Those Boys!

Cannon Company series plunges straight to the heart of America in both setting (St. Louis and rural Ozarks) and in character. As cousins raised like brothers, these two men work hard to continue the successful construction/contracting business established by their fathers. Maybe not so successful are their affairs of the heart, especially when they find themselves up front and personal with the kinky side of things.

Dan takes the first story by storm, wading into a rural homestead for a woman he never met. She’s submissive. He doesn’t even know what that means, but he quickly figures out that nothing pleases him more than a naked woman kneeling at his feet.

Alex is the unpredictable one, artistic and intelligent and not quite sure what to do with a woman who wants to call all the shots.

And what about their old friend and right hand businessman, Randy Hammond? He’s running from his past, but so is the woman he can’t get out of his mind.

Reeling from their unexpected entanglements with women on the wild side, the three men face turning points in their lives.

A perfect holiday trifecta for your reading pleasure. Available at Amazon and Smashwords

Halloween! a short story

The book fell, quite literally, into Emily’s hands. Bound in blackened ancient leather, the slim volume included a title visible more from the indentation on the leather than by surviving lettering. Spells and Incantations, it said.

Then the man appeared.

She had no idea.

Edgy experience in a spellbound night! Well worth the price at $0.99 Amazon Smashwords

EXCERPT:

The party was one of those open air events at somebody’s farm where crowds of people milled around a bonfire or hovered at one of the keg stations. She felt horribly self-conscious in the extravagant dress. Heads turned as she walked from the parking area and kept turning no matter where she went. She cringed as she caught people looking at her, expecting that at any moment, someone would come out with some cutting remark and everyone within earshot would laugh.

No. She would not let herself cower. She looked good in this dress. In fact, she wasn’t sure she had ever looked better. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Besides, she was wearing a mask.

“Glad we ate in town,” Sarah said, her voice rising over the music blasting from big speakers. A local band had set up on a makeshift stage area and cranked out hard rock. A few people danced. Food on two long tables included a massive array of chip bags, mostly empty dip containers, and a few scraped-clean casserole dishes.

“Yeah,” Emily said. “I’m not hungry anyway. How long to do you want to stay?”

Sarah glanced at her, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “Are you kidding? It’s Halloween. We have to stay until midnight. That’s when the witches come out.”

“That’s a kid’s game,” Emily said, smiling at memories of leaping out from behind bushes at her screaming little friends and siblings. “What’s the point?”

Sarah shrugged and tossed the red boa over her shoulder. “I just think we should. Who knows, maybe your Prince Charming will show up. If he sees you in that dress…” Her eyes shot up as she ogled Emily’s cleavage. “Jesus, girl, that’s sexy as fuck.”

Emily blushed, resisting the urge to grab the two sides of the neckline and pull it together. Where was the bravado she was feeling just moments ago? “I feel naked.”

“Yeah, well the dress is perfect. Did you see that guy over there? He can’t take his eyes off you.” Sarah grabbed her arm. “No, hell, don’t look. Let him make his move.”

“Excuse me,” a deep and somewhat familiar baritone voice said.

Emily jumped and turned. A man with dark hair stood beside her, appearing as if out of thin air. She glanced at Sarah, whose eyes inside her glittering red mask had widened even more as her gaze riveted on the man.

He wore a long black cape which only emphasized his masculine stature. His other garments also were black except for an elaborate vest with bizarre geometric markings that seemed to glow in the dark and move of their own accord in the reflected light of the bonfire. Faintly, she wondered if he found the vest in the same vintage shop.

His mouth reminded her of the man today in the bookstore. Her startled gaze returned to his face where a teasing smile lingered along his sensual lips. If the black mask covering his upper face were gone, would he…

Her Pirate Adventure — a novella

Thoroughly disappointed with her expensive cruise ship vacation, Burgess Carter has one night left to find the adventure she craves. She looks up from her dinner at a seaside restaurant to see someone who might make her dreams come true. A man stands at the prow of his sailing sloop as it glides up to a nearby pier. A man like she’s never seen before, tall, dark, gorgeous and maybe a pirate. A man she absolutely has to meet.

Morgan Rand has a lot on his mind. Tomorrow will be the last day of a massive project that he and his crew have been working on for months. With any luck, he’s about to become incredibly rich. He’s nervous, exhilarated and exhausted, but not too far gone to catch the stare of an enchanting female watching him from the deck railing of his favorite restaurant. Good thing he plans to eat there. He’ll make his move on this intriguing lady and discover if she’s up for his dare.

What happens when Burgess decides to stow away and see if this pirate is real? When he decides to blow up her entire concept of adventure?

