Category Archives: Books
Day Four: the Beast slogs towards Olympic Cove to be born…
Words today: 4,039
NaNoWriMo total: 13,352
Grand total: 25,272
My brain hurts, and I need two gorgeous redheaded sea gods to rub my neck and make it all better.
BUT. I’ve explained what Bythos and Aphros are doing with their pollution-cleaning coral, why they’re interested in the Gulf of Mexico oil spill, plus I’ve set up the potential for a dramatic face-off later in the story. That’s good for one day.
So, NaNoWriMo
Or as I like to call it, November. Because I’m a masochist with no sense of self-preservation, I’m continuing to work on Behind the Iron Cross whilst plowing into the first Olympic Cove book, now titled Storm Season. NaNoWriMo word count for the last three days:
Beginning word count: 12,009
Day One: 3,036
Day Two: 3,012
Day Three: 3,265
NaNoWriMo Total So Far: 9,313
Total Word Count: 21,322
And that doesn’t include the 2.5K I tacked onto Behind the Iron Cross in that time. I must now put on my artisan hat and fill Etsy orders. Selah.
I Anen’t Dead
Sorry about that, my powder sugar angel puppies, but I had to go to England for a couple of weeks for a wedding. Yes, I know, my life is so hard.
But I’m back, and still plugging away on Behind the Iron Cross, which now stands at 41,792 words and is pretty much heading into the final stretch. Now I’m starting to get into the nitty gritty backgrounds on some of the characters, and frankly I’m putting some of them through hell, which makes me feel a bit guilty (and I’m not even talking about Friedrich getting freaky with Kat and Sam). I’m one of those weird writers who wishes she never had to do anything bad to her characters, that they could live a life of perfect happiness. Unfortunately, perfect happiness is boring to read about, so I have to ovary up and throw the kitchen sink at them once in a while. Usually they find a way out of the issue.
Usually.
Anyhoo, I’m going to be completely insane and use the first book in my Olympic Cove series as my Nano novel (yes, I’ll be working on two books at the same time, plus my side job and getting stuck into the massive amount of gardening and cleaning that needs to be done around this place. Sleep, what means this word sleep?). Stay tuned — it’s going to be interesting.
NSFW Snippet: Behind the Iron Cross
NOTE: if you’re looking for the Evernight Birthday Blog Hop post, it’s here!
Since it’s Tuesday and I’m feeling downright productive, I thought I’d post another snippet from Chapter Two of my novel Behind the Iron Cross (or as I like to call it, “1920’s Berlin, BDSM, and MMF menáges — oh my!”).
The story so far: In 1923, American heiress and secret Domme Katherine “Kat” Tracy and her fiancé/beard Sam Hellman are in Berlin on business and enjoying the city’s decadent nightlife. When they go to the Cupid Club and meet Colonel Friedrich von Bader, a decommissioned German Army officer reluctantly working as a prostitute to support his widowed sister-in-law and ill nephew, the sparks fly…
This is what I love about having friends all over the place
I can find out that one’s going to Berlin, ask her to take pictures and do a bit of research for me, and when she says yes I can offer jokingly to Tuckerise her in Behind the Iron Cross (except that it’s a smutfest, I inform her, and she probably wouldn’t go for it), and when she disagrees and says that yes, she’d love to be immortalized as a kinky chanteuse, it inspires an entire scene in the book that not only promotes the industrial espionage subplot but also leads to one of the most deliciously filthy sex scenes I have ever written.
So, yeah, thanks, KM!
Six Sentence Sunday: Behind the Iron Cross
Yes, angels, it’s Six Sentence Sunday, that time of the week when I join in with hundreds of other writers to blog six playful sentences from one of our works. This snippet really isn’t all that playful, but I think it’s a nice piece of character exposition and I’m rather proud of it.
Some background: after Friedrich’s first night with Kat and Sam, he heads home in the rain to the desultory working-class neighborhood of Friedrichshain, where he runs into a prostitute trying to hustle up rent money. When he turns her down, she opens her coat, exposing a pregnant belly, and offers to have sex with him for fifty cents (in Weimar Berlin Münzis, or pregnant prostitutes, were an exotic specialty and charged more than the average streetwalker, but she complains bitterly that the bitches won’t let her work their street). Saddened, he fishes an American dime, part of his own whoring fee for the night, out of his pocket and presses it into her hand. She starts to say that it isn’t enough.
“No, just — just take it. For the baby.”
He left her staring at the coin and started walking again. He still had the dollar, with a promise of more — he could spare a dime for a pregnant whore stuck out in the rain.
After all, he thought, they were both whores now. Nothing wrong with a little collegial assistance.
So, yeah, Berlin was pretty decadent
One of the things I love about writing historical stories is the research I get to do — I always wind up learning some fascinating stuff about the time period and the location. As it turns out, apparently I’m pretty damned good at extrapolating events, as well — for BtIC, I bought Voluptuous Panic: The Erotic World of Weimar Berlin as source material, and much to my surprise some of the stuff that I’d made up for the purposes of the story (e.g. Friedrich’s nephew has weak lungs and their doctor recommends that he be removed from the “tainted air” of Berlin before he dies from it, hence Friedrich’s need to make money fast) have a basis in fact. Apparently Berlin was built on a swamp, and didn’t have the greatest air quality in Germany. That being said, Berlin air was also slightly alkaline and considered to possess an amphetamine-like effect, not something you necessarily want a frail 18-month-old breathing. Talk about serendipity.
