Friday, October 21, 2016

Cover Reveal: Guarded by the Warrior by Eliza Knight


Inside the Book:

Title: Guarded by the Warrior
Author: Eliza Knight
Release Date: November 29, 2016
Publisher: Knight Media LLC
Genre: Historical Romance
Format: Ebook

A lady in need of protection...

Suffering through a short marriage to an enemy of Scotland, Lady Emilia MacCulloch manages to escape just before her husband dies. But the Ross clan will stop at nothing to get her back, for she plays a big part in their plans to thwart Robert the Bruce. She fears for her own family being labeled traitors and for her life. Placed by her king as a governess in the household of a devastatingly handsome warrior, Emilia finds herself drawn to the man, when she had previously sworn off love all together. His passion, charisma, loyalty and strength shake the very foundation she's built around her heart.

A warrior in need of saving...

Ian Matheson has spent his entire life trying to prove himself. To belong. When his father passes away and his mother takes her vows at a nearby abbey, he is suddenly left in a position he was wholly unprepared for. And then his father's dozen illegitimate children arrive on his doorstep in need of a father figure of their own. They are adorable and reckless, and he's certain they'll drive him mad. Just when he thinks he might actually need to find a wife to help him, Lady Emilia is presented to him by the king. She needs his protection, and he needs her help with the bairns. Ian is tempted by her angelic face, her fiery tongue, and the secrets that surround her. He must resist the growing desire that's laying claim within him. He must prove to his clan that he is a worthy leader. But maybe, just maybe, he can have the respect of his people, and Emilia, too.

Meet the Author:

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a princess…

Growing up, I was a proficient story teller, with most of my plots encompassing princesses and princes and dreams coming true. Now as an author, some of my stories are still about royalty, knights, duels, ladies, intrigue, betrayal. History fascinates me and I try to bring history back to life in each of my stories.

My favorite time periods are medieval, renaissance and Regency eras of Europe. Growing up, I was lucky to have grandparents who lived in Paris, so many a summer was spent exploring medieval ruins and historical sites.

One of my all time favorite books is Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, and I am of course Jane Austen fan, my two favorites being Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I love the in-depth, emotionally riveting and intriguing works of historical author, Ken Follett. I am also a fan of Shakespeare, and you will find in a lot of my writing reference to the literary God and his work. Not only Shakespeare, but other period poets and literary notables of history are on my keeper shelf. My love affair with the romance genre started young. I picked up my first romance novel, The Bride, by Julie Garwood when I was in high school, and I haven’t been able to stop reading or writing romance since.

When I’m not reading or writing I am usually doing research for fun. If you love history, come visit me at History Undressed, where we discuss all the wildly fascinating and titillating facts of history! Recently I’ve started to post reviews of historical fiction and romance novels as well.

You can visit her website at

In The Spotlight: Rejoicing Through The Tears by Brenda George

Inside the Book

Title: Rejoicing Through The Tears
Author: Brenda George
Publisher: WestBow Press
Pages: 240
Genre: Inspirational

Have you or someone you know been diagnosed with cancer? Rejoicing through the Tears has been written with you in mind. You can learn not only to survive, but to thrive. You can come through your wilderness journey of cancer and let God turn your mourning into dancing. No matter what challenges you may be facing, you can learn to embrace the hand of a loving God. He will walk with you whether you are up on the mountaintop or down in the valley; you will learn to rejoice wherever you are, because what you are rejoicing with is heartfelt joy from deep within. Your faith will be ignited, and you will be encouraged. You will learn to live each day with passion and enthusiasm. Let the God who flung the stars into space walk into your storm, refresh your soul, and bring you streams in the desert.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter Five

