So I have a new book coming out tomorrow. Even though I got the invitation from Angela James back in February, and turned the book in to her in May, December has crept up on me. Or rather it’s raced toward me and hit me in the butt and spun me around. Has this year gone by that fast for you too?
The last week, and the coming couple of weeks I’ve been blogging at various sites in the blogosphere about writing I Need You for Christmas. Some of the posts have been about some of the Canadianisms you might encounter while reading it. Words like Inukshuk (that’s one in the photo above) and poutine. (pronounce pooh-teen in my part of the world, though in Quebec where the word originated it’s pronounced differently.) Then there is the loonie and toonie referenced by the characters. (It’s our one dollar and two dollar coin.) So I started an “Oh Canada” board on Pinterest to gather some of the images. And if you want some idea of various influences I had when writing it, you might find my Research board over on Pinterest interesting too.
I’ll be sending out a newsletter tomorrow with a contest just for my subscribers, so if you haven’t subscribed yet, now’s your chance. (The sign-up widget is at the bottom of my website. If you’re on a mobile device, find the sign up by clicking on the menu and scrolling down to “Contact”.)
In the meantime, I have several exciting news announcements but I have to sit on my hands until all the Ts are crossed and the Is are dotted. Well, no, I can’t sit on my hands because I need them to write, both the dozen blog posts as well as my works-in-progress. So while I’m busily poking at my muse, here’s a little teaser of an excerpt from I Need You For Christmas… (oh and it’s NSFW, so you probably won’t want any little people reading it over your shoulder.) Oh, and don’t forget about the Merry Menage giveaway I’m participating in (I’m giving away a print copy of Private Deceptions, which contains Private Property, my very first merry menage), and my I Need A Kindle for Christmas contest.
On occasion he wished he was a photographer, that he could capture the dreamy expression on her face as she started to come, could forever immortalize the creamy hue of her breasts with their cinnamon nipples now taut and hard. Oh he could sculpt her expression and her face, but it would be hard marble, which couldn’t capture the warmth, or clay, which couldn’t match the softness. But no camera, drawing or sculpture could convey how her body clenched and rippled around his fingers in sync with the soft puffs of breath with each stroke. Nor could they capture the heady scent of her arousal, or the spicy taste of the cream coating his fingers.
Her moans vibrated through him, echoing off the walls, until his balls drew up close to his body. He’d had to satisfy himself with handjobs since he’d seen her last, and as much as he wanted to bury his cock deep in her body, this time was all about her needs, not his.
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