Friday 18 December 2015

Cover Reveal! Autumn's End!

So the time has come for the final book in the Spirit Shifters series to come to life. Ending a series always causes such mixed feelings in me. In many ways, I'm happy to see my characters reach the end of their story, and I'm excited to be moving onto pastures new, but in other ways it's sad to say goodbye to them all.

I've been writing The Spirit Shifters for several years now, and, after this final book has been published, there will be around 400,000 words written about Autumn, Blake and the gang! That's a lot of words! I hope you've enjoyed them all, and that you'll enjoy the final book, too.

Without further ado, here's the cover for the sixth and final book, Autumn's End!

Autumn’s End Blurb

Pregnant with Peter’s child, Mia is adjusting to life as a shifter. Filled with a hunger she seems unable to sate, and with the baby growing at an unnatural rate, she and Peter seek help.
An ancient brotherhood get heed the baby might be the first of its kind—a true genetic shifter—and they will do everything they can to stop more shifters being created, including abducting Mia.
Caught in an explosion downtown, Autumn has to figure out if she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, or if someone is out to kill her. When news of Mia comes through, both Autumn, Blake, and the others will stop at nothing to get her back, even if it means waging a battle between their own kind.

Will Mia and Peter’s baby be the start of a whole new legacy of shifters, or will lives be lost?

The book will be out on January 26th 2015, and is now available for preorder! Pre-order now and you'll save 25% on the regular $3.99 price.

It's available for pre-order from the follow places:

Barnes & Noble

Tuesday 15 December 2015

Brit Boys; With Toys - Cover Reveal

Some of you may already know, but occasionally I like to write in my erotica persona, M.K. Elliott! It was actually through writing erotica that I was first able to ditch the day job, and while I these days most of my time goes toward my mainstream novels, I still enjoy a dabble in the erotic pool!

So today I'm bringing you a cover reveal of a boxed set I'm involved with, Brit Boys: With Toys! This is the second anthology I've been involved in with this fabulous crowd of erotica authors. We're all UK based, which means I've even had the pleasure of getting to know some these ladies, and gent, face to face!

So, without further ado, here's the cover for our new collection, Brit Boys: With Toys!

Brit Boys: With Toys

Due for release on 22th December, Brit Boys: With Toys, a collection of 8 M/M novellas written by 8 top British M/M authors. This smokin’ hot box set is initially available at the bargain price of 99c/99p, that’s a steal for 422 pages of unforgettable M/M erotic romance that will leave your eReader, and you, burning up.

With stories by

Ashe Barker
M K Elliott
Lucy Felthouse
KD Grace
Lily Harlem
Ashley Lister
Sarah Masters
Tabitha Rayne

Back Cover Information

From coast to coast and city to country Brit boys enjoy playing with each other and their toys. Not any old toys, though; guitars, rope, plugs and Moleskine journals all prove to be enormous fun. Throw in a shop that’s wall to wall with kinky ideas, a journalist on the lookout for the next big thing, and Dominants who insist on obedience and there’s sure to be something to cater for everyone’s taste.

Whether it’s a quickie or a slow indulgence, Brit boys know how to hit the spot and they aim to please every time. So take a ride, fly high, come enjoy these sexy boys and their toys.

Brit Boys: With Toys is an anthology of M/M stories written by British authors, featuring British characters in British locations.

Available for pre-order now on Amazon.

If you missed the first anthology, Brit Boys: On Boys, then make sure you check it out as you wait! Available from Amazon and all other good ebook retailers.

Brit Boys: With Toys

Hard Riders
By Ashe Barker

If there’s one thing Liam loves more than a scorching hot lust-on-wheels superbike, it’s the gorgeous sexy guy who owns such a dream machine. When Jackson finds him all but drooling over his tyres and offers him a ride Liam takes no persuading at all. Soon they discover that their mutual fascination with boys’ toys is not limited to the two-wheeled variety, so it’s just as well that Jackson owns his own sex shop and Liam’s job leaves plenty of scope for dressing up.

But real life is much more than just a few kinky games, and has an unfortunate habit of getting in the way.

