PIN ALL THE THINGS!!!!!!!

by Cassandra Dean

My friends, I am here to warn you of a scourge that is overtaking this grand internet of ours. It slides insidiously into our lives, insinuating itself in our daily interactions until it's impossible to imagine life without it.

This evil is Pintrest.

Maybe you have heard this cautionary tale. You start with a mild curiosity. You've heard people talking about this pinboard website thing, where you can tack pictures and crafty idea type things to virtual pinboards. You can put up anything you desire, from wedding ideas to pics of sexy man-like people (or girl-like people, or both-like people). You hear it's the bestest ever, but people tell you not to sign up. Seriously, don't sign up. YOU WILL BECOME ADDICTED.

Pshaw, you think. I'll just check it out.

Fourteen days later, a stack of used frozen dinner containers fall over and you come to yourself to find you have been hunched over a computer for all of that time. Unopened mail clogs your letter box. You haven't interacted your family. Sunlight is a distant memory. But. BUT! YOU MUST PIN ALL THE THINGS! 

And turning again to your computer, you succumb to its irresistible lure.

I speak with authority, my friends. I am addicted to Pintrest. Hours, hours, I spend bathed in the glow of my computer, hunting for elusive pictures to pin to my boards. I must have that picture of a corset for my "Research- Corsets" board. I must pin that movie poster to "Movies/TV". My, that's a might fine picture of Jon Hamm, I shall pin to "PrettyBoys".

It's a sickness, and I am ashamed.

However, there is hope. A band of revolutionaries seek to destroy Pintrest's stranglehold on us all. I believe they were last seen pinning weapon and strategy ideas to their board entitled "How to Take Down Pintrest". 

...

I don't think the revolution is going so well.

In any event, heed my tale of addiction and woe, friends.

Do not succumb.

Cassandra Dean Website

Facebook  Twitter  PINTREST!!!

AVAILABLE NOW!

Ever curious, Elizabeth, Viscountess Rocksley, has turned her curiosity to erotic pleasure. Three years a widow, she boldly employs the madame of a brothel for guidance but never had she expected her education to be conducted by a coldly handsome peer of the realm.

To the Earl of Malvern, the erotic tutelage of a skittish widow is little more than sport, however the woman he teaches is far from the mouse he expects. With her sly humor and insistent joy, Elizabeth obliterates all his expectations and he, unwillingly fascinated, can’t prevent his fall.

Each more intrigued than they are willing to admit, Elizabeth and Malvern embark upon a tutelage that will challenge them, change them, come to mean everything to them…until a heartbreaking betrayal threatens to tear them apart forever.

About Cassandra Dean

Cassandra grew up daydreaming, inventing fantastical worlds and marvelous adventures. Once she learned to read (First phrase – To the Beach. True story), she was never without a book, reading of other people’s fantastical worlds and marvelous adventures.

Fairy tales, Famous Fives, fantasies and fancies; horror stories, gumshoe detectives, science fiction; Cassandra read it all. Then she discovered Romance and a true passion was born.

So, once upon a time, after making a slight detour into the world of finance, Cassandra tried her hand at writing. After a brief foray into horror, she couldn’t discount her true passion. She started to write Romance and fell deep.

The love affair exists to this very day.

Cassandra lives in Adelaide, South Australia.

The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby Part 3

by the Evil Editors


continued from The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby Part 2. Read it HERE!

**content alert - heavy sex and improbable plot**

“Oh, boy, this feels so good!” he yelped to himself.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” himself agreed.

Hands grasping his balls, he moaned when the girl kneeling on her knees, squeezed the dangling orbs between his legs. “Oh, Markie-Linda,” he moaned.

“How did you know my name?” she asked, her mouth full of the huge, hard, thrusting rod of delicious manhood touching the back of her throat.

He swelled even bigger. He got even harder. 

Imogene tapped his shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna bust if you get any harder or bigger. Just sayin’.”

Himself agreed. Dude, she is so right. That would ruin the mood. And if that happens, you can’t have a ménage and tell Markie-Linda how rich you are. Right now she has no clue you're loaded, she only wants to have hella sex with you because she hopes you’ll impregnate her. But don’t worry because she won’t tell you she’s pregnant. She’ll hide it from you, maybe even tell you it’s not yours. Then you’ll have to go back to your stormy homeland and be super sad for awhile before you finally say,’to hell with it!’ and you just have to be honest with her, tell her you’re really a billionaire typhoon sheikh, and force her to marry you. She’ll think you’re only doing her a favor and she’ll fight you and hurt you by telling you she doesn’t love you, even though she already does, but in reality you’ll be so in love with her, you won’t be able to see straight for the rest of your entire life!

