Jarek slid off the bed, the coverlet still loosely draped over his shoulders and trailing behind him like a king’s cloak. In the gap between the folds, Tristan could see everything he wanted to.

“Don’t move,” Jarek told him softly. “Keep your hands to your sides.”

And Tristan obeyed.

“Interesting,” Jarek mused, trailing a finger along his collarbone.

Tristan sucked in a deep shuddering breath, but stayed still. It felt odd, letting this happen. Jarek slipped his hand lower, casually brushed it across Tristan’s perked nipple on the way, and then traced a path down his chest and over the muscles of his abdomen. Tristan’s abs went taut at the feather light touch, and Jarek laughed quietly.

“Sensitive.” He stated the obvious. He let the coverlet slip from his shoulders—an effortlessly seductive gesture, probably well-practiced. A slow, crooked smile made the expression on Jarek’s face all the more lascivious, which was most certainly the intention. “I think I know what you need.”

Tristan looked down pointedly and then up, with a hint of sarcasm. “Well, that’s kind of apparent.”

He still felt nervous, but not as much as when he’d thought of being pitied or rejected.

Jarek quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is it? Hmm. We’ll definitely come to that, but why rush things? I’m here to take care of your wishes, even the ones you’re not sure you have. Why not try something new, something unusual?” He leaned in, very close, and Tristan felt Jarek’s warm breath on his lips when he whispered, “Just let me take control for a while, and you’ll see how good I can make you feel.”

The next moment, Jarek backed off, to Tristan’s disappointment, but maintained eye contact, and Tristan felt unable to look away, as if mesmerized. The tips of Jarek’s fingers now rested lightly on his hipbones, almost where Tristan wanted them most but not moving closer.

“Say yes,” Jarek coaxed him in a low voice. “Say you give in to me tonight. It’s easy, giving in.”

“Yes,” Tristan breathed out, not sure what he’s agreeing to and not caring in the least.

What could be better than one romance author? Two, obviously! I'm delighted to welcome Michael Mandrake and Remmy Duchene here today with their m/m romance, LOVE AT THE RIGHT TEMPO. Get your Monday off to a good start and take a look!

I don't know how everyone else is doing today, but here in Cambridge it's pouring with rain, I think I'm coming down with something, and the week has generally been awful so far. So I figured today was a good day to share some good news and try to raise my own spirits.

*drum roll*

VANDAL has been accepted into Evernight's forthcoming LAWLESS anthology!

I'm so excited! This was such a fun story to write, and really leaves itself open to sequels (although I have reservations about starting a series with an anthology story, but we'll see...). And I can't wait to see what other kinds of stories make the final anthology. It's such a good theme!

The projected release date is November this year, and I'll share more details as I get them. In the meantime, here's a quick blurb for VANDAL.

Excerpt:

Mallory Scott spotted the people she was looking for as soon as she walked into the hotel bar. Hell, she hadn’t even needed to search; they were being so loud and obnoxious they were practically screaming for attention.

Stupid, in Mallory’s opinion. If you were running an international diamond scam, surely you’d want to keep a low profile? But no, apparently these guys didn’t give a shit. Not only were they screaming for attention—and getting it, she noticed, as other patrons of the bar shot them the occasional glare—they were also projecting the fact that they were filthy rich. They were supping on the most expensive champagne money could buy and demanding oysters and caviar be brought in. The overwhelming arrogance made her blood boil, but she consoled herself with the fact that by the time she was done with them, they’d be taken down by more than a peg or two—they’d be at rock bottom.

Heading for a table in a position where she could watch them, but remain partially hidden behind a pillar, she shook her head. She could hardly believe they’d kept their multi-million-pound enterprise going for so long. If they ran their operation as sloppily as their current behaviour indicated they might, it was a miracle indeed.

Not that it mattered. They could be running the tightest ship ever known to man, and she would still find a way to take them down. It was what she did. For years now, she’d been successfully infiltrating illegal operations of varying kinds, then gradually dismantling them from the inside. Before the criminals realised what was happening, it was too late—their wrists were practically in the handcuffs, their arses on their way to jail.