Delicious story! Amazon Smashwords

EXCERPT:

 “Umm.” Burgess was having the most incredible dream. Big rough hands caressed her breasts. A warm mouth suckled the tight nipples and kissed the hollow of her throat. “Oh,” she moaned.

If only dreams could be real. This one felt perfect.  Heat radiated from his skin. He smelled of bay rum and salty air.

“Are you awake?”

A generous deep voice rumbled in her ear, so incredibly masculine. She arched toward him, urging the dream to continue. His hand slid down her belly, brushed over her damp center, then traced a light circle around her stiff clitoris sending gooseflesh down her legs.

“Oh, please,” she moaned.

The sound of his chuckle startled her awake. Light from the galley met her barely opened eyes. A dark room. A man.

She stiffened. “Oh! My god, what …”

“I assume this means you’re awake now.”

That voice. Her eyes flew open. One of his hands remained between her legs. The other lingered on her breast, gently teasing her aching nipple and sending electrifying sensations down her stomach. He loomed over her in the shadows, sitting beside her on the bed. Faint light outlined his broad shoulders.

“Did you get lost on the way to your hotel?”

Oh, God, it was him. She swallowed.

“I, uh, just—wanted to meet you,” she stammered.

“Enchanting way to get acquainted,” he said, still circling her rigid clitoris with his finger. Heat spiraled low in her belly and burned up to her cheeks.

“I thought it was a dream,” she whispered. “Ohh…”

“All real,” he said. “Including the fact that you’re trespassing on private property. What do you think I should do with a naked stowaway?”

Was he going to stop? What he said concerned her but just barely. Briefly, she worried what he meant to do. But the pressure of his touch intensified and her thighs clenched. She might die if he stopped now. As if he knew her thought, he slipped a finger down her slick crease and slid inside her.

“Ohhh. I don’t know.” She groaned. So close. Her body felt poised at the edge of a cliff. “Wha—Whatever you want. Just… please… don’t stop.”

“So wet,” he muttered, stroking in and out.

She couldn’t help the movement of her hips in response. He lowered his mouth to her nipple, sucking hard as his finger pushed inside. His hand moved in the most incredible way, delving inside her to tease for a few strokes then circling her clit until she throbbed at the brink of orgasm. Then sliding back inside.

An intense burn spread through her belly and hips. The last remnant of thought escaped her. Close, so close, to something amazing. Something life changing. Every fragment of her consciousness centered on his touch, on the incredible sensations spiraling out from his hands.

Two big fingers drove inside as his palm crushed against her clitoris.

“Ohhh!”

Her hips thrust up as an explosive orgasm shattered through her. She grabbed his neck, his shoulders as sparks flew against her eyelids. He rode her through it, easing out with slow strokes and gently shocking brushes over her pulsing clit.

Soaking Pirate by Iyakoo on DeviantArt

His to Lose — 2 days free!

The last thing Randy Hammond expected to barge into his New Year’s Eve was the irrepressible Lucy Duncan. But she’s got a rough customer on her heels, and Randy’s not the kind of guy to let that pass. When she agrees to go home with him for a private but platonic celebration, he’s amused, charmed, and a little bit hesitant. After all, the last woman he trusted gutted him with a rusty knife.

Lucy Duncan has buried herself in her art, a safe refuge from the nightmare she endured in high school. She’ll never go back to that kind of vulnerability even if the risk comes in the gorgeous form of Randy Hammond. After he proves to be irresistible, she decides a bit of dabbling won’t hurt, since she knows he’s close friends and business partners with the Cannons.

Neither of these two lonely people are prepared for the challenges they’ll face as fate draws them closer.

Is it worth the risk to try again?

Great romance! Grab it at Amazon free September 28, 29, & 30

Excerpt:

…This was a new day, and a woman he really admired wanted to sketch his body, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it. Even if it killed him.

She busied herself with dragging a stool from his bar then laying out some pencils on the mantel and opening a big sketch pad to a blank page. With a last glance at her, he shoved his jeans down and then his boxers, letting his erection bob free. Heat rushed up his chest, and he knew his face was red.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “This happens to be your fault,” he added, motioning toward his looming arousal.

“Oh, please. That big guy is nothing to apologize about. I admit I’m flattered,” she said mildly.

He thought maybe her mild tone belied the truth of her reaction, since her cheeks had blushed red. Damn awkward, this art business.

“You said you’d sketched nudes before,” he said, his jaw clenching as he imagined hunky naked men lounging around a room while she sketched. “How do they do get away with that?”