Joseph ignored himself’s annoying inner thoughts. Gripping the lovely Markie-Jane by the ears, he pushed, in and out, in and out, and so on. That was when he felt it. It felt so good. It felt like, oh hell, why should he even bother to describe it, it just felt so gooooood! Like when you’re riding in a rollercoaster, up that first steep hill, up and up, and you know it’s going to be scary and thrilling when you go over the edge.

“Unh! Unh!” he hissed.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” his getting-bigger-and-harder-by-the-minute erection bobbed against her palate as Markie-Jane agreed lovingly.

Throwing his head back with a triumphant roar, his rod jerked and hot spurts of liquid shot up his shaft, up and up, and exploded from the tip. His knees sagging, Markie-Linda sat back, releasing him with an audible *pop*.

Joseph’s eyes sought out his remarkable length with reverence. “So that’s what you’re for.” He petted it with affection.

“Hey, what about me?” Imogene whined cattily. “You’re supposed to get her pregnant, then marry her so she never has to worry about money again after her parents died in that fiery car crash when she was in her freshman year of college and left her broke and unable to support herself or her siblings!”

Markie-Linda’s eyes narrowed at the other woman and wailed, “You said you were a baby broker. I thought he was supposed to impregnate me so you could buy my baby when I had a bad accident and hit my head and had amnesia and then sell it back to him, but then tell him I had no memory of either him or the baby, so he could woo me and make us one big happy family!?”

Joseph giggled. “Don’t forget rich! You’ll be so rich, you won’t care what I look like, how sexually inexperienced I am,  or that I am dragging you back to my stormy homeland, where you’ll be surrounded by my family who will never accept you as anything but a foreigner because you aren’t accustomed to our ways!”

Imogene’s hands clapped with glee. “Someone should write a book about your love story! It is so unusual, everyone will buy it!”

THE END

Tune in tomorrow for when the Evil Editors sacrifice The Virgin Shiekh's Billionaire Baby on their evil Altar of Reviews!

The Virgin Billionaire's Baby Part 2

by the Evil Editors

Markie-Linda batted her brown-eyed gaze at the man who she wanted to gobble up his whole body especially the sexy scruff under his chin which she wanted to rub across her giant, red tipped, sexy breasts which were even now hardening to diamond tips that could cut glass under her own expensive dress she had shopped for all week at her favorite store where they always offered her champagne when she shopped there.

Who would have guessed she’d meet her future husband tonight and he’d be a virgin. She wanted him now. Her pointed breasts and shaved folds yearned and ached for his thrusting penis to take control and dominate her. 

“Does this mean you won’t know how to find my cavern of moist love?” She wanted him to know how many it meant to her to find her future husband and virgin lover tonight here in this place.

“Let’s dance,” she invited throatily. She grabbed his hand with her hand and handed him over to her handy friend Imogene. “Then we can have a ménage. If you aren’t afraid, that is.” She fixed him with a demon stare, daring him to back away, to use his inexperience to fight their overweening desire for his giant cock which even now wriggled in his pants in an attempt to find its way free from confinement and bob happily against his belly in the cool air.

He wrenched his hand away from Imogene who he found terrifying in her thigh high stockings and thigh high stiletto boots and thigh high skirt and indented corset. His future wife would never dream of sharing him with the woman with the bullwhip clutched in her hand…would she?

For a moment he imagined the dark and sultry Imogene was his future wife, but the prophesy insisted his wife have blue eyes and her eyes were green. Plus the bullwhip would leave welts on his thick cock or possibly his tender ass and he didn’t like that idea one single solitary bit.

“No, I wouldn’t,” claimed Markie-Linda, snatching him back and cupping his erection through his tight pants. “She is,” she hissed painfully, “A baby broker and I owe her a debt.” She was afraid he wouldn’t marry her when he knew what that debt was, but they had kept their secrets long enough. She rushed back to the still rotating stool and sat down on it, her parted legs baring her commando femininity to the soft, cushioned, brown, round upholstered surface. Her pussy wept with joy. Maybe if she had her stool she didn’t need him. NO. She dropped her carefully made up face to the bar.

She knew Imogene waited for her answer impatiently and angrily, her urge to tie them both up and make them perform overwhelming her good sense. She fought vainly and with valor, but decided she wanted it all and more. “Hurry up and do it!” she chirped, enraged. “I can’t wait all week.” The stilettos made her legs look hella sexy, but they pinched.

“What is this all about,” Joseph demanded commandingly. “Are we or are we not going to dance some more?”