This project was different from the ones she usually handled. Her past takedowns included terrorist plots, kidnappings, drugs, people-trafficking… that kind of thing. She’d been involved because sending in police or military personnel wouldn’t work. Not in those particular circumstances. To be truly effective, Mallory needed to infiltrate the organisations at the top, gain their trust—or at least enough trust to allow her to snoop—and acquire evidence of their involvement to ensure their convictions. Otherwise, rushing in and stopping the terrorists, saving people and so on, important as that was, would only affect a tiny part of the organisation. It was vital to dismantle the whole thing, from the big bosses and the money men, right down to the minions doing the leg work.

An added bonus to this approach was that the victims of these organisations, as well as being saved, would know that justice had been served to those that hurt them, and the knowledge that they’d never get the opportunity to do it again. It was dangerous but fulfilling work, and Mallory couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She loved the adrenaline rush, the challenge.

And the challenge element was precisely why this job was different. In as much as it wasn’t supposed to be particularly challenging. Intel gathered over the past year had pinpointed the what, the who—though they couldn’t yet put faces to names—the where and the how, and that had been done covertly, without the need for an undercover operative. All that remained in this case was to find out the when, so they could be caught in the act. It should have been simple, really. But the group was careful, exceedingly so. One of their number was a hacker, meaning that trying to access their emails, internet search histories and voicemails, or tap their phones without being detected was almost impossible. They were smart.

Which meant the only option remaining was the old-fashioned approach.

A honey trap. It was Mallory’s mission to attract the attention of one of the men in the group—hell, even one of the women if any of them swung that way—and slowly, slowly cultivate and exploit their relationship in order to get the information she needed. Then boom, another international criminal enterprise would bite the dust.

Which brought Mallory to her current position, dressed up in ludicrously expensive designer gear and half-hiding behind a pillar in the bar of Amsterdam’s most exclusive hotel. Someone less experienced than Mallory might have found the idea of staying out of sight ridiculous. The aim was to get the attention of one of the gang members, after all. But Mallory was at the top of her game, the very best of the best, and she knew damn well that putting in a little groundwork early on would pay off in spades. Before she did anything, before she so much as batted an eyelash in the direction of the gang, she needed to identify her target. It was pointless trying to eye-fuck with a bloke from across the room, only to discover he preferred men, or was happily married and the faithful type. That would attract the wrong kind of attention. When she did get noticed by the group, she wanted it to be for the right reasons, and on her terms. If they caught even so much as a whiff of her deception, it would be game over.

So she would watch, and wait. Then as soon as she decided which one of the group was going to be her new boyfriend, she’d move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course. Killing wasn’t her job. She was capable of it, and over the course of her career had ended more than one life in self-defence, or in order to protect others, but she was no cold-blooded murderer.

​She was something much more dangerous; something that no one ever saw coming.

Author Bio:
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter
 
Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.
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Looking for that perfect beach read? Or that perfect read that will get you hot and bothered without the need to head to the beach? (Let's face it, if you're in the UK right now, the beach isn't looking that inviting). Well, I can help!

Happy Hump Day! This week is disappearing quickly, which is definitely not a bad thing, but it does feel like squeezing out writing time is harder than usual as a result...Still, I'm making steady progress on Slater's Claim this week, and as proof, I bring you a snippet. Enjoy!

​She sashayed onto the stage like she owned it, long legs perfectly displayed in a pair of ragged demin shorts. Even without the skyscraper heels she wore, it was clear she was tall. Slater was six foot four. He liked tall women. Her glossy hair was dyed a dark, vibrant shade of magenta that glowed under the pink stage lights. She wore a simple navy tank top with a vintage-looking garage logo on it. The top clung lovingly to her generous breasts, the way good clothing should cling to a good woman. Slater licked his lips unconsciously, already imagining dragging his tongue over that creamy skin.
 
“Nice,” Benedict said, echoing Slater’s thoughts. “Give us a show, honey.”
 