She waved her hand, setting the sketch pad onto the stool and taking a couple of steps toward him. “It’s part of arts education. Models get paid, and it’s a decent amount, so art instructors have no problem getting models. They don’t necessarily have the perfect body, but it doesn’t matter when you’re trying to capture the human form. So here,” she said, intent on her pursuit. “I want you on your side, propped on one elbow…”

She was standing over him, pointing, and he caught a whiff of her scent and knew she was wet. That just about did him in, but he swallowed a groan and stretched out on the couch and tried to position himself as she described. She just stood there, looking at him, angling her head to one side then the other.

“That couch is too soft,” she said, chewing her lip. “Your hip and elbow are sinking. Damn it.”

He watched, amused, as she stalked around the room, muttering to herself. He watched the shift of her breasts as she moved in that yellow blouse that caressed her torso with every move, and the play of movement was wreaking havoc on his self-control. He could solve both their problems by simply dragging her to the bedroom, peeling off her clothes, and having his way with that epicurean feast of a body.

He could, but he couldn’t. This get together wasn’t supposed to be about sex. He needed get that out of his mind.

Yeah, tell that to his dick, all out there and ready. A renewed flush of embarrassment heated his face.

“Would you be okay with lying on the carpet, like maybe on a sheet or blanket?”

It took another fifteen minutes for her to settle on his position. He now lay on a sheet spread artistically over the carpet in front of the couch, which they had moved away from the spot where she insisted he must be in order to capture the best light—something about sharp shadows. His head rested on his right fist, his right arm propped on elbow. They had started with his legs straight out but now she wanted his left knee bent and raised. His cock had relented slightly in the process, but now that she had resumed her seat on the bar stool to study him, a fresh surge of interest had him embarrassed all over again.

“This isn’t the right position,” she said, standing to move the stool. Several more iterations of that process resulted in her sitting on the floor, an angle that finally satisfied her, and she took up the sketch pad to start making lines.

An hour later, Randy’s right arm burned and quivered, and his whole body felt like he’d been assaulted with rubber hoses. At first, Lucy had been working furiously, her curls tossing and trembling as her hand flew back and forth across the paper. Then her movements became more concentrated. She frowned as she worked, her tongue darting out to skim her lips. Her fine white teeth nibbled and tugged on her bottom lip. He resisted the urge to talk, afraid to disrupt her intense concentration.

He wanted to talk, wanted to explain why things between them could never work out, why she needed to forget about him, why she’d be better off without him. But that would be incredibly presumptuous. She’d never said she wanted a ‘thing’ between them. She’d picked him up, and they’d had a great New Year’s Eve, and then there had been some shared concerns about the Ames job. She’d invited him to see her art, and they’d fallen into bed together. That did not constitute a relationship.

Don’t miss this free promotion for Tangled in Two — September 7, 8, 9

This is a full length novel with plenty of sexy twists and turns, the second stunner in the Cannon Company series.

Alex Cannon confronts the worst experience of his life when he discovers money, and lots of it, is missing from company accounts. He’s a little heartbroken over the loss of Bryn in the intimate threesome he and his cousin Dan shared with her. He blames himself for being distracted so much that Cannon Company has suffered. When he hires CPA Riley Montgomery to track down the money, the last thing he expects is to find himself completely distracted by the woman.

Riley can’t afford to venture off into unethical dalliance with a client, even if the client is the devastatingly handsome Alex Cannon. She tries to stay focused on the pact she’s made with her old friend and current lover Lucy Duncan after failed relationships caused both women to swear off men. When she meets Alex, however, she discovers a man that’s a whole order of magnitude different. Whatever he says, she insists on remaining in control.

Things go from bad to worse when Riley discovers where the money trail leads and Lucy decides that the sparks flying between Alex and Riley require some friendly intervention. That’s when things get tangled!

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Dominatrix at Work

With everything she cared about gone, Dominatrix Macie Fitzgerald has built a new life in service to those seeking pain and submission. She takes pride in her success. So when she accepts Jarrod Bancroft’s application to her next training session, she acknowledges the risk. The ten years that have passed since he was her high school history student have only made him more magnificent in every way.

Life has been too easy for Jarrod Bancroft—rich parents, football star, law degree, high powered job, women by the score. Something is missing. He wants whatever Stonybrook Academy can dish out, much as it scares the hell out of him. And he was right to be afraid. He never imagined this. And the voice behind Madam’s mask sounds familiar, but after days of torture and deprivation, Jarrod’s only thought is to obey.

Macie faces her biggest challenge as she struggles to fulfill her professional obligation to give Jarrod what he wants. What he needs.

Will Santa leave anything under the tree for her? And if he does, can she bear to open it?

READ ALL OF IT! Amazon Smashwords

Excerpt:

After what seemed a long time, with Jarrod straining to recognize sounds or other clues to their location, the car crunched to a stop. He heard the driver’s window run down and the beep-beep of buttons being pushed. Gate controls. The car rolled forward and after another short drive, came to a stop.