The Diagnosis

After we returned home from Mackinac Island, I reluctantly made an appointment for the biopsy. I still did not think there was anything to be concerned about, because I felt too good. Sick people were the ones who had something wrong, I thought. I went to the hospital bright and early the next Monday morning, following my return home from vacation for a fine-needle biopsy in my neck. I was dragging my feet all the way to the hospital. I just couldn’t stand to hear any more bad news. As I was lying flat on my back on the table, the tears rolled down both sides of my face and dripped onto the examination table. I couldn’t explain it, but somewhere deep down inside, I sensed the worst. The doctor doing the biopsy told me that thyroid nodules are fairly common. Ninety-five percent of them are benign, leaving only five percent as malignant. That was reassuring to hear. While your medical history, examination by a physician, lab tests, and ultrasound are important, the only test that can distinguish whether thyroid nodules are benign or malignant is through a fine-needle biopsy. After numbing the area, the doctor sticks a very fine needle into the nodules to remove cells for microscopic examination, which are sent to pathology. A bandage is put on your neck, and you are sent home. The biopsy wasn’t too painful, but I would describe it as uncomfortable. Every day of the rest of that week seemed to be an eternity as I waited for that phone call with the biopsy results. Finally, the nurse called three days later. She hesitated for a few minutes on the other end of the line before she reluctantly said that it was urgent that I make an appointment as soon as possible. What more can I say except that it was a long weekend! Monday finally rolled around. I was in a daze as I walked into the doctor’s office early that morning. The doctor sat down in his chair and looked me straight in the eye with apprehension. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn I saw a single tear in his eye when he gave me the news that I was dreading to hear with all my heart—that I had papillary thyroid cancer—but my eyes were so welled up with tears, I wasn’t sure, I was not prepared to hear those heart-wrenching words that would pierce my heart forever. They cut like a knife. It was the worst shock of my life, and I was completely numb inside. The true meaning of those words hadn’t sunk in yet. They were just too final. I came out of the doctor’s office and into the waiting room where my mom was waiting for me. I tried to smile, but it was forced. I wanted to act like everything was normal for as long as I could and put off telling her the news that had just turned my own world upside down. As we walked out of the hospital, my legs felt like lead. Each step became more impossible. Finally, when I fell into my car that was it. There was no holding back. I completely broke down. The tears started and went on for at least a week, almost nonstop. I remember eating my bowl of cereal that next morning before work and crying the entire time. I didn’t know my body was capable of producing so many tears. Finally, there were no more tears left to cry. But I still felt completely hopeless. Papillary thyroid cancer is a very treatable kind of cancer. The prognosis is usually good if it is caught in time, which it usually is, and receives the proper treatment. There are many more cases being diagnosed each year, mainly because technology is now so much more advanced. If mine hadn’t been diagnosed when it was, it would have probably become terminal. I was thankful that the outlook was encouraging, but I didn’t like hearing anyone pass it off as the good cancer. There is no good cancer. Cancer can kill. It may be slow, depending on what type it is and the stage it’s in, but left untreated, death is almost inevitable. The C word is one that nobody ever wants to hear. That very word meant death to me. If I was fortunate enough to survive, my life would be forever changed and would require lifelong monitoring.

Praise for Rejoicing Through The Tears:

By HCTexas on October 5, 2014

In her book, Rejoicing through the Tears: Embracing God's Hand in Cancer, Brenda George shares not only the story of her journey through surviving Thyroid cancer but also some practical information that could be very helpful for anyone faced with a cancer diagnosis. We know that God does not heal everyone as He did Brenda but what she shares in this book will give everyone the opportunity to know there is hope and there will be victory if you put your faith and strength in our Lord, Jesus.

Though at first glance this cover may look a bit whimsical (take a closer look) the content is anything but. I highly recommend this book to everyone. Everyone knows someone that has been affected by the diagnosis of cancer; if not you then a family member, friend or friend of a friend. Please read this book it can only help.

For More Information


Meet the Author


Brenda George is the author of "Rejoicing Through The Tears: Embracing God's Hand In Cancer." She is a thyroid cancer survivor and a speaker for The American Cancer Society as a “Voice of Hope.” She has also spoken at other events, including Aglow International. She is passionate about raising awareness and reaching out to others to inspire people from all walks of life to never give up hope! She is enthusiastic about life and teaches others that they can not only survive, but thrive. Whatever challenges, they may be facing, they will learn to embrace the hand of a loving God - He will turn their mourning into dancing. Brenda resides in Marysville, Ohio, with her husband, Mark and their adorable Old English Sheepdog, named Maggie. She is the mother of three grown children and grandmother to seven.

Connect with Brenda on Author WebsiteAuthor BlogFacebookFacebook Book PageTwitter, and Goodreads.

Book Blast: The October Testament by Ruth Magnusson Davis

Inside the Book

Title: The October Testament
Author: Ruth Magnusson Davis
Publisher: Baruch House Publishing
Pages: 434
Genre: Christian / Bible / Religion & Spirituality


