I finally received the rights to the last book in my Dirty White Candy series back from Liquid Silver Books. I don’t regret publishing with them. Every experience we have, we can learn from. However, I was never happy with the covers, and the price of the books kept going up, as sales went down.
They were pleasant when I asked for my rights back. They did ask why, and I gave them an honest answer. Still, they terminated my contracts when they expired and here I am. They’ve been republished with Syn Publishing, with great new covers.
In celebration of their re-release, Book 1, The Beginning will be FREE from June 26-30. You can grab your copy HERE.
Ladies and gentlemen, I did some beta reading for this little gem and let me tell you, it is HOT HOT HOT!!! Here are the details:
Warning: This book is designed for readers 18+ due to language and graphic sexual content.
A blueprint for desire.
With a shared passion for breathing life into an unconventional dream home, the attraction between a struggling new grad of interior design and an award-winning architect with eclectic sexual tastes is irresistible. But with a cloud of lies and loss hanging over him, the only arrangement Logan wants is one of indulgence and pleasure. However, fate seems to have another design plan in mind for them—a plan that ultimately leads them down a path of desire and discovery.
When the man obsessed with creating his unusual home sets his sights on the woman who keeps unknowingly navigating her way back to him, lust clouds his judgment and he makes an inappropriate proposition. After nearly blowing his chances with the talented and alluring beauty, he readjusts his plans, because it just so happens that his sexy ulterior motives go hand-in-hand with her expertise in interior design.
Though Chloe may be young and naïve in Logan’s eyes, she sees him for who and what he is: a man with severe commitment issues. But she’s optimistic—maybe too optimistic. And she isn’t easily deterred or scared away either, not even by the unusual nature of his design plans or his eclectic sexual tastes. In fact, she’s intrigued by them. Faced with a man who can give her not only the experience she needs to propel her career, but everything she’s ever fantasized about, she hopes that their physical and intellectual compatibility can prevail over his fears. And more importantly, that they can move forward to become not only design collaborators, but partners on a deeper level.
We buy the cards, the candy, the flowers. We associate this day with love and sweetness.
But do you know the bloody history behind this holiday?
There once was a royal prick, who ruled as Emperor from 268-270. He was known as Claudius II or Claudius Gothicus. During his short reign it is told (unverifiable of course) that he banned marriage because he thought his Roman men were better off being soldiers than spouses.
The Priest Valentine defied the emperor and performed marriages in secret. He was beheaded for his crimes. In a cool move by Karma, herself, Claudius died of small pox, ending his reign of terror.
Even more interesting is that we celebrate this day in February because the Catholic Church was trying to “christianize” the pagan holiday, Lupercalia. Roman priests would sacrifice a goat and a dog, strip the goat’s hide, cut it in to strips and dip it in blood, slapping it on women and fields for coming fertility. Oh yes…that’s romantic.
Don’t worry, the blood continues.
Our favorite gangster, Al Capone, grew tired of his feud with George “Bugs” Moran. A $50k bounty on his head was the final straw. Capone ordered the Moran gang to be decimated. On February 14th, Moran waited for his men during a whiskey run. As he waited outside, seven of his best men were being slaughtered inside. On the seven year anniversary, again on February, 14th, one of Capone’s assassins was killed inside a bowling alley by gunfire.
I’m sure my readers are a little freaked. I mean, really, an erotic romance author is just killing our lovey-dovey holiday?
I just love irony. So while you’re cuddled up with your loved one at your Valentine’s Day celebration, remember that you’re celebrating one of the bloodiest holidays in our history.
Let me preface this by saying my mother does not have a computer, or a smartphone. She doesn’t do the internet, make payments online, or order anything online. She gives me the cash to do it for her. Yep, she’s old school. Thank God! Because if she did, she’d surely strip my father of his belt and beat my ass with it.
I do have a cousin with a wife that likes to stir things up (not in a bad way,) and Jessica might just show this to her so she can laugh her ass off with all of her wiener dog rescues. But I digress.
What’s incredibly hilarious to me is the assumptions folks make about the authors of erotic content. It’s like we are so sex starved that we are getting finger banged in the grocery store bathroom every Wednesday by the young man who bags our produce.
Assumption: Your mother must have been incredibly progressive for you to have the sex education you have.
Reality: My mother is a quiet woman, who enjoys country music and church. Yes, she’s read all of my books but we do not speak about them…like at all. It freaks me out that she reads them and I’m sure it freaks her out that I write them. But we don’t DARE speak about them. When it was time to talk about sex, she grabbed a Medical Encyclopedia (for you young folks, it’s the old time version of Wikipedia) and showed me a diagram of a penis. It was horrifying, not to mention not very educational at all. But what it did do was make me stop asking questions. Poor thing…she did the best she could when I asked her what a Blow Job was.