His door opened.

“You may remove the blindfold now, Mr. Bancroft,” Carson said.

Jarrod squinted against the afternoon glare as he slid the cover off his eyes. A high white sky promised snow and cast the surroundings in a garish fluorescent haze. A low gray-stone wall encircled an enormous expanse of closely trimmed lawn, in the center of which, surrounded by stately evergreens and small manicured gardens, stood a gray-stone, three-story mansion complete with a tower.

Probably a basement with iron shackles, too, he mused to himself. He managed to keep from smiling, but he felt like a little boy on Christmas Eve. Too damn good to be true.

Wind buffeted his quick walk as he followed Carson alongside the house to a side entrance hidden behind an ivy-covered stone archway. Shivering in the cold and growing anticipation, Jarrod ducked through the entry into a small warm room. Coats and hats hung from a wooden rack. A long wooden bench sat to one side.

“Set your things there,” Carson said. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Jarrod let his bag drop on the bench and looked around as Carson quietly let himself back out the side door. High ceilings, soft green walls, lighting from a suspended old-fashioned lantern. Suitably gothic. He hung his jacket with the other coats and turned around, startled to see a woman who somehow had entered the room without making a sound. Her big brown eyes rested on him like weight. He swallowed, trying not to let his stare wander from her face, but he couldn’t avoid the obvious fact that she didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. Long brown hair brushed her shoulders and curled at the ends just above her dark nipples. Without exactly looking, he saw the hair had been removed from her pelvic area to expose puffy vulva lips and its enticing slit. His cock hardened instantly.

“Mr. Bancroft,” she said softly, “you’ll follow me.”

With pleasure, he mused, watching the flare of her hips as she led him out of the room into a shadowy hallway. They passed several doors, most of them closed but one slightly ajar enough that he could see part of a four-poster bed. He hadn’t considered accommodations, whether he’d be comfortable or well-fed. Ever since Mr. Patterson had first described Stonybrook Academy and the services offered, the only thing Jarrod could think about was the actual training. How would it be to have restraints on his body, to be whipped and subjected to extreme pain, to be taught how to respond only to commands, to subdue his autonomy? His cock stiffened even harder in anticipation. Naked female staff—could it get any better?

She opened the door to a small room. A warm fire blazed in the fireplace and a soft Persian rug nestled under his boots. A large bed stood at the far wall. With a shock, he realized that shackles and other hardware fastened to the bed posts. Quickly, he looked around the room for more evidence of what might be in store. Bars on the windows. Christ.

“You’ll remove your clothing, everything,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

A slow burn rose up his cheeks as he slipped off the boots and socks then pulled his sweater over his head. He wasn’t used to someone watching him undress, unless of course she was naked—okay, she was naked—and waiting on his bed. This one? Not so much. His breath came faster as he pulled off the t-shirt and released the buckle on his belt. He let the slacks fall to his ankles, struggling with the conspicuous fact that his erection strained the front of his shorts. Exhaling, he hooked his thumbs in either side of the waistband and slid the silk boxers down his legs.

His cock jutted forward in front of him, swelling even more in its embarrassing exposure. With clenched buttocks, he awkwardly gathered up the belongings into a halfway-folded stack before transferring them to the girl’s—woman’s—waiting arms.

“You’ll remain standing,” she added, “until your trainer arrives.” Without another word or sound, she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. He heard the lock throw.

This wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He scanned the room looking for cameras. How would they know if he remained standing? Plenty of porn sites had crossed in front of his eyes since his adolescent years, and none of them mentioned standing naked in a room with no idea about what would happen next. Women in black corsets and black leather boots, riding crop in hand, or kneeling submissives with their hands cuffed behind their backs, yes. He blinked nervously.

Time passed, he lost track. The house had its own faint soundtrack, floors creaking overhead, the scrape of limbs against the window as the wind tugged on the bushes, the occasional snap or hiss in the fireplace. They didn’t say he had to stand in one place. He walked to the window, which looked out from what he assumed was the back of the house. A narrow paved lane led to two rambling outbuildings some distance away.

His brief examination of the window bars assured him that no one would come or go through that opening, and the massive door probably wouldn’t budge on its lock either. Somehow the knowledge that his ability to leave had been firmly removed helped him relax. Hadn’t he struggled with this decision long enough? Hadn’t he made up his mind to find out who Jarrod Bancroft really was?

