Friday, July 17, 2009

You Know You Want Them…

Yeah…we said it. You know you wanna read some of those steamy titles from Erotique Press this summer. Play our sexy scavenger hunt, and you'll be enjoying those delicious titles on of a flash drive before your end-of-summer barbeque. Here's how.

Below, you'll find a list of our current Erotique Press authors (and a friends of ours!). Visit the website we send you to and briefly answer a question or perform an action.

Then, pick your five favorite books from our catalog to download on your flash drive if you win! You'll find our titles at . Choose any of our selections from Erin O'Riordan, Zander Vyne, Angela Lee, Anabel Blue, Lois Bonde, Sarah Storme, or Candy Caine!

After you complete each piece of the scavenger hunt & pick your books, type your answers up in the body of your email to us ( Submit it to us no later than July 29 at 11:59 p.m. EST.

All entries that are complete and accurate will be put into a drawing to be held on August 3, 2009. One winner will receive a flash drive of their five favorite stories!

1. Visit (and follow!) Erin O'Riordan on Twitter at Who has a "Stupid band name, great song"?

2. Read "The Hothouse," a post on Zander Vyne's blog at What fruit does Beth give Alan?

3. Go to Angela Lee's blog at Read "All-day Tease." At what time does the last phone call occur?

4. Visit Anabel Blue's blog at Leave a comment for her on the "Swimming Nekkid" post.

5. How many hearts did Lois Bonde's story get on her review? Find out at

6. Read an interview with Sarah Storme on Fallen Angels Review at What is one way she spends her free time?

7. Where did Candy Caine go on her road trip?

8. What is the featured product of the day on the blog for our friends at Find it at

9. Friend us on Facebook and write something!

10. Follow us on Twitter at and tweet us the way you best like to spend a lazy day.

The Importance of Being Lazy

I have mornings—much like this morning, actually—where the snooze button and I become naughty acquaintances. She likes it when I feel my way around her. Sometimes I give her a caress, rubbing my hand over her to beg for another nine minutes of peace. Sometimes I give her a lazy swat and demand it from her. She digs it. That's how we roll.

But there comes a time when she or I have had enough of our game, and I stare up at the ceiling, nestled under the delicious coolness of Egyptian cotton sheets. Then comes the choice: get up for work or laze about all day? Maybe I'll mull this over for a bit and psych myself up for a day of work, or maybe I'll claim the day for myself.

On days like that, the ones I claim for myself, I refuse to rush. I'll start the day with a very long, very hot shower, and reach one dripping, wet hand out to select scented soap or gel (I have a thing for them!). It's hot here now, so I'll pick something summery…maybe Satsuma? Perfect. I'll take my time finishing and dressing before leaving the house. Sometimes lazy days don't happen at home.

My day out of the house will start with a few hours of browsing at the nearest bookstore. This is the only place I find any joy in shopping. I get a lot of pleasure out of just browsing…touching the books, appreciating their cover art, opening them to random pages to see if the words sweep me into their poetic cocoon. If they do, well…I'm not shy. I'll sit on the floor in the aisle and relish them for a bit. Then, I'll move on until I find JUST the right one…one with mermaid lore or the science of snowflakes or how to write a poem in perfect iambic pentameter.

After I've satisfied my inner geek with a book I can use for research for some type of poem or story I'm crafting, I'm off to a favorite coffee shop or café for a little writing time. I'll buy one of those yummy coffee drinks and settle into the hot seat, a place I can watch all the folks heading in and out. I'll take out my Uni-ball Signo and my red, hard-covered notebook with the Indian design on it, then open to the first pristine page. I love the connection I have with my work when I write it directly on the paper, in my very own handwriting. I'll smooth the page and start the half-dream process I have with the first draft of a story that I hope will have its own bits of magic.

There will be times I stop writing and just enjoy watching the patrons around me. If I'm lucky, an attractive stranger on his lunch break or on a coffee run will come in. Maybe I'll like how he holds the door for someone to go ahead of him or like that he keeps his drink order simple or like the uniform he wears. I'll try to catch his eye, and if I do, I'll cock my head to the side just a bit and smile up at him. And if I'm very lucky, he'll smile back and say hi as he walks past. Those little flirts get my heart racing, and I'll grin to myself, satisfied, and slip back into my own fantasy world unfolding on the paper before me.

When it's time to leave…when I'm close to over-staying my welcome at the café or when my hand starts to ache…I'll be relaxed and feel satisfied by the time I get home. Then, if I'm ambitious, I walk down to the beach near my house. Or maybe I'll stay lazy and curl up with the book on the couch. Soon enough, it will be time to wrap myself in the comfort of cool, soft sheets. And maybe, I'll indulge in a fantasy about the stranger in the café where I get to end my day the same way it began: with a bit of caressing or a few lazy swats. Maybe.

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Monday, July 13, 2009

Luxuriously Lazy

There are days when you simply can’t imagine doing anything past getting out of bed. Now, if I had my choice, I’d spend the day in bed. But sometimes you have to get up. But in anticipation of my lazy mood, my lover would bring me breakfast in bed. Being the considerate mate that he is, he would definitely stay to help me clean my plate. I mean seriously, who wants to feed themselves fresh strawberries and blueberries.

