Saturday, June 27, 2015

#My Sexy Saturday from Incendiary #MSSAuthors

#MySexySaturday authors bring 7 words, 7 sentences, or 7 paragraphs of hotness from a work-in-progress of an already released novel.

My excerpt comes from my current release, Incendiary

“Georgie, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, cradling my face between his hands.

My body melts into his. I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, lost in his clean smell and minty taste. He lifts me off my feet.

“Let’s finish talking,” I murmur, doubts and insecurities plaguing me.

“No. After we fuck,” he amends when I stiffen.

“Sloane—” His name is lost against his lips.

He releases me and I land on the bed, where he quickly follows, covering me with his body. The weight of him presses against mine and I open my legs, tilting my hips up, logic and desire warring with each other.

Lifting my skirt, he slides his hand into my panties, teases my hairless mound before finding my clit and caressing it with the lightest touch. Goose bumps travel along my skin, and I shudder. His cock is big and hard, rising between us.


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Friday, June 26, 2015

Author Interview - Ivory Quinn

Sex, drink and rock and roll...Jax's life is a carousel spinning wildly out of control until the woman of his dreams throws a drink at him in a bar and teaches him the power of the word no.

Phoebe Robbins has a darkness of her own. It's been two years since her life derailed in the most spectacular way and she's unwilling to let this hedonistic rock star into her recovery, but he has a knack of getting his own way and she's powerless to resist.

As the two unite to face their pasts together, they don't always take the route well-travelled, but sometimes the destination IS the journey and you don't know what you want until you get there

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Name: Ivory Quinn

Describe your writing style in three words…….
Poignant transformative kink

Which is your favourite chapter that you have written and why?
It's the scene at the end of Redemption when Blue walks into the play room and Red is there, kneeling with the piece of ribbon. It's the culmination of every moment of trust and heartbreak in the two books leading up to that point. I cried like a child for the whole fortnight it took me to write it, because it was so hopeful and so painful and so beautiful and so ugly all at once. It's all about the lengths that we'll go to for the people that we love, but in a way of healing instead of destruction. It was also the first time that we really saw any vulnerability in Blue and I know from talking to my readers that a lot of them abandoned their lust for him in that moment and fell head over heels in love instead. It's a really special scene.

Is there a message in your novel/novels that you want your reader to grasp?
I've never made any secret of the fact that the events of the Darkness Falls world are loosely (really loosely) based around my own experiences in an abusive relationship. It's been kind of fascinating watching the fallout from the books, when people realise for the first time that being smart and independent and suspicious of things that seem too good to be true isn't enough to protect you from falling down the rabbit hole. Even the best of women can get in over their heads before they're aware of what's happening. It's so insidious and love can make you so blind. It can destroy everything you have in your life and yet, somehow, you can still rise from that as a better and stronger person. My readers follow that journey with my characters, understanding how they came to be at rock bottom and how to fix it, learning how to live again. The second book is transformative and redemptive but it's not easy. I know from a lot of the emails I've had that people end the first book still not understanding what's happened and so the second one hits them like a freight train. They go through all the phases of grieving, especially denial, and then when it's over they go back and read the first one again with new eyes. It's even more powerful the second time round because even though you know what's happening, you still want to love him and you want their relationship to work. No person is all good and all bad. You can still love a person that wants to break you because there is much in them to love. Sometimes it's just not enough.

What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
Network. Network like crazy. And I don't mean bombard people with irritating spam/sales messages, or obliquely bombard them with invitations to things. The minute you start writing, just reach out and make friends with people. Take an interest in other authors and learn what you can from them about the craft, being sure to help them out in return so that it is a true friendship. Do the same with bloggers and beta readers and cover designers. Make friends that can give you advice when you need it and make sure they know you'll be there when the tables are turned. More importantly, be there when they need you. There's a lot of drama in the Indie community and yeah, there are a lot of cliques too. Having a raft of friends to sail through the troubled waters with is what will keep you afloat. (And when you see the drama, pretend it's a shark and paddle furiously in the other direction. You don't want to get bitten.) Then, in a year or two years, when you're experienced and comfortable in what you're doing, take a chance and pay it forward to some other up and coming author looking for friends and advice.

If you could meet one of your own characters who would it be and why?
Blue. He'd be such a riot. I suspect an afternoon with him would spark more laughter than a month with anyone else.

Most embarrassing moment?
In the books? Um...Probably that time Noelle got drunk and woke up in the hospital without a clue what she'd done.

Quick fire:
Hard or Soft? Hard
Early bird or Night owl? Night owl. Definitely night owl!
Coffee and Tea? Tea. But I'm British, so that's not really a surprise.
Right handed or Left handed? Right-handed
Cake or Cookies? Cake. Always cake.