This is it, fuck head. Get over it.

~~~

Love in the Moment, a short story collection

One moment she dared. Stepped outside of yesterday and tomorrow. Took what she wanted even if she didn’t want to want it.

Love in the Moment gathers eight stories of those moments, when a stranger’s smile and a glint in his eye speak to a previously undiscovered part of the soul, when each second ticks past with the wealth of a thousand years.

“Encounter at the Elevator”

I tell myself no. No, Keri Majors, no, no, no. A chorus of reasons scroll in my head—that I don’t know him, that we are standing in a hotel hallway waiting for an elevator. Anyone could walk up. Additional major point: accosting a stranger simply isn’t something I do.

Still, he’s damn fine and my body is going crazy thinking about how fabulous it would feel to be up against him.  

I argue with myself. God, what else is there to do? This elevator is taking forever.

He’s not my type. I go for the slightly shorter, less sinewy man whereas this guy looms several inches taller with an almost lanky yet muscular frame. My tastes range from blond and blue-eyed to dark and dangerous. I’ve never given much consideration to men with light brown hair and eyes that are—what, amber? I steal another glance.

Damn. He notices my brief examination. One of his eyebrows rises slightly, asking. Maybe a little amused, judging by that slight curve at the corner of his mouth. Oh God, that mouth. I quickly look down and break out in a little sweat. Damn damn damn.

The handle of my heavy briefcase itches against my sweaty palm. I could assign this momentary insanity to fatigue. Like all such conferences, this one turned into a three-day blur of classes on everything from specialty cost coding and catastrophe adjustment to the latest on defining a collapse under a property insurance policy. I’m past ready for home, a long hot soak in my tub and a mindless couch session with a bottle of wine and my cat Winston at my fingertips.

But this guy. My body responds to his attention. There’s this nonstop urge, whatever recess of hell it springs from, that causes my thighs to clench. I lick my lips, hoping my libido will tuck its tail and slink away. Maybe if I give myself a few more minutes and a couple of deep breaths…

What the hell is up with this elevator? I check my watch. It’s been two minutes.

Deep breaths? Nope. Not working. He’s still there exuding male hormones that my body seems programmed to read. Jesus, how does anyone exude such powerful sensuality?

Is he watching me? I can’t avoid another furtive glance. His lips fascinate me, halfway between full and thin, sensual with a little flare at the bow and now curling upwards at the corners. Because he sees me looking. God, I am lame.

Tan and weathered skin, prominent cheekbones and a bold jaw. Straight nose. I can’t look again to really examine the color of his eyes, but I feel them on me. Oh and his throat, which happens to be directly in my line of vision—its intriguing cords and hollows disappear into the open collar of his white shirt.

I can almost taste the salt on his skin. Feel the pulse in his throat against my lips. My mouth waters.

I realize now I’ve seen him around the hotel, once passing along the corridor when I arrived for the first day of the conference, another time on the other side of the cocktail lounge where I hid at a dark corner table and sipped my wine. He’s been alone each time. Obviously I noticed. Actually fantasized that he would appear at my table and I would allow him to join me and we would sit smiling in the dim light to pursue witty conversation with just enough innuendo. I refused to imagine what would happen afterwards, but I dreamed about him that night and woke up wet.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve been around. Mild wear and tear, enough to consider any potential hook-up through slightly jaded eyes. No big hope left that some special ‘one’ lurks out there for me.

Now this? I want to slap myself for being ridiculous.

But, damn, here I am at the elevator with my body disconnected from my brain and doing what it pleases no matter what I think or what kind of rules I’ve sworn to live by. I’m so wet.

Fucking elevator. I briefly consider taking the stairs, but this is like the eleventh floor and I don’t have a death wish. Maybe if the place was on fire, I go down eleven flights of stairs.

Shouldn’t I be thinking about the conference, all the new stuff I’ve learned, how to apply it to make more money? A new list is what I need, reminders to publish notice of my new training, maybe offer a workshop, stuff like that. What the fuck ever. I care nothing about my career right now.

I check my watch and think maybe it’s not working. I’ve got plenty of time to catch my flight. It’s not like I’m going to miss it.

Maybe it’s that we’re both leaving and I’ll never see him again. Really, it isn’t a choice I make. I’m standing here with my briefcase gripped in my hand and a garment bag slung over my arm, my other hand seized on the handle of my wheeled travel case so tight my knuckles ache. Hands sweating. Knees trembling. Wanting a stranger so much I’m about to embarrass myself in public.

He’s standing a couple of feet away, really kind of edging into my personal space. He’s looking up to watch the elevator numbers frozen on floor twenty. He too has a garment bag over one arm and his travel case handle in his other hand, looking so incredibly fabulous in that simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up those tan sinewy forearms and wearing khaki slacks that look a little wrinkled. I even check out his shoes, expensive cordovan loafers, winey brown color, well-polished and clearly loved.