All Roped Up
By M K Elliott

When Alex Fraser interviews Conner ‘Big-Mac’ McCaughey, the champion of London’s bare-knuckle boxing scene, he has more than just the fighter in his sights. Hoping to expose the fight club’s illegal dealings, Alex will stop at nothing to get the story, including doing whatever Conner asks.

The moment Conner sees Alex Fraser, all he can think about is what the young reporter will look like bound. Shibari—the ancient art of rope bondage—is the fighter’s passion, and he can’t think of anyone else he’d like to practise on more.

But Alex’s quest to expose the truth could land them both in serious danger...

Doctor’s Orders
By Lucy Felthouse

Hospital porter Aaron Miller isn’t expecting a very exciting birthday. He and his doctor boyfriend, Blake Colville, are working opposite shifts, leaving Aaron to go home to an empty house and the prospect of another shift the following day. Just as he’s leaving work, however, an unexpected sexy encounter in a supply cupboard leaves him feeling in a much more celebratory mood. And an impending dirty weekend away with Blake just puts the icing on the non-existent cake. But who needs cake when you’re dating a dominant doctor?

Toys for Boys
By K D Grace

Alpha Nerd, Will Charles teams up with Caridoc ‘Doc’ Jones in a coast to coast walk across England reviewing outdoor gift suggestions for the Christmas edition of Toys for Boys—an online magazine dedicated to the latest gadgets to tickle a man’s fancy. Will is recording their adventures with the latest smart phone technology. Doc is reviewing the latest outdoor gear. The two quickly discover the great outdoors provides even better toys for boys, toys best shared al fresco, toys that, in spite of Will’s great camera work, will never be reviewed in Toys for Boys.

Mile High Kink Club
By Lily Harlem

Rhodri’s looking for love, but not ordinary love. He needs a man who’ll bend to his will, submit to his desires and obey his every command–including chastity.

So when Gay Hook Ups finds his perfect partner it’s well worth a trip to London. What he doesn’t bet on is his fragile-looking match being a sharp and successful entrepreneur. So when things between them soar, will he unlock the passion, free his desire and will they reach the dizzying heights of ecstasy together? It all depends on whether Darius is prepared to be caged in order to be set free.

Open Mike
By Ashley Lister

Ken finds Mike reading poetry in a bar. Mike is confident and clever and seems capable of teaching Ken everything he needs to know about poetry. And, when Ken asks for his guidance, Mike gladly offers to share his expertise. Consequently, when Mike offers to share more than his expertise in poetry, Ken discovers there are a lot more things he wants to learn from him.

I Get You
By Sarah Masters

Morton is Warren’s boss, and they fancy each other like crazy. Except neither of them has the courage to say so, until Warren blurts out an inkling of his feelings. Morton is stunned by Warren’s offer for them to go away together, but not half as stunned as Warren when Morton accepts. Both of them are pretending to be someone they’re not. And both of them soon realise that being yourself is the best bet.

The Guitar
By Tabitha Rayne

When shy, awkward Kel plays guitar, it’s the only time he feels at home in his own skin. On stage he can hide in plain sight behind his band and the music. It turns him on to play and he can’t help rubbing up against his guitar. Kel is enraptured by a guy he sees every night in the audience and is shocked when this gorgeous guy seems to notice him. So full of his own self-loathing, Kel just can’t accept that someone as perfect as Damien wants to be with him. Will his insecurities put their happiness in jeopardy?

Monday 14 December 2015

Kinking Up Christmas with Kay JayBee!

Today I'd like to welcome award winning erotica author, Kay Jaybee to my blog for a little festive kink! Take it away, Kay!

Kay Jaybee

I just love writing Christmas stories- not only because I adore the festive season, but because Christmas gives an added dimension to the world of kinky writing. Not only do we writers have all of the everyday things around us to sex-up and twist into the erotic- but all those delicious bits and bobs that only come out to play at Christmas.


