Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Cold Nights, Hot Bodies!

The UK has been turned into a winter wonderland over the last few weeks. I love the snow, especially the excuse not to drive anywhere and only venture out for walks with the dog. We live in the countryside, the lanes are rarely treated with salt, and so life slows down a pace.

Here is a picture I took of the path leading from our cottage. I love the silvery light and the low sun, it makes the reflection of the blue sky in the snow magical. I also adore how heavy each and every branch gets with snow, in fact there were quite a few trees down around the corner, they'd simply given up under the weight.


On the day I took this picture, Mr Harlem and I were on a lovely long walk, with the dog. It was a Sunday and we'd wrapped up warm and set off for a good few hours stomping through the woods. Eventually we found a pub with a roaring fire - luckily they didn't mind a chilly dog lying in front of it - and we stopped for a wonderful roast dinner with all the trimmings and a glass of red wine. Probably one of my most perfect days of the year so far :-)


This little pond is usually home to dragonflies, in the summer we like to watch them darting around. I'm always amazed at how big they are. No dragonflies today though, just ice and stillness.

This year I haven't been hit with inspiration to write a snow-filled novel, in fact my WIP is set in a summer heat wave! However, it wasn't so long ago, when walking through wintery woods like this that I came up with the plot line and characters for Cold Nights, Hot Bodies, a story where the couple are thrown together when snowed into a luxury hotel.




All my life I’ve been the quiet bookworm, the office mouse. It hasn’t bothered me. Immersing myself in erotic novels has kept me wriggling on the edge of my seat at work and firmly entrenched in my own fantasy world at night.

Though one thing is bothering me—my damn virginity. If only I could find a sexy bedroom expert to introduce me to the delights of having a lover. Someone handsome and charming, who can rival the hunky alpha males in my books. I have a very vivid, very well-fed imagination—he’ll have to keep up.

Then, one bitterly cold night, thanks to a devious, conniving, so-called friend, the perfect opportunity to rid myself of this pesky virginity problem comes along. Before I know it, the heroes in my novels have come alive in the person of Shane Galloway, who’s pleasuring me with every trick in the book and wheedling into my heart in the hottest ways possible.



Buy Links

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I so love the cover for this novel, and phew, it certainly makes me feel a little warm!

Thanks for reading and stay safe in the snow or whatever weather you're having today :-)

Lily x


Tuesday, 29 January 2013

Please welcome Sommer Marsden to my blog today...take it away Sommer...


A Sweet Touch of Sadness…

Can propel an erotic tale, I think. Not always. Has to be the right story. It was the core of my novella My Ending (originally published by Ruthie’s Club as It Wears You Down) and it was the foundation of my erotic story A Technicality found in Nice Girls, Naughty Sex. I have a fondness for occasionally working the bittersweet element of sadness into my erotic work and Under My Skin is no exception.

My main character willingly, knowingly, entangles herself with a dying hero and the ghost of woman who loves him. Juliet is caught in a bizarre emotional threesome of handsome terminal Elijah, deceased yet loving Lanie and herself—a woman trying very hard to get over the loss of her fiance in the line of duty. The goal is to reunite them and allow Lanie to help her lover pass. Something that sounds straight forward but is all kinds of chaotic once you throw in another spirit—this one malevolent and vengeful.

Juliet sees an opportunity to not only bring together the two lovers before Elijah’s inevitable death, but work through some of her issues with love and intimacy and moving on. It’s a bizarre threeway, don’t get me wrong, but the emotion I found surrounding me when I wrote it, was humbling. It was not necessarily a fun book to write—oh, some parts were, like the quirky next door neighbor, the crazy twin sister…the sex—but it was a meaningful book to write. It’s one that stuck with me well past typing the words THE END. I can only hope it will stick with the readers as well.

XOXO

Sommer





House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.

Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.

Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancé—check.

What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?

To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.
It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.