The woman winked coquettishly at him, spurring an instant, irrational jealousy in Slater. She grabbed hold of the pole and began to dance.
 
Unlike Glass’s girl, she had rhythm, her hips shimmying effortlessly to the beat of the trashy music. She didn’t have much skill with the pole, but she had an easy sensuality that caught the eye anyway. Frankly, Slater would have paid to watch her sit there and file her nails, as long as she did it in those shorts and heels. She twirled herself around with careless grace, like she was dancing for herself and not the men watching. Slater liked that.
 
Benedict watched her, transfixed, chin resting in his hands and a goofy grin on his face. Slater did not like that, but he stomped on the feeling. It perturbed him. It was one thing to admire a woman, but this surge of ownership was something else, something that would get in the way of him doing his job here. He bit his lip and tried to watch her dance the same way he’d watch one of the club girls dance, with a detached appreciation.
 
His stiff cock told him he was failing.
 
By the time her song came to an end, he was shifting uncomfortably on his seat, the sound of squeaking leather drawing him the occasional sly smile from Punk. He gritted his teeth and refused to meet his friend’s eye. The woman struck a pose as she finished, hands on hips, head tossed back, and she looked expectantly at Benedict.
 
“How did I do?” she asked.
 
Benedict gave her a round of applause. “Not bad, baby, not bad. Need a little work on the whole, you know, pole stuff.” He made a vague gesture with his hand that could have meant anything. “But one of the more experienced girls can help you with that. How’d you hear about the job?”
 
Slater didn’t think he imagined the slight hesitation in her answer.
 
“Sammy suggested it,” she said.
 
The name meant nothing to Slater, but Benedict’s eyes lit up. “Ah. Ah, okay. Ah. Nice. Okay, you got the job, then. What’s your name, sugar?”
 
“Freya,” she said with a spark of annoyance. “Not baby, or honey, or sugar.”
 
Oh, Slater definitely liked her.

I feel like July only started a minute ago, and now it's over! Looking back, I squeezed a lot into the last few weeks, so it's no wonder I don't know where the time went. In addition to writing, editing, and submitting Vandal, I edited and submitted a Naomi Clark novel, had one released, and just finished edits for a short story. I've now got my Amber hat firmly on as I wait to hear back about Vandal and work on Slater's Claim. Because of those aforementioned short story edits, I haven't made much progress on Slater's Claim yet (well, that and going into London to see Swan Lake at the weekend, which was amaaaaaaaaaazing and highly recommended). 

But the schedule is looking clear now, so I'm hoping to really crack on and make steady progress with Slater's Claim this month. I've been doing a fair bit of non-fiction reading to help me figure out the nitty-gritty of the plot, and particularly enjoyed this one:

"Enjoyed" is probably an odd word to use, given the subject matter, but it really is a well-written, engaging book and it's helped me a lot in figuring out the villain of Slater's Claim. It also helped shape the background stuff in Vandal, so it was a pretty invaluable read! If you're into true crime or New York history, I thoroughly recommend it.

So! I declare August to be Wild Blood month. Stay tuned for news about Vandal (hopefully!) and sneak peeks at Slater's Claim. And go see some ballet!

So! Over the weekend I finished and submitted Vandal to Evernight. Yay! In order to keep myself from panicking over acceptances/rejections and frantically checking my emails every ten seconds like the well-adjusted writer I am, I dove into Wild Blood MC 3, Slater's Claim. And I love it already! I adore writing MC romances, I love my Wild Blood boys, and I love everything I have planned for this book and future books. Writing time has been sparse so far this week, but I'm about 3k in and having a fabulous time. So naturally, I want to share some of it with you! Enjoy ;)

Happy Sunday, folks! Hope you've all had a good one so far. I spent yesterday finishing up Vandal, and I'm now waiting anxiously to hear if it'll make it into Evernight's next anthology. So obviously I need a distraction. And that's why I'm pleased to welcome April Zyon to the blog today with her new release, LOST FAITH. Let's dive right in!