What’s your favourite part of the Christmas celebration? Decorating the tree with tinsel, the heavenly aroma of cinnamon and fruit from Christmas cakes and puddings, the office Christmas party, a visit to Santa’s grotto, the expected presents?
Complete with a brand new story for 2015, Christmas Kink twists all of these festive traditions into six individual episodes of hot erotica that will leave you fanning yourself with the nearest Christmas card...

The things my imagination does with tinsel, wrapping paper, even a Christmas’s enough to make a good fairy blush! Although, perhaps not a naughty fairy!

Extract – Santa’s Little Helper

Jay gazed approvingly at her reflection in the tinsel-decorated mirror. The gold material shimmered as she turned from side-to-side. Cut to fit tightly against her chest, the bodice section gave way to an extremely short, almost tutu-style skirt, of the finest silvery gauze.
Her fingers trailed through the soft folds before she reached around to stroke the feather like wings that protruded from her back.
The fabric curtain was drawn back and the sales assistant drew a breath. ‘You are possibly the most beautiful fairy ever destined to top a Christmas tree.’ He pulled the ties tighter at the back of the bodice, forcing Jay to stand up taller. ‘You are also the sexiest.’ He pushed two exquisite high-heeled shoes towards her white-stocking-clad feet, enjoying the view as her tiny gold thong flashed in front of his eyes when she bent slightly to slip them on.
As a final touch he slid a delicate glittering tiara onto her short curled hair, and put a wand in her hand. ‘Now, all that’s missing is a smile.’
‘I am smiling.’
‘That’s not a smile, that’s the evil grin of a wicked slut who knows that every guy that claps eyes on you is going to be asking Santa Claus if he can screw you for Christmas.’ ...


Hope that whetted the appetite a little! If you want to find out what happened next, or you fancy dipping into the other stories; Decorations, Candy at Christmas, The Little Red Dress, If You Go Down to the Woods Tonight, or Cake Mix.... you can buy Christmas Kink from-
Amazon UK-

Many thanks for letting me pop by today!
Merry Christmas to you all!
Kay xx

Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO. Kay also received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.
Kay Jaybee wrote The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (The Perfect Submissive, The Retreat, Knowing Her Place, Xcite 2011-14), The Voyeur, (Xcite 2012), Making Him Wait (Sweetmeats, 2012), A Sticky Situation (Xcite, 2013), Digging Deep, (Xcite 2013), Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress, 2013), and The Collector (Austin & Macauley, 2012).
Details of all her other work can be found at 
You can follow Kay on -

Tuesday 8 December 2015

Win a $10 Amazon Gift Card!

Cut Too Deep by Marissa Farrar: A BBW Romantic Suspense.

Guys like Ryker Russo don't notice girls like Jenna Armstrong. 
Constantly on the move, Jenna doesn't want to settle down anywhere. As long as her latest motel room has a television, wi-fi, and a vending machine, she will make do. It isn't just Jenna's curves that make her self conscious. Beneath her clothes she hides a secret, one that she is running from. 
But when her car breaks down, leaving her without a mode of transport to get to the next town, mechanic Ryker seems to show an interest in her. With his muscles, tattoos, and piercings, Ryker has trouble literally written all over him. Jenna can't understand why he would want to be seen with a fat girl like her, and besides, she needs to keep moving. Time is running out and she's terrified if she stays in one place, her past will catch up to her. 