Oh, and yeah, in case there was any doubt Berlin was a total and utter fleshpot — you could get absolutely anyone or anything you wanted for a few American dollars, flamboyant homosexuality was welcomed and celebrated (apparently being a lesbian was very fashionable), and the BDSM scene was very active and a big attraction for tourists and locals like. So now you know.
In any case, I’m wading through Chapter Three, and I’m having far, far too much fun writing about Weimar-era Berlin and my poor ex-army colonel, who just found out to his shock that, um, he kind of likes being spanked. What a fascinating time.
NSFW Snippet: Behind the Iron Cross
You’ve been such sweethearts, and I’ve been slaving away on this all weekend, so I thought I’d treat you to the opening scene from the current WIP, Behind The Iron Cross. 1920’s Berlin, BDSM, and MMF menáges — oh my!
Preview from the current WIP (working title Touched By the Sea)
NOTE: This section is most definitely NSFW and includes an NC-17 M/M/M scene. You have been warned.
He was floating in warm water. His eyes were closed, but he could see the red-tinged glow of the sun through the thin skin of his eyelids. He knew if he opened them now, everything would appear whitewashed, almost dreamlike. He just wanted to lie back, float away, never come back–
“Beloved.”
A hand trailed along his arm, across his body, coming to rest inches away from his cock, which started to thicken in anticipation. Greg sighed at the sensation. He wanted the hand to move down, play with him, stroke him. Make him come so hard he’d scream.
A chuckle. “All in good time, beloved,” a soft baritone murmured. Greg smiled at that, trusting the promise in his lover’s voice.
Another hand crept up between his legs, cradling his sac, rolling his balls in what felt like a broad palm. He let his head be tipped back, water gently rising into his hair, and lips brushed against his, gently, then with more intent.
He gave into the kiss, licking into his unseen lover’s mouth greedily. Warm lips sealed against his, the foreign tongue mapping out the interior of Greg’s mouth as if taking ownership.
Unexpectedly, he felt another mouth on his cock, making him moan in surprise. A playful tongue teased the bundle of nerves just under Greg’s cockhead, licking further down the shaft, pausing just long enough to lap at his balls before coming back up again to wrap around the tip. What felt like a luscious set of lips tightened around his cock, then, suction increasing as the mouth began to move up and down in a sure, stroking motion that made Greg squirm with need.
As if one lover devouring his mouth and another his cock weren’t enough, someone’s fingers were now circling his nipples, gently tweaking them. He whimpered, torn between all the sensations.
“So responsive,” the baritone purred. “You’re beautiful, beloved.”
The mouth on his cock disappeared, replaced by a hand. “Not to mention delicious,” said a lighter tenor, chuckling. “We’ve searched for you for such a long time, Gregory.”
Two men. Eyes still closed, Greg gently struggled in their embrace, just so that he could feel their bodies against his. He hadn’t had sex with a man in over twelve years, and he’d never had two men at the same time. Anna had teased him about that, joking that he needed two big, strong lovers to sate his appetite–
Anna. The memory of his late wife seemed to bring a cloud over the sun, as the bright light beating down on him dimmed.
“You’ve mourned her for so long, beloved. Let us take away the pain. Let us love you,” the baritone said, before his mouth came down on Greg’s again, tongue eagerly sliding between his lips. Blindly, he sucked at it, listening to the other man groan at the sensation.
His other lover went back to work, one hand wrapped around the base as he suckled Greg’s cock greedily. The friction grew, hot and electric, reaching down into Greg’s balls and spine.
The man sensed this and shifted attention, sucking and licking the plummy head of Greg’s cock like a piece of candy while his hand sped up and down the shaft in fast, firm strokes. A tongue (so long, Greg thought dazedly, no one could have a tongue that long) dipped into his slit, tasting the precome there, then swirled under the ridge oh so nicely.
It was the last bit he needed. Greg screamed into the baritone’s mouth, arching his back as the orgasm punched from deep within, roaring through his balls and out his cock in a creamy gush. The tenor sucked eagerly, taking what Greg gave him, swallowing every drop and soundlessly begging for more–
Greg woke up with a gasp, staring blindly at the bedroom ceiling as he came. One hand was already under the waistband of his boxers, roughly stroking his spurting cock. It wasn’t nearly as good as the sensation of his dream lover’s mouth, but he groaned as he pumped out the last few dribbles of come, feeling it soak into his pubes.
“Fuck,” he panted, tilting his head back into the hot pillow. The endorphins faded a bit, bringing a bitter, self-mocking amusement in their wake. This was absolutely fucking ridiculous. Yes, he hadn’t had sex in over a year, but he masturbated often enough to take care of his needs. No 36-year-old man should be having wet dreams like this.
He grimaced at the sticky sensation. It didn’t help that it was the hottest wet dream he’d ever had. Grunting, he wriggled the boxers down, yanking them off and wiping at the mess matting his pubic hair. No help for it — he needed a shower.
So
Is it bad that I’m shamelessly borrowing Michael Fassbender’s body for my hero (well, the German one, anyway) in Behind the Iron Cross? Because I’m watching Shame in between getting various tasks done, and I’m surprised there isn’t a shrine set up to him somewhere. Mmph. Now I know what Charlize Theron was talking about.