* * * *


Excerpt from Under My Skin 
© Sommer Marsden

“I’m telling you, Minnie, it feels off.” I tucked the phone under my chin and tried not to trip on the damn thing. My brand new kitchen had a way-old phone. It actually had a cord, for goodness’ sake.
“Off how? Off is relative when it comes to you, twin sister, dear.”
I snorted, and Minnie made a high-pitched sound that said she was laughing at me. “Har har.”
I slipped my silverware—triple wrapped in plastic—into my freshly washed and tidied drawer. I had just spent three hours wiping down the room and cleaning everything. I wanted it as spic and span as possible for me and my own energy. Most people don’t realize when you move in a new home, along with other people’s dirt, you get other people’s emotions.
“I mean, what is off, Juliet? Is the paint too bright or the window too small or…what?” My sister was mocking me.
“The energy,” I said, pushing a stack of brightly colored cake plates into a small side cabinet. “Don’t play dumb, Min. You haven’t just met me. You know, your sister…the sensitive. Resident psychic medium,” I chuckled, making a joke at my own expense.
I swore I heard her smile over the phone line. I could picture my sister in my mind. Same long unruly dirty blond hair as mine. Same startling blue eyes that could turn gray with mood, weather or depending on what color we wore. But we weren’t identical, we were fraternal. She was shorter and curvier than me, her nose just a bit sharper. And her tongue.
“Juliet, let’s face it, any place is going to be off to you, right? Any place you go is going to be steeped in someone else’s emotions and past, yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed, wiping my hands on my shirttails and leaning against the giant butcher block island in the center of the room. “True story.”
“Well, then, just deal with it. There is no clean space for you, really. Unless you build a brand new home from scratch and not a single worker has a bad day or an illness or any of that.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. She was right.
“So take this new home and treat it as your own. Smear your own energy all over the place.”
I snorted, eyeing my shirt. It had been Justin’s. My heart crimped up at seeing it. Three years had not dulled my loss, and despite being psychically sensitive and talking to spirits more often than not, I had yet to see or talk to him. I wondered if it were somehow taboo for us to speak or if he thought it would be too painful for me to see him.
“Hello?” my sister sighed.
“Sorry, I hear you. You’re right. Though I don’t know about smearing my energy all over the place. Kind of makes me sound like a monkey—”
“Juliet!” she snapped, knowing where I was going with that analogy. “Onto other things. How are you doing? I mean…how are you doing?”
She meant moving out of the former home that Justin and I had shared before he died. She meant on my own. She meant finally embracing the fact that I was single and maybe moving on with my new life. Montgomery House was that chance. I mean, how often do you get to buy a house with a name? And I’d gotten it for a song. Which worried me, but…
“I’m fine,” I lied. “No worries.”
“I’m coming to see you soon,” she threatened, and I smiled.
“You’d better.”

* * * *

He was big—big and looming. But he was also thin. The kind of build that made the mind pull up images of a praying mantis or some ungodly sea creature trapped in the darkness near the ocean floor. Just seeing him turn his muddy eyes to me made my heart thunder.
“You’re here,” he said and smiled.
The smile was the most frightening aspect of his appearance. It twisted his face in such a way that it reminded me of a molded rubber mask that had gone askew. Almost as if his skin didn’t quite fit on his bones the right way.
I turned to run, and when I did, his long arm shot out to plant a big, strong hand on my shoulder. Being touched by him was like experiencing the most sudden and all-consuming emptiness imaginable. A sob ripped out of me.
“I thought three was my lucky number,” he said, his voice gravel turned under a tire. Sand scraped across stainless steel. It made my head hurt, and my heart followed suit.
I pulled against his strength, knowing I’d never break free until I awoke. I knew by the energy I was trapped in a dream. Knew he couldn’t really hurt me…not yet. But I also knew that as long as I slept, I was his. This was the secret my new house held. This energy. And this was where I’d be until I could drag myself back up to my conscious mind.
“Three what?” I managed, stalling.
“Three girls before you came.” The cadence of his words stirred goose bumps along my skin. The fine hairs of my scalp prickled with dread.
“You killed them?”
“I consumed them,” he said. “Their essence.”
The urge to scream was overpowering. The urge to weep even stronger. Instead, I did the only thing I could do. I turned into his grip to face him. He looked surprised for a moment, his long rubbery face and his sick brown eyes showing shock. But then he smiled, and that hole seemed to open in my stomach again. I studied the face. The old-fashioned brown suit. The proper white buttoned-down shirt. Cufflinks, a tie clip, wingtip shoes and close-cropped hair.
Then I bit my tongue as hard as I possibly could and tasted blood. His face lit up when the coppery taste flooded my mouth. Maybe he could smell it. But then he realized what I’d done and frowned at me.
“You’ll be back,” he said. “I’m here all the time.”
I woke up.