I almost hear the switch flip in my head. Brain clicks off. Instinct takes over.

I turn into him holding my gear on either side of me, planting my forehead against his collar bone. Well, his white shirt. There.

Neither of us says a word. He accommodates me by holding his luggage away from his body, welcoming me to his chest. His lovely wide warm chest so hard with muscle it takes my breath. I register on his amusement, his welcome. As if we have known each other forever and this is going home.

I nestle my full length against him like I could climb into him. My lips brush against his neck, and oh god he feels so good – the smooth skin with his slightly rough beard shadow, the warmth, the beat of his pulse. At every point of contact, which actually is the entire front of me, he feels like every erotic fantasy and wet dream I’ve ever had. The strength of his thighs, the solid press of his loins and yes, his obvious arousal — oh my. His neck—Jesus Christ, he is chocolate and musky wine and that skin, that soft velvet flesh that has served its time in the sun, warm and strong and scented with a heavenly fragrance of aftershave and soap and him.

My lips savor him in that brief moment as I nuzzle. I can’t help myself. He’s right there against me, holding his own, not backing away. My lips brush along the column of his neck as if he is my last sip of water in a searing desert. In these few seconds—minutes?—that I stand there pressed against him, I have no sense of shame, no regret, no worry, no question. My mind stands still. I want never to move.

Millennia exist between us, former lives, lost memories. A tremor passes through him. Or maybe it’s me. We know each other. Nights we have held each other. The touch of his lips against mine. Joys and agonies, the raw force of life energy surging through us, time after time.

All that could ever be exists again in this moment, in us. Children. Stormy nights wrapped in his arms, soup bubbling on the stove. Old age bestowed gently as we held hands.

And then it ends. I try to adjust, accept that it’s ending. Maybe it’s the elevator. A musical ‘ding’ and we move apart. I’m in agony.

On the way down, I fight to overcome the searing embarrassment of what I’ve done. That’s what I’m supposed to feel. The rules of engagement. One minute I’m in full body contact with a man I don’t know, oblivious to anything but him, and the next minute we’re on opposite sides of the elevator with a crowd of people between us including two kids and a dog.

The elevator reaches the lobby. People file out and I don’t dare look up. I’m back in the rule book, mildly heartbroken, shaken. Wondering as I start toward the door to hail a taxi.

He’s standing there in the lobby, waiting for me as if we’d made a plan, a promise. My heart lunges against my ribs. Had we? Can it be that simple? Is this what we promised in a previous lifetime?

I pause. Will he say ‘Wait’? Touch my arm, smile, introduce himself?

No. He doesn’t move. Isn’t waiting for me. A hole expands inside me.

The doorman opens the door and I walk outside. Bright sunlight hurts my eyes. Another doorman glances my way, extends his arm to hail a taxi, and a yellow cab zooms to a stop in front of me.

Is this it? I’m heartbroken, energy draining from my body. Of course it’s been a long conference and too many brief meaningless chats with people I should remember, industry contacts and all that, but I never will remember them. I relinquish my bags to the cabbie, step toward the curb.

“Wait!”

I hear his voice. I know it’s him. Is it?

I turn, slow motion as my brain tries to process. He’s standing there then striding toward me.

“Hey,” he says, stopping in front of me, his breath heavy like he’s been running. “Got time for a cup of coffee?”

Grab your copy today! Amazon.com or Smashwords

Three days free!

Don’t miss this free promotion for Hers to Choose — August 17, 18, and 19. This is a full length novel with plenty of sexy twists and turns, the first in the Cannon Company series. Watch for upcoming free promos on the other books as well.

Bryn McClure is drawn to Alex Cannon from the moment their eyes meet. Dan Cannon does things to her, dirty things she craves. How can she possibly decide? She wants them both.

Bryn is running out of time. With foreclosure in the last stages, she’s about to lose the beloved twelve-hundred acre Ozark farm she inherited from her grandparents. Her desperate last hope is to sell hunting rights for deer season.

After a humiliating discovery about his wife, Dan has spiraled into a life-threatening depression. Alex hatches a brilliant idea of what might help Dan, and on advice from an old friend, contacts Bryn. A hunting trip might be the perfect route to a new outlook for Dan, especially with the extra touch Alex wants from Bryn.

When Bryn agrees to Alex’s special request, she’s thrilled not only with the promise of badly needed income, but also with the prospect of bondage and discipline. Her appetite for kink has sharpened during her lonely year of rural living. It seemed like such a good idea when she agreed to it.

But standing on her porch watching these two gorgeous men climb out of their truck and walk toward her, she thinks maybe she hadn’t fully appreciated how complicated things could become. Alex stuns her with his warmth and charm, but the cold and angry Dan is the one she’s supposed to submit to. By the second day, when the first spanking sparks her passions, she realizes she may be in for much more than she expected.

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The Biggest (Little) Lie in Romance Fiction