Assumption: Your husband must be the most satisfied man on the face of the planet!
Reality: I work full time and write/blog/edit/market when I’m not at work. When’s he supposed to get some booty? Okay, we do have our wild times and yes, he’s a happy man. But he wants sex like 8 times a day. Who has time for that? I got shit to do!
Assumption (this one cracks me up): You must slip into something sexy when you write. You can just feel sex appeal slipping off the page. (Yes folks, these are actual words sent to me.)
Reality: If I have to sit in a chair for five hours, I’m not doing it in lingerie. If I did, the hubs would be attacking me and I wouldn’t be writing. Not to mention I have a 15 year old who would be scarred for life if I sat around the house in lingerie. A pair of crotchless panties would just send him to a lifetime of therapy.
I actually slip into something stretchy and usually have an adult beverage on hand, like Vodka and carbonated cranberry juice, or moscato. During the day, it’s coffee. But no… no lingerie. I did try a dress once but when I sat Indian style, my kid hand a stroke.
Assumption: You’ve experienced everything in your books.
Reality: Do you ask other people what sexual experiences they’ve had? For the record, I’ve never been to an island that is a swingers resort. I’ve never had sex with a shifter, or a pixie. Also, I have never magically grown a dick. That’s all fiction. Not that I’m opposed…
Assumption: You must be really open with your kids.
Reality: This one is actually very true. I believe in sex education. My daughter can and has asked me some really crazy questions. I’ve always had the answer and shared openly with her. The one time I didn’t, I looked it up. When she came out as bi-sexual, I didn’t shame her. I brought up the research and showed her statistically, she’s pretty fuckin’ average. That gave her the confidence to come out publicly.
The boy…the boy doesn’t ask much. He just mentioned to me that he can’t wear condoms because he’s allergic to latex. So…I gave him an education on non-latex condoms. He’s a lot less comfortable talking with me about this stuff, but he’s starting to open up.
And I don’t just recommend the YouTube Channel Sexplanations on here. I’ve also sent links to my children. My eldest is 19 and the youngest is 15. Who better to explain things to them than a Licensed Clinical Sexologist?
Assumption: You love reading erotica and watching porn.
Reality: I do watch porn. I don’t enjoy most of it. The gagging, facials and all around grossness gags me. There are very few “scenes” I find sexy at all. And what the FUCK is with all of the anal? Come on….I actually read an article from a videographer that filmed those scenes. He said the smell alone killed his appetite and sex drive. Don’t get me started on all of the spitting. Who thought THAT was a good idea?
Call me an old fucker if you want, but some of these girls look 14 years old… I just cringe. Not sexy to me. Not sexy at all.
I do enjoy reading erotic romance but for fucks sake there’s so much drivel out there. I find some of the BDSM novels horrifying. According to reviews, there are many out there that like it. But when you draw blood? Well, if I had a dick, it would turtle.
And the bodily fluids…don’t get me started. When I read that a woman has cream oozing out of her, I’m thinking she needs to get to her OBGYN. I’m not exactly getting worked up. Yogurt just doesn’t flow out of a healthy vagina.
With all of that being said, there are great porns out there and great erotic content. You just have to be a smart buyer. Look at/read the samples. I’m not saying mine is the best. Not at all or I’d be selling like Maya Banks and Shayla Black.
Assumption: You’ve got to be making a killing!
Reality: I work a full-time job because I have to. Because I have a family. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to get the big house. For now, no, a killing doesn’t describe what I’m making.
I managed to get the spousal unit to give me Sunday to work. It’s a challenge because he’s my social butterfly and hates to sit alone.
So I’m in my office working away when my son strolls in. “Oh, are you writing again?”
Now…I’m sitting at my laptop, notes everywhere and MS Word clearly up on the screen. I smile and nod anyway. My boy is interested though, and that makes me feel pretty good. He’s fifteen and the fact that he even cares that I exist beyond feeding him is impressive.
“What are you writing about?” He sits on the bed…yes, there’s a bed in my office. Because, naps.
He knows I write smut, so I give him the short answer. “Aliens.”
His eyes widen. “Well, you’ve got my attention. What aliens?”
I can’t help but smile. He usually doesn’t care what I write about, or that I even write. “The Asgard.”
Now he’s standing again and I can see that he’s about to nerd-out on me. “Asgards as in Thor?”
“Yup! It’s still an erotic romance.” I remind him what I do and he rolls his eyes.