And what happens if I dribble a bit of OJ down my chin? I can’t be expected to handle such a crisis on my own. It would be much more effective if my lover were to gently slide his warm tongue along the curve of my chin to lick the errant line of juice.

Fine, I can’t stay in bed all day, so I force myself out of bed and head for the shower. We’ll call my lover M.

M lays a towel on the counter for me and steps into the stream of scorching water behind me. As I stand facing the wall, the spray of warmth cascades down m face and drips along my shoulders, sending a shiver along my spine that is simply delicious. He moves in close and slowly slips his arms around me, caressing me in all the spots that I love to be touched. Hips lips brush against my neck and I actually tremble from the way it affects me. I lean back against him and let his fingers wander where they will, kneading and pinching, tweaking and teasing. My eyelids slowly slip down and I feel my body physically sigh with the total feeling of ecstasy.

As the water begins to cool, I shiver from the loss of warmth. M fills his palm with the silky gel, scented with vanilla and honey. He begins at my toes and meticulously rubs the satiny foam against my skin, lathering and massaging every single quivering inch of my body. AS the water turn dangerously cold, he splashes the water against me, rinsing the soap and teasing me with soft kisses before wrapping his arms around me. Quickly he turns the water off and wraps a large fluffy warm towel around my body and leads me back to the bedroom.

Once he has me propped back up in bed, he hands me my iPod and disappears. Some time later he returns with a tray of food fit for a queen. All my favorite foods, comfort foods. While I read on my iPod and graze the contents of the tray, M fills his hands with lotion and begins to massage my foot. As he rubs his thumbs against my flesh, it thrills me how the lotion makes his hands slick, giving his fingers an erotic intensity that leaves me nearly breathless. I don’t know when it happens, but I fall asleep as he continues to rub up my calves.

When I awake several hours later, there is a cup of tea and a note that says, “I love you.” I call for him as I realize it is nearly time to go to bed for the night.

He comes in and I watch him strip down to the beautiful nakedness that I truly admire. I sigh as he slips under the covers next to me and pulls me close against him and whispers goodnight as his hands begin another sensual journey.

(c)Karen L. Syed

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Bring Me Some Water

It is instinctive, even elemental. Ripe, red strawberries make us hungry; the animal in us craves the fruit. The curve of a hip, the arch of a smile, the nearness of another's body heat makes us aware of our sexual desire. The blue waters of the oasis make us thirsty.

Like all living things, we need water to live. Our bodies are largely made of it. Two thirds of the surface of the planet is covered by it. We need it, cannot live for long without it. But what IS it about water that brings us so much pleasure?

Perhaps it is the way water cleanses. When we come home, tired and dirty with the dust of our day's journey, bathing refreshes it. It is a private act, a sensual one, and a not-so-secretly seductive one. How did King David spot Bathsheeba? She was bathing on the roof, and he instantly knew he had to have her. What sells so many copies of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue each year? We can see beautiful women's bodies anywhere, but the aquatic settings--the wet sand, the surf, the palm trees--give an extra, special allure. Don't believe me, ladies? Type "beach photos" and your favorite male celeb's name into your search engine and see for yourselves. Hugh Jackman wet is more fun than Hugh Jackman dry.

In the world's oldest tales, waters are personified, the seas are Neptune or Poseidon. To the Yoruba people, the sea is the goddess Yemaya. A Catholic church on Key West is named Mary Star of the Sea. The sea could be mother, lover, or monster.

Water is sacred; there is more than one kind of holy water. Throughout Europe, nearly every river, stream, fountain and well was once dedicated to a god or goddess, nymph, or fairy. You had to ask permission to drink, or to water your horse. You don't want to anger the fairies, and woe to you if you come across a nymph or a goddess bathing.

Water is also the home of the merfolk, the undersea people who sometimes fall in love with us land-dwellers. Hans Christian Anderson's Little Mermaid did. (Can you hear the opening notes of "Kiss the Girl?" in the back of your mind?) So did the French fairy noblewoman Melusine. The love between a mermaid or merman and one of us average joes and josephines has captured the human imagination for centuries. Modern writers of paranormal erotica have given the old fairy tales many new and fascinating twists.

Or maybe we love water because it is simply beautiful. It reflects the sky and the sun; its waves create psychedelic patterns from the clouds. Sometimes blue, sometimes the color of a blazing sunset, it can also be still and clear, quiet and calming. Flowing, it makes music to our ears. Water is romantic, and as refreshing as a melting popsicle on a hot July night.

Bomb Pop by Erin ORiordan: Buy the Book

Friday, July 3, 2009

What's your fantasy?

Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.
~Dr. Seuss

Fantasies. Yeah. We all have them. Today, mine is being on a secluded beach somewhere, in a hammock. It's about 85 and breezy, with not a drop of humidity. I'm debating on whether or not I'm too lazy to walk over the hot sand for a swim, but I'm enjoying how it feels to drift in between dozing and that lazy half-awake feeling that washes over me. I smell like coconut suntan lotion. There is a little drink in a hollowed out pineapple next to me, and I might take a drink, or I might just lick the salt off my lips from the sea air. And up the beach a bit, I see a tall, dark-haired man walking toward me, ankle deep in the water that is lapping at the shore line.

So it begins. The fantasy, that is. We all know our realities of writing checks, folding laundry, sitting in rush-hour traffic. And those things are fine…that's how we survive our day-to-day stuff. But we need fantasy; we crave it. So maybe I'll retreat into my own personal fantasies. Or maybe I'll read erotica.

When I read erotica, I like to imagine someone completely new. I very rarely ever imagine a celebrity or someone I might know because I like the fantasy of it. So in my mind, I can make up the mysterious stranger in my daydream or imagine the hot doctor or bartender I read about in an erotic story. And even more than imaging who it is, I like imagining the sensations: the way my breath catches in my chest when the dark-haired stranger finally approaches my hammock, the way the sun beats down on me, the way his skin would feel under my fingertips as I trace the arch of his lower back.

When I read erotica, I also like that I get to visit someone else's fantasy. Do things I wouldn’t imagine doing, meet people I wouldn’t imagine meeting, go places I wouldn't imagine going. I relish in the author's creativity and enjoy their sensual nature. Maybe it will spark a few fantasies of my own.

Tomorrow, I will likely find something delicious to read. But for now, I'm going to get back to my real life, my work…and try very hard not to think of the way the swim trunks hang on my dark-haired fantasy man's hips or the first thing he says as he approaches my hammock. I said try. I am human, after all…

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Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Who do you like to read about in your erotic romances? by Lois Bonde

She had to finish the article, but she couldn't concentrate. She could hear the plumber working in the bath behind her. Now there was a man she would like to do more than read about.

Okay, back to the article: Who? Who?

The farmer who couldn't keep his hands off his wife, so he fired them?
The male nurse who made the patient without disturbing the bed?

He dropped a wrench into his bag of tools, and she jumped. Relax and think.

The fellow who lost his girl friend because he forgot where he laid her?
The frustrated musician who's flute went flat right in the middle of "My Fair Lady"?
The coffee bean that wouldn't try a new position because he preferred the old grind?

She heard the water turn on. She hoped he ran it a good long time to make sure the drain worked. A picture of him naked in her shower flashed into her mind.

The article. The article.
The diaphram who aspired to be a midnight trampoline?
The sleepy guy who couldn't stay awake for a second?
The high salaried movie producer who was always trying to make a little extra (She was a blonde.)?

The water turned off.

The truck driver who broke his arm when he pulled out to avoid a child and fell off the sofa?
The deliveryman who was late to the third floor because he got a little behind on the second?

She didn't hear him walk up behind her.

"The shower works fine."

Startled, she sat up straight. He was so close that her shoulder pressed against him. He grew hard under the pressure. She turned slowly and discovered he was naked. Drops of water glistened all over his body.

"It works very well," she noted.

The article was all wrong so far. Not the farmer, not the musician, not even the movie producer.

The plumber.

Buy Lois Bonde's latest release, Doctor on Call, at

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Erotic Romance: More Than Just Thrusts and Beats

One of Ms. Anabel’s gentlemen friends is really into video sex. She hesitates to use the “P” word, because it offends many. Still, it’s fairly hard-core porn and she sometimes thinks it would work well as sex education material. Someone mentioned “insert Tab A into Slot B” and, well, that’s basically it, accompanying by hard-thumping sex music, each thrust timed to each beat, of course. Story? Ha!

But Etienne has a couple of DVD’s that Anabel actually likes. They are the ones with a story. They usually start out with a couple locking eyes across the room at a party, and the She of them starts having trouble with her date, they argue, and she takes off into the night on the beach. Then the He of the story notices, and slips out the back door in pursuit.

The He is sympathetic, and attentive. The ocean breeze is blowing, he offers his jacket, but the She doesn’t wear it for long because he has enticed her into a little mini-orgy on the sand. Oh yeah, She points those 4 inch clear Lucite stilettos toward the starry sky and next thing you know, Slot B is welcoming Tab A. Music is more dreamy, and kisses more passionate, less violent. Afterward, newly bonded couple is seen walking in the dawn light, romantic, sated, all shades of afterglow. He is carrying her killer shoes, she is again wearing his sexy jacket.

Why does Anabel prefer this video over the others? Story. Emotion. Beginning, middle, satisfying end. This is erotic romance.

Etienne humors Anabel by playing this video first. While he prefers the “let’s get it on” momentum of the aforementioned play-by-play discs, he understands her need for substance and plot. Because, after all, Anabel is a woman whose sexual power is channeled through, and heightened by, emotion.

Love, Anabel

--who hopes your nights are filled with more than just slots and tabs...

Anabel Blue is the author of SEX LIBRIS, new from Erotique Press, where Sex in the Library has never been this much fun! BUY IT NOW for a quick, steamy read!

What gets you hot?