her small body until she finally falls still and quiet, a victim of a perfectly preventable disease, don’t speak to me about how the cure is worse than the illness.

Which brings me to the theory that set me off. Big Pharma doesn’t have a cure for cancer that they are simply not sharing with others. They may have treatments, they have targeted therapies that can help on individual bases, but there is not, and never will be, a cure for cancer. It’s a cellular anomaly. Maybe everyone in your family had it, but it passes you by. Or it might have never been in your family before, but you’ve been diagnosed. It’s completely individual, and we’re just learning what the markers are to identify a higher probability of developing it. Developing—not catching, BTW. It’s not the common cold, it’s not a virus, it’s a mass of cells that divide and multiply in an out-of-control fashion because something in the genetic code malfunctions.

But that’s scary. It’s chaos and it’s messy and it hurts. It really fucking sucks, to be honest. Thinking that there’s a cure gives some people a measure of making sense out of a senseless thing. It didn’t have to be…but it’s beyond your control to prevent (which sometimes it is, anyway). Someone else is in charge and they’re too selfish to care or help. But that’s simply not true.

For just a minute, wonder, how much would a cure cost if a cure existed? Big Pharma could charge anything for it, and you’d pay. They’d make a lot more money off a ‘cure’ than they would off anything else.

BTW, though we’ve seen pharmaceutical price gauging lately, and while I believe many medicines are overpriced, I know that much of the money spent on medicine goes into research and development so more cures can be found for more diseases. There are pros and cons to the scenario, it’s not just a bunch of men cackling evilly while robbing sick people of their savings.

Conspiracy theories that go too far keep us from seeing the real truth and prevent us from working toward real goals and progress. If it’s all out of our hands, what can we do about it? And why bother? How can we stop developing cancer? For some, there really is a prevention—stop smoking, stop drinking, don’t work with hazardous materials. Without someone else to blame, though, we have to take responsibility for ourselves, our own actions, our own futures and our own communities—something the average person would rather not do. I eat a certain way for health reasons, no matter what I’d rather eat, I can’t. I’ve cut out soda (pop?), cut back on bread and stopped smoking. I don’t drink alcohol very often, I don’t eat red meat and I try to get enough sleep every night. Sometimes, those are very hard choices, but I’m taking responsibility for myself after years of deteriorating health, and I feel so much better.

I was lost in chaos, things seemed out of my control, but I made some changes, took responsibility and realized a better outcome than what I’d ever imagined. But that’s hard. Conspiracy theories put the blame elsewhere and offer an explanation of some piece of chaos and, even if it’s not true, it makes you feel better, as if it makes sense now, or it’s just out of your control.

People are imaginative. If I tell you a good story, it’s so much better than something mundane. Conspiracy theories are the same, adding drama and excitement to a situation that is otherwise hurtful. They have the added bonus of making the believer feel smart, like they figured it out when so many others are brainwashed sheep. They are their own kind of elite and they find a scapegoat, end up demonizing whoever the ‘enemy’ is, absolving themselves of all responsibility, blame or moral imperative, while at the same time propagating false information that may prove detrimental to our communities and society as a whole.

Does fiction becomes truth, when enough people believe it?

No. Truth is still truth and alternative facts are still lies. At the end of the day, even the most exciting lie will prove to be more harmful than a hurtful truth could ever be. Do yourself and everyone around you a favor. The next time you start thinking about something others feel only idiots would believe, the next time you consider someone else a ‘sheep’,  start researching the truth, without any investment in the outcome. Prove it true or prove it false without getting wrapped up in your own opinion. Follow the evidence no matter if you like what it says or not, and find the actual truth, rather than the campfire story.

That’s my bone to pick…

Saskia Walker – Rory

Three guys who want to leave their hacker days behind.
Three women who may or may not stand in their way.

A chance encounter on the London Underground brings Sky Vaughn face to face with her stepbrother, Rory Rattigan, the guy she had a passionate teen crush on back home in Wales. Sky’s vowed to stay out of trouble. She’s already been thrown out of one college and she’s desperate for a second chance to study art in London—but she never could resist sparring with Rory Rattigan.

Rory is trying to break with his computer hacker past. His sexy stepsister turns up just when he needs to hide his hacker kit, and she’s more than willing to help him out. But Rory soon realizes the desire he’s always had for Sky is going to complicate his plans to play life by the rules. He left home because he couldn’t have her, and now here she is.

The chemistry between Rory and Sky is about to change their lives forever—because trouble and danger can’t keep them apart, and they attract both, in spades.