“Mom, do not puss out Thor like they did in the Avengers. He’s a warrior, not a puss. Seriously, people will hate you.”
I’m laughing at this point because I know what he’s picturing in his head…Helmsworth, naked on a bearskin rug, holding a girly drink. “Duly noted son.”
I will not “puss out” Thor, as my son suggested. Because…people will hate me.
I wrote the other day about taking spawn on the Mother-Daughter date, which included a stop at Barnes & Noble.
Now, the spawn is now 19. She’s been reading erotic romance for a few years now. Yeah, it was awkward at first, but now we can talk about the books, characters, and the stuff that comes out of her mouth just kills.
“DO these people do anything BUT fuck?” My jaw hit the floor and I died laughing.
“Like…eat dinner, take a shower…take a poop. Something!” I continued to laugh.
“No one has this much sex.” Okay, so she’s a cynical smartass, but the apples does not fall far from the tree.
“Jesus, this chick needs a bag of frozen peas.” Yeah, when you’ve been screwing for 75 pages, your shit is just wrecked. But it’s fiction and she’s learning what she likes and does not like.
But our trip through the romance section was educational. I paid attention…close attention. These are our future fans. They’re coming of age, old enough to buy our stuff. Old enough to understand it and, I daresay, learn from it.
So she picked up a Harlequin paperback, held it up and said, “Really? How fuckin’ cheesy!”
The books that did grab her attention had updated covers, some had no people (i.e. Sylvia Day style) but most were bold. No torso only covers. No Harlequin-Fabio-Damsel-in-Distress covers. They’re not falling for the trend. Not in the least.
While my target market has been a bit older than my first born, it got me to thinking. These people are our up-and-coming fanbase. They’re not gonna go for something they think is “lame.” They’re going to blab on social media about what they think. They are VOCAL. They can make or break you.
People like my daughter have already passed up the YA novels. They’re not interested in teen angst, awkward young women, or gender specific roles.
They’re giving each other courage too. What my spawn didn’t notice (but I did) was that another girl her age was watching her. She was standing in the Sci-Fi section, looking at the romance books from afar. After my daughter picked up about the 13th book, the girl stepped over, grabbed a romance off the shelf and stepped back into the sci-fi aisle as she read the back cover. It was a Shayla Black novel.
As I walked by her, I winked and said, “She’s a hellova writer. You should get it.”
Her face turned red as she nodded and hurried to the checkout line.
I’m happy I raised a young woman who isn’t afraid to stand in the romance aisle and grab a BDSM novel. She’s not abashed, ashamed, or embarrassed. What she is…is curious, and secure. She knows reading a BDSM novel doesn’t mean she’s weird. Hell, it doesn’t even mean she’s into BDSM.
She empowers others too. This is it…this is our future. We can learn from them, just as they can learn from us. And trust me, I’m paying attention.
Warning: This is neither a conventional romance nor a traditional love story. There are no hearts and flowers on the pages of this book. The heroine doesn’t always make wise choices and though I’ve tried to make her strong, she’s often times weak in the face of the fierce hero. The hero is not a knight in a shining armor. He’s broken and frequently cruel, and what every woman in the real world should avoid. What’s contained in this book isn’t real – it’s fiction; dark, depraved and decadent make-believe. Contains detailed sexual encounters, uncomfortable situations and erotic elements including voyeurism, oral and anal. Intended for readers 18+. If you’re down with that, then by all means… read on.
Obsession, possession, resilience, insanity…
Seeking solitude and reprieve from her past failed relationships, Elsa begins her life anew in Richmond, hoping to find the change that she so desperately needs. Things are looking up for her, a new job, new friends… a fresh start.
But Victor has different plans for her. From the moment he heard her voice and set his eyes on Elsa, she became next on his to-do list; his Chapter 8. A well-known and respected criminal profiler, his mind is as dark as the people he hunts down. It takes one to know one, after all. Under the guise of making his subjects stronger, he intends to break Elsa down using everything in his arsenal, including pleasure, pain, humiliation, and things unspeakable. Everyone is fair game in his book and he discriminates against no one when he chooses his test subjects.
Lonely, still on the mend from a bad break-up and longing for sexual attention, Elsa consents to an odd proposition, unaware of Victor’s plans. However, she can’t be broken so easily and what he puts her through only fuels the fire burning within her, a flame that begins to blaze out of control as she becomes obsessed with everything about Victor and peeling back his cruel layers in search of the real man hiding beneath his heartless facade.
In Victor’s world, there is no such thing as happily ever after and Chapter 8 proves to be an infuriating challenger when she flips the tables on his selfish and twisted game, a game they both may end up losing their hearts and minds over.