“We haven’t danced at all,” Markie-Lynn pointed out helpfully. “But now we need to go to my apartment upstairs and get started.” She started for the door, her rounded fanny twitching to and fro with her happy gait. He followed her closely, his eyes on her ass, and she grinned proudly at his heated attention. The elevator doors admitted the three of them and she waited for Joseph, with his swarthy good looks, to comment on the other woman’s presence in the elevator with them.

The doors closed on them and they were whisked away to her penthouse suite by the elevator.

 She waited for the elevator door to open, walked out into the hallway, turned to the right, walked down the corridor, stopped at her door, fished in her purse for her key, pulled it out carefully, slipped the key into the lock, unlocked the door, turned the handle, pushed the door open, and walked inside her home, admiring the décor while the others followed, exchanging looks, their eyes boring holes in her back.

The luxury apartment she earned by providing favors for Imogene and their ilk. Until now, her luscious body had been enough, but now they made a scary demand that could only be met by tapping the erotic potential of her future husband.

She spun on all her heels, completely around three times and dropped to her knees in front of him. Yanking down his zipper she tugged his satiny penis from the confines of his oh-so-sexy plaid pants and wrapped her lips around it, being sure to nuzzle his balls on the way. The enticing scent of his sweaty musk filled her lungs and she sighed in excstasy and orgasmed. Things were looking up…or going down.

If…he could be convinced or coerced to put his back into the job. A shame he was poor…if only… he were a secret sheik. Or a typhoon. Or a billionaire…or maybe all three!!!!!? 

Look! There’s a disco ball in this room too! The cascading sparkles circled artistically over the mushroom head of his giant penis, and she bobbed her head down, taking him all the way down her throat, the delicious salty taste just like the ocean in spring when she was on vacation with her friend Suzie.

The Virgin Sheikh’s Billionaire Baby

by Valerie Mann & Kate Richards


Those Evil Editors are at it again (that's us). We've noticed the books that sell the very best have something in common: or should we say a limited and select list of vocabulary words to choose from in the title:

*Billionaire* *Baby* *Tycoon* *Mistress* *Duke* *Virgin* *Secret* *Affair* *Sheikh* *Marriage* *Doctor* *Heir* *Bride* *Officer* *Convenient* *Rogue* 

...you know exactly what we're talking about. Throw those bad boys in a box, give a good shake, pick out a handful, add a nekkid chest and a six-pack cover (the cover heroine is optional, we don't buy books to read about the chick anyway, right?) and voila! Instant bestseller. Don't worry about what's between the front and back cover. You've found the keys to the royalties kingdom. It's all in the name!

On that note, here's Part I of our bestselling super short story, complete with evil writing mistakes that we love to giggle over. Disclaimer:  if you don't see the problems, we'll be happy to point them out to you when The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby gets an evil review on Thursday. We're just as mean to ourselves.

The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby 

Joseph wrinkled his nose, his eyes widening at the beautiful woman across the bar as he sat down on the barstool, ordered a drink and took a sip. It was a delicious concoction, he told himself. He watched her over the rim of the succulent fluid.

“She’s so lovely,” he muttered with a low groan of desire. Lust filled his blood to boiling, creating a storm like the sandstorms in the desert of his stormy homeland. Now those are storms, he thought to himself. His self agreed heartily. Nobody knew storms like he and himself.

She twisted on the rotating stool, swiveling. Her blue eyes wandered around as they caught the light from the round silver disco ball as it hung from the ceiling and twirled. Her green gaze found his coal black one. His dark stare penetrated her back.

She slid down as she stood up. Sauntering over, her elbows rested on top of the bar. He gulped as her bounteous cleavage emanated from the top of her low-cut, revealing, leaving-nothing-to-his-or-himself’s-imagination. His thick cock strained against his designer pants, the plaid pattern changing shape immensely.

She grinned, revealing pearly white, shiny, straight teeth. Another storm brewed in his gut, lashing relentlessly at his whole body,  from his head to his toes and everywhere in between. “Hello, handsome. Buy me a drink?”

Gulping, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and lodged in his throat.  She made him so hot. He felt so warm. He thought he was going to pass out from the storm. He sensed turmoil releasing its mighty force within his entire body, not just part of it. Every part!

Stuttering, his tongue peeled from the roof so he could speak to this beautiful creature standing here, tonight, in front of him. “Uh…”

“What’s the matter, handsome? Cat got your tongue?” She laughed a trilling giggle, snorting.

Oh, I need to be honest with her. She needs the truth. I need to just say it!  “I’d love to buy you a drink. But I can’t,” he muttered angrily, it was so disheartening and sad that she needed to know. But he thought it was the right thing to do! Everyone knows that you have to be honest when you’re meeting your future wife!

