Lea Barrymire- Bound at the Ball Portfolio
Title: Bound at the Ball
Publisher: Siren BookStrand
Word count: 47,000
Flame rating: Scorching
Tour long Giveaway: $25 GC to Amazon, B&N or ARe
Dates: 1/28/2013 thru 2/15/2013
a Rafflecopter giveaway
About Lea Barrymire
Lea lives in Western New York with her hubby, three children, and miscellaneous critters. Before the rugrats, she lived a life of adventure, following her husband all over Europe with the US military. She’s slept in a car outside Paris, drove six hours just to see tulips in the Netherlands, and knocked ash from her shoes at Pompeii. Now she spends her time in life’s adventures at soccer games, PTA meetings and school plays.
Lea has loved reading from a very young age, spending many sleepless nights devouring books. Science fiction and paranormal were her favorite genres to read as a teenager, and that love bled into her adult life. She started writing during a bout of insomnia, to fill time, and found it filled a creative void. Now she communes regularly with the characters in her head and tries not to laugh out loud when they say something funny.
When Lea isn’t reading, writing or corralling kids, she enjoys watching movies and sciencey shows, or just kicking back and listening to some music.
Rella Cinder was born to the submissive race on her planet and has finally reached the age of maturity. She has hated her nature since birth and has fought her submissiveness. As the youngest of four sisters, she’s watched the others go off and look for mates. This time she’s forced to comply with the government’s edicts, which includes attending the Unity Ball and taking a mate from the warrior species. What she doesn’t know is that she has already caught the eye of a warrior before stepping foot into the Ball.
Warrior Sabar T’Brun is ready to take a mate but doesn’t want a weak female. He sees what he craves in the willful Rella during her Initiation Ceremony. Her sweet submission and soft cries of passion are exactly what he wants in a mate.
Can they find each other before the Unity Ball ends? Or will someone else claim her?
Purchase Link to Siren Bookstrand:
Excerpt 2- Rated R
“You taste so sinfully sensual, my little Rella. Let’s continue. How did my hand on you feel?”
He kept asking questions she didn’t want to answer. She huffed and then tried to cover up her irritation before he saw it. He might approve of her answers, but that didn’t mean he’d allow her to be disrespectful. She schooled her face to the blank mask she always wore and answered him. “It felt good, Master Sabar.”
He shook his head. “Not good enough. I want to know what your body felt like. What did you want when I pulled my hand away?”
“I didn’t want you to stop. I can still feel the fire your touch created,” she answered grudgingly.
“That’s the type of answer I want. Thank you. I didn’t want to stop either, but if I didn’t, you’d be naked and spread out under me.” He growled his words against her temple just before kissing her hair.
Those words sparked a need so deeply in her that she shied away from the intensity. Somehow she’d ignored the possibility that they could have sex. The thought of having this male above her, invading her body and space should have terrified her, but it did nothing but stoke the already molten puddle of heat in her belly. A gush of warmth flooded her pussy. She wiggled on his lap and gasped when she felt the beads of her belt move against her clit. She’d forgotten about them, and the reminder that she was mostly naked caused another flood of moist heat to coat her cunt.
“Gods, I can feel your honey coating my leg. You like the idea of my fucking you?”
She gasped at the raunchy term but couldn’t stop herself from nodding. Yes, she absolutely liked the idea. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted him to do, but she wanted something more. Her training had included some instruction in sexual behavior. She knew what sex was, what the positions were for mating, understood what some males enjoyed. Those lessons didn’t translate well into real life. No one had explained how her body would mutiny and desire a man more than her brain did.
“For your reward I think you need to straddle my legs.” His voice dragged her from her introspection. With a show of muscular strength he picked her up by her waist, turned her to face him and placed her gently over his legs. Her arms were still bound behind her back and the new position took more movement away from her as he widened his knees until her legs were opened. A glance down showed that her shaved nether region was completely open, visibly on display. A rush of warm wetness between her pussy lips made her blush.
“Hmm, you like being open to me, don’t you? This is an amazing view and I’m not sure I will ever want to see you clothed. I’m going to touch you and kiss you as your reward. You can’t stop me. Don’t struggle.” He leaned forward and whispered the last few words, warm breath feathering over her cheek. http://leabarrymire.blogspot.com/
A crazy group of neurotic writers, The Cabal of Hotness, did the impossible. They banded together, took on the most exaggerated storylines in erotic romance and wrote spoofs. Get your laugh on with these short stories that pick fun at the genre’s we all know and love.
The perfect man—with the imperfect cock and oral skills. The Dom who isn’t a dom, and the man who proves it to him. The alien with dessert-flavored semen and three cocks. The older man (a kajillionaire with a penthouse in Seattle…) who has limitless ability to come all night with his naïve little virgin. A woman on a diet who craves a feast of meat and finds herself five Broadshaft Brothers who can deliver.
