Monday, August 29, 2016

Cuckold Beach 3 excerpt: story out now!

Pink Lace excerpt:

Kelly’s blood turned warm and that jumpiness started to pool in her center. Not from fear, but from that internal heat starting to gather in her core and pulse downward, settling deep inside her.

He can’t be serious.

“Have you met my husband, Edward?” she asked.

The man’s brown eyes were steady. “No, I haven’t. But he’s watching us now.”

Kelly’s gaze hopped from one security camera to the next. The green lights on top of each glowed softly.

“That’s why the cameras were installed. So he could watch.”

Her heart started to thump and she a lump formed in her throat. “I don’t believe you,” she said, finally finding her voice.

The man folded his arms across his chest. “Send him a text.”

Kelly pulled her cell from her pocket. A text from Edward, sent two minutes ago, displayed on the screen. I love you.

She wrote back. Can you see me? Him?

The reply was quick. Yes.

She stared at the screen, trying to think of what else to ask. Even though she had many questions, she asked only the most obvious. You set this up?


This time the reply took longer. Finally the screen blinked. Yes.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Cover reveal and preorder: Cuckold Beach 3

How does a romance writer go about creating a "cheating" storyline that is both romantic and erotic?

Most mainstream romance readers shy away from "cheating" stories. This is with good reason; the idea of a married person having sex with someone other than their spouse goes against much of what we think of as romantic. Another thing about romance readers, they're always on the lookout for something fresh and intriguing. Its the second point that promoted me to dip my pink-painted writer toes into the cuckold pond.

I've done a couple posts on this unique lifestyle. Cuckolding: What you may not know and Cuckolding: the femdom lifestyle. My desire in writing these stories was to embrace elements of the unusual practice while focusing on the romance. I wanted to assure the reader that the husband and wife are fully committed to one and other in all the ways that matter. It's been an exciting challenge, creating these three stories and , needless to say, I'm excited to have them all together.

Cuckold Beach 3: Pink Lace
Edward Dean knows his wife wants more than his usual brand of gentle lovemaking, so he seeks help from Winona, a woman who specializes in custom sexual experiences. He expects a tame lesson in seduction, a little something to spark Kelly’s interest, as he settles in front of newly installed video monitors and waits for the fun to begin.

When a powerfully built man appears onscreen, he does way more than “spark Kelly’s interest.” He unleashes her wildly sexual side—the one Edward quickly realizes he hasn’t been satisfying.
He’ll be damned if he lets Kelly get what she needs from a dominating stranger. Bolting from his seat, Edward takes his rightful place behind his bound wife…

Reader advisory: This was previously released as Cuckold by Request from Ellora's Cave.


About the Cuckold Beach stories:
On a sizzling stretch of California beach, devoted husbands are dedicated to satisfying their wives' deepest desires. They'll do whatever it takes to bring intimacy and ecstasy to the women they love...even if it means giving their wives to other men.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Read it already! A writer’s confession.

I’m not so great at reading my own writing aloud. Sure, I’ve done it. For small groups, large groups, for college credit, and a couple weeks ago, for fun.

For fun? Well, sort of. Partly for fun, partly out of curiosity and well, yeah, I also did it for promotion. Promotion! Marketing! These are topics writers are encouraged to think
about all the time. 
  • Where are you going to do to promote your new release?
  • How're you doing to promote your backlist?
  • What about your work-in-progress makes it marketable?
  • How are you reaching new readers?

You get the idea. We’re encouraged to try new marketing strategies--all the time. We should be innovative and exciting. Relevant. We must keep up with our blogs, twitter accounts, and Pinterest boards. On the side, we’re also writing books.

That’s a lot of pressure. No, not the writing. That’s not pressure. That’s fun. We’re writers, so creating stories and torturing characters, that’s what we do. It’s that marketing and promotion stuff that stresses us out. Not because we don’t want to do it, don’t understand it, or even because we’re not good at it. It’s because there’s always something newer, fresher, and more exciting we need to do. Right now that new fresh thing is Facebook Live

Now here’s my confession. I don’t care that I’m not good at reading my work aloud. I’m a writer. I write stories for other people to read. I love crafting stories and I’m thrilled that I have readers who support my work. Isn’t that what matters? The words on the page? The story? I think so. I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I think its funny that I’m not a great performing-author. Sure, on occasion, I have pulled myself together and done a fine, if not good, job at reading. Like when I did my MFA graduate reading. But for the most part, I’m happy to hand over my work for other people to read (inside their head) and enjoy (without me there staring at them).