Soon after ending a twenty-year marriage, a friend of mine began dating. We’ll call her Marti. One particular hunk she had her eye on was a six-foot-two, green eyed country boy with a build that would put a linebacker to shame. After a few weeks of flirty stuff, he asked her out for drinks. Soon after that came an invitation to dinner, and then, well, you know. They went to bed.

Marti called me for lunch soon after and related her story. At his apartment and with all the appropriate amount of kissing and fondling, he undressed her down to her panties. She unbuttoned his shirt and a few minutes later he was down to his tighty-whities. They lay on the bed kissing and petting and while he slid his hand inside her panties, Marti slid her hand inside his briefs.

And kept sliding. Because what she expected to find, she couldn’t find. Seriously could not find.

She said she thought she had slipped into an alternate universe. Did he not have a penis? His testicles were there, large and heavy. But the particular biological feature essential to intercourse? Finally she realized that this tiny thing brushing her palm was in fact his penis. It seemed about the size of a large acorn at first, but after she touched it a few moments, it grew in size to his full erection—about the size of her thumb.

Even in telling me, she was embarrassed. How many times had this guy gone through this torment? She said she couldn’t imagine what it was like for him to experience this discovery process with each successive woman.

But more than that, she was angry. She would have preferred to have the choice whether to enter into sexual congress with a micro-penis before getting stripped down and in the clench. He could have manned up and had an adult conversation as the petting got serious, set Marti down, and said “I have a micro-penis. What that means is…” Etc.

Maybe he’d done that before. Maybe the result of such a conversation was the woman getting dressed and walking out the door. Marti didn’t see him again after that because, well, two reasons. The last couple of years of her marriage had been sexless and she was desperate for a good fuck. She wasn’t looking for a love affair or any kind of serious relationship. Just good sex.

The other reason—she felt like she’d been lied to. One of those sins-of-omission kind of lies where vital information was withheld. Almost like false advertising.

Sadly for Marti and the rest of us women, the reality is that lots of men are dick-challenged no matter how great their abs. And even more sadly, it seems environmental pollution is making this a much more common problem.  Various studies have shown a correlation between environmental contaminants and the size of otter organs, polar bear penises, and crocodile cocks. In some species, the pollution impact is so strong that the critters can’t reproduce.

Is that where we’re headed? So far, even the micro-penis is capable of successfully planting sperm inside a vagina. But, scientists warn, fertility levels are decreasing.

These pesky details are way too serious for romance novels where making babies is generally beside the point. Romance novels are many things, but most of all they are escape and entertainment. Just as men’s magazines feature images of women with fabulous breasts, tiny waists and nice tight bums, women’s romance novels feature tall muscular men with rippling abs and a massive cock.

“She watched with avid interest as he took off his shirt, revealing a chest that seemed sculpted of marble, all carved lines and beautiful symmetry. Even the smattering of raven curls over it turned her knees to jelly… He shoved off his trousers, then swiftly divested himself of his drawers. And that’s when she thought better of her plan to lose her virtue to him. Because that massive engine thrusting out from between his thighs like a cannon headed for war was far more daunting than she’d expected. It was as arrogant as he, with ballocks the size of plums.” (The Secret of Flirting, Sabrina Jeffries)

“She shifted her hips, feeling the large, hard…thing pressed against her. And she wanted to see him. Theresa rolled off his right side, her lags tangling in her disheveled skirts. “Oh, my,” she whispered, looking down past his hips.” (A Lady’s Guide to Improper Behavior, Suzanne Enoch)

Of course every woman knows that such descriptions are idealized in order to entertain. Who would be interested in reading stories about men with micro-penises, pot bellies, or acne?

We crave the ideal and that’s what escape literature provides us. In these romantic adventures, we can become lost in a world where micro-penises simply do not exist and all men are virile hunks destined to fall in love with that cute little vixen of a female. Of course, most of us aren’t cute little vixens, either. By the standards of romance novels, we all fall short of ideal.

Romance plots usually follow from instantaneous attraction based on looks. That attraction leads to entanglement which leads to stunning sex which results in love. Which leaves one to wonder: without stunning sex, could there be love?

Love is one of those things no one can explain, but some wags have ventured to say a woman falls in love with any man who gives her a good fucking. There might be something to that. Orgasm is a hard thing to ignore.

Sex causes increased production of oxytocin, which is often referred to as the “love hormone.” Before orgasm, oxytocin, released from the brain, surges and is accompanied by the release of endorphins, our natural pain-killing hormones. It also increases blood flow to organs throughout your body, and reduces inflammation. In other studies, scientists have found that up to 30 different parts of the brain are activated by orgasm, including those responsible for emotion, touch, joy, satisfaction and memory.[1]