The primary author of the October Testament is the English martyr William Tyndale. This is his final New Testament translation of 1535. Two years later, his friend John Rogers first published these scriptures in a little-known but very important Reformation Bible called the Matthew Bible, which became the first authorized English Bible under King Henry VIII. A second edition was published in 1549, from which this update is made. Rogers was martyred in 1555, burned at the stake in Smithfield, England. The wine-colored cover, therefore, is symbolic of the blood with which this bible was bought. Ruth Magnusson Davis is founder and editor of the New Matthew Bible Project. Her work is to update the Matthew Bible: not to make a modern bible, but to keep the language of the original as much as possible, which she calls the real language of the faith. Because the KJV New Testament was largely taken from Tyndale, readers will find much that is familiar here, and beautiful, but will find it easier to understand than the KJV. Ruth, a retired lawyer, is a scholar of early modern English, the writings of William Tyndale, and the Matthew Bible. In 2009 she retired from professional practice in order to undertake this work full-time. In October 2015, she completed the New Testament, "The October Testament." Then she began work on the interior layout and attending to all the details of publishing. In March 2016 the October Testament finally became available for sale, and was immediately well received. Ruth's fine editorial hand is almost unnoticeable. Tyndale continues to shine through. Rogers' style in his annotations is distinctly his. Readers comment repeatedly on both the flow and the clarity of the New Matthew Bible scriptures, and also on the beauty of the original style, which Ruth, with her delicate touch, has masterfully retained.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 3

The baptism, preaching, and office of John the Baptist, and how Christ was baptized by him in the Jordan.

In those days John the Baptist came and preached in the wilderness of Judea, 2saying, Repent: the kingdom of heaven is at hand! 3This is he of whom it is spoken by the prophet Isaiah, who says, The voice of a crier in wilderness: Prepare the Lord’s way, and make his paths straight.   4This John had his garment of camel’s hair, and a girdle of skin about his loins. His food was locusts and wild honey.a 5At that time Jerusalem and all Judea, and all the region round about the Jordan, went out to him, 6and were baptized by him in the Jordan, confessing their sins.  7When he saw many of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees come to his baptism, he said to them, O offspring of vipers, who has taught you to flee from the vengeance to come? 8Bring forth therefore the fruits belonging to repentance. 9And see that you ones do not think to say in yourselves, We have Abraham as our father. For I say to you that God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10Even now is the axe put to the root of the trees, so that every tree which does not bring forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire. 11I baptize you in water in token of repentance, but he who comes after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. 12He has also his fan in his hand, and will purge his floor, and gather the wheat into his garner, and will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire.b  13Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan, to John, to be baptized by him. 14But John stopped him, saying, I ought to be baptized by you, and do you come to me? 15Jesus answered and said to him, Let it be so           
Isa 40:3 
Mk 1:1-17 Lu 3:1-22 Joh 1:15-34; 3:22-36.                           
Now, for thus it behoves us, to fulfil all righteousness. Then John let him. 16And Jesus, as soon as he was baptized, came straight out of the water. And lo, heaven was open over him, and John saw the Spirit of God descend like a dove and light upon him. 17And lo, there came a voice from heaven, saying, This is he: my beloved Son, in whom is my delight.   
Mk 1:11 Lu 3:22 Joh 1:32 2Pe 1:16-18   
Locusts  (3:4)    
Wheat and chaff (3:12)
The Notes

a) According to Pliny [Roman savant and author of Natural History in the first century], locusts are certain creatures that people of Parthia and Ethiopia used to eat. But some say the tops or buds of trees or fruits are meant. [Tyndale>John the Baptist came not to impress with his diet and strait living, which outward things pertain only to the taming of the flesh, but he came to preach, as the voice of a crier.] b) By the wheat and the chaff are understood the good and the evil. 
Luke 3:17. 

For More Information


Meet the Author

Ruth Magnusson Davis is a retired lawyer with an undergraduate degree in languages, and a conservative Christian. She holds to the fullness of Reformation doctrine, with one foot in the camp of evangelical traditional Anglicans and another with the Lutherans. She presently resides in Canada.

In 2005 Ruth formed her little company, Baruch House Publishing, to publish her first book, 'True to His Ways: Purity & Safety in Christian Spiritual Practice,' released that year.
In 2009 Ruth retired from law and founded the New Matthew Bible Project, dedicated to gently updating the Matthew Bible, a little-known Reformation Bible. The Matthew Bible was the joint work of 3 men early in the Reformation: William Tyndale, Miles Coverdale, and John Rogers. Few people realize that the Matthew Bible formed the basis of the King James Version. Ruth's goal is to maintain the historic language of the faith while making these old scriptures plain for today's reader. The updated version will be called the New Matthew Bible, or NMB for short.

Ruth completed her work on the NMB New Testament, and it was published in April 2016 as 'The October Testament.'

