Welcome to the Something new, Something Naughty Blog Hop! There are a lot of prizes to win, so please leave a comment on my blog, and then move on to the other authors' blogs (check out the list below) for a chance to win even more prizes!
One lucky winner will receive the grand prize of a
$60 gift certificate to EdenFantasys (EdenFantasys.com)
Two other winners will receive a $25 gift certificate to their choice of the following book sites: Amazon, All Romance eBooks, Barnes & Noble, or Total-E-Bound.
In keeping with the theme of naughtiness, I am giving away a copy of my latest Ellora's Cave Quickie, "Art of Desire" (available on Amazon, Ellora's Cave, ARe). Please leave a comment!
Here's the blurb: When Jenna runs into a former student she used to have a crush on, she decides to make her lusty fantasies a reality. Justin is studying Fine Arts in university, and when he asks Jenna to pose nude for a sculpture, her inner cougar tells her to go for it. But while Jenna can’t wait to teach him how to pleasure an older woman, Justin turns the tables and decides to teach her the art of patience.
One lucky winner will receive the grand prize of a
$60 gift certificate to EdenFantasys (EdenFantasys.com)
Two other winners will receive a $25 gift certificate to their choice of the following book sites: Amazon, All Romance eBooks, Barnes & Noble, or Total-E-Bound.
In keeping with the theme of naughtiness, I am giving away a copy of my latest Ellora's Cave Quickie, "Art of Desire" (available on Amazon, Ellora's Cave, ARe). Please leave a comment!
Here's the blurb: When Jenna runs into a former student she used to have a crush on, she decides to make her lusty fantasies a reality. Justin is studying Fine Arts in university, and when he asks Jenna to pose nude for a sculpture, her inner cougar tells her to go for it. But while Jenna can’t wait to teach him how to pleasure an older woman, Justin turns the tables and decides to teach her the art of patience.
Excerpt:
His arctic-blue eyes met mine, and shivers of recognition danced through me.
I hadn’t seen him in a year, but it felt like only days. As gorgeous as ever, Justin arched his brows in surprise, giving me a shy smile before pouring red wine into two long-stemmed glasses.
So he worked as a bartender in a hotel restaurant. Maybe I’d ask him for a Sex on the Beach or better yet, a Screaming Orgasm. I grinned. Still eyeing his dirty-blond hair, neatly trimmed beard and square jaw--God, I’d love to trail my fingers along that jaw—I walked to the bar, swept my short ruffled skirt under me and sat down. Long, black hair fell past my shoulders. I tucked a few strands behind my ear, glad I’d taken extra time this morning to apply Bold Bordeaux, my favorite shade of lipstick, and matching eye shadow.
Hey, scrumptious, I wanted to say, but opted for a more acceptable, “Hi, Justin, how have you been?” My teeth snagged on my lower lip, and butterflies came alive in my stomach. Why the hell was I this nervous?
Because he’s half your age, my conscience snapped. And in case you’ve forgotten, he’s your student.
Former student, my inner cougar growled back. He graduated last June, remember?
“Hi, Mrs. Fall—”
“Jenna!” I corrected him. No need for formalities, especially since they reminded me of my age. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”
“Jenna,” he said slowly, savoring every syllable as it rolled off his tongue. He returned the bottle to its shelf and offered me the wine list. “Great to see you. I’m going to the University of Montreal now. I started a massage therapy program last summer, but I quit. Needed something more intellectually stimulating.”
Oh I could stimulate you in all kinds of ways, the cougar inside me purred.
In my media class, he’d always made insightful comments about current events, and he eagerly dissected social issues. University suited him better than massage school. Although massage school had its perks. I pictured myself lying on a table, a towel draped over me from the waist down, Justin’s oiled palms sliding down my back, and then creeping under the towel, reaching all the way to my ass. In long, firm strokes, his hands glided upward, along my spine, past my shoulders, his thumbs working at the muscles, melting the tension at the base of my neck. Another smooth descent, his touch making me wet, his index finger slipping into my crack, still lower, until it dipped into my moist folds. My definition of bliss.
The waitress whisked the wineglasses off the bar. Except for two other women chatting away in cozy armchairs by the window, the place was empty. Good. We had privacy.
His arctic-blue eyes met mine, and shivers of recognition danced through me.
I hadn’t seen him in a year, but it felt like only days. As gorgeous as ever, Justin arched his brows in surprise, giving me a shy smile before pouring red wine into two long-stemmed glasses.
So he worked as a bartender in a hotel restaurant. Maybe I’d ask him for a Sex on the Beach or better yet, a Screaming Orgasm. I grinned. Still eyeing his dirty-blond hair, neatly trimmed beard and square jaw--God, I’d love to trail my fingers along that jaw—I walked to the bar, swept my short ruffled skirt under me and sat down. Long, black hair fell past my shoulders. I tucked a few strands behind my ear, glad I’d taken extra time this morning to apply Bold Bordeaux, my favorite shade of lipstick, and matching eye shadow.
Hey, scrumptious, I wanted to say, but opted for a more acceptable, “Hi, Justin, how have you been?” My teeth snagged on my lower lip, and butterflies came alive in my stomach. Why the hell was I this nervous?
Because he’s half your age, my conscience snapped. And in case you’ve forgotten, he’s your student.
Former student, my inner cougar growled back. He graduated last June, remember?
“Hi, Mrs. Fall—”
“Jenna!” I corrected him. No need for formalities, especially since they reminded me of my age. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”
“Jenna,” he said slowly, savoring every syllable as it rolled off his tongue. He returned the bottle to its shelf and offered me the wine list. “Great to see you. I’m going to the University of Montreal now. I started a massage therapy program last summer, but I quit. Needed something more intellectually stimulating.”
Oh I could stimulate you in all kinds of ways, the cougar inside me purred.
In my media class, he’d always made insightful comments about current events, and he eagerly dissected social issues. University suited him better than massage school. Although massage school had its perks. I pictured myself lying on a table, a towel draped over me from the waist down, Justin’s oiled palms sliding down my back, and then creeping under the towel, reaching all the way to my ass. In long, firm strokes, his hands glided upward, along my spine, past my shoulders, his thumbs working at the muscles, melting the tension at the base of my neck. Another smooth descent, his touch making me wet, his index finger slipping into my crack, still lower, until it dipped into my moist folds. My definition of bliss.
The waitress whisked the wineglasses off the bar. Except for two other women chatting away in cozy armchairs by the window, the place was empty. Good. We had privacy.
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