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Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Incendiary is Now LIVE at Amazon


Georgie has destroyed me. She's threatened my freedom and everything I've worked so hard to build. My band, my music, is the last thing on my mind. I want her to pay for all she's done.

But she's still my Georgie, and my desire for her is as hot as ever. She's my inferno, my biggest mistake and my greatest reward.

My fans see her as their idol's downfall. When her life is threatened, I realize there's nothing in the world more important to me than her.

She's my flame.

I'm her anchor.

Together, we're explosive.

We are incendiary.

For mature audiences only. Incendiary is not a standalone novel, but is the conclusion to Georgiana McCall's and Sloane Mason's story that began in Inferno.


The hot water relaxes my muscles and diminishes the last of the lingering fury that I shoved aside during my time in the nursery. Expecting Georgie to have Bryn with her or to still be in the nursery, I’m surprised to find her alone in bed. Her head rests on her drawn up knees and her black hair fans around her, hiding her face from view and blanketing her back. She’s deep in thought, only alerted to my presence when I toss my towel over the nearby chair. The moment she sits up, my gaze drops to her bare breasts, vaguely aware of the still healing wounds on her shoulder and arm.

Her nudity distracts me from anything else. My cock stiffens and my nuts throb.

Rising from the bed, she glides to me, stopping inches from my body and searching my face. Neither of us speak. I should. This is a big step for her and a turning point for us. She flattens her palm against my chest and skims her fingers down to my dick. Her touch makes me clumsy with anticipation, completely destroying my smooth moves and speaking capabilities.

Arm around her waist, I lift her up and dislodge her hand. Fastening my mouth to hers, I guide us down onto the bed, encouraged by her soft moans. I massage her nipple between two fingers, enjoying the taste, texture, and feel of her.

My tongue glides down her neck, pausing to taste the nipple I’ve neglected, before continuing down to her cunt and burying my face against her. I lick from the top of her pussy to her delicate opening, grunting when she widens her legs and threads her fingers through my hair. Nose against her clit, I tongue the inside of her lips, worshipping her with the pleasure she deserves and craves.

Whimpering, she shudders against my mouth, her taste the most addictive drug I’ve ever indulged in, her soft cries and the wet heat filling my mouth removing all sense of time as I feast on her pussy. The intensity of her orgasms increase with each one she has. Her pussy is flushed and engorged, her juices glistening on her cunt lips and sliding down to her ass.

Rising above her, I guide my dick into her, her thighs cradling me. She arches into my thrusts, the feel of her hot depths electrifying my nerve endings. “You’re so fucking wet.”

She groans. “I love the feel of your dick in me, Sloane.”

She’s trying to fucking kill me.

Licking my chin, she tastes her pussy juice, then sucks at my tongue, her muscles squeezing my cock.

“Fuck, Georgiana.”

Her nails sink into my back, the pain turning into pleasure the moment I feel the sting. Grabbing her hands, I trap them above her head.

“I’m yours,” she whispers between gasps. “Body, heart, and soul.”

There’s so much I have to say to her. What she means to me and what she’s given to me.

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Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Incendiary by Kathryn Kelly

The conclusion to Georgie and Sloane's story will be out June 17, 2015

Chapter One 
The air-conditioning cools me, as I sip fresh lemonade and listen for the front door opening, heralding Grandma’s return. She prefers me to stay in my apartment, as she calls it. In reality, it’s just a bunch of rooms in her house, converted into my space. Or my prison, depending on how I choose to see it. Apartment, prison, a bunch of rooms, or living quarters, it’s confining. Period. End of story. I have a maid assigned to me, and Grandma sees me every day, usually once. Whenever Josh is in town, we have dinner at my six-seated table, where I go to great lengths to show him everything is fine. In so many regards, it is.

I don’t have an allowance anymore, so that’s different. Still, I want for nothing.

Except the same as always. Someone to love me.

Grandma’s house is gorgeous, with all types of antique furnishings, one-of-a-kind works of art, and imported collectibles. If I’m honest, I’m glad she keeps me stuck in my quarters. Amongst Grandma’s possessions, I’m nervous. They represent everything I’m not. Her stuff is valued and valuable. I’m neither.

If something in her house goes missing or is stolen, if anything is broken, nicked, chipped, scratched…whatevera big stink will arise.

Again, that wouldn’t happen on my behalf. When I’m outside of the rooms I’ve been allotted, I often think of the repercussions if I accidentally damage her belongings.

I risk discovery roaming about the house. This time, a wild, trapped feeling and overwhelming thoughts of Sloane runs me out of my rooms. My vivid dreams of him last night and my morning where I waited and prayed he’d call are too much for me.

Did Kiln even tell him I was having a little girl?

