Happy, horny Hallowe’en!

Split, my spooky, sexy, third novel, is currently hovering around £3.70 on Amazon UK. I have no idea why Amazon prices go up and down but this is a bargain!

Split tells the story of librarian, Kate Carter, who runs away from her London life to take a job in a lonely puppet museum on the Yorkshire Moors. In the weird little village of Heddlestone, she becomes entangled with the kinky and darkly compelling puppetmaster, Jake, and his boorish but irresistible brother, Eddie. Split between the two men, hungry for both of them but trusting neither, Kate moves closer to uncovering the truth behind the secrets of Heddlestone. Danger is ever-present but Kate can’t tell if the greatest threat comes from ghosts or reality.

Split is also available on Kindle for £3.50. Sadly, Americans don’t get much of a discount but Split is available on Amazon US for $7.19

Read a sexy excerpt, grab yourself a British bargain, and cosy up with some dark, scary sexiness this autumn.

(Um, also, please ignore the Amazon UK review which describes Split as being about ‘female domination’. Seriously, femdom? Me? I think not!)

Sixteen years of sexiness!

Dearie me, this blog has been horribly neglected of late. Look at the dust! Actually, don’t look: distract yourself with this tired and beautiful man instead. The photographer is Rick Day, one of my favourites.

I’m stopping by to say I’m guest blogging at Justine Elyot’s gaff today. Justine’s debut short story collection, On Demand, is the last book to roll off the Black Lace press as the imprint bows out with the end of 2009. This month, Justine’s been running a series in which readers and writers share their thoughts on what Black Lace has meant to them. Today it’s my turn.

I hope you’ll join us there and raise a glass to sixteen years of sexiness!

I’ll dust next year, promise. I’ll also try and find my blogroll. It vanished! I can see it behind the scenes but I just can’t get it up in the sidebar any more, so apologies for the missing links. But you didn’t notice anyway, did you? Because he is very lovely.

Happy new year and wishing you all a wonderful 2010!

KLx

Erotic fiction is BOOMING!

Despite a major player mothballing its erotic fiction lists, the category is on a recession-busting rise.

Yay!

You can read the whole article here in The Bookseller. I scanned the double-page spread from the mag because, oh boy, isn’t it wonderful to see a range of covers up there instead of the usual glut of half-naked chicks?

And great to hear that friends of Erotica Cover Watch, Xcite Books and Bookkake, are both thriving. It’s a thrill, too, to know that Erotica Cover Watch and our fab supporters were largely responsible for Xcite’s decision to start featuring guys on their book covers. Yup, see him in the top left? He’s mine! Oh, OK, then: ours. We can share. I’ll be taking a closer look at Xcite’s new Temptations line on ECW in the near future – and am very much looking forward to him it.

If you missed the news from earlier in the week, Adam Nevill, former Black Lace editor, will soon be joining Xcite books as editor. All in all, an excellent week for erotica (um, apart from my blacklisting)!

Last night I dreamt …

This anthology is the last Black Lace book I’ll ever be in – unless the imprint rises from the ashes. It’s also the first time a story of mine has kicked off a BL anthology so publicising this new release is somewhat bittersweet.

Best Women’s Erotica is a cracking collection featuring new and established authors including Charlotte Stein, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Justine Elyot, Portia Da Costa, EllaRegina, Janine Ashbless, Madelynne Ellis and Kristina Wright. It still pains me to see how Black Lace were starting to publish well-respected US authors, a development likely to have helped them make a significant dent in the US erotica market. Damn fool, Random House.

My story, Rebecca, is a dirty version of the Daphne du Maurier classic (one of my favourite books). It was inspired by a dream – well, not so much the dream, more one of those bleary-eyed morning-afters when you roll over to him, throw your arm across his chest and mumble, I had this dream … this dream where …

Rebecca

Last night I dreamt he came on my face again. Men stood around me, menacing and lustful, and I was naked and scared, kneeling on the floor. Smudges of neon edged into the dusk, blooms of pink, violet and electric blue. My arms were trapped behind my back, fingers gripping my flesh. All I could see was a confusion of legs and leering faces, their eyes fixed on me while I watched the swift shuffle of his hand.

The moment was held. I waited for him, my arched back making my breasts jut and my belly curve. In the gloom, I was pale, smooth and slender but then I’m often at my best in my dreams. It looked as if I were offering myself to the men. No, it looked as if I were being offered with no say in the matter whatsoever. And that’s how it felt. No choice, no control. Occasionally, I wriggled in protest but that appeared only to amuse and encourage them. I had a sense they were calling me names like ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ but, as is the way with dreams, the words went unheard. All that remained was a deep sense of shame and a sombre, sulky pleasure unfurling inside me. I hated it and I loved it. I wanted it and I didn’t. And strange though it may seem, the urge to flee fuelled the longing to stay.

Max tapped my face, landing a couple of mild slaps on my cheek. The message was I should open my mouth. So I did. I no longer saw myself and instead I, the dreamer, slipped behind my eyes. I was surrounded by engorged cocks, white knuckles, crisp thickets of pubes and hairy thighs. Hands pumped, eyes gleamed, muscles tightened and mouths laughed. But the only thing that mattered, the only thing I truly saw was Max’s cock. In the half-light, it was a ruby flare shuddering as he worked his shaft, his thumb and forefinger dancing a frenzy below his glans.

I noted his wrist, strong and thick, blurred by dark hair. Even in my dream I was aware of how his wrist’s vulnerable underside, with its blue veins, pale skin and delicate tendons, contrasted so beautifully with his jerking forearm’s easy masculinity. His fist speeded up, he edged closer, and then he peaked, the liquid pearl of his come shimmering in arcs and spurts before splashing onto my shame.

I woke, sticky-eyed, but it wasn’t the sticky I wanted. Drowsily, I rolled over in search of him, humiliation and need muddling my brain. Next to me, the pillow was empty, just a dent where his head had been and a single dark hair, curled like a question mark. I knew at once he was with her. Oh, sure, I realise that to most people it would simply look as if he were making toast in the kitchen. But I am not most people, and nor was Rebecca.

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Best Women’s Erotica from Black Lace: currently just £4.79 @ Amazon UK

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