If you’re looking for the perfect romance with the perfect hero and heroine, this isn’t it! This is a series of spoofs, parodies, just-for-fun lighthearted take-offs. It’s for all us longtime, hard-core romance readers who can laugh at the clichés, purple prose and “suspend your disbelief” plot devices that haunt our beloved favorite genre.
Erotic Romance Author
Check out the page linked below for a 10 page novel critique and also some great writing classes!
So I have two releases coming out in the next two months. Magical Misfire: Mortals for Magic book 1 comes out Feb 15th. And Vision of Ecstasy comes out March 1st. You can win a copy of them before they are released. All you have to do is comment below and tell me which one you would like! Below are the covers and blurbs for both!
Kayla Bradley is a witch and she has a problem. She is so attracted to her boss, Ryan Cooper, that she can not control her magic when she is around him. She tries to stay away from him, but her best friend Samantha thinks the only way she can cure her problem is to sleep with Cooper.
Ryan Cooper is a lawyer that helps magical people who have been discriminated against. After many disastrous encounters with Kayla, Cooper contacts his sister who tells him that witches sometimes misfire when sexually attracted to someone. Cooper takes matters into his own hands and seduces Kayla in his office after work one day. WIll Kayla fall for his suduction?
Ashlyn is a true psychic. She has spent many years controlling her visions. One day she touches hands with Christopher and is flooded with visions of the two of them together. The next time she sees him the visions have changed and she is left confused. Can she still make her original visions come true?
The Bad Guy
Writing in a bad guy can be difficult for me. I mostly want folks to love my characters. To root for them. I think the first honest to goodness bad-bad guy (and not just a stupid angry human) I wrote was Frank in Big Bad. When my beta reader told me that reading about Frank for the first time made the hair on the back of his neck stand up you could have knocked me over with a feather. And then, well then, I was just plain tickled pink.
I haven’t written a bad guy in that vein for quite a while but here I found myself writing Chadwick Montgomery. Not just a bad guy, but a dead, vengeful bad guy. He made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. And if you ask me, that’s the very best gauge of whether or not your bad guy is bad enough.
I hope my vengeful spirit is bad enough for readers. Oh yeah, and as always, I hope my good characters are ones they can fall in love with! A writer can always hope.
House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.
Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.
Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancé—check.
What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?
To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.
It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.
Excerpt from UNDER MY SKIN by Sommer Marsden
Old Chadwick Montgomery gave it his best shot on my third night there. I’d gone to bed anticipating another steamy dream of coupling with handsome Mr. Elijah. I’d anticipated a sultry encounter intended to show me how much Lanie loved him, how their time had been cut short, what a good man he was…because I believed all that to be true.
What I got, instead, were frantic dreams of running. I would run and run and then fall, a wall of fire, or something similar that stung and burned but was indecipherable in my dream state of panic, would overcome me. My lungs felt stuffed full of cotton, my skin ablaze. I screamed but as so often comes in really bad dreams, no sound escaped me. No one heard me, so no one came to help me.
I woke with that infernal buzzing, rushing, crackling sound of whatever my inhuman nemesis had been. The sun was just up and the light in the room was a clear lemony yellow peeking around the blinds. I shook my head to clear the dream but realized the sound I was hearing was very real. Not part of the dream at all.
“Hello?” I whispered. No one was here but me, though. I knew it as surely as I knew my name and my birthday. Just me and the resident spirits.
The thought slammed me hard as something small and reddish brown floated from under the door and through my room. I had chosen the room on the ground floor. A suite of rooms actually that had an attached bathroom, a fireplace, a patio outside of two French doors. The white sheers that covered the doors shone with morning light. For all intents and purposes it should have been a storybook morning with bright light and a quiet street, me waking in my new luxurious suite of rooms. Queen of my new manor.
Instead, the mind numbing droning sound sharpened, making me feel uncomfortable, like I would scratch my brain if I could. The panic in my chest amplified and I knew it wasn’t my
emotion, but it was important. Another brownish blob zipped under the door. I watched in a stupor as they seemed to bob and weave toward me, and it hit me just as another slipped through the crack near the floor.
Mahogany wasps. The kind that could sting and sting and sting indefinitely and not die.
This was Montgomery’s evil energy at work. He drove the owners out of their new home, scaring them bad enough that they wouldn’t return. I had no intention of leaving for good, but as a fourth winged-threat buzzed into my room, I knew what I’d find on the other side of that door. And it wouldn’t be pretty. Or safe.
Coming to other vendors soon!
Worst. Christmas. Gift. Ever.