Once the door swung wide, Rory found she wasn’t where he’d left her, standing with the sad, almost resentful look in her eyes when he declined her invitation. From beyond the bathroom door he heard the sound of a shower.

She was in there. Presumably naked. The sound of the shower drummed in his brain. The door to the tiny bathroom was ajar, just slightly, and steam wisped out as he watched.

Okay, he told himself, get the USB stick and go. It would be the right thing to do and he wanted to do the right thing. But his feet were fixed to the floor like cement blocks were holding him there. His mind presented a picture of her, naked in the shower. It wasn’t hard to imagine. He’d seen her flitting about the house in a towel back at home in Cadogan. She’d always been a provocative little Madam. She’d told him she wanted him.

Then he thought he heard her voice, and it sounded as if she was cursing.

Unable to resist, Rory moved quietly around the futon and over to the bathroom door. The sound was muffled, but she was definitely mumbling to herself.

With one finger, he pushed the door a little wider, straining to hear what she said. He didn’t intend to actually look, but steam billowed over the top of the shower curtain and — with it — the sound of a frustrated moan.

The sound was so incredibly sexy, he couldn’t move.

Again a breathless moaning sound came from inside the shower curtain.

The sound of it made him harden. He should leave. It was wrong to be standing there, listening to her. Should he try to warn her? Yeah, sure. He could shout out while she was in the middle of showering, naked. That would be a good way to announce his presence.

She had invited him to stay, after all.

The scent of musk filled the steamy atmosphere.

Maybe he should have turned away, but instead he saw her red painted fingernails as she pulled the curtain aside to put the shower gel on the nearby shelf. Then the sound of the water ceased.

One hand grasped the edge of the shower curtain and pulled it back. She reached for the towel rail, pulled the towel free and wrapped it around herself as she stepped out onto the bathmat.

It was too late to walk away, even if he’d wanted to.

The towel was too small and barely covered her damp outline, the curve of her bottom showing beneath its hem. He’d just about processed the information when all the blood left his brain.

Sky turned his way.

Gasping audibly, she stepped back and butted up against the sink. Reaching around with one hand, she steadied herself. As she did the towel began to slip free.

“I’m sorry” he blurted, hands lifted in a guilty plea. “I didn’t know you were having a shower.”

Rory half expected her to scream, or at least tell him to stop staring — because he couldn’t help staring right then. No man in his right mind could help staring then. Mascara smudged beneath both eyelids. Her red-streaked black hair clung to her head and neck, the tips trailing across her chest, dripping water.

But she didn’t scream. Instead she laughed softly, as if at some private joke. “You came back.”

“I came back, to prove your security was lacking,” he explained as he attempted to tear his gaze away. He tried to chill, lowering his hands.

“Is that why?” Curiosity flashed in her eyes.

And for you, I came back for you. He was past denying it now.

“I guess you wanted to check the locks in here too, did you?” Her eyes were incredibly bright, her strawberry lips curved.

He shook his head. “Sky, I can’t leave now.”

“No, you can’t.”

She wanted him too, it was there in her eyes and it was such a turn on. He had to touch her, to bring her to that moment in his arms. Closing the small gap between them in a heartbeat, he shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it out the open door behind him.

Sky looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

He paused a moment, lifted her damp hair free of her cheek, easing it back. Her eyelids fluttered and she inhaled sharply.

“You asked me to stay. Is this what you had in mind, or am I interrupting your private bathing time?” She could always say no.

“The shower was your fault,” she declared. “You got me so wound up.”

Grasping the towel to her chest with one hand, she put the other on his shoulder, inviting him closer.

Rory ducked his head and kissed her, cupping the back of her head in one hand, the other finding the curve of her hip to pull her against him.

RORY is just 99c on pre-order, but the price will increase on release day (14th February), so grab yours now to lock in the bargain price!

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Saskia Walker is a USA Today Bestseller and award-winning author. Her short stories and novellas have appeared in over one hundred international anthologies and several international magazines, including Cosmo, Penthouse, and Bust. After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects.

Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying “hello” to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. Her novels Double Dare and Rampant both won Passionate Plume awards and her writing has twice been nominated for a RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. She has lots more stories in the pipeline! Saskia lives in the north of England on the edge of the Yorkshire moors, with her real life hero, Mark, and a house full of felines.

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Kay Jaybee – Making Him Wait

“Erotica on a canvas of bondage and discipline.”

Out Now—Making Him Wait by Kay Jaybee

Kay Jaybee’s popular BDSM-romance novel is back!