For More Information


Book Blast: Journey To The Cross by Shane Cloonan


Inside the Book:

Title: Journey to the Cross
Author: Shane Cloonan
Publisher: State Street Publishing
Publication Date: September 11, 2015
Pages: 35
Genre: Children's Christian Fiction

This is the story of the Jesus donkey, a fictional tale that takes readers on a journey from our Lord's birth to his ultimate crucifixion. Though written and illustrated for young readers, this book is perfect for people of all ages who want a fresh, youthful perspective on the life of Jesus. The book's message is imbued in the strength and simplicity of hearts that are linked to other hearts by Jesus. Journey to the Cross follows the light of hope that first appeared on that special night in Bethlehem.

Journey to the Cross helps answer questions that young people ask about the life of Jesus.

For More Information:
Journey to the Cross is available at AmazonBarnes & NobleGoodreads

Meet the Author

Shane Cloonan began writing Journey to the Cross as a sixth-grader at a Chicago-area Catholic school.

While his own journey to the publication of this book took three years, it was a complete labor of love. Shane is an avid outdoorsman. He also is an accomplished woodcarver. Shane took third place in his age group and category two years ago at the Ward World Championships Wildfowl Carving Competition in Maryland, then followed that up with a first-place finish in the International Woodcarvers Congress competition in Iowa.

Animals and pets of almost every shape and size have always been a big part of his life. It’s one of the reasons why he used a donkey as his lead character—a donkey that tells the most profound story in human history.

You can visit Shane’s website at

For More Information:
Author Website

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Book Feature: Don Quixote Explained by Emre Gurgen

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Inside the Book:

Don Quixote Explained
Title: Don Quixote Explained Author: Emre Gurgen Publisher: AuthorHouse Genre: Literary Criticism Format: Ebook/Paperback
  Don Quixote Explained focuses on seven topics: how Sancho Panza refines into a good governor through a series of jokes that turn earnest; how Cervantes satirizes religious extremism in Don Quixote by taking aim at the Holy Roman Catholic Church; how Don Quixote and Sancho Panza check-and-balance one another’s excesses by having opposite identities; how Cervantes refines Spanish farm girls by transforming Aldonza Lorenzo into Dulcinea; how outlaws like Roque Guinart and Gines Pasamonte can avoid criminality and why; how Cervantes establishes inter-religional harmony by having a Christian translator, on the one hand, and a Muslim narrator, on the other; and lastly, how Cervantes replaces a medieval view of love and marriage―where a woman is a housekeeper, lust-satisfier, and child begetter―with a modern view of equalitarian marriage typified by a joining of desires and a merger of personalities. "AN ERUDITE EXAMINATION OF THE THEMES AND IDEAS IN DON QUIXOTE. I THOROUGHLY ENJOYED THE WRITING AND EXPOSITION OF THIS WELL-REASONED CRITIQUE. BUY IT AND STUDY IT. GERALD J. DAVIS, AUTHOR OF DON QUIXOTE, THE NEW TRANSLATION BY GERALD J. DAVIS" WWW.DON-QUIXOTE-EXPLAINED.COM
Meet the Author:
Emre Gurgen, the author of Don Quixote Explained: The Story of an Unconventional Hero, has a Bachelor’s degree in English from Pennsylvania State University. Currently, he lives in Germantown, Maryland, where he is writing a follow-up Don Quixote essay collection and study guide.

Tour Schedule

Tuesday, June 28 - Interviewed at PUYB Virtual Book Club
Wednesday, June 29 - Interviewed at  at I'm Shelf-ish
Thursday, June 30 - Interviewed at Literal Exposure
Monday, July 4 - Interviewed at The Review From Here
Tuesday, July 5 - Guest blogging at My Bookish Pleasure
Wednesday, July 6 - Guest blogging at Voodoo Princess
Thursday, July 7 - Guest blogging at The Literary Nook
Friday, July 8 - Guest blogging at All Inclusive Retort
Monday, July 11 - Guest blogging at A Title Wave
Tuesday, July 12 - Interviewed at The Writer's Life
Friday, July 15 - Guest blogging at As the Page Turns
Monday, July 18 - Guest blogging at A Taste of My Mind
Tuesday, July 19 -  Guest blogging at Write and Take Flight
Wednesday, July 20 - Guest blogging at Harmonious Publicity
Thursday, July 21 - Interviewed  at Bent Over Bookwords
Friday, July 22 - Guest blogging at The Dark Phantom

Book of the Week: Girl Within Girl by S.P. Aruna

We're thrilled to be hosting S.P. Aruna and her GIRL WITHIN GIRL Virtual Book Tour today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!

Title: Girl Within Girl: An Erotic Thriller (Book 1: Unraveling)
Author: S.P. Aruna
Publisher: BookBaby
Pages: 170
Genre: Erotic Thriller

Katrina is never alone. She is bound to others inside her, tighter than any Siamese twins could ever be: Cherry, the freewheeling photojournalist, Anisa, the covert spy-assassin, and others as yet unknown, all sharing her body and mind as she goes about her work in a psychiatric hospital. But she is starting to unravel, and her sole hope is the handsome Dr. Sean Paisley, the only one who can make her whole again.