By Sarah M. Anderson
The Christmas season has come and gone again, leaving several garbage bags full of wrapping paper and those irritating zip-ties that all children’s toys must now be belted into cardboard with.
I got pretty lucky this year—my husband went a little nuts with the online shopping, but I’m not complaining!
But not all of us have emerged unscathed.
Several years back, I had a relative (who shall remain nameless) who was well-known not only for the cheapness of her gifts (she would buy things at 90% off and then carefully peel off the layers of clearance stickers and leave the original price sticker intact to make you think she’d really spent full price on the gift), but for the overall awfulness of them.
Sometimes this was just odd—one year, I got a bowl of genuine imitation wooden fruit. Yes. She gave me a bowl of plastic fruit that was supposed to look like wood. Even the bowl was this plastic wood. It was awful. And that was my big gift that year.
But one year, she outdid herself in the awful-gift department. That year, I received the mother of all Terrible Christmas gifts.
On the surface, it didn’t sound bad. A two-foot tall Christmas Tree candle. That’s not terrible, right?
Except for a few key things. One, the tree had a face—a face possessed by pure evil. The smile was small and mean, but the eyes were narrowed with all the malicious energy a wax Christmas tree could muster—which turned out to be quite a lot. Maybe this had been a happy little wax tree at some point and undue exposure to heat had turned it into an agent of evil. We’ll never know.
But what really sealed the deal was the smell. You might think that a Christmas Tree candle would be scented, perhaps with fragrant pine or boughs of holly. And if we were talking about a normal Christmas Tree candle, you would be right.
But not this thing. Who knows, perhaps when the candle had been new (which was probably during the Regan era), it had smelled delightfully of pine-freshness. But at this point, it had probably spent decades outgassing. By the time I unwrapped it on Christmas morning, the odor had become one of concentrated farts. And I don’t even like that word, but there is no other way to describe it. The tree reeked.
This was the last Christmas I spent relatively single. I had just started dating my now-husband, so he had not been initiated into the ways my family suffered through gifts. When I talked to him that night, I told him about the Christmas Tree Candle from Hell.
“It can’t be that bad,” he said.
I had already decided that the demon spawn was not going with me when I went back home, but the tone of his voice left me with no choice. He had to know what he was getting into by being with someone who was related to someone who gave gifts that criminal.
So I triple wrapped the Evil Tree in grocery bags and stowed it as far away from my luggage as I could for the drive back to my place—six hours away. After the first two hours, the car began to smell. By the time I hit city limits, I had the windows rolled down. Sure, I was cold, but at least I could breath without tasting pure evil.
We met at my apartment. “Let me see this thing,” he said. Words to regret, I tell you, because I popped that trunk and motioned to the segregated bag of doom.
He began unwrapping. At first, he was all smiles, poking fun at me and my irrational fear of wax products. But as each bag came off and the smell got stronger—and I took more and more steps away from it—he grew quiet and, dare I say, more fearful.
Finally, the evil, evil eyes were freed of the plastic. The sheer force of that spiteful tree’s glare caused him to retreat a step or two. “That thing,” he muttered, holding it like it was radioactive, “is hideous.”
“I told you,” was all I could say.
Luckily, I had parked near a dumpster. My brave, soon-to-be husband sucked up his courage and carried the Tree of Doom over to the dumpster. For reasons I will never truly understand, he didn’t actually throw it away. He just sat it on the ground next to the dumpster and retreated quickly.
That gift gone horribly wrong—the Christmas Tree Candle from Hell—sat outside that dumpster for months. The garbage people wouldn’t pick it up; the scavengers refused to touch it. Instead it sat there for the better part of a winter, spreading its misery to the world at large. Finally, it disappeared and I moved in with my soon-to-be-husband shortly thereafter. I’m afraid it still haunts that apartment complex.
So, tell me—what was the worst Christmas (or Hanukah) gift you ever received? I’m giving away a Nook Simple Touch and some books—click on the rafflecopter link below enter! The contest runs through Valentine’s Day, so there will be many more chances to enter!
Click this link to enter!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Mystic Cowboy Blurb:
The White Sandy Reservation needs a doctor, and Madeline Mitchell needs to do a little good in the world. It seems like a perfect fit, until she meets the medicine man, Rebel Runs Fast. As far as Madeline can tell, Rebel’s sole mission is to convince her patients that modern medicine can’t help them. And the fact that he makes her heart race every time he looks at her only irritates her more.
Rebel swore off the white man’s world—and women—years ago. But he’s never met a woman like Dr. Mitchell. She doesn’t speak the language, understand the customs, or believe he’s anything more than a charlatan–but she stays, determined to help his people. He tries to convince himself that his tribe doesn’t need her, but when patients start getting sick with strange symptoms, he realizes that he needs her more than ever.