Yes, women can gain orgasm without penetration, although clitoral orgasm alone leaves something to be desired, especially if a woman has previously enjoyed vaginal orgasm along with clitoral. For most women, the clitoral orgasm is like phase one. Then it’s time for that serious fucking.

Studies have shown that women prefer larger dicks and in fact, evolution may have favored the development of larger male organs specifically for that reason.[2] Longer slongs also have a biological advantage in depositing sperm deeper in the female reproductive tract, reducing the chance that a successive male with a shorter penis could displace the sperm.

So what should women expect in real life? A report published in the British Journal of Urology International analyzed 17 studies of male organ size and found the following:

… the study participants totaled more than 15,000 men. In addition to the averages listed previously, the analysis charted sizes and placed them into percentiles. For example, an erect penis of 6.3 inches is in the 95th percentile. That means that out of 100 men, only five would have a penis longer than 6.3 inches. Likewise, an erect penis of 3.94 inches is in the 5th percentile, meaning that only five men out of 100 would have a penis shorter than 3.94 inches.

[The report also found that] The average size preferred by the women in the study was an erect penis that is 6.4 inches long and 5 inches in circumference for a one-time encounter. For a long-term relationship, the average size preferred by the women was a penis that is 6.3 inches long with a circumference of 4.8 inches.[3]

These preferred sizes are slightly larger than the actual norm for the male organ. The study also found that men with below average penis size suffered lack of self-esteem and confidence, which in turn surely affected their approach to women.

You can bet that successful authors of romance fiction have done their homework about such details, and that’s why they’re successful. Their stories push the right buttons in women’s imaginations where a man’s John Henry needs to be big.

Common sense tells us it’s a rare man who is so magnificently built and awesomely hung as romances depict, much less handsome, courteous, clever and dying to make us his own. Did I mention rich? For every duke story in Regency romance, there’s an equally breathtaking billionaire in modern romance. These are merely a retelling of the fairy tale of the knight in shining armor, and no matter how smart we women might be, deep down inside we feel cheated when we have to accept less.

The question is, does romance literature exacerbate the problem? Or does it serve as a release valve for women caught up in mundane reality?

We’re biologically destined to seek the best representative of our species in order to produce the best possible offspring. So it’s not just vanity or fluffed up fantasies that lead us to enjoy those magnificent men in romance literature. We’re only doing what our genes tell us to do.

These stories also provide a few hours of escape from whatever troubles us, whether the size of our partner’s manhood or his increasingly pudgy tummy or his lack of wealth. If he loves us, makes us feel beautiful, and does his best to care for us, what’s the problem? The sexy novel might stir us up, but it’s our real partner who’ll benefit when we drag him to the bedroom.

So yes, size matters, and it would be tragic for thousands of years of evolution toward larger pricks to be reversed by modern society’s indiscriminate use of chemicals. For myself and probably many other women, I prefer not to get naked with a man who isn’t going to make me feel it. Or to curl up with a glass of wine and a novel about a man who is anything short of, um, overwhelming. I hope that magnificent men with the skill (and equipment) to deeply stir us will continue to appear in our romantic fantasies. And in our beds.

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[1] http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-2031498/Sex-Why-makes-women-fall-love–just-makes-men-want-MORE.html

[2] https://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/04/130408-penises-science-evolution-genitalia-health-weird/

[3] https://www.healthline.com/health/mens-health/average-penis-size

New Release! Her Pirate Adventure

Thoroughly disappointed with her expensive cruise ship vacation, Burgess Carter has one night left to find the adventure she craves. She looks up from her dinner at a seaside restaurant to see someone who might make her dreams come true. A man stands at the prow of his sailing sloop as it glides up to a nearby pier. A man like she’s never seen before, tall, dark, gorgeous and maybe a pirate. A man she absolutely has to meet.

Morgan Rand has a lot on his mind. Tomorrow will be the last day of a massive project that he and his crew have been working on for months. With any luck, he’s about to become incredibly rich. He’s nervous, exhilarated and exhausted, but not too absorbed to catch the stare of an enchanting female watching him from the deck railing of his favorite restaurant. Good thing he plans to eat there. He’ll make his move on this intriguing lady and discover if she’s up for his dare.

What happens when Burgess decides to stow away and see if this pirate is real? When he decides to blow up her entire concept of adventure?

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