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And She Returns…

My goodness, I haven’t posted anything since before RT, have I? Bad romance writer, NO new MacBook Pro!

No, seriously, no new MacBook Pro. I was going to buy one this weekend with my royalties because my existing laptop is 1) over eight years old and 2) was a refurb when I bought it, but as it turns out I need to use my income for other writing-related expenses — namely, a cover (more about that later), sponsorship and attendance for Wild Wicked Weekend, and to pay off my half of an upcoming trip.

So the new laptop will have to wait another month. Which sort of sucks, but that’s adulting for you.

Anyway, back to RT — I decided to drive from Dallas to Vegas instead of flying because I was in the mood for a roadtrip (and er, I had a lot of shit to bring). Said road trip was gorgeous, and I learned that it is geographically noticeable when you cross from Texas into New Mexico and New Mexico into Arizona. At the TX/NM border the landscape immediately changes from flat plains to gorgeously colored mesas, and at the NM/AZ border it immediately turns into scrubby desert with the occasional mountain until you get to Flagstaff, at which point you’re definitely in the mountains. Lovely, and I’d like to do it again with Ramón if possible.

Vegas itself is the neon-lit adult funland that it’s always been, so no real news there. The Rio was perfectly serviceable as a hotel, although I did hear that the route from the hotel rooms to the conference area was referred to as “the Hallway of Doom” due to its distance. Let’s just say that I hit 10K steps on four different days and leave it at that. Much fun was had with the lovely LD Blakeley as my roommate, and we attended some nifty panels, hung out with great folks like Kenna Nauenberg and Alex Gordon, and of course attended the amazing Cirque du Punk party on Friday night.


Kenna, LD, and myself. I was yelping, “I have a waist, I have a waist!” when LD was lacing me up.


Lady Amphitrite before the nails and corset went on, because those were saved for last, you betcha.


Two erotic romance writers loose in Vegas. I’m surprised we didn’t get into more trouble.

Photo courtesy of Michael Patrick Gleason

Competing in the CdP costume contest (picture courtesy of Michael Patrick Gleason). I cannot adequately express how much I love this costume.

The other big event of RT for me was the Book Fair on Saturday. I didn’t sell a lot, but I did get to see sights like this:


My life is so hard.

Sunday was spent tidying up, trying to get everything packed (or in LD’s case cursing UPS for their extortionate charges to ship stuff to Canada), and hanging out with fellow Evernight author Khloe Wren and awesome cover model Michael Gleason:


After this LD and I looked at each other, said, “Let’s get out of the hotel for a bit,” and went for a cruise up and down the Las Vegas strip during which we spotted many crimes against good taste, what we suspect is a genuine murder hotel, and a gigantic and truly scary gift shop.

The next day I dropped LD off at the airport and headed home (including a white-knuckle drive during a severe thunderstorm in the Texas Panhandle) to get back to work on all the WIPs I need to finish toot sweet. I also tried to finish a short story for Evernight’s Dark Captive anthology, but the damn thing blew up on me and turned into a short novel. So, um, yeah, look for Do No Harm this summer from Belaurient Press!

In other publishing news, I sold the German language translation of Trickster to Me and the Muse Publishing in Germany, I’m currently waiting on a decision from Juno Publishing in France as to whether they want to publish Empress of Storms in French, and a very good friend of mine will be releasing a hot and hilarious new M/M erotic novelette on Tuesday which I will be helping out with on promo (trust me, you want to read this). The current work queue includes (counts on fingers) Cross Current (Olympic Cove #4), Behind the Iron Cross, Prince of Scoundrels (Two Thrones #2), Do No Harm, and Trickster: All In. That should be enough to keep me going for a couple of months, don’t you think?

So it’s the early morning of Day Eight of NaNoWriMo and I have a question

I’m taking a break because I’ve been writing for the past six hours and my brain is a bit melty at the moment (that being said, I’m currently at 20,126 words and Act One is pretty much done).

So I decided to take a break and wander around the NaNoWriMo forums a bit, see what everyone else is saying, and stumbled across something interesting. Apparently one writer just interviewed an editor at Liquid Silver about what selling in erotic romance at the moment, and one of the big things is gay werewolves.

Now, I don’t write werewolves — I have no problem with them, but they just don’t do much for me. That being said, I do have a M/M shifter novel, Trickster, which has been my bestselling book to date by far despite the fact that it’s ridiculously short. I also have a lot of backstory in the Trickster universe, plus three other books set in it that are floating in the back of my mind.

And since I have to decide now what I’ll be writing next month (I’m OCD that way, just work with me), I thought I’d throw the question out to you all — would you like me to work on a Trickster sequel in December? I have further adventures in mind for Delaney and Mark, namely a business trip to a convention in Las Vegas where Delaney pulls double duty as the Trickster clan’s representative at a shifter conference. Things get complicated when a clique of 20something shifters sting casinos along the strip, setting Mob enforcers on their tails. If that wasn’t bad enough, Delaney runs into an ex-girlfriend, and Mark winds up playing counselor for another shifter/human couple.

Interested? Let me know!

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–


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.

Gracious, I’m here!

Hello, duckies! If we haven’t come across each other in a Starbucks before, my name is Nicola Cameron, and I write erotic romance (or as it’s known in some rather dreary corners, “Mommy porn.” Excuse me while I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh noisily). Call it what you like, but I adore writing it. A warning, though — I’m not a strict M/F writer. In fact, the erotic ecofantasy series I’m currently working on has two M/M/M books, two M/M/F books, and one M/M/M/F/F book in it (what can I say — “the more, the merrier” is fun to write!)

I’ll be advertising my latest publications here and talking about my works in progress. Thanks for dropping in!