* * * *

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Monday, 28 January 2013

First review just in...

I was thrilled to find a great review on Goodreads for Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse just days after it's release. What's more, the review is written by a nurse...



It (Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse) centers around Sharon, a night shift nurse in a hospital somewhere in England. If she lived in the U.S., she’d be called a float pool nurse because she can work almost anywhere in the hospital. You follow her sexscapades over the course of a few days/weeks and see how much trouble she gets into as well as how many people get between her legs. She’s naughty, remember?

This book had the potential for utter ridiculousness. As a nurse, I take my profession pretty seriously and I didn’t know if this book would make nurses look like trollops. It didn’t though. It felt real! The author’s grasp of medical lingo as well as the possible happenings in a hospital all felt right. I swear she mentioned Maslow and I guffawed. It appealed to the nurse and the instructor in me. The sex was good, but not overdone and I enjoyed the characters.


And my gosh, the book actually had a plot and a decent one at that. Plus, I was rooting for her to end up with the sexy doctor. Well done, Lily Harlem. You definitely won me over.


Passionate Immunity by Elizabeth Lapthorne




Book three in The Agency Series

Kimber dreams of adventure—finding it when she’s asked to consult on a strange new case with Tristan—a member of The Agency.

Kimberly Melmoth has always dreamed of having a grand adventure, her life filled with excitement, danger and passion. When an old friend invites her to assist in an investigation looking into a project headed by a corrupt agent, she leaps at the opportunity. Sorting through mountains of paperwork doesn’t mesh with her idea of being a spy,but the electric attraction she feels to her new partner, Tristan Walters certainly does.

The depth of the instant lust searing through his body takes Tristan completely by surprise. How can one petite woman with a head full of blonde curls overtake him so completely? Her grin can light up a room and her enthusiasm is infectious. His need to protect her at all costs is overwhelming, if only she’d listen to his words of caution!

As the case heats up, both between them and in the laboratory, what should have been a simple data review turns into something far deadlier. Tristan and Kimberly both realise that neither are immune when it comes to each other and the passion that burns between them.

Buy Link

Find out more about Elizabeth Lapthorne and all of her books on her website.


Sunday, 27 January 2013

Sunday Snog - Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse



Welcome to Sunday Snog - here's a sexy smooch from the beginning of Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, published by Mischief at Harper Collins and still hot off the press.