Before I traipsed about in Grandma’s space, I walked outside, hoping to quell my loneliness and the pain at the continued silence of my phone. The sun on my face and the sweet scent of flowers helped slightly. Over and over, I reminded myself that I’m an adult now.  I must act my age for the child I’m bringing into the world.

I strengthen my resolve to keep her, too. Grandma wants me to put her up for adoption. I’m just as determined never to allow it.

Several times, I’ve thought of running away. If only I had somewhere to go, someone who wanted me, I would. Calling a social service agency has crossed my mind, then I push the idea away. I’m not battered or in danger, so a women’s shelter is out. I’m not poor—not really—or homeless. I’m penniless, however.

My life is freakily fucked. Not a dollar to my name. No credit cards or checkbooks. Nevertheless, my maternity clothes are spectacular and the baby’s clothes are from the best shops in the world. With wardrobes, Grandma exceeds Mom. Where my mother purchases designer clothes through a stylist, my grandmother brings in the designer, so our clothes are custom made. The amount of money spent on my outfits could pay for a decent sized house for a middle-class family.

In essence, I’m still getting things. Meanwhile, Grandma happily goes about committing Guerilla warfare on my peace of mind.


Panic rises in me, when I hear my name until it registers one of the maids is calling me.

Swallowing, I lumber to my feet. Time’s running out before Grandma returns. In all fairness, she hasn’t told me not to contaminate her house with my presence. However, whenever I’ve come downstairs uninvited, her look and attitude are so rigid and cold, words are pointless.

Once I failed all my lessons and remained just a junior in high school, I became unworthy to walk her hallways. She’s ashamed of me. The idea crushes me and—

The servant clears her throat and I flush, balling my fists at my sides so I won’t touch my stomach. It just reminds every one of my baby. Yes, my belly is huge, but it’s easier to pretend I’m overweight rather than a Mom-to-be.

“Georgiana!” she calls in exasperation.

“Sorry,” I mutter, biting down on my lip.

“There’s a detective who needs to talk to you.”

My brows draw together. “Me?” There’s no reason a cop should want to see me. I’ve done nothing. I haven’t gone many places to do anything. “A detective?”

Is this a coincidence or does it have something to do with the phone call?

Since hearing from Kiln yesterday, I’ve thought of little else. Though stupid on my part, I expected a response from Sloane to the news I’m carrying his daughter.

The unshakeable faith I once had in him is disintegrating. Doubtful anything will ever fully extinguish it. Besides, emotional attachments aren’t easy to overcome and, now we’ll always share a connection because of the baby. Right now, she’s inside of me, but I don’t think my feelings will change much toward him when she’s in my arms. They may even grow stronger. Because of Sloane, I’ll never be alone again.

I’ll have my little girl.

“The detective, Georgiana,” the maid inserts briskly.

The cop’s arrival interrupted her wood polishing duties, evidenced by the wool cloth flung over her shoulder. She’s standing five feet away, but lemon oil wafts from her and turns my stomach. At the beginning of my pregnancy, morning sickness kicked my ass. Once Sloane sent me away, food wouldn’t stay down. It eased up a couple of weeks into my second trimester. Lately, though, my stomach has returned to its fragile state, and I’ve been nauseated a lot.

Even if the maid knew this, she wouldn’t do much to step away and remove the scent invading my nostrils. Around here, I’m inconsequential.

“He said it won’t take long.” She lifts a brow in expectation, almost as snooty as Grandma.

All of her servants act as if they’re better than me. My parents ignored me at home, but at least the household staff didn’t disdain me. Then. What they’d subject me to now, I can’t imagine.

Dejection threatens to overwhelm me. Ruthlessly, I shove it away. My baby is what I am as long as she’s inside of me. If I’m healthy and happy, she will be too.


The maid glares at me, and I sigh. “Show him in.”

I debate on whether I should sit or remain standing, to best hide my nervousness.

Striving for a calm demeanor, I return to the settee and pull my cell phone from my pocket. Irritation surges in me. Grandma insists I call furniture resembling a plain, old loveseat, something quite old-fashioned.

A chill sweeps through me, but I attempt to convince myself the cold, marble floors are affecting me. It doesn’t work. My goosebumps stem from a detective wanting to see me.

There’s no avoiding this visit. No one here will cover for me. If Grandma were home, she would. Without a doubt, she’d talk to the man, with her need to be in control at all times. Grandma only allows me in-depth contact with her, my maid, Lindsey, and Josh. Unless she arranges an appointment for me, such as OB check-ups, it isn’t happening.

Five minutes later, a voice clears and I focus my wandering mind. The original servant who came to me with the announcement of my unwanted visitor has been replaced by another one, still in black and white. Required attire for Grandma’s staff is black pants and vest with a white shirt for men and a black dress with a white apron for women. The uniforms are the reason I try my best to never wear black and white.

“Sorry it took so long to show him in,” the maