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Wicked Wednesday Reads: Bomber’s Moon

Oh, look — it’s Wednesday, which means you need a little something extra to help you over Hump Day. Never fear, for today I’m here with Raven McAllan’s amazing new historical erotic romance Bomber’s Moon, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of erotic romance. Take it away, Raven!

I never thought, as a child and asking my mum, dad, gran (known as nan) and aunts to ‘tell me a story about the war’, that all these years later, I’d still remember those stories and use them as the basis for a book.

I’m so glad I did.

When I first had the idea for Bombers Moon, I just knew it would be set in Northamptonshire, where my mum as a teen was evacuated to, with her employment.

As much as the idea of a book set in London, in the blitz intrigued me, all mum ever said was ‘it was scary, noisy and as your granddad worked for the railways we got out own railway employees and families tube station to hide in’.

Then I remembered the tales of Northamptonshire. Of being locked out, getting stuck up a wall, although not knickerless—well I don’t think so *wink*. How they used charcoal or gravy browning to put ‘stocking seams’ up their legs, and bought wooden clogs and clacked around the draughty old stone-floored manor house they lived and worked in. The older ladies who worked with them, got so sick of the racket, they clubbed together and bought my mum and her friend a pair of slippers each.

My aunt went out with a Yank (as all American service men evidently were called), another relative fell off her bike and was rescued by a farmer, and evidently mum did dance with the local lord of the manor.

Thus, Bombers Moon was born.

RavenMcAllanBombersMoonWho gets caught by the man of her dreams bare-assed and halfway up a wall? Lady Chrissie Stride, of course.

It’s just her luck that she encounters Baronet Archie Duggan. On top of that, the house her London employers requisitioned to keep its staff safe from The Blitz is locked. Climbing the wall seemed like a good idea, until Archie turns up. At least he doesn’t seem to know it’s her.

Archie recognizes Chrissie almost immediately. He never expected to meet her again in deepest Northamptonshire. This time around he is determined to claim the woman he loved and lost. With the war on, priorities change, and love is too important to conform to niceties.

Will the star-crossed lovers finally find their happily ever after?

Story Excerpt

Chrissie gulped. He was big—everywhere. She looked downward, her vision drawn to his long thick cock, which stood out proudly from its nest of hair. She averted her eyes from the crisscross of scars on his leg and arm. Those she understood, he neither wanted to think or talk about just then.

And that’s going to fit in my daffodil? The euphemism used by so many of her friends seemed silly now, but there was no way she could use the words she heard bandied about so freely in the pub or by the older women at work.

Honey pot! That’s it. Merle’s expression came to her. My honey pot! Or Pussy. Okay I can live with that, but…cu… She couldn’t even think the word.

She looked at his body with frank regard. Who knew if she’d ever get a chance to see him like this again? Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the scars on his leg and arm were still red, angry-looking and pronounced. She bit her lips to stop her moan escaping and held back tears. It was hard not to cry for all he and thousands of others had been through and were still going through. But yet again, her eyes were drawn in one direction. His massive erection stood out stiff and proud. Chrissie gulped, her earlier fears resurfacing. That would really fit inside her? Oh, my.

Archie correctly read her expression. “Not only fit, but a perfect fit,” he assured her. “With room to move. Come and lie down here.” He walked to the bed and rolled back the sheet and blankets before kneeling awkwardly in front of her. “Hold on a sec, something needs doing first.”

It was on the tip of Chrissie’s tongue to tell him she’d do it, whatever it was, when it hit her that he didn’t want help or sympathy. He wanted to woo her. Her insides turned to mush. How perfect.

“Think we’ll have these off as well. Can’t ruin nylons, can we?” He rolled them down before putting one hand behind her, unhooking her brassiere, and putting the clothing on a chair. The pressure that moving the straps down had put on her chest immediately lifted, as Archie ran his thumbs over the swell of her breasts, and chuckled.

“God almighty, Chrissie you are so bloody receptive for a virgin. It’s marvelous. I’m going to enjoy showing you what we can do together.” He pinched each nipple in turn and kissed the nape of her neck as he kneaded her breasts.

She could tell he’d had plenty of practice. Her pussy clenched at the unwelcome thought of him doing all these things with someone else.

Grow up. He’s almost thirty, and there’s a war on.

“Now, let me see. What have we here?” Once again he kissed one nipple, then the other. “Time to itemize I think. Two breasts perfect to fit my hands. Two nipples to suckle.” He moved his hands to let his fingers play with her clitoris, teasing her hairs, and her navel. “One cunt all for me.”

Chrissie blushed. Why could he say that with such insouciance and she not even think it? It must be a man thing. However, emboldened, Chrissie licked her lips, heard him groan and then reached out to touch Archie’s manhood. His skin was warm and soft and he jolted and moaned as she feathered her fingers over him. One step further than she’d ever taken. Only once had she dared rub him through his trousers, and his groan had her moving her hand in a hurry.

She mimicked his movements, kissed his nipples, and then, heartened by his response, bent double to put the tip of his penis in her mouth and taste the juices there. They were salty and thick. Chrissie rolled them over her tongue as she remembered a leaflet one of the girls at school found in her brother’s room and brought to class to show them. Crudely written and badly produced, the drawings had them all giggling and blushing for weeks. She wondered just how many of her peers had tried what it suggested. Chrissie moved and circled Archie’s tip with her tongue again.

I could get used to this. The more I do this, the bigger he gets. A thought crossed her mind. Would he get too big for her? It wasn’t a question she felt she could ask.

Archie groaned, and she tried to pull back, scared she was doing something wrong. “Hell, Chrissie, that’s so damned good, I’ll come,” he said in a strangled tone. “For the Lord’s sake, get onto the bed and give me a chance to get inside you.” He moved over her, his tip barely touching her curls.

“Archie, what if I don’t want to, you know…” She didn’t know how to put her fears into words, and flapped her and in the air like a demented owl flapping its wing. It was lucky he understood her incoherent beseeching.

“No problem, darling. I’ll come like a gentleman.” He indicated the towel laid in readiness beside him. And moved again, nearer and nearer, and waited. “Yes?”

Chrissie held her breath. This was it. “Oh yes.”

His cock twitched, and without conscious thought, Chrissie opened her legs wide, ready to welcome him. This was it. Soon she, Chrissie Stride, would no longer be sweet and innocent but a woman of the world.

There was a loud hammering on the farmhouse door.

“What the bloody hell?” Archie stopped mid movement. His position looked precarious as he kneeled half on and half off her.

A voice, gruff and urgent, was shouting.

“Mr. Archie, Mr. Archie. Come quick. The rick’s on fire!”

Saved by the bell, she thought hysterically as she watched Archie scramble into his clothes, his cock being most reluctant to be treated in such a way. Not that she’d wanted saving. In fact, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t right. She’d at least climaxed. Goodness knows how Archie felt, still unreleased so to speak.

Where to Buy

Evernight Publishing
All Romance eBooks
Amazon UK
Amazon US

About Raven McAllan

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.

Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)

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Mid Week Tease: Bully Boys #MWTease #MidWeekTease

Mid Week Tease buttonHello, darlings! Here’s the last teaser from my short story “Bully Boys.” I know some of the references may not make sense unless you’ve read the rest of the story, but trust me, Hamm deserves what’s coming to him in spades.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

After accepting a tearful hug from his new housekeeper, a somewhat less tearful but much more enthusiastic hug from Maggie, and a solemn clap on the shoulder from Willie, Arthur sat down with his new pack for a cold evening repast that was far more enjoyable than anything he’d ever received from his former landlady. Once he cleaned his plate, he made his excuses and left the Staffs at the dining table, heading upstairs to Gunner’s bedroom.

My bedroom as well, now. He went to the wash basin and touched the water jug, surprised to find it still warm. Lizzie must have had every confidence that Gunner would bring her daughter home.

And now he’s out there killing her common law husband. Oddly enough, it didn’t disturb Arthur as much as he thought it would. Jimmy Hamm was a heartless scoundrel to sell a young girl like Maggie into brutal slavery. And while Gunner would undoubtedly be ruthless about his dispatch, Arthur suspected that the werebeast would also make it quick and clean.

Finish it, then, and come home to me.

Suddenly weary, Arthur stripped and poured some of the water into the washbasin, giving himself a quick, efficient scrub. He lingered when he reached his groin, cupping the sensitive flesh there and remembering Gunner’s mouth on it. I want to do that to him. I want to kiss him all over, lick his member, suck it, swallow his seed. I want him to bugger me and mark me from within.

I want him. So much.

His shaft began to thicken. Entertained by his own daring fantasies, he dried himself and crawled under the covers. One hand remained wrapped around his member, but only to hold it close. He wouldn’t allow himself release. That would come at Gunner’s touch or not at all.