He kissed her, deep and hard and hungry. She returned his fervor, her arms around his neck, their tongues dancing and breath fast and heated. Ryker’s hands reached down, cupping her ample backside and pressing her harder against him. Excitement spiked inside her, making her heart race. She could feel that he wanted her, the hard length of his arousal pressed into the soft folds of her stomach, and she stood on tiptoes, wanting to feel him against the softest, most intimate part of her. Ryker sensed what she was trying to do and lifted her higher, so they ground together as they kissed, like two horny teenagers.
One of his hands left her bottom and slipped beneath her t-shirt, reaching upward to cup her breast, his thumb skirting over the lace-encased nipple. Jenna gasped, her body responding, her nipple tightening and crinkling, sending a jolt of pleasure downward, between her thighs. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her there and it ignited a fire inside her, a deep need, a craving to be with him. She fought at his t-shirt, lifting it up and pulling it over his head, amazed at her own brazenness. At the sight of his naked torso, she wanted to weep. Where Garrett had always been strong, but pale and wiry, Ryker had the sort of body she fantasized about. The sleeves of tattoos that ran up both arms stopped at his shoulders. His perfectly formed chest was naked from tattoos with the exception of a pair of birds which flew from his left pectoral. Nubs of silver were embedded in both of his nipples and with a moment of dizziness, she realized his nipples were pierced. Her gaze dropped lower, down the lines of his abdominals, to the dip of his navel and the line of dark hair which disappeared beneath the band of his jeans. The jeans sat dangerously low on his hips and she could see the jut of his hip bones protruding from the top and the dark shadows of more tattoos.
Holy hell. Ryker Russo was sexy.

Not only was he sexy, he was kissing her.

Barnes & Noble:

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Monday 30 November 2015

Defaced: A Dark Romance Novel is Out Now!

Today sees the publication of my eighteenth novel, and my third contemporary romance novel, 'Defaced'.

I've been wanting to write a dark romance novel for a while now. The genre incorporates my love of all things dark and twisty, with my love of romance. It allowed me to write the usual nail biting suspense you normally find in my books, while exploring new territories and pushing boundaries.

Let me warn you, if you've not read anything in this genre before, prepare yourself to find some parts difficult to read. This isn't a mills and boon novel. This deals with issues of abuse - both mental and sexual - kidnapping, and trafficking. But it also incorporates the redemptive, healing power of love, and some pretty damn hot sex scenes as well!

I absolutely loved writing Defaced. It was one of those books that poured from my fingertips and had me thinking about the characters while I lay awake at four in the morning. I knew I wouldn't be able to let Lily and Monster go yet, and the characters are far from reaching the end of their stories, or the paths they need to follow to heal themselves fully, so I'm happy to say this will be a trilogy, with the next book released spring 2016.

Here's the blurb!

Hidden away from society by his criminal father, there lives a man who has never entered the outside world. Now, having taken over his father’s business, he has all the money and power he could dream of, yet still he refuses to let himself be viewed by the rest of society.
Traumatised by an event in her past, Lily Drayton has a phobia of being touched. Though she helps people externally with her skills as a laser therapist, she refuses to let anyone in, emotionally or physically. When Lily is kidnapped on the way home from work one evening, she discovers she’s not the only person who keeps themselves cut off from the rest of the world.
A man owns her now—a man both dangerous and enigmatic. Drawn by his dual beauty and hidden pain, he awakens something inside her, something she believed was long dead. Brought to a room without windows, she’s given an impossible task: to make her owner acceptable to the outside world.

Can altering his face change who he is as a man, or is he truly a monster, both inside and out?

If you'd like to purchase a copy of the book, you can do so from the following places!

Keep reading for the first chapter!