Girl Within Girl is a dark erotic thriller that wanders through a sensual maze of mind control and torture.

For More Information

  • Girl Within Girl is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
Book Excerpt:
Shit! I've got about an hour to get to the airport!
Rummaging through my closet for the pre-packed bag I always kept for exigencies like this, I became extremely pissed. "Bitch hid it again under her pile of clothes! Why is she always doing that?"
I was talking about my roommate, whom I never see, Katy something.
But I eventually found it: a black Northern Face duffle bag. It had most things that I needed already packed inside; I only had to throw in a few simple items, like my toiletries, extra sexy silk frock...then there are the things I needed on my person: passport, wallet, business cards - can't forget the business cards!
I grabbed a plastic box full of them from the recesses of the bottom drawer of my dresser; then took a few cards out to stick into the breast pocket of my cotton blouse, but not before looking at one to admire the design.
Cherry Cummins, Freelance Journalist & Professional Photographic Artist.  
I like that last part: Artist.
I know I'm a bit wild, and travelling in particular gets my juices going. But hey, consider this: you get on a plane in one part of this great globe, get some sleep, and wake up in another part; out of one world and into another.  Like magic.
I also consider myself, without shame mind you, a naughty pleasure seeker, and traveling   arouses my wicked inner urges even more. I knew I would have ample opportunities to release them on this trip, and this thought gave me little shudders of excitement.
They invented a bunch of ten dollar words for that type of behavior: hyper-sexuality, erotomania, nymphomania, satyriasis...whatever... I don't give two shits. Not long ago, homosexuality was considered some neurotic disorder in the psychiatric manuals. And you can bet your ass it isn't now!
I called up my usual taxi service and to my relief not only was the car's arrival timely, but the cabbie's deft driving got me to the airport in less than 20 minutes. The check-in line wasn't too bad; after all the passport checks, the X-rayed hand luggage, the TSA inspections, I still arrived at the departure gate ten minutes before boarding.
Columbian Airlines, Flight 148, non-stop to Bogota.
I had an exclusive photo-op and interview lined up with the person who was considered the tsar of all the drug lords in the western hemisphere: Dom Renaldo Cortez. It took me months to set this up, and you can't imagine the rush I felt when the plane finally descended to our destination eight hours later.
A pre-arranged car picked me up. Never got to see the capitol city, as we took a road straight out of town and drove for about two hours past crude one-storied dwellings, until we reached a local airstrip, where I boarded a single engine Cessna that flew me to Lishimango, a relatively new town deep in the jungle that, despite its airstrip, wasn't even on the map yet. From there I boarded a jeep that bounced past the luxuriant growth of trees that were all around us and ultimately took me to my objective: the mansion La Casa de Cortez.
It was magnificent, a white colonial manor with trimmings of gold. I proceeded up the steps to the entrance and no sooner had the door been opened by a short man dressed immaculately in a white tuxedo, I beheld a sight that took my breath away: a large parlor, it's walls covered with radiant grey-white marble, the floors tiled in deeply captivating aquamarine blue.  There was an effect of one being on a heavenly white-sand beach fringing a pristine sea. What made this more realistic was the sky-like azure ceiling fifteen feet above my head. The ebony furniture and black leather couches posed a striking contrast against the glowing background.
The man himself, my fascinating, sensual objective, seemed to appear out of nowhere, now slowly walking towards me, an eye-catching figure with an authoritative gait, yet casually dressed in a powder blue golf shirt and white slacks. His footfalls echoed like an impending event about to happen. He was somewhat brawny, possibly from working out. His tanned fleshy face was clean shaven, much to my surprise, but it was his arresting dark eyes that commanded my attention. When he got within a step of me, he extended his hand. "Welcome to my casa."
I accepted his hand, which held mine in a firm grip that gave me tingles and awakened my loins. He let go after a few seconds and I followed him as he turned in the direction from whence he came, the steps of his leather boots reverberating down the cavernous corridor like the advance of an intimidating army.
He turned his head slightly to address me, his gait hardly slackening. "I thought that perhaps you would spend the night here, and then in the morning we could do the interview and the pictures." His English was flawless, yet impregnated with a sensual Spanish accent much like Ricardo Montalban.
I had actually counted on spending the night and the implications therein. "Yes, that would be more than convenient. In fact, I'm grateful for a chance to rest up."
"Anything you want, just tell me. Perhaps you would like to freshen up before we meet for a, what you call, a sundowner?"
 "You read my mind," I said, a bit too eagerly.
"Rafael will show you to your room."
The diminutive man who had opened the door when I'd arrived, still dressed in a white half-coat, white shirt and tie, white cummerbund and white trousers, smiled at me with crooked teeth and led the way up winding marble stairs bounded by gleamingly varnished hardwood bannisters.  My room was luxurious: parquet floor, oak paneling, velvet drapes fringing a French window, and a four poster canopy bed. As I turned to thank Rafael, he smiled and exited.
The first thing I did was to lie luxuriantly in the giant bathtub immersed in foam and bubbles in a giant marble bathroom and, shortly after transforming myself into a more presentable female, rejoined my sexy host in a glorious dining room: cerise-painted walls trimmed with white moldings, a moderate-sized dining table in the middle of an earthen-brown tiled floor. Renaldo had changed into a white cotton button down shirt and khaki trousers. I had put on my short silk dress with the thin straps, leaving my shoulders and most of my legs exposed. I didn't bring anything more formal than that, so I was relieved that he was dressed just as casual.