I didn’t mention the dove to Annie or Tinkard. I just called for a porter to help me transfer to Rose Cottage and tugged on my coat. I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.
You coming?
I typed back quickly.
Yes, so will you soon!
The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand
‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.
‘Yes, sideward six.’
Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.
‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’
‘Right you are.’
The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.
If only I could see into his mind.
I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical SHO since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.
I thought better of it. Me alone asking could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.
Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their bows strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.
The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.
Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.
We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.
‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’
Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into it’s ponytail.
‘Yeah, good job the VIP in here doesn’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.
‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’
‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’
He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’
‘Bloody hell, thanks…’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.
‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’
‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.
Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body-snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.
‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’
‘They all do to start with.’
Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.
He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.
‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky blue eyes twinkling.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’
‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’
‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform — dark navy trousers and shirt — Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.
My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopeadic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.
I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretense for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skillful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’
He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’
Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’
He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.
I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.
‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’
‘No, please, no,’ I said on a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.
He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.
I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.
Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.
‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.
‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.
But it was futile, he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.
He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.
‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’
‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’
He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.
He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lay back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.
‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’
‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.
‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh…’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.
‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek. ‘I bet you’ve been getting wetter and wetter ever since that poor old sod croaked, haven’t you?’
‘I…’ Words wouldn’t come. My brain could only concentrate on his touch.
He pulled out a little, shoved back in and set up a steady rhythm. Small squelching noises echoed around the room, mixing with my panting breaths and the sound of my pulse raging in my ears.
‘I love it when you get so wet for me,’ he said, gripping the back of my neck with his free hand and nibbling the side of my neck. ‘I’m going to really miss your cream, Sharon.’
‘Ah, yes, Tom, please, I want you in me.’ 
His hand was good, but a hand was a hand. Tom’s equipment was sensational, the sort of specimen that should be pickled in a jar when he died and saved in a museum as a perfect example of the human penis.
‘Coming right up, baby,’ he said, withdrawing and fumbling with his flies.
I shoved at my knickers, gasped briefly at the chill on my buttocks, then kicked the material away. I tried not to think of the bodies that had lain lifeless where I was about to be screwed senseless. Perhaps it would re-balance the karma for this table — if furniture held karma, that was.
Tom was rolling a condom on with astonishing efficiency. ‘You’re the only one that ever takes all of me,’ he said, looking me in the eye. ‘And it feels amazing.’