Her eyes widened prettily and blue. “Why not?” His eyes dropped to that chest. Her huge boobs strained like a baby filling its diaper, so ripe and plump.   

He wanted to cry. He and himself were so embarrassed and humiliated, his whole entire body quivered now, warring with the desire filling his soul and shooting desire right here to his huge, plaid manhood all at the same time.  

Loudly, he wailed, “I’m a virgin!” 

***

Visit us tomorrow to find out what happens to Joseph, himself and the girl with the emanating boobs.

Why? Why? Why?

It's that time of life when Lily has begun the eternal (and infernal) question, "Why?" It's enough to drive this parent to duck taping said child's mouth at times. Truly, some of her "whys" seem almost reflexive because at times she asks it when the reason for me telling her to do something is so obvious you'd have to be dead not to know "why." And did I mention that I've answered that same "why" at least twenty million times before. (Yes, that many times. And, no, this is not hyperbole. Grin)

I will give you an example.

It's relatively nice out, but there's still a nip in the air, so I tell her: "Please bring a coat with you."

Lily: "Why?"

Me: "Well, it's a bit chilly out, and you might want it. You don't have to wear it at all, but it's best to be safe."

Lily sticks her arm out the door for three seconds and shrugs. "It's not cold to me. I don't need a coat."

Me: O.o "I didn't ask you if you needed one. I told you to bring one, just in case."

Lily: "Oh. Okay, but I'm not wearing it."

Me: "Fine."

Less than fifteen minutes later, she's wearing the jacket and complaining that it's too cold.

Then there are the other "why" questions that are great, but challenging to answer. Like the one she asked the other night while showering.

Lily: Mommy, why don't lightning and water mix?

Me (trying to figure out how to explain this to her): Well, water is a great conductor of electricity.

She blinks.

Me: Do you know what conductor means?

Lily: Like a train conductor?

Me (You have to love the English language.): No.

And I proceed to try to explain what "to conduct" means in this context and why you don't want to be in a swimming pool during a thunderstorm. Yes, those "why" questions are fun, but, in their own right, they can drive a person batty too.

Of course, there are the awkward "why" questions like: "Why can't I take a shower with Daddy, but I can with you?" That one I usually refer to him. (grin) Or "Why do boys have an outie and girls have an innie?" (Note to self: pick up a good sex ed book from the library. Grin)

So, now, I am bogged down with "why." Seriously? Why me? (grin)

How to make your life seem more exciting than it is

The other day at the pool (yes, I do spend a lot of time there), I was talking to a couple of women that I swim with. We were talking about our aches and pains. (grin) One will be going to nationals in the summer and was considering competing in a swim meet next Sunday. (I would, but, alas, my daughter has some birthday parties to go to.) The last time she swam in this meet, she hurt her back. She doesn’t know how, but it happened. (When you hit a certain age, which, apparently, is fairly young, these things start to happen. grin)

I, on the other hand, hurt my shoulder swimming on Wednesday. Well, really, it’s accumulative. I’ve been out enough that I am out of shape, compared to what I usually am anyway. Yet, everyone in my lane still sees me as being faster than they are. So, every time I move to the back, they push me to the front. At which point, I feel that I have to swim faster so I push harder. Except my body isn’t ready to swim faster. And to make this happen, I adjust my stroke and hurt my shoulder. I am swimming in the slow lane for the next couple of weeks, but I digress.

As I listened to us discuss our injuries, my mind churned with ideas of how to make our lives seem more… exciting. When someone asks, “Why can’t you stand up straight?” Instead of saying, “I hurt it picking up my screaming child who threw a tantrum in the middle of the store,” you look around as if making sure no one else is listening and whisper, “Well, my husband and I were having some fun the other night, and the bed broke.” (Giggle here.) “It’s the most fun we’ve had in a long time.”

Or instead of “I hurt my shoulder swimming,” I could tell them, “Charlie and I like BDSM (we don’t, but, hey, it would probably shock them… or not. I do live in LA, after all. g), and he left me hanging in handcuffs from the ceiling a little longer than usual.”

HAHAHAHAHA

If someone asks you why you are limping, rather than telling them that one of your darn kids left their $#*&^* wooden blocks/Matchbox cars in the hallway and you stepped on them on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, tripped, and proceeded to stub your toe on the doorjamb, you can say, “I just returned from a trip to South America. I was walking through the jungle when a jaguar padded out onto the path in front of me. I turned and ran (yes, I know you’re not supposed to do that, but instincts do take over in these situations). As I raced through the jungle, I tripped on a root and fell into the arms of a native who looked, and sounded, an awful like Indiana Jones. ‘Hang on,’ he said. I wrapped my arms around him, and he quickly pulled us up a vine and out of the reach of the jaguar.”

Not believable? Ah, well, I got a little carried away, but writers do that sometimes. (g)

Your legs are sore from working out for the first time in… well, we won’t go there. You’re gimping a little bit. Rather than tell your friends about your workout woes, you say, “It’s the wildest thing. I was driving home from the store the other day. This car swerved across the road, rolled, and pinned a man under it. Without thinking, I stopped my car and… well,” you pause, “things are a little fuzzy after this, but apparently, I picked the car up, and they were able to pull the person free. As I said, I don’t really remember that part. As I haven’t done anything else that would cause my legs to ache, I have to assume this is the reason.”

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Okay. I’ve gotten a little over the top, but it is fun to imagine, if just for a little bit, a life with a bit more adventure like what I write, and read, about in books. Perhaps you can add some scenarios to aid in making your/my life seem more exciting. The wilder, the better, I say. :)

Rites of Passage

 by Margie Church

 

Finding your inner strength only happens in the face of adversity. And time. When I was younger, like most people I blew off some of life's let-downs and heartaches with a flick of my wrist. I had so many thrills early in my career I became jaded. And now, I find the hourglass of life less than half-full and I don't take much for granted any more. Don't get me wrong. I still eagerly await 3-day weekends, and the end to laundry every Monday. But I know some things only happen once, even if life is moving at high-speed.

Lately, it seems I've had to let go of a lot of things. Father Time arrived and gave the nod. The choice was made for me. I learned long ago, I cannot be happy in the present, or enjoy the future when my sites are always set on the past.

Over the winter and spring, I've been getting our eldest ready to graduate. I never dreamed it could consume so much time and energy (and we won't talk about the cash part). I've put my writing projects on simmer so I can give him the attention I feel this transition deserves. Graduation has become so much more than a cap and gown. It's included getting him enrolled in college, filing his taxes for the first time, renting a tux for his first (and last) prom, final musical performances and first-time appearances, registering for the draft, celebrating his 18^th birthday. It's like we boxed up his childhood. He treats all this with the indifference of youth, just like his mom did. Some is a rite of passage; some is just a PITA he can't wait to put behind him. In a few weeks, the skids will be fully greased to set him free. He literally is marching into his adulthood.

Our other child's voice is changing. He's already planning his Eagle Scout project and high adventure camping trip for next year. He's taller than me. He used to play in the kennel with Jewel, but now she's gone, too. Wow.

Or do I say, "Ow?" Change comes whether we're ready or not.

I'm not a masochist, but I am a fan of goodbyes and endings. Those are my rites of passage. Endings set the stage for wonderful beginnings. I can think of a few pivotal times in my life when someone needed to say goodbye to me. And they didn't. And I felt like I didn't matter. It made me determined to break that cycle in my life no matter how sad it is. For me, tears say, "I love you."

Life is rich, isn't it? We all walk these kinds of paths in our own way. Some of us become bitter, others fearful or discouraged. I hope I never become any of those things. In my work, I've always said pain is my most useful emotion. It comes in many forms and dimensions. I'm taking in all these new moments like a thirsty sponge, cataloging the experiences, the sensations and thoughts. You can bet the raw emotions will end up in my books disguised as something else, but still be compelling and memorable. I hope you'll enjoy them.

Krewe Daddy is the love story of Drew and Luis. It's a book about redemption. People make mistakes when they misread the situation and emotions get in the way. Or maybe they're bullheaded. Krewe Daddy is an action-packed, sizzling drama. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Krewe Daddy by Margie Church

Luis is the Daddy, a sought-after lover, with an ego to match the mammoth-sized Mardi Gras floats he designs. His lifestyle and reputation are wearing him out, but Luis can't find a satisfying way to break the cycle and be happy, too.

Drew's insecurities pushed him to have a foolish affair six years ago. It destroyed his relationship with Luis, and he's never been able to commit to anyone since. Now, he's taken control of his life and changed his submissive personality by becoming a model for Kevin Marks, and a wildlife enforcement agent in New Orleans.

These men haven't forgotten each other, or settled their differences. When they accidentally meet in a French Quarter gay bar, the years of regret, anger, and pent-up emotions erupt. Their passion is as hot as ever, their mistrust just as potent. When Drew's future is in Luis' hands, will he choose his lifestyle or love?

Featuring Kevin, Teak, and Drew from Hard as Teak.

Get it onAmazon

Also available in the UK!

Keep up with Margie:

Margie's website: Romance with SASS

Margie's blog

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Noble Romance 

Margie's Amazon Kindle page 

Margie's Sizzler Editions page