 Dinner was superb: oysters on the half shell, a luxurious green salad served with the local bread, poached cod, oven-roasted asparagus, fillet de mignon and chicken cordon bleu; it was so much that I could only take small portions of each, savoring every taste.  Conversation was exhilarating: at first polite talk about tomorrow's photojournalistic work...and then...
"So, how long have you been a photojournalist?"
This question made me think too much. "As long as I can remember," I replied, distracted by some niggling bad vibes that came out of nowhere.
Anyway, my evasive answer didn't seem to bother him. "I admire your work."
"Do you really?"
"Yes, yes, of course I do. That piece on that artist...what's his name, Solonoy..."
After that, there followed an embarrassing silence, which we made up for by nibbling at more food.
"You're such a beautiful creature," he said out of the blue.
I know my good points: my blond wavy hair, my trim muscular figure...but let's face it, it would be kind enough to say my face was plain, especially considering my thin lips. How I hate my slit-like lips! Yet, it was obvious he still wanted me.
After we had finished our chocolate mousse he suddenly announced, "I think we should retire. Would you mind it much, if perhaps I cannot sleep, I knock on your door later on? Just to talk, of course."
I had to admit to myself that I was more than expecting this; I had been fantasizing about it for the past few weeks. Half of my incentive for coming here was my anticipation of Dom Reynaldo Cortez seducing me and taking me without compromise. I gave him a vixen smile. "There's no harm in trying."
And with that he got up, cuing me to proceed to my room.
Of course he knocked. And of course I opened. It doesn't take too much of an imagination to figure out what happened after that. But let me sum it up.
First, I need to make one thing clear. This man was alpha, with a capitol A, macho with a capitol M, and virile with a capitol V. Such a man doesn't hide it either; he just comes right out with it.
"You know, Columbia is filled with the most beautiful, sexiest, most passionate women in the entire world. The one thing they have in common is their lustrous dark hair. But the color of sunlight reflecting off the morning precious amber."
I think that any girl would recognize that as a come-on line, particularly when accompanied by the wolfish grin on his face. He approached me, unbuttoning his shirt, which he eventually threw off, and bare-chested, put his arms around my waist.
"Tonight is going to be a special one for me and you." He kissed me, slowly, deliberately, reinforcing the meaning behind his words.
He didn't need permission, he just seized me. He bit my neck like a vampire, and mauled my breasts like a hungry wolf; perhaps not a style for those who are more romantically inclined. It all depends on the woman and the mood she's in.
And I was the right woman in the right mood.
After he had calmed down and released his initial pent-up passion, the rest of the foreplay was agonizingly delicious. He really paid attention to my body, worshiping it with his lips and tongue, licking me all over like a preening housecat, then once again greedily consuming my breasts, like a newborn desperately trying to satiate his hunger. He raised his head and stared into my eyes before he pounced upon my lips.  His mouth worked on mine and I practically choked on his deep throat kisses. Then he slid down and did the same to my pussy, giving it the same attention as he did to my mouth, his lips brushing on my labia, his tongue lapping up my clit. When he eventually entered me, the housecat turned into a tiger.
The erect male penis can evoke different responses. On one level it is a rather crude organ, veiny, threatening, and even obscene.  On the other hand it can be fascinating and powerfully attractive. Again, it all depends on the woman and the mood she's in.
And I was the right woman in the right mood.
Renaldo's was long, so I expected it to bang against my cervix; something I liked, perversely if you will. He thrust into me hard, letting me know from the onset who was the boss.
"Your hair," he growled, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl, "so fucking beautiful, on your head and around your pussy, like nectar. I'm going to punish you for being so sexy!"
"Yes, yes!" I cried, then realizing I said the wrong words, I corrected myself. "No, no...Please...mercy!"
"None for you, you little bitch!"
His prick unleashed its fury, bashing my innocent cunt left and right, high and low, Reynaldo roaring like a wild beast.
But I asked for it, didn't I? And I got it.
 His coppery body assaulting my lily-white figure posed a frantic moving picture of carnal contrast, my body rebounding under his blows, my legs flailing helplessly in the air,. His stiff manhood left no doubt who was in charge, its pugnacious battering venting an inexplicable rage against my soft insides, walloping it on all sides. I was aware of myself half-sobbing, screaming out no, no but meaning yes, yes. I climaxed in a spray of fireworks, and he himself immediately shouted out, as he emptied his balls in me.
And later when he took me anally, bellowing like a rabid creature just as he did before, I surprised myself with how much pleasure I derived from the pain of it.
"WHO IS YOUR BOSS?" he screamed out while pounding my poor little butthole.
His arm reached underneath my body for my neck, which he cupped with a restrained but firm grip, firm enough to remind me that he could tear out my windpipe if he wanted to, and that put me on the edge of swooning from a delicious sense of helpless vulnerability. In fact, his renewed assault gave me so much titillation that I came even harder than the first time...
Wow! It was as good as I had imagined.
We both nodded off in a post-coital trance, but it wasn't long before my phone cell rang. It was a low volume ringtone, but it vibrated in a way that seemed to resonate in my skull. I sat up, reached for my purse on the night table, and fished for my phone. I looked over at Renaldo, my Dom, to see him snoring lightly. I pushed the receive button. "Hello?"
"One fish, two fish, blue fish."
About the Author