‘Tell me about it.’ I reached for him and kissed him hungrily as he pressed me back onto the hardness of the metal. He tasted of coffee, chocolate and perhaps a hint of tobacco. He tasted of Tom, which to me meant sex and pleasure and orgasms of the super-intense variety.
He was nudging into me. I locked my ankles in the small of his back and gripped the sleeves of his shirt. This part always required a good amount of concentration on my behalf if it was to be erotic pain and not ow-that-hurts pain.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said into my mouth and gaining the first inch of entry.
I held my breath, waiting for more, desperate for more, all of it, all of him.
‘Damn, you feel so hot,’ he said, pressing his chin against my temple.
His stubble would leave a telltale red rash, but I didn’t care, to hell with any consequences. Right now I just wanted more of him inside me.
I rocked my hips up to meet him and he pushed in — much faster than usual.
‘Oh, yes,’ I cried out as red flashes filled my vision. ‘So good.’
‘Only good?’ He stilled.
‘Fantastic, and you know it.’ I half-heartedly thumped his arm. ‘Just give it to me.’
He hesitated for a second, then shunted in completely.
I cried out, so did he.
The brutal entry and the swirling pleasure-pain had my entire body tensing.
‘Ah, yeah,’ he groaned, lifting his head and staring at the wall behind me. ‘Fuck yeah.’
I felt like I would burst. That at any moment the tip of his cock would come right out of my throat. How was it possible for my little body to take such a monster? I didn’t know, but it did, and it felt bloody incredible.
Tom began to move. Keeping himself lodged high, he churned his hips in a circular movement, catching my clit just right.
Groaning, I arched my back, lifted off the table and clung to him. Already the first blissful sparks of orgasm were there. It wouldn’t take long.
‘Ah, yeah, this isn’t going to be a marathon session like last week,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me too damn hot for you. I’m near already.’
‘Me too.’ I smoothed my hands over his shoulders. ‘Me too.’
He pulled halfway out, sliding easily, then rode back in. We both grunted and I harnessed the growing pressure.
‘Yeah,’ he said, repeating the process. ‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Faster, harder,’ I said, catching his fleshy earlobe in my mouth and sucking.
‘Your wish is my command.’
Suddenly our mating cranked up a notch. If it had been desperate before, now it was frantic, wild and utterly animalistic. Breathing no longer mattered, nor did the rest of the universe. Tom inside me and the explosion about to detonate was all that existed.
‘Ah, I’m coming,’ I shouted, biting down on his earlobe.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he groaned, shifting his head but not escaping my teeth.
He was rod-hard, as hard as he ever got. And I was being impaled; he was ramming me down as much as he was forging into me.
It was there. I was spinning through ecstasy, my body not my own for a few sweeter-than-sweet seconds, but belonging to a glorious state of heavenly pleasure.
And then came the best bit, my pussy contracting and spasming around Tom’s cock. My internal muscles rejoicing at the incredible length and girth they had to grip and shudder against.
Tom was coming too, at the perfect moment. He was groaning and moaning like a dying man. I released his ear, found his mouth and kissed him. He kissed back, hungrily.
‘Oh, yeah, that was so good,’ he said, breathless and finally slowing his thrusting hips.
‘Tell me about it.’ I was trembling, my flesh prickly and sweat-coated.
‘You’re incredible,’ he said.
‘Kind of you to say so.’ I brushed his hair back from his face where it was hanging like dark fingers around his forehead. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’
‘Not bad, Cheryl is stressed but her mum’s helping her.’
‘It must be a nightmare planning such a big event for so many people.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s what she wants.’
He touched his nose to mine, rubbed it in an Eskimo kiss. ‘Are you sure we can’t still do this once I’ve tied the knot?’
‘We’ve had this conversation before.’ I stroked his earlobe — it was wet and slightly swollen from my exuberant kisses and bites.
‘I know, but bloody hell, Sharon, we’re so damn good together.’ As if to prove the point he ground into me, extracting another delicious tremor. I couldn’t hold in a satisfied groan.
‘I have some morals, you know,’ I said when I’d recovered, ‘and screwing married men is definitely on my list of no-no’s.’
‘But how is this different? I’m engaged to be married right now.’
‘You haven’t promised to forsake all others yet, though, have you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He kissed me gently. ‘I will miss this, though. You. Us.’
‘Me too. But Cheryl makes you happy and will do for the rest of your life.’
‘Yep, she’s great.’ He pulled out and straightened.
I became aware of the cold, unyielding surface I was lying on and the dampness between my legs.
‘I’ve got cheese sandwiches and a porkpie in my tuckbox if you want to share,’ he said, tugging off the condom and slipping his still semi-erect cock away.
‘Sounds great.’ I jumped off the slab of metal, pulled on my knickers and straightened my uniform.
I would miss my time with Tom and his talented dick, but that was just the way it was. Cheryl would have to learn to cope with him and I’d have to find myself another well-hung pastime.
Perhaps an Italian one was in order.