He hadn’t realized he’d drifted off to sleep until he woke to feel another, larger hand caressing his hip. A long, warm body stretched out behind him.

“You fell asleep,” Gunner said in his ear, low and amused.

Arthur flushed. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to—”

His werebeast chuckled. “Don’t be sorry, love. I’m glad you had some sleep. Means you’ll be awake for this.”

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Mid Week Tease: Bully Boys #MWTease #MidWeekTease

Mid Week Tease buttonHappy Wednesday! Today’s teaser is a not-so-sexy but important section from my short story “Bully Boys.” In it, we finally get to see Gunner the Alpha in action with pack trouble and summoned with his new mate to see London’s Seer. Welcome to your new world, Arthur.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

Arthur jumped when Gunner let out a curse worthy of the saltiest tar who ever sailed. “Both of us?” he growled. “You sure?”

“You think I’d get one of ‘er messages wrong?” came the offended reply. “Both of you, as soon as possible, if you please.”

Gunner pounded his fist against the door frame, but with no real heat. He came back to the bed and started pulling on his discarded clothes, glaring at Arthur as he did so.

“Seer?” Arthur asked.

Gunner opened his mouth, then shut it again. Fishing in his trousers, he pulled out a pocket knife. Arthur stiffened in sudden fear, then relaxed when it cut through the ropes binding him to the bed.

Gunner paused for a moment, running a hand through Arthur’s sandy hair. “You need to get up and dressed,” he said gruffly.

Arthur sat up, comfortable now in his nudity, and gave the room a pointed look. “And my clothes are where?”

The great dark head shook at him. “You can’t wear those fancy togs where we’re going,” Gunner said, going to the armoire and rummaging through it. “Here, these should fit you.”

He tossed a shirt, an old but serviceable jacket, and somewhat ragged wool trousers to Arthur, who was still boggled at the description of his inexpensive suit as “fancy togs.” The solicitor held up the clothing. Damn his beautiful blue eyes, Gunner had judged the sizes well. “Where are we going?”

“To see the Seer in a bit. First, though, I’ve got pack business to handle.” Gunner grimaced. “You may as well sit in on it.”


Arthur found out what pack business meant when he saw the woman waiting downstairs in what must have been the brothel’s parlor. Thin and washed-out, her eyes were reddened and dried tear tracks could still be seen on her cheeks. A young boy clung to her dark skirts, giving Arthur a fearful look.

The woman bobbed a wobbly curtsey as Gunner walked in, keeping her gaze submissively on the floorboards. “Alpha, I come here beggin’ your help,” she said formally after a gulp.

Gunner took a seat on one of the brocade chairs. “Is it Jimmy, then?”

The woman steeled herself and nodded. “He’s been drinking these last few weeks, worse than I ever seen before. And then today he comes home reekin’ of gin and tells me he…he sold my Maggie.” She sobbed once, the sound harsh in the parlor. “Said she was old enough to earn her keep, and it would be one less mouth to feed!”

Arthur saw a grim expression cross Gunner’s face. “Where did he sell her, Lizzie?”

A fresh gout of tears coursed down the woman’s sallow cheeks. “To Mr. Day, down the goblin market. And you know what he does with his girls!”

From Gunner’s reaction and the furious look on Willie’s face, Arthur assumed that Mr. Grey didn’t simply hire girls for employment. “He didn’t have leave from you to do this, did he?” Gunner said.

Lizzie shook her head, lank hair flying into a halo. “We may be poor as church mice, but I’d never sell me own blood to Mr. Day!” she cried.

As quickly as it appeared, the high emotion retreated into despair. “Please, Alpha, help her. I’ll pay what I can, whatever you want—”

Gunner held up one large hand, cutting her off. “No one sells one of the pack to Day. I’ll get your Maggie back for you,” he said quietly. “But as of tonight, you’ll be a widow. That’s the price.”

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Mid Week Tease: Bully Boys #MWTease #MidWeekTease

Mid Week Tease buttonHello, darlings! Today’s teaser is another section from my M/M short story “Bully Boys.” Naked but for a blanket, tied to a bed, and painfully aroused by the Alpha who grabbed him off a London back alley, solicitor Arthur Finter is about to get one heck of a visual treat.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

His captor picked up a smaller flannel that had been hidden within the towel’s folds and soaked it in the bowl of water. As Arthur watched he proceeded to wash himself, slowly running the cloth over his chest and arms and coating his skin with a sheen of water. All the time he kept his gaze on Arthur, as if daring him to look away.