Half French, half Khmer (Cambodian), I'm a woman whose head is filled with fantasies and intriguing stories, and who wants to share them with others.

S.P. Aruna’s latest book is the erotic thriller, Girl Within Girl: An Erotic Thriller: Book 1: Unraveling.

Visit the author on Facebook.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Book Feature: Wanna-Be's by Mark Connelly

We're happy to be hosting Mark Connelly and his WANNA-BE'S Blog Tour today!  Please leave a comment or question for Mark to let him know you stopped by!

Author: Mark Connelly
Publisher: Mark Connelly Productions
Pages: 188
Genre: Literary Fiction/Humor/Satire

With his new girlfriend – a soccer mom with a taste for bondage – urging him to “go condo,” failed screenwriter Winfield Payton needs cash. Accepting a job offer from a college friend, he becomes the lone white employee of a black S&L. As the firm’s token white, he poses as a Mafioso to intimidate skittish investors and woos a wealthy cougar to keep the firm afloat. Figure-skating between the worlds of white and black, gay and straight, male and female, Jew and Gentile, Yuppie and militant, Payton flies higher and higher until the inevitable crash. . .

Praise for Wanna-be’s:

This book right here! What can I say about Winfield he the most unlucky pasty or most unlikely fall guy...what a schmuck...I laughed so hard at this,for this guy....with this guy....every character described in this book will immediately remind you of a real life joker in the in the 24 hour news cycle on all of the Major networks and cable television channels regurgitating skewed facts benefiting them and lining their's hip and fresh writing which could easily become a HBO series....or Starz..maybe..anyway get this book....I laughed so hard...almost popping my recent stitches from surgery...Mr. Connelly...thanks for making my recuperation fun...this book is not for the faint of heart..or PC sensitive readers...