So, if you haven’t guessed already, I did a live reading of my new release, BAIT, from New Vintage Press, on Facebook. I was at the Romance Writers of America national convention, standing on my balcony in San Diego, wearing my favorite Hello Kitty t-shirt, and I did it. I hit go live. I said, hi, showed people around, then read.




Yeah, it was promotional, but more important to me, it was fun. Will I do it again? Sure. Will I worry about how well I perform? Nope. Not at all. The only thing I’ll be concerned about it whether or not people have a good time.

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

BAIT, zombie noir short story, from New Vintage Pulp

Slick. Sweet.

Pain.

The roughness of his own howl.

Images of the night before, bright then dark, blinked like the busted out liquor store neon along the swamp highway. Yes. No. Yes. No. Cade never did maybe. Maybe was a wicked bitch, a waste of time. Weeks. Fuck, years. He pulled a slow, deep breath in through his nose then coughed against a sour stench that seeped into his brain like red tide. His shoulders shook. The flashes in his mind returned, beckoned, promised, and called to that one thing—the answer to what the hell happened. Did he get what was promised. There was no deliverance, just more pain.

He gave up on the possibility of remembering and put all his effort into breathing through his mouth. The impact of the stench faded to a manageable level. The coughing slowed then stopped but the damage was done. The neon in his skull had exploded, causing sending shards of agony into his brain. He squinted and tried to put his forearm over his eyelids, but something sharp bit his wrist. He tried again. His arm jerked in response. He opened one eye.

On the floor of his truck were three cans of ReddiWip, two chocolate and one plain. There was also a pile of Taco Bell trash and an empty fifth of Jack. A lavender thong hung from the truck's shifter; Cade’s t-shirt was twisted around his left forearm and his wrist was handcuffed to the steering wheel. So it had been yes. He opened the other eye.

The 45 on the dashboard was a beauty. Black. Solid. Looked trustworthy. But seeing it there probably meant that yes should've been no.

Especially because it wasn’t his gun.

"If I go get the bolt cutters, will you put your pants on? Please?"

Laurent, appearing out of nowhere to rescue Cade’s sorry ass once again. Not as surprising this time as the others. Seeing as Cade was parked in the far corner of Laurent’s southern Florida fish camp.
Cade nodded, then closed his eyes as he dropped his head back. After what felt like twenty-five minutes but was probably six, Laurent reached through the open window to cut the links between the cuffs. Once Cade's wrist was free, he righted himself. He wanted to check out the Colt but, in deference to Laurent, grabbed the pants. That's when he noticed the gash on his left thigh and the tear in his plaid boxers. He touched the wound. Not too big, but the skin on each side of the cut was smeared with dried blood and something else. Something sticky.

Laurent grunted. "Pants?"

Even though they were spattered with mud, Cade tugged his jeans on then rolled out of the truck barefoot. The sand and gravel yard in front of the fish camp was already hot from the sun. That was bearable. The sour stench wasn't.

"What the fuck is that smell?"

"Hell if I know. Something from last night. You don't remember?"

Cade shoved his hair off his forehead. His scalp was sticky. His jaw was sticky.

That stench.

There was only one thing he could think of that smelled that nasty, but when he looked on the floor of his truck for signs of vomit, he came up empty. Whatever that hideous odor was, it hadn’t come from inside him.  One solid shove closed the truck door and he wobbled forward, toward Laurent’s building. "I need a shower.”

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Want to Write Sexy? Week long online sex scene writing seminar, August 22-27, $35.00

August 22-27, $35.00

Would you like to:
  • Create satisfying sex scenes?
  • Examine how  the best sex scenes are structured?
  • Be sure to infuse your sex scenes with emotion?
  • Make sure your sex scenes move the story forward?
Are you:
  • Totally new to writing sex scenes?
  • Have some experience but looking for ways to punch your sexy writing up?
  • Searching for an opportunity to brush up your skills?
If you’re nodding yes to some or all of these questions, this online course may be for you. Taught by an erotic romance author and college writing professor, this course will be a combination of daily challenges, lessons, scene work-shopping, and instructor feedback.

Of course, all correspondence and submissions can remain anonymous.

Week long online sex scene writing seminar will be taught by me erotic romance author/college writing professor Isabelle Drake. 

For more info, message me here, or via email: isabelle@isabelledrake.com