The boy cowered in his room as the footsteps in the hallway outside grew louder … closer. His heart beat hard, thumping against his ribcage, and his mouth ran dry. Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, his eyes locked on the closed door.
Part of him willed the door to open, while the other part prayed it would remain shut. Though he was without a clock in his room, he knew what time it was. Every day was the same—meals brought to his room by the people who worked for his father, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All interspersed by his lessons.
His father’s lessons came with both reward and punishment in equal measures.
The door cracked open and he huddled farther in on himself, his arms wrapped around his skinny knees. It didn’t matter how small he made himself, he would never be able to resist the force of his father.
The door swung open. The man himself stood in the open doorway, silhouetted against the brighter light from the hall. The boy’s bedroom, though beautifully furnished with everything he could need, had no windows—no way for him to get out, or for someone else to get in. Occasionally, if he’d grasped a particular mathematical equation quickly or some other concept in the studies his father worked him so hard at, he’d be allowed outside to run around the grounds of their huge home, but never for long, and never unsupervised.
“Hello, little monster,” his father said. “Are you ready for your lessons?”
He lowered his head in shame. “Yes, Father.”
He knew what monsters were from the books he read—terrifying creatures that preyed upon the weak and vulnerable. Yet, somehow, he felt he was the weak one, though his father would never let him voice his concerns. But his father must be right. He knew he was monstrous to behold—why else would no other person look directly at him? He simply needed his insides to catch up with what was so clearly on the outside.
His father, as always, wore a sharp grey suit. His features were hard, but handsome, with a smoothly shaven jaw. The boy had never seen his father with as much as a five o’clock shadow. His dark hair was now almost fully salt and peppered with white, but beautifully cut and smoothed back from his wide forehead with product. The boy didn’t know how old his father was. He could have been forty or sixty. He didn’t even know his own age, though he knew he was no longer a small boy, but not yet a teenager. He’d never been told of a birthday, a way to mark his passing years. Only his reading, to which his father allowed him almost uncontrolled access, allowed him to make these assumptions.
 His father’s eyes never stopped on the boy’s face. Instead, he looked everywhere apart from directly at his son. The boy knew he was different. Though his father rarely allowed him from his room, and would not allow mirrors inside the luxurious prison, he still had his sense of touch. Lifting his hand to his face, he felt the slightly raised, softer flesh which ran down one side of his face. The line where the two different skins met ran almost perfectly down the center of his forehead, along the inside of the left side of his nose, curving down his cheek to skirt his mouth and finally end at his jaw line.
Yet, despite his revulsion, his father seemed intent on his education, tutoring him in science, math, English, history. He even taught the boy about finances, the complications of managing a business—profit, tax, and loss.
He saw other adults, people who worked for his father. They brought him his meals, or supervised him during the times he was allowed to roam outside, or through the seemingly endless hallways and rooms of the house. Even now, he didn’t think he had seen the whole property. But those he encountered made him want to hide back in his bedroom. He saw how they looked at him, their eyes skirting over one side of his face, their cheeks heating, or else draining of color, before they glanced away. He sensed their revulsion, dismay, awkwardness. What was so wrong with him, only a child, to be able to cause such powerful emotions in adults? On the odd occasion, one of his father’s employees lost that sense of revulsion, and began to grow close to him—perhaps not looking him in the eye, no one did that, but patting his leg, and offering him some affection, some comfort. When that happened, somehow, his father always knew, and the boy never saw that person again.
His father finished the lesson. “You did well today. It pleases me to see you learning so well.” His father reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, and his heart sang with pleasure. Human contact was something he got so rarely, it made him want to crawl into the man’s lap and rub his head against his chest.
Knowing such displays would be punished, instead, he ducked his head. “Thank you, Father.” He hoped the effort he’d given would be rewarded. “Does that mean you’ll let me walk outside again?”
His father’s shoulders stiffened. “Is that all you work hard for? A little sunlight and fresh air?”
His stomach coiled in on itself, retracting. He’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have spoken. “No … I just …”
The blow came from out of nowhere, knocking him from his chair and spilling him to the floor. His ear rang, his vision on one side blurred and dancing with stars.
His father’s huge form stood over him. “The sunlight and fresh air are not made for someone like you. They will never be your friends. Daylight will only make people more frightened of you—you are meant to be one with the dark.” He reached down and grasped the boy’s jaw in his viselike grip. “What are you?” he demanded.
“A monster,” the boy whispered.
His father’s fingers dug harder, pain clutching the boy’s entire face. “Say it louder. What are you?”
“A monster!” he said, again, but this time his voice was a wail.
“Again!” his father demanded, giving his face a shake.
“A monster! A monster! A monster!”
His father finally released him. “Good. And don’t ever forget it. The moment you think you are normal, that people will treat you the same as the rest, that is the moment they will see your weakness and they will kill you.”
His father turned and left the room. The boy rocked in the corner, clutching his smarting cheek and ringing ear. His father’s words rang in his head…

Tuesday 13 October 2015

Guest Blogger - Joel Hames: The Tale of the Publishing Internship

Marissa: I read a lot about authors feeling disillusioned about publishing these days. Yes, there is a lot of badly edited rubbish out there at the moment, and it's hard to get noticed by readers, but at the same time authors are living in world where we can now reach readers directly. The playing fields have been levelled, and now anyone can have the opportunity that was only ever given to a very lucky few.