Buy Links


Amazon US  $1.60
Amazon UK  £0.99
Mischief  - more retailers can be found here




Six Sentence Sunday - Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse



Blurb

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …

I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.


Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.

Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.

SUNDAY SIX

(Taken from midway through the book when nurse Sharon is helping a hunky fireman with burnt, bandaged hands have a bed bath...)


     I’d washed and dried thousands of cocks, big and small, long and short. It was just part of my job. Nothing to get worked up about. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
      He blew out a slow breath, the air breezing over my arm.
    I glanced up at him again, and then noticed, with shock, that there was a stiffening in his penis. 





Buy Links

Amazon US - $1.60

Amazon UK - £0.99

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

Mischief - find more links to retailers here.

Saturday, 26 January 2013

I'm a guest at...

Today I'm thrilled to have been inited over to the lovely Sommer Marsden's blog, which is very apt as I'm currently immersed in her book Boys Next Door and loving every sexy page of it. 




And also it is my turn to be featured author over at Sexy Reads chatting about Past, Present and Future.



I hope you can join me :-)

Lily x

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse Out Today!

Now available from Mischief at Harper Collins.



I'm thrilled that Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse has hit the shelves today. Before turning my hand at writing I worked for many years as a nurse in a busy NHS hospital in England so this book has been enormous fun to write and took me on a memory-laden journey through my past. I hope readers enjoy the sassyness of Staff Nurse Sharon Roane, the various hunks that she encounters in dark corners as well as spending time in a wintery Yorkshire hospital.


Blurb

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …


I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.



Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.



Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.






Here is a sexy snippet from Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse taken from chapter one...


I didn’t mention the dove to Annie or Tinkard. I just called for a porter to help me transfer to Rose Cottage and tugged on my coat. I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.
You coming?
I typed back quickly.
Yes, so will you soon!
The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand
‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.
‘Yes, sideward six.’
Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.
‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’
‘Right you are.’
The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.
If only I could see into his mind.
I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical SHO since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.
I thought better of it. Me alone asking could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.
Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their bows strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.
The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.
Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.
We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.
‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’
Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into it’s ponytail.
‘Yeah, good job the VIP in here doesn’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.
‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’
‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’
He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’
‘Bloody hell, thanks…’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.
‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’
‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.
Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body-snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.
‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’
‘They all do to start with.’
Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.
He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.
‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky blue eyes twinkling.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’
‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’
‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform — dark navy trousers and shirt — Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.
My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopeadic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.
I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretense for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skillful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’
He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’
Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’
He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.
I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.
‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’
‘No, please, no,’ I said on a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.
He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.
I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.
Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.
‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.
‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.
But it was futile, he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.
He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.
‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’
‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’
He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.
He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lay back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.
‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’
‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.
‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh…’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.
‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek. ‘I bet you’ve been getting wetter and wetter ever since that poor old sod croaked, haven’t you?’
‘I…’ Words wouldn’t come. My brain could only concentrate on his touch.
He pulled out a little, shoved back in and set up a steady rhythm. Small squelching noises echoed around the room, mixing with my panting breaths and the sound of my pulse raging in my ears.
‘I love it when you get so wet for me,’ he said, gripping the back of my neck with his free hand and nibbling the side of my throat. ‘I’m going to really miss your cream, Sharon.’
‘Ah, yes, Tom, please, I want you in me.’ 
His hand was good, but a hand was a hand. Tom’s equipment was sensational, the sort of specimen that should be pickled in a jar when he died and saved in a museum as a perfect example of the human penis.
‘Coming right up, baby,’ he said, withdrawing and fumbling with his flies.
I shoved at my knickers, gasped briefly at the chill on my buttocks, then kicked the material away. I tried not to think of the bodies that had lain lifeless where I was about to be screwed senseless. Perhaps it would re-balance the karma for this table — if furniture held karma, that was.
Tom was rolling a condom on with astonishing efficiency. ‘You’re the only one that ever takes all of me,’ he said, looking me in the eye. ‘And it feels amazing.’
‘Tell me about it.’ I reached for him and kissed him hungrily as he pressed me back onto the hardness of the metal. He tasted of coffee, chocolate and perhaps a hint of tobacco. He tasted of Tom, which to me meant sex and pleasure and orgasms of the super-intense variety.
He was nudging into me. I locked my ankles in the small of his back and gripped the sleeves of his shirt. This part always required a good amount of concentration on my behalf if it was to be erotic pain and not ow-that-hurts pain.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said into my mouth and gaining the first inch of entry.
I held my breath, waiting for more, desperate for more, all of it, all of him.
‘Damn, you feel so hot,’ he said, pressing his chin against my temple.
His stubble would leave a telltale red rash, but I didn’t care, to hell with any consequences. Right now I just wanted more of him inside me.
I rocked my hips up to meet him and he pushed in — much faster than usual.
‘Oh, yes,’ I cried out as red flashes filled my vision. ‘So good.’
‘Only good?’ He stilled.
‘Fantastic, and you know it.’ I half-heartedly thumped his arm. ‘Just give it to me.’
He hesitated for a second, then shunted in completely.
I cried out, so did he.
The brutal entry and the swirling pleasure-pain had my entire body tensing.
‘Ah, yeah,’ he groaned, lifting his head and staring at the wall behind me. ‘Fuck yeah.’
I felt like I would burst. That at any moment the tip of his cock would come right out of my throat. How was it possible for my little body to take such a monster? I didn’t know, but it did, and it felt bloody incredible.
Tom began to move. Keeping himself lodged high, he churned his hips in a circular movement, catching my clit just right.
Groaning, I arched my back, lifted off the table and clung to him. Already the first blissful sparks of orgasm were there. It wouldn’t take long.
‘Ah, yeah, this isn’t going to be a marathon session like last week,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me too damn hot for you. I’m near already.’
‘Me too.’ I smoothed my hands over his shoulders. ‘Me too.’
He pulled halfway out, sliding easily, then rode back in. We both grunted and I harnessed the growing pressure.
‘Yeah,’ he said, repeating the process. ‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Faster, harder,’ I said, catching his fleshy earlobe in my mouth and sucking.
‘Your wish is my command.’
Suddenly our mating cranked up a notch. If it had been desperate before, now it was frantic, wild and utterly animalistic. Breathing no longer mattered, nor did the rest of the universe. Tom inside me and the explosion about to detonate was all that existed.
‘Ah, I’m coming,’ I shouted, biting down on his earlobe.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he groaned, shifting his head but not escaping my teeth.
He was rod-hard, as hard as he ever got. And I was being impaled; he was ramming me down as much as he was forging into me.
It was there. I was spinning through ecstasy, my body not my own for a few sweeter-than-sweet seconds, but belonging to a glorious state of heavenly pleasure.
And then came the best bit, my pussy contracting and spasming around Tom’s cock. My internal muscles rejoicing at the incredible length and girth they had to grip and shudder against.
Tom was coming too, at the perfect moment. He was groaning and moaning like a dying man. I released his ear, found his mouth and kissed him. He kissed back, hungrily.
‘Oh, yeah, that was so good,’ he said, breathless and finally slowing his thrusting hips.
‘Tell me about it.’ I was trembling, my flesh prickly and sweat-coated.
‘You’re incredible,’ he said.
‘Kind of you to say so.’ I brushed his hair back from his face where it was hanging like dark fingers around his forehead. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’
‘Not bad, Cheryl is stressed but her mum’s helping her.’
‘It must be a nightmare planning such a big event for so many people.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s what she wants.’
He touched his nose to mine, rubbed it in an Eskimo kiss. ‘Are you sure we can’t still do this once I’ve tied the knot?’
‘We’ve had this conversation before.’ I stroked his earlobe — it was wet and slightly swollen from my exuberant kisses and bites.
‘I know, but bloody hell, Sharon, we’re so damn good together.’ As if to prove the point he ground into me, extracting another delicious tremor. I couldn’t hold in a satisfied groan.
‘I have some morals, you know,’ I said when I’d recovered, ‘and screwing married men is definitely on my list of no-no’s.’
‘But how is this different? I’m engaged to be married right now.’
‘You haven’t promised to forsake all others yet, though, have you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He kissed me gently. ‘I will miss this. You. Us.’
‘Me too. But Cheryl makes you happy and will do for the rest of your life.’
‘Yep, she’s great.’ He pulled out and straightened.
I became aware of the cold, unyielding surface I was lying on and the dampness between my legs.
‘I’ve got cheese sandwiches and a porkpie in my tuckbox if you want to share,’ he said, tugging off the condom and slipping his still semi-erect cock away.
‘Sounds great.’ I jumped off the slab of metal, pulled on my knickers and straightened my uniform.
I would miss my time with Tom and his talented dick, but that was just the way it was. Cheryl would have to learn to cope with him and I’d have to find myself another well-hung pastime.
Perhaps an Italian one was in order.




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