-- Lynda Garcia Review

For More Information

  • Wanna-be’s is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Book Excerpt:
            Winfield Payton awoke to a mother’s voice.  Not his mother—but someone’s mother. It was the commanding yet compassionate voice mothers develop, stern but apprehensive.  It was a voice rarely heard in Downer Estates, a brick apartment complex housing the usual collection of upscale “singles” who live within Frisbee range of urban universities, attend jazz concerts in the park, practice safe sex, drive alphabet cars (BMWs, SUVs, VWs), cybersex on company laptops, faithfully recycle Perrier bottles, and sip low-cal cappuccino in Starbucks while checking the fates of their mutual funds.
            It was a suburban voice, a beach voice, a picnic voice.  The voice of a concerned mother directing her brood.  “Now, look, Brandy, I told you before.  Mommy will be home in just a little while.  You can have cereal.  Where is Heather?  OK, tell Heather to give you some raisin bran.  Take your vitamin.  And don’t go near the pool until I get back. Do you understand? Don’t go swimming until Mommy comes home.”
            As yet Win had not opened his eyes; he was too exhausted. Confronting daylight would be painful. Feeling the sun warm his naked back, he buried his face in the pillows.  For a moment he imagined he was at Bradford Beach, snoozing while mommies and kiddies trooped over him, sprinkling his blanket with sand and popsicle drippings.
            But no, he was in bed.  His bed.  His fingers felt the familiar smooth lacquered headboard. The pillow bore the scent of Old Spice, his cologne—mundane but reliable.
            Home. He turned his aching neck. This simple movement triggered intracranial alarms. Now everything hurt.  His head throbbed. His neck tightened. His back ached. Streaks of raw flesh burned across his chest and thighs.
            Oh!  His body bore the imprint of what his clouded mind failed to recall. Opening an eye to the sun, he saw a gleaming bottle of Absolut on the bedside table.  The bottle was nearly empty.  Oh!  A ceramic ashtray held the twisted remains of weedy joints.  Oh!  Two broken poppers lay on the carpet.  Oh!  Leaning over, he saw—amid the tangled debris of his clothes—three lipstick-stained balls of Kleenex, each containing a spent condom.  Oh!
            Rolling over, Win groaned, feeling like a crash victim.  The female voice in the other room called out to him.  No longer the mommy voice, it was the supportive, deferential, eager-to-please voice of a Sixties sitcom wife.  Mary Tyler Moore exuding “Oh, Rob!” compassion. “Do you want Motrin?” she asked, “I’m making coffee.”  He heard the sounds of housewife bustling in his bachelor kitchen.
            “Motrin,” he croaked, like a wounded GI begging for morphine. Motrin, hell. He needed intensive care. IV’s.  Oxygen. And Band-Aids. Sitting up, blinking in the sun-light, Win noted the thin, blood-lined scratches and nicks across his chest and thighs. Steve McQueen tangled by barbed wire in The Great Escape.
            “Here, baby.”
            The woman standing in the doorway bore no relation to the voice flowing with flight attendant charm.  Despite the black eye makeup, false eyelashes, and hooker-red lipstick, she was clearly pretty. Her sensibly short blonde hair was cutely, boyishly cut. It complemented the husband-bought Mother’s Day earrings. No doubt she had been trying to look like Debra Harry since fifth grade.
            Below the chin she was decidedly dissimilar.  Her neck was gripped by a two-inch leather choker studded with steel points. Metal chains led to a leather corset which maximized her cleavage and girdled her waist with tight belts and more chains. Handcuffs dangled over a thigh encased in torn fishnet. Her wrists and ankles sported matching leather cuffs.
            Instinctively, Win drew back.  Only her soft voice re-minded him that he was not in mortal danger.
            “Oh, baby, look at those scratches.  I’m so sorry!  I for-get about these nails.”  She wiggled the fingers of her right hand, their dagger-like points flashing blood-red in the sun-light.  Her left palm cupped three red caplets.
            He took the pills, then, reaching for a water glass accidentally gulped three and half ounces of Absolut.  God!
            “Oh, honey!”
            Sitting up, Win rubbed his eyes and brushed his unruly hair.  The woman sat on the edge of the bed and began un-buckling her cuffs, dropping them into a black leather shoulder bag.
            “Mind if I take a quick shower?  I have to get home to the kids.”
            “Go ahead, Barbie.”  Barbie.  Gratefully her name came back to him. She disappeared into the guest bath. The architects of Downer Estates had thoughtfully equipped each two-bedroom apartment with two full baths.  Single tenants and their partners of choice could shower at the same time, going through their customary after-sex hygienic rituals in private.  Alone in the main bath, Win gargled with Scope, doused his sore member with hydrogen peroxide, then drew a bath.

About the Author

Mark Connelly was born in Philadelphia and grew up in New Jersey.  He received a BA in English from Carroll College in Wisconsin and an MA and PhD from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.  His books include The Diminished Self: Orwell and the Loss of Freedom, Orwell and Gissing, Deadly Closets:  The Fiction of Charles Jackson, and The IRA on Film and Television.  His fiction has appeared in The Ledge, Indiana Review, Cream City Review, Milwaukee Magazine, and Home Planet News.  In 2014 he received an Editor’s Choice Award in The Carve’s Raymond Carver Short Story Contest; in 2015 he received Third Place in Red Savina Review’s Albert Camus Prize for Short Fiction. His novella Fifteen Minutes received the Clay Reynolds Novella Prize and was published by Texas Review Press in 2005. 

Mark’s latest book is the literary fiction/humor/satire, Wanna-be’s.

Connect with Mark on Facebook and Twitter.