When I read this guest post by fellow Brit author Joel Hames, it took me back in time. I was one of those people who sent in manuscript after manuscript to traditional publishing houses. I paid for self addressed envelopes and printing when I really couldn't afford it. I scrolled thorugh the Writer's Handbook and bought new copies each year. I did this for seven years until I finally had a small publisher take a chance on me.

So, for all those authors who have self published but are struggling to find an audience - at least your work is out there. Even if you're only selling a handful of copies a month, at least it's being read by someone. Back in the old days, as you'll learn from Joel's following story, things were even harder in the industry than they are now.

Take it away, Joel!

The Tale of the Publishing Internship, a lesson for the unwary writer.

It's 1995. Summer has gone, university is already a distant memory, I sit there with my oh-so-useful degree in English Literature (from the finest university in the world, but still, it's English Literature) and I wonder what, precisely, I'm going to do with it.

Family and friends are advising me to do something sensible, law, perhaps. Finance. Accountancy. I nod at them, and smile, and shiver inside.

None of them know that the only thing I really want to do, the only thing I've ever really wanted to do, is write. And to get some kind of an idea how that works, I'm applying for work experience at a publishing house.

There's no need to tell you which publishing house it is. It's a major one, a biggie, you've heard of it, it sits in an absurdly artsy building on the western fringes of central London, and it publishes "serious", "award-winning" writers, the commercially successful ones, who get films made out of their books and translated into every language you can think of, plus a few you can't.

All the women are called Persephone or Ophelia, petite, with small, permanent smiles and perfect hair. The men are all Julian or Tristram, and their hair is even better. They haven't had an intern there for some time. They don't know quite what do with me.

Eventually someone has a wonderful idea.

"Look at all these!" she exclaims, pushing a trolley laden with thousands of sheets of paper through the office. I forget her name. Let's call her Hecuba.

"You studied English, didn't you, erm, you, yes, didn't you?"

Hecuba has forgotten my name. There are only a dozen people working there and she's forgotten my name already.

I nod.

"Excellent. You can read these."

"These", it emerges, are the unsolicited manuscripts this great publishing house has received from aspiring authors over the last eight years.

Eight years.

This is 1995 - email and the internet existed, certainly, but hardly anyone had them. For eight years, writers have been slaving away on their old-fashioned word processors - and, in some cases, typewriters - printing their works, forking out the exorbitant costs to post them to this central London address. And in all that time, not a single word of a single manuscript has been read.

"Just flick through the first couple of pages of each one," advises Hecuba. "If you happen to find one that isn't rubbish, let me know. But you won't."

What do I know about modern, commercial literature? I can deconstruct a Shakespeare romance in the blink of an eye, expound on the reasons behind Milton's reluctant acceptance of the epic form, make some kind of sense of Finnegans Wake. I am, in short, a recently-pretentious, more-than-averagely-intelligent English literature graduate. But what makes a modern novel sell? Call me Dumbo.

As it turns out, for the most part, Hecuba isn't far wrong. The majority of the manuscripts are awful. But even they surely deserve better attention than mine, and certainly in a shorter timeframe?

Some I judge to be rather reasonable. Some are better than reasonable. Some writers, knowing no better (and in the absence of all-knowing Wikipedia, how should they?) have submitted poetry: long, epic poems, short lyric poems, great collections of verse of varying quality, admittedly, but the product of months and years of intellect and emotion and sweat.
"We don't do poems here," Hecuba tells me. "Write back and tell them to submit to our sister imprint, T___ Books."

And so letter after letter is drafted, my signature at the bottom, as if I were some all-wise arbiter of literary success.

"I regret to inform you that...."

"Unfortunately, the criteria for publication are such...."

"Whilst I found the subject matter intriguing, the current market for...."