Arthur couldn’t. The prosaic activity had somehow become the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed. He licked his lips unconsciously as the flannel went back to the bowl for more warm water, then resumed its trip over his captor’s lean, powerful body.

He wanted to be the one washing the werebeast. In the safety of his own mind, beneath the outrage and ignominy of his current position, he could admit that to himself. He wanted to run the warm, wet flannel over firm muscles and pale skin, wipe away the sweat and dirt of the day, make his captor clean as a newborn.

And then…

The breath died in Arthur’s throat as the werebeast’s hand dropped to his groin, lazily washing the proud flesh there. The shapely cock began to rise, encouraged by the stroking cloth.

His own cock throbbed like it was on fire, and he could feel droplets of wetness dampening the head. A sudden image of the werebeast pulling down the blanket and crawling over him to mouth his foreskin and lick at the wetness made him moan.

His captor smiled, but said nothing. He finished rinsing his legs, turning slightly to expose a beautifully curved buttock with a muscled hollow in the side, then tossed the flannel in the bowl. “That’s better,” he said as he sauntered to the bed, resting a bent knee on the mattress. The movement made his now rigid cock bob, as if gesturing to Arthur.

He gasped as the blanket was yanked unceremoniously from his body, revealing his own cockstand. His captor’s eyes darkened as he studied it, head tilting to the side in a decidedly canine manner.

“You’re perfect,” he said softly. “Absolutely perfect.”

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Mid Week Tease: Bully Boys #MWTease #MidWeekTease

Mid Week Tease buttonHello, darlings! Today’s teaser comes straight from Much Humping Upon the Moors, er, Victorian England, and is part of my short story “Bully Boys.” This continues on from last week’s tease, and Arthur is about to find out that no matter how much he protests, his body has other ideas about his sexy captor.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

Arthur’s organ twitched, hardening at the man’s low, luring tone. “I’m not your mate. I’m not your anything,” he insisted, wishing he could bring his legs together or at least raise his knees for camouflage. “You’re not even human!”

A flare of anger made his captor’s eyes darken. “I think and reason, just the same as you,” he growled. “Only I can do it in two shapes. That’s more than I can say for you.”

He stood and picked up the jug, pouring hot water into the bowl. “And I have the sense not to wander the alleyways by myself like a foolish pup,” he said, putting the jug down with a thump. “What were you thinking, walking by yourself like that? And not even a penknife on you for defense.”

Arthur blinked at the utterly unexpected scolding. “I was simply trying to get home,” he said defensively. “It wasn’t my blasted fault there was a fire on High Holborn.”

The man grunted. “Well, stay out of the alleys unless I’m with you.”

“You’re not — why are you not listening to me? We are not mates, and I have no idea…why…”

He trailed off as his captor slung the towel onto the bed, stripping off his shirt and revealing the beautifully muscled torso Arthur had seen all too briefly in the alley. Trousers and undergarments followed, revealing that the rest of the man’s body was just as lean and muscular. Arthur tried to look away, but his gaze was drawn to the irresistible sight of the werebeast’s beautifully formed cock, nestled in a halo of black curly hair.

He swallowed. “If you lay even one finger on me, I shall have you arrested,” he said, appalled at the breathlessness in his tone. “Don’t think I won’t!”

The man glanced down at the now-tented blanket over Arthur’s groin and smirked. “That cockstand you’re sporting says otherwise, Mr. Finter. But have it your way.”

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Mid Week Tease: Bully Boys #MWTease #MidWeekTease

Mid Week Tease buttonHello, darlings! Today’s teaser comes straight from Much Humping Upon the Moors, er, Victorian England, and is part of my short story “Bully Boys.” In it, mild-mannered solicitor Arthur Finter takes an ill-advised short cut through an alley and comes face to snout with a gorgeous Alpha shifter who announces that Arthur is his mate, much to the solicitor’s shock. What happens then? You’ll just have to buy the anthology when it comes out from Evernight!

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

When Arthur awoke, he was tucked up in bed. The awful scene in the alley drifted through his memory, dim now from sleep. It was just a nightmare. Oh, thank goodness.

He tried to turn over, only to be stopped as his arms jerked unexpectedly against restraints.

His eyes flew open. He was in a small bedroom lit only by a coal fire in a blackened grate. A row of hooks on the far wall held coats and a collection of what Arthur assumed were shirts, and an armoire hulked in the corner. A plain wooden table stood next to the bed, bare of anything except a candlestick with an unlit candle.