Re-released by the brilliant Sinful Press, Making Him Wait, is every bit as hot the second time around.

Maddie Templeton has always been an unconventional artist. Themes of submission and domination pulse through her erotic artwork, and she’s happily explored these lustful themes both on and off the canvas. But, when Theo Hunter enters her life, she is presented with a new challenge.

Maddie sets out to test his resolve as she teases, torments and toys with him. However, as Maddie drives Theo to breaking point, she soon becomes unsure whether her own resolve will hold out.

At the same time, Maddie must put on the exhibition of a lifetime. As the hottest gallery in town clamours for her best work, Maddie pushes her models harder and higher until they are physically, sexually and emotionally exhausted.

Will Maddie’s models continue to submit to her, or will she push them too far? And will she be ready for the exhibition in time? The only way to find out is to wait and see…and the waiting only makes it sweeter!


Freya rocked a little on her bare feet as Maddie touched her lightly freckled cheek. “No need to look so worried, honey. You are doing brilliantly. It’s a difficult pose to hold for so long.”

“Thank you.” Blushing an endearing shade of pink, Freya lowered the hands she’d nervously clenched before her, giving her employer another chance to see the neat triangle of her semi-shaved pussy.

Maddie, her jeans and t-shirt smeared and spattered with all the mediums of her trade, did not feel the need to mention to Freya that her own knickers were sodden, nor that beneath her holster bra, her nipples were rock hard.

A further buzz from her mobile alerted Maddie to the arrival of another text message. In fact a steady string of muffled noises from her mobile, coming from the pit of her handbag, had been announcing the arrival of texts every ten minutes or so throughout the morning.

Smiling to herself, Maddie continued to disregard her phone and considered the exquisite outline of her companion’s porcelain frame. Most people came to Maddie to be drawn or painted, sometimes as a commission for a lover, husband or wife. Some, however, like Freya, came to the studio as a way of improving their self-confidence. Despite her generally shy demeanour, Freya had proved to be very good at posing as Maddie required and the artist had offered her an occasional job as a life model.

Sometimes Maddie felt she was more therapist than artist – specifically a sex therapist – as men and women alike shared their most intimate secrets while standing on the other side of her easel. Maddie’s studio certainly had the air of an erotic fantasy confessional about it. She wasn’t complaining, however. No other life would do for her now. The job satisfaction Maddie achieved from listening to the dreams and fantasies of others while she recreated them onto canvas, went hand in glove with the personal physical gratification it gave her.

Money being either plentiful or non-existent, depending on the current success of her commissions and sales, Maddie had been forced to develop an alternative form of payment for her models – a reward system for good work. Maddie could tell from the rise and fall of Freya’s chest and the glistening damp skin at the top of her thighs, that she was more than ready to be paid for today’s session.

Closing in on her model, Maddie simultaneously cupped Freya’s slick pussy and left breast with her charcoal-blackened hands, causing an involuntary shiver to ripple through the younger woman’s body.

“Your progress really is outstanding, honey. Few of my models can stay as motionless as you can.” Congratulating Freya on her skill, Maddie left two dark palm prints on the girl’s tits and tapped at the inside of her legs. “Open up. I think you have deserved a treat after all your hard work.”

Gliding her palm over Freya’s mound, Maddie slipped a gentle finger into the slippery canal of the model’s frantically clutching sex, enjoying the murmured mew of contentment that escaped from her lipstick-free mouth.

Pumping gently, the artist brought Freya close to orgasm with steady increases and decreases of pressure – her own mind straying to her mobile. Maddie wondered where Theo was and what he was doing. She knew what he was thinking about. She always knew that. Theo thought about her…

Praise for Making Him Wait

“Making Him Wait” held me captive, made me blush, had me yearning for more before I was even ready to let the previous chapter go. The story unfolds dripping with eroticism, every character wantonly submitting to Maddie’s artistic, commanding eye… Erotica’s “Queen of Kink” has nailed the freedom of Kink, fearlessly. Kay Jaybee writes with a masterful insight and sucks her readers into the fascinating domain of domination and submission. A realm where one’s words must be listened to very carefully and choices are empowering.’ Rose Caraway.

Artist, lover, dominatrix, Maddie has sculpted from her surroundings the perfect life and Kay Jaybee in ‘Making Him Wait’ the picture-perfect set up for an unhurried, well-written, hugely entertaining, multi-media journey into classy erotica – men, women, whatever your fancy, Mistress Jaybee guides you through her Chinese puzzle of a plot in a way that stole my breath and made my underarms tingle…Mesmerising, thrilling, word perfect, a triumph.” Chloe Thurlow

Making Him Wait, it is available from all good retailers, including:


Barnes & Noble



Kay Jaybee has over 150 publications to her name, including the novels Making Him Wait, (Sinful Press, second edition, 2018), and The Fifth Floor – The Perfect Submissive Book One (KJ Books, third edition, 2017). She has also written the novellas Wednesday on Thursday (KJ Books, 2017), Take Control (1001Nights Press, 2014), Digging Deep, (Xcite Press, 20153), A Sticky Situation (Xcite Press, 2013), and Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (1001 Nights Press, 2014). She has written the anthologies The Collector (KJBooks, 2016), and A Kink a Day Books 1-3 (available via the Radish reading app).

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

Twitter- https://twitter.com/kay_jaybee

Facebook –http://www.facebook.com/KayJaybeeAuthor

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site- http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

Kay also writes contemporary romance and children’s picture books as Jenny Kane www.jennykane.co.uk  and historical fiction as Jennifer Ash www.jenniferash.co.uk


Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Getting back on track…

So…we’ve established that last year was rough for me and that I’ve fallen behind on a number of my projects—because of everything that has happened over the past two years (especially).

I have lost whole books, not just chapters. I have lost pictures, book covers that I have to remake, blurbs, teasers, various correspondence and mailing list materials…technology wasn’t my friend in 2016.

2017 was the year of the health crises (which also began in 2016 but really hit its stride in 2017). And yes, that’s ‘crises’ as in plural, and not just mine but nearly everyone in my immediate family that I’m responsible for in some way. I’m tired of doctors, sick of hospitals.

Now it’s 2018 and I’m starting to get my feet back under me. Jericho, the next in my Garguiem series has not-so-patiently been waiting for her turn. She’d demanding edits, she’s demanding I redo her cover, which I lost, except for a thumbnail that can’t be expanded without getting blurry. What I’ve got posted below isn’t big enough for Amazon standards, so that means I need to recreate the cover.

Right. I’ll get on that when I have minute to spare.

On the bright side, I’m writing again. The Garguiem are speaking to me, which is fantastic because I still have three books left to write. Avis is kicking at my conscience, too. I put her aside last year but she’s ready to get herself together. I’m still looking forward to so many other projects, too, but this time I’ll be a lot smarter about it. I’ll hoard my new series’ until I have them all complete. In fact, after I release Jericho this spring, I won’t put out Enoch until I have Antioch complete too.

For everyone who waited for over a year for Jericho and Isaac’s story, thank you. I appreciate your patience as well as your interest.

Big things are coming. It’s taken me a while to get it together, and I still have a ways to go, but I’m working on some things I think will be fun and intriguing for a lot of people.

In the meantime, enjoy a sample from Jericho…

(And if you haven’t started the series, check out Levi and Liah too!)

Quiet settled around the building. In bits and pieces, the silence descended, letting Jericho breathe again, giving her a moment of respite from her torture—then another moment and another. Minutes ticked by as she fell into her own memories, the past she ran from rising up to haunt her, just as it did every lonely night.

She’d tumbled head over heels the instant she’d met Isaac. Two years ago, her cousin Enoch, the only family she had left besides her sister Antioch, had brought her with him when he’d been transferred and promoted. The group they’d joined had been less than welcoming—except Isaac.

Navy blue eyes had landed on her and lit from within. He had a sense of humor that drew her closer and lips that edged into a smile wicked enough to twist around her heart and set her body on fire. His touch had heated her straight through.

In the space of a single heartbeat, Jericho had shivered and collapsed into love. And she’d been so happy.

“Until I’d lost it all.”

“Lost?” Isaac’s voice wended through the dark, much too close for comfort. “Or tossed it away?”

Jericho flinched violently. She leaped to her feet and focused on the dark silhouette in Antioch’s bedroom doorway. “What—?”

“Easy enough to walk the ledge from your neighbor’s window to this one,” Isaac sneered. “You really shouldn’t leave your windows unlocked in this part of town though.”

“It’s raining,” she said stupidly.

“Makes it more fun, right?”

Her heart clenched and she didn’t feel like thinking on the reason why. “Get the fuck out.”

“No. No more avoiding me, or this or us, Jericho.”

“There is no us. Not anymore.” Jesus, the words hurt—her throat and soul were both torn to ribbons. She lifted her chin, clenched her fists and repeated, “Get out.”

Isaac came forward in a rush, barely dodging the chair and table he’d pushed past in the dark. “Jericho, listen—”

He raised his hand and she batted it away. The skin on her knuckles blazed with heat as they contacted his. Raw panic flared, greater than ever before. She’d fought countless demons, had survived a horrific blast, and had even faced a woman’s worst nightmare, but the touch of this one man pushed her over the edge. Emotions erupted and blew rational thought to hell. For a moment, the darkness of her apartment was complete as Jericho’s vision faded.

She fought instinctively. Even as Isaac stumbled over the chair leg, she flew forward, fists launching. Her heart pounded and her muscles burned. It had been too long since she’d done anything physically taxing. She’d overestimated her strength.

Isaac easily subdued her. Gripping her shoulder, he spun her around and pushed her onto the chair’s seat. Jericho gasped, panting for breath as he pulled back. He stepped away and she jumped up again, ignoring the shaking weakness in her thighs and the spike of pain in her side. She kicked out. Isaac blocked her foot and sent her crashing back to the cushions.

The sound of his palm slapping the wall came a heartbeat before the overhead light flared. Weak yellow illumination, a faint buzzing sound. The light’s enclosure was beyond dirty, an unnatural filter that kept the radiance dim, but it was still enough to burn Jericho’s eyes.

And slice through her sanity.

Screaming like a wounded animal, she folded over her lap and slid off the chair. Throwing an arm over her head, she struggled to hide and fought to find some semblance of composure, but the exposure was too much. Her reaction was a beast of its own making, beyond her control, rampaging freely. Oxygen ripped from her lungs and her stomach burned under a wash of acid that climbed her throat.

Then Isaac’s arms were around her. Desperate, she turned her face into the damp leather covering his chest and denied the flash of need that exploded in her heart. Jericho was torn between pushing closer to fill her senses with one last immersion in all things Isaac, and pulling away so he couldn’t feel the texture of her skin, or the limp greasiness of her hair.

“Easy,” he soothed her. “Just be easy.”

“Go. Please go.”

“I can’t, Jericho. Now that I’ve found you, I won’t leave. I…can’t.”

“How?” She did try to push from his embrace then, but her muscle weakness didn’t let her get far. Isaac held her easily, not even exerting force. She tucked her head down, hoping the limp clumps of her hair hid her face. “How did you find me?”

“You received a letter a long time ago with a change of address on it.” Bitterness filled his sharp laugh. “It took a while to find my courage and come.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I should have come sooner,” he argued. “Then maybe you would have found your courage, too.”

“This isn’t about—” Using every ounce of willpower at her disposal, Jericho wrenched from her husband’s hold and lunged toward the wall. On her hands and knees, her movements were jerky and awkward, much too revealing, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached for the light switch.

Isaac caught her shoulder and hauled her back against his chest. She dropped her chin, letting her hair hide her. “Does the light hurt your eyes?” he asked.


“Do I hurt your eyes too, Jericho?”

Strength deserted her. The last gasp of sanity blew through her lungs with an agonizing burn. Her heart seemed to collapse in on itself. Unable to breathe or make a sound past the pain, she simply shook her head.

“Then look at me.”

She shook her head again, tucking her chin until her neck ached and squeezing her eyes closed.

“Who are you hiding from, Jericho?”

When she remained silent, Isaac pressed his lips close to her ear, burrowing through her dirty hair until his rough whisper abraded her skin. “Who the fuck do you think was at your side in the hospital? You really think I haven’t seen your face?”

Avery Flynn – The Schemer

Tyler Jacobson has a plan for everything—except how to handle his completely annoying, utterly frustrating, and totally sexy upstairs neighbor. He couldn’t care less if Everly Ribinski thinks he’s equally irritating—until he discovers she’s the only one who can help him land a business deal that will finally make him feel like he’s more than just a guy from the wrong side of the tracks.
Color him shocked when Everly refuses to help, insisting she should have run him over in the parking garage when she had the chance. Harsh. But possibly deserved. Tyler may have spent the last few months reveling in annoying the fiery gallery owner with a dark past, but he’s got secret leverage she can’t refuse.
If only one meeting didn’t turn into a fake date that turned into more. Way more. Like naked and hot as hell more.
The last thing either of them wants is to catch feelings for someone who is so obviously not their type. Good thing that will never happen. Right?

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | Kobo | iBooks | Nook| Google Play


The Negotiator: Amazon | Amazon UK | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play

The Charmer: Amazon | Amazon UK | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play


USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.