I've been ploughing through this monolith of literary aspiration in chronological order, so it shouldn't really surprise me when I come across resubmissions, or letters from authors wondering whether their prior submissions had even been read. A certain poet, a Mr D___, not a great writer by any means (poetry I can judge), but not a bad one, has written again, a year after his initial submission, seeking some form of feedback, good or bad. He writes by hand.

And then again, a year later, wondering if we could see fit to return his verse, because he has no other copy. It was typewritten, you see. The manuscript in my hand is the only one, his monument more lasting than bronze. The writing is shakier, I note, than it had been just a year earlier.

And this, the final blow, a letter from the same address, but in a different hand. In the widow's hand. Her husband passed on some months ago, she writes, and she has been unable to locate any of the verse he composed and would read to her in the evenings, by the fire, in happier times. More than anything she would love to find it. Have we any ideas?

"Oh no," says Hecuba. "We can't afford to go sending great piles of manuscripts back to people. If they were stupid enough not to keep copies, the more fool them."

I pay the postage myself, and walk out of the building, never to return.

I became a lawyer, and then, for a while, I worked in finance.

It was not until 17 years had gone by, and the self-publishing revolution had arrived, that I decided I might, perhaps, try writing something after all.

"A non-stop thriller that gets your heart racing from page one and doesn’t let up until the end. Fans of Kernick, Child or Grisham will not be disappointed." 

A prisoner who doesn’t exist.
A lawyer who doesn’t care.
A secret buried for thirty years. 

Sam Williams’ idea of an important decision is whether to have another kebab for lunch. He’s spent ten years running away from other people’s pain, and he’s learned not to look back. Sam needs a client, and for a human rights lawyer with a flexible conscience and an impatient landlord, a high security prison seems a decent bet to find one. But now the bodies are mounting up, the decisions are getting serious, and the pain isn’t someone else’s any more. 

Someone wants him dead, the police would like a word, and there’s nowhere left in London to hide. If Sam wants to stay alive, he’s going to have to stop running and figure out why. 

Watch the explosive trailer here: 

Author Bio: 

Joel Hames lives with his wife and two daughters in rural Lancashire, England, which is like a cross between Tolkein’s Shire and The Wicker Man. 
After a career doing technical things with words, money and bits of paper, Joel decided it would be much more fun to be a novelist, and wrote Bankers Town in 2014. The Art of Staying Dead, the first Sam Williams novel, followed in 2015.
 When not writing or spending time with his family, Joel likes to eat, drink, cook, and practise long-distance assassination techniques using only the power of his mind. So far, results have been mixed.
 If you want to know what Joel has planned for the future, what he thinks right now, or just stalk him a little, you can find him on Facebook at, on Twitter at @joel_hames, or through his website at

Monday 28 September 2015

New Release from Ashe Barker - Guest Post

Hi Marissa, and thank you so much for inviting me over today to chat a bit about First Impressions. This will be my second release with Baronet Press, and I’m loving working with them again. Here’s the super-sexy cover they made for me.

I really enjoyed writing First Impressions, and it was something of an unusual experience for me because for once I knew how the story was to end right from the beginning. I usually know how I want to start and get that out of the way, then I play it by ear from there on. This time I had the plot clear in my head right the way through, and the book just sort of wrote itself.
First Impressions is a story about two people who at first sight seem to be total opposites but find they have much more in common than they imagined. Apart from learning about each other, they make some even more startling discoveries as they get to grips with Aidan’s home improvement project and find that the house has some secrets of its own.

Here’s the blurb for First Impressions

First Impressions can be deceptive.

Aidan Blake needs a plumber. Fast. His boiler is dead, his creaky old house crumbling around him. When his elderly neighbour recommends a local trader, George Mahon, Aidan jumps at the prospect of hot water and warm radiators.

But George, short for Georgina, is not exactly what he had in mind. He was expecting
something else entirely. A man for one thing, not the gorgeous single mother he finds in his house at the end of a long day of work.

Aidan turns out to be full of surprises too. Who would have imagined the smartly dressed businessman would have a BDSM playroom in his attic and a collection of whips and canes that makes George’s head spin. And her bottom clench, though that’s another matter entirely. What does a girl have to do to get to play with those toys?