Looking up, he saw a length of hemp rope had been tied around his right wrist and woven with very little slack through tarnished brass that was not his own plain white enameled headboard. The other end of the rope had been attached to his left wrist, effectively pinning his arms wide.

He flexed his feet and found that his legs were bound as well, with the same amount of slack given to his arms. To make matters worse, someone had removed his clothes before tying him to the bed and covering him with a thin blanket.

“Help!” he shouted. “Please, I need help!”

The door opened, and the handsome werebeast from the alley sauntered in, carrying a wash bowl and water jug. He’d taken the time to rinse the blood from his face and slick his hair back, and an old, threadbare towel hung casually over one shoulder. “Someone’s up, I see,” he said in a strong Northern accent.

Arthur felt his belly quiver, but gave the man his best glower. “Untie me immediately, sir!”

“Can’t do that. At least, not just yet.” The man approached the bed, giving him an appreciative look. Arthur belatedly remembered his state, and was grateful for the cheap blanket that protected his modesty. “I suppose you want to know why you’re here.”

“Indeed I do,” Arthur declared, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. “I am a solicitor, sir, and if you do not untie me this moment you will find yourself in grave trouble with the law.”

The man shrugged. “Won’t be the first time. Doubt it’ll be the last.” He moved to the side of the bed where the table stood and deposited the jug and bowl on it, then sat down on the mattress. That blue gaze trailed over him dispassionately, but there was as flicker of something else as well, something that tugged at Arthur’s senses and caused his breath to come faster.

The man reached out and grabbed the edge of the blanket, dragging it down to just below Arthur’s waist. The solicitor flinched as the cool air of the room hit his skin, causing his nipples to pebble up in a most embarrassing way.

“You’re trim. I like that in a bloke,” the man said conversationally. “Don’t spend all of your time on your arse, do you?”

Arthur gaped at the impropriety. “I — how — that’s none of your business!”

“Oh, but it is my business.” His captor sounded oddly amused about that. “Everything about you, Mr. Arthur Finter, is my business. Now that we’re to be mates and all.”

The bizarre comment would have made Arthur laugh in other circumstances. “If you mean we’re to be friends, sir, I can assure you that I feel no such friendship with anyone who ties me to a bed and terrorizes me in such a manner.”

The man tilted his head to one side, and Arthur was forcibly reminded of his other shape. “You’re tied to my bed to make sure you don’t run away,” his captor said. “I know you saw what happened in the alley, and I’ll explain it in good time. As for terrorizing you, it wasn’t what I had in mind for us tonight.”

He reached out and touched one of the tawny nubs on Arthur’s chest, tracing a tiny circle on it. The caress caused an indecent zing of pleasure to arrow down to the solicitor’s groin.

“Thought so,” the man said in satisfaction. “You yearn for the touch of a man, Mr. Finter. I’ll be that man for you tonight and ever after. We’re mates, you and me.”

“M—” The other, more marital meaning of the word burst in on him, the calumny he’d hoped never to hear addressed to himself. “Are you implying that I’m a, a filthy sodomite?”

“Implying?” His captor laughed shortly. “I’m saying it full out. You’re as queer as I am.”

“That is a foul lie!”

“The bond don’t make mistakes,” the man said, caressing Arthur’s nipple again and causing more of those horribly delicious sensations. “It chose you because you wanted a man in your bed, between your thighs, doing unholy things to you.” He smiled, then, straight white teeth unlike anything Arthur had ever seen before among the London poor, or its upper classes for that matter. “So I’ll tup you tonight, and put my mark on you. I’ll give you the pleasure you’ve craved for so long. Then you’ll understand.”

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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease

MidWeekTeaseHappy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

As Friedrich approached the hotel room door, he heard the soft sound of piano music drifting through it. He hadn’t seen a phonograph in the room, but doubtlessly the Fräulein could order one up if she was in the mood for music.

He knocked, and the piano music ceased. A moment later Sam answered the door in his shirtsleeves. “Colonel, good to see you,” he said, admitting Friedrich into the suite. “I’m afraid Kat’s still primping for the evening. We may have a bit of a wait.”

“That’s quite all right.” Friedrich followed the limping American into the parlor. To his surprise, Sam sat down at the grand piano, long fingers drifting skillfully over the keys and teasing out the melody he’d heard in the hall. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“Since I was a boy.” Sam moved over a bit on the bench and nodded at the space. Careful not to jostle, Friedrich sat next to him. “Mother made sure I had lessons, like all the little well-bred little monsters in our clique. I think I was the only one who actually liked to practice. Making music is one of my favorite things in the world.”

Friedrich let himself relax, listening to the tune Sam coaxed from the instrument. “That’s very nice. What is it?”

“Just something I’ve been noodling around with in my spare time.”

“You write your own songs?”

“Mm-hm, and lyrics, too.” Sam’s smile fell a bit. “Although Bart was always better at the music part than me. We used to talk about running away from Connecticut and heading down to New York City, try our luck at writing songs for the Broadway shows. You know, like Irving Berlin and Cole Porter.”

Friedrich could easily see Sam in something natty, strolling down a brightly lit street on the way to his opening night. “Why didn’t you do it?”

One shoulder rose slightly. “Lots of reasons. Uncle William might have let Bart go for a year or so, just to sow some wild oats and get it out of his system, but my father never would have let me do something as plebeian as write for Broadway.” His fingers touched the keys softly. “And then the war happened. Afterwards, well, there didn’t seem to be much point in going anywhere. So I just play for myself these days.” His mouth curved. “And friends, of course.”

Friedrich was surprised by the warmth he felt at Sam’s admission. “Would you play something for me? Something of yours, I mean.”

Brown eyes blinked at him. “Really? You don’t have to flatter me or anything if you don’t want to hear it.”

“No, I’d like to hear it. I can’t play anything myself, but I like to listen.” Lilli was an accomplished pianist, and going to Oskar’s house and listening to her after-dinner performances of Beethoven and Schubert had been a delightful occurrence.

“Okay. Well, then.” Sam paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “This isn’t finished yet, but I really like how it’s going. Tell me what you think.”

Rippling through a minor flourish, he started playing a melody that was beautiful and wistful at the same time. Softly, he sang:

Across the ocean blue,
Across the sea so wide,
We’ll find a place to go,
And there we’ll both abide.
The storms will never part us,
I swear on Heaven above,
My home is where your heart is,
My ever after love.

He stopped singing, although he continued to play softly. “It needs a little work, obviously, as well as a bridge.”

The emotion in the song brought a lump to Friedrich’s throat. “It’s about the Fräulein’s brother, isn’t it?”

“Bart, yes.” Sam stared at his fingers on the keys. “I miss him. Five years on, and I still miss him.”

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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease

MidWeekTeaseHappy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.

Kat stared up at the German, now perched between her splayed thighs. His sheathed cock, thick and throbbing, rested against her pubic mound. Her clit ached for contact with it. Behind him, Sam wore an intense expression as he did something to Friedrich’s lower body. From the sudden widening of Friedrich’s eyes, she could guess what Sam was doing with his fingers.

“Come on, then.” She stroked Friedrich’s cock, shifting herself slightly so that she could nudge him into position. “I want you inside me, colonel. Slowly.”

“Ja, Fräulein.” With exquisite slowness, he pressed into her. She took a deep breath at the first delicious stretch, the thick heft of his shaft as it forced her body to accommodate it. Wet as she was, she wasn’t fully open, and he had to work for the last few inches. She watched, fascinated, at the play of emotions across his face; strain, concentration, followed by the most sublime look of masculine enjoyment when he was finally seated inside her.

His eyes widened and he gasped, twitching inside her. Over his shoulder Sam loomed, his own look of pleasurable strain a close twin to Friedrich’s. “Relax,” he said hoarsely. “And breathe, dammit.”

Friedrich’s head dropped and he obeyed, pressing hard against her pubic bone as Sam pushed deeper. Her clit throbbed from the sudden attention, and she mewled happily. “Oh, I like that!”

“So do I,” Sam said, sounding breathless. “I wish you could feel it from this end, sweetheart. He’s so hot and tight. How are you doing, Friedrich?”

“Mm.” The German sucked in another breath, then nodded. “It’s good. More.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sam said, still breathless. “Coming right up.”

At Sam’s careful thrust, Friedrich pressed harder against her, grinding oh so perfectly. She watched as pain flickered across his face, replaced by heavy-lidded pleasure. His sculpted mouth pursed into a soft oh, and he pushed back against Sam, then surged heavily into her.

Kat threw her head back, turning her cry of pleasure into a ragged gasp. She loved this, loved watching her colonel impale himself on Sam’s cock before pushing into her. He was trapped between them, a slave to both their pleasure and his own. She angled her hips to meet his next thrust, and moaned in surprise as his cock slid perfectly along her clit, setting off a firestorm in her lower belly.

Her eyes popped open. “Do that again!”

Friedrich obeyed, moaning as Sam’s thrust pushed him deeply into her. The same slide, and the same burst of ecstatic fire through her. She gasped happily. That had never happened before, not with the pets she allowed to pleasure her, or even with Sam. “Keep doing that, just like that.”

Friedrich was breathing hard now, his large body trembling against hers from the strain of holding himself in position. Sam obviously felt it as well, because he said, “Friedrich, don’t work so hard. Let me do the driving. Just relax and enjoy Kat.”

“Ja.” It was a breathless grunt, but some of the tremors eased. Under Sam’s guidance, the three of them found a rhythm that drove Friedrich’s cock perfectly over her clit, pistoning deep inside her as Sam plunged inside the German. The bed began to creak, then squeak angrily under them.

“Good thing we have a suite,” Sam gasped. “Don’t — hah — want the neighbors calling — hah! — the cops on us.”

Even with her rising pleasure, Kat still managed to roll her eyes. “Just shut up and fuck him, Sam.”

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Mid Week Tease: Behind the Iron Cross #MidWeekTease #MWTease

MidWeekTeaseHappy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from Behind the Iron Cross, my historical MMF romance set in 1923 Berlin. In this snippet, we find how Friedrich took his first steps into the world’s oldest profession.

Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!

In the aftermath of World War I, Berlin has become a hotspot of decadent pleasures, and American millionairess Kat Tracy is determined to enjoy each and every one of them with Sam Hellman, her late brother’s lover and her convenient “fiancé.” But when the two of them meet Friedrich von Bader, a former German Army officer turned reluctant prostitute, their wicked games take on a new meaning.

Friedrich stood in front of the door, staring at the worn brown paint, the battered number plate. He hated this, going hat in hand to someone who was practically a stranger, neighbor or not.

And having to ask someone like Gunter Strauss for money rankled. Tall and effeminate, the man was a performer at one of the nightclubs down on Alexanderplatz. Friedrich suspected that he was also a transvestite, from the carefully plucked eyebrows and traces of makeup the man occasionally sported. But Strauss was kind to Lilli and Rudi, and he always had money.

Unlike Friedrich, who had spent the last twenty years, man and boy, serving in the German army, as his father and grandfather had done before him, as every male von Bader had done since the rise of the Prussian Empire. But after the Great War and the enforced reduction of the German army, there was no room for hereditary soldiers. Friedrich abruptly found himself retired, unemployable, and with two dependents to support in a Berlin he hardly recognized anymore.

He steeled himself and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened, revealing a slender man in a lavish rose satin bed jacket and matching pajamas. His arched eyebrows rose even higher when he saw Friedrich. “Ah, Herr von Bader. How lovely to see you again,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

Friedrich forced down the irritation that always rose with Strauss’s outrageous flirting. “Herr Strauss,” he said formally. “I need to ask — that is, I was wondering if you could do me — us — a favor.”

Strauss smirked at that. “Possibly, depending on what it was. But I never negotiate on an empty stomach. You’d better come in.”

Reluctantly, Friedrich followed him into the flat. Unlike his own, Strauss’s flat boasted simple furniture but in a vibrant array of colors and fabrics, with brightly tinted feather boas draped over the lintels and a wide swath of what looked like purple silk covering the sitting room window in place of drapes. The wall across from the window was covered with a bewildering array of playbills, posters and other advertisements from nightclubs and cabarets across Berlin.

“So, you were saying something about a favor?” Strauss threw over his shoulder, sauntering into the tiny dining area.

Friedrich spotted the silverware and loaded plate on the dining table, and flushed in embarrassment. “You’re eating. I’m sorry, I can come back later–“

Nein, it doesn’t bother me.” Strauss sat at the table, picking up his fork. “Go on.”

“I — we need to borrow some money.” He took a deep breath, and his stomach gurgled at the heavenly smell of Strauss’s dinner. “It’s for Rudi, you see. He’s sick again.”

“Poor child.” Strauss took a delicate bite of his sauerbrauten. “I suppose I could lend you something, but really, Herr von Bader, I’m not made of money.”

Friedrich swallowed. “I know, Herr Strauss, and I know how much we already owe you–“

The man waved his fork airily. “None of that. I gave what I did willingly, but there is only so much I can do, even for someone as charming as you.” He smiled at Friedrich’s discomfort. “And your sister-in-law, of course.”

Friedrich’s stomach picked that moment to rumble again, more loudly this time. He felt his face get even hotter as Strauss chuckled at him. “No, don’t blush. All men get hungry. It’s the way of the world,” the slender man said, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. He rose, gesturing at the seat across the table. “Sit. I’ll make you a plate.”

“No, that’s not necessary–”

“Stop being such a Junker, von Bader. You’re hungry. I have food. Sit.” With a flourish, Strauss moved to the tiny stove.

Suddenly exhausted, Friedrich dropped into the seat. Moments later, a steaming plate of roast beef, spätzle and red cabbage was deposited in front of him. The smell of the meat in particular made his mouth water. They hadn’t been able to afford any for a month.

“Eat, eat,” Strauss said gently, taking his seat again.

It took all of Friedrich’s military discipline not to fall on the food like a starving wolf. Gripping his cutlery, he forced himself to cut small portions of the meat, wrapping noodles and cabbage around each forkful before devouring it. Before the war, he would have turned his nose up at the pedestrian meal. Now, it was ambrosia.

Across the table, Strauss lit a cigarette and watched him eat. “I take it the job hunt hasn’t been successful?”

Friedrich chewed and swallowed, shaking his head. “They keep asking about my qualifications,” he muttered. “I’m qualified to be a colonel in the German army. Not a lot of call for that these days.”

“Hmm.” Strauss took a contemplative drag, letting the smoke stream from the corner of his mouth as he gave Friedrich a long, thoughtful look. “Well, there’s not much work for anyone, really. But there are other ways to make money.”

Friedrich paused, fork in mid-air. “I won’t join the gangs,” he said bluntly.

“God in heaven, no,” Strauss said, waving a languid hand. “You’re far too law-abiding and upright for a criminal gang. Besides, it’s too much risk for too little money.” He paused, nodding to himself. “No, I was thinking of something else. More along the line of, shall we say, services?”

Friedrich frowned. “You mean, like a valet?”

“Oh, you’re a delight,” the singer chortled. “No, I meant personal services, von Bader. Very personal, very … pleasurable.”

Strauss’s meaning dropped on him like a lead weight. His stomach roiled, threatening to bring up its contents. “You’re joking.”

“Hardly.” Strauss puffed on his cigarette again, blowing a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “That sort of work can pay quite well, you know, depending on the circumstances. And with your looks and manner, you’d have quite the clientele in no time. I can introduce you to the right people, if you like.”

Friedrich put his fork down. Like that, his appetite was gone. “You are seriously suggesting that I become…” The words ‘a whore’ sat on his tongue like bitter fruit.

“I am suggesting that you use what Heaven has blessed you with to make money and support your family,” Strauss said gently. “We can’t afford our treasured German morality anymore, colonel. The damned Americans and British made sure of that. So turn the tables and make some money off of them. God knows they have more than enough of it.” The singer leaned back, running a fingertip along the spotless rose satin of his bed jacket. “And if you’re worried that you’ll have to swish around like me, you won’t. Plenty of customers prefer their companions to be clean-cut and masculine. All you’d have to do is show up at the club in your uniform, and you’d be beating them off with a stick.”

His eyebrows, plucked to a womanly curve, rose and fell in a flicker of humor. “Charge extra for that, by the way.”

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So, just had my 48th birthday

And it was lovely — Ramón gave me a lingerie shopping spree as my present (woohoo!), and I got tons of birthday wishes all over social media so I was quite the happy camper. Would have been even happier if I’d been at SDCC or RWA14, but I’m going to London this year for Worldcon so I can’t really complain. Plus there’s always next year, right? (Although when a friend of mine at SDCC got an impromptu picture with both Jared Padalecki and a somewhat tiddly Misha Collins, I may have turned a slight shade of chartreuse.)

In writing news, I’m plowing ahead on my Planet Alpha submission and I’ll have a second teaser up tomorrow for MidWeek Tease. Hope nobody minds a big action scene at the end — well, hey, if you kidnap an Alphan warrior’s human bondmate, you have to expect him and his Xyran mate to open a can of alien whoopass on you, right? Fingers crossed that Evernight feels the same way. Once that’s off, I’ll get to work editing Breaker Zone with an eye on submitting it by August 13. After THAT, I go back to work on Behind the Iron Cross so that I can get it making the agent rounds in September. Plus people have been asking for Trickster and Two to Tango sequels.

Arrgh. Why do I have to sleep?