Mystic Cowboy is available for pre-order! Visit your favorite bookseller, the Samhain http://store.samhainpublishing.com/mystic-cowboy-p-7172.html
About the Author:
Award-winning author Sarah M. Anderson may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.
When not helping out at school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband and son. You can learn more about Sarah at http://www.sarahmanderson.com.
So another author, Sommer Marsden, posted this challenge:
Here’s what you do. Use the six words below in a story. The story can be as long or as short as you like. From flash fiction to…the great American novel if you’re crazy enough. Post your work on your blog (or somewhere visible online) with a link to this blog. Then come and leave a link to your work in this here comment section below. You have four days!
Words: tinsel, balls, carpet, fuzzy, wind, firetruck
So here is my entry it is titles “Flesh on Fire”
Flesh on Fire
By: Cassidy Kingston
He closed the car door and gently pushed her against it. The contrast between the cold car behind her and the hot man in front of her was enough to set a fire deep inside her. He leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and tasted slightly of tequila and salt. She didn’t even try to resist. She wanted this…no she needed this. The last time when she almost got caught she had sworn to stop, and she had…for over a year.
His hands worked over her body with a sense of urgency she had not felt in a long time. She knew this was wrong. But at this moment she would have been hard pressed to remember exactly why this was a bad idea.
He drew back from her slightly, the cold wind washed between them. Gently he took her hand and without a word led her up the walkway and into his small apartment. The room was dark and smelled of pine and cinnamon. In the corner was a small Christmas tree covered in tinsel and red and green balls. They passed through two rooms and entered into a small bedroom. They never turned on the lights.
He took her into his arms once more and kissed her. This time his kiss was rough and harsh. His gentle touches became hard and quick. In a few moments he removed her clothing then his. They both stood naked, the only light was the faint moonlight filtering through the dark curtains. He looked even better naked…she didn’t think that was possible!
In a quick movement he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed. He then settled over her, pressing her into the bed. The weight of his body was a welcomed sensation she had not felt in over a year. His mouth worked a trail from her lips down her neck and stopped at her breasts. He nipped at one hard nipple sending shocks of electricity soaring through her entire body.
She tangled her hands in his hair, pressing him lower. He chuckled, his warm breath spreading out over her abdomen. He grabbed her legs and spread them, opening her completely to him. His tongue played down the soft skin of her inner thigh. He altered between soft kisses and hard bites.
She closed her eyes and took in a sharp breath as he parted her lips with his tongue. He skillfully teased her to the edge then pulled back. Slowly he moved up her body. Soon his mouth took hers.
She pulled her legs up and wrapped them around him. He pulled back and pried her legs apart. Leaning down he whispered in her ear, “I am in charge. Got it?”
His words were firm and demanding. She had never heard had someone be so forceful with her before…she liked it. “Yes. I got it.”
She bit her lip, “Yes sir.” If he only knew who was really in charger here.
He slammed into her sending shocks of pain and pleasure through her whole body. His rhythm was fast and deep. It was what she needed. She didn’t need to be made love to…she needed to be fucked.
His hands gripped her hips and with a few long, deep thrusts they both climaxed then fell into a sweaty panting heap.
She scooted out of the bed and knelt next to her bag on the floor. When she stood her hand was behind her back. She climbed back into the bed and kneeled over him. His eyes were still full of desire. She leaned down and kissed him, enjoying the bitter taste of tequila and salt one last time. Slowly she pulled her hand from behind her back. In her petite hand was a six inch knife. This time it was her who penetrated him. She watched the desire in his eyes turned to fear and the fear faded into…nothing. A single tear slid down his tanned cheek.
She got out of the bed, wiped off the knife and tossed it into her bag. She quickly dressed and picked up her bag. She paused before she left his bedroom, picking up the tee shirt he had been wearing. She did need her little mementos after all.
As she stood in the middle of his hall a small fuzzy kitten twirled around her feet. She bent and picked it up. She walked to the back door and tossed the kitten into the dark. She opened her bag and pulled out a small silver box. She slid open the box and pulled out a thin piece of wood with a small red tip. After she closed the box she struck the match on the side and a flam sparked to life. She inhaled deeply…she love the smell of a freshly struck match. With a small flick of her wrist she tossed the match into the middle of his living room. The beige carpet sizzled then burst into a puddle of fire.
She walked out the door and went four blocks before she hailed a cab. As she got into the cab a fire truck raced past.
“Where to ma’am?”
“The White House.”
The cabbie turned and looked at the woman, “Oh sorry ma’am. I didn’t recognize you without your security detail.”
“No problem. Sometimes a girls needs to get away…you know?”
“Yes ma’am I guess you do.”