Just ask, it would seem. As they enter into a professional and personal agreement which soon blossoms into a sultry, kinky relationship, George continues to be surprised by Aidan's kindness and generosity, not to mention his skill with a spanking paddle.

First impressions aside, the two begin to build something together. And while they peel back the layers to discover their hidden depths, the old house yields up the mysteries of its own secret past. They soon realise that at first glance, nothing is ever quite as it seems.  

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And an excerpt…
“Well, let’s see if we can widen your horizons then. Are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Take it off, please. And the tights if you are wearing any. But put your shoes back on. I like those.”
She stood and bent to reach the hem of her dress, then hesitated. “Are you going to watch me?”
“Most definitely. I wouldn't miss it.”
“Oh.” She seemed to find no further comment to make. She straightened, turned her back, and proceeded to remove her tights and knickers. She stepped back into her shoes and rearranged her skirt before turning to face him again. The discarded underwear was bunched in her fist.
Aidan held out his hand. “May I have those, please?”
She handed them over without a word.
“Thank you. Before we proceed I need to set out a couple of ground rules for you. Is that okay?
“Of course.” Her expression was wary.
“First, when we are involved in a scene together you need to be respectful at all times. That means you say please and thank you, and obey any instruction I give you without delay or argument. And you will refer to me as Sir.”
“Sir? Are you sure?”
“I am. Very sure. Is this acceptable to you?”
“What if I don't call you Sir?”
“Are you being defiant, George?”
“No, I didn't mean to. I just…”
“It’s okay. I'm not about to start threatening you with punishment spankings. But I would like you to accept and obey my rules for this, if you would please. And in return I will do all I can to live up to the respect you show me. Is that acceptable?”
She stood before him, chewing on her lower lip. It was an expression he’d seen on numerous previous occasions when he’d played with an inexperienced submissive. It was a sign she was acclimatising to her new situation, the relationship realigning. He waited, giving her time to adjust. At last. “Very well, Sir. I accept your terms.”
“Thank you. Now, I expect you have terms of your own to negotiate. Is that correct?”
“I’m not sure? Do I?”
“Earlier, this afternoon, you asked about having sex. That’s your call, George, and now is the time to make it. I’ll work within the boundaries you set. Similarly, if there is anything you really don't want me to do to you, any place you prefer not to be touched for example, you can tell me and I will respect it.”
Her expression now was one of dawning understanding. “This is you being Sir, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It’s a part of it, yes. I intend to earn your trust, and deserve your submission. So, what are your terms?”
She chewed on her lip some more and dropped her gaze. Aidan shoved the tights and knickers he still held into his pocket, then stepped forward and took her face between his hands. He tilted her head back so she met his eyes again.
“Your terms, George?”
“It’s all right, all of it. Anything you want to do,” she whispered.
He smiled at her. “George, I know it’s hard, but I need you to be specific if you can. Say the words for me, please. What is it that’s all right?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
He smiled encouragement at her. “Okay, so far so good.”
“And, you can touch me. Anywhere.”
“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now, more positive. “Anywhere. I want you to make me come. If you would, please. Sir.”
His smile brightened. The words had just tumbled out, as though she needed to just say what he wanted to hear and get it over with. He understood her discomfort with the explicit demands he made. She would become accustomed to articulating her needs, in time. But right now it was new and unfamiliar, and very difficult for her.
He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. “I already told you I would do that. And this too? May I kiss you?”
“Oh yes, please, please kiss me.”

More about me…
I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. I still love reading, the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse for my guilty pleasure – research.
I tend to draw on my own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to my plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.
When not writing – which is not very often these days - my time is divided between my role as resident taxi driver for my teenage daughter, and caring for a couple of dogs, two tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel. 
I have twenty seven (at the last count) titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and I have several more in the pipeline. All my books feature BDSM. I write explicit stories, always hot, but they offer far more than just sizzling sex. I like to read about complex characters, and compelling plots, so that’s what I write too. Strong, demanding Doms are a given, often paired with new submissives who have a lot to learn.
I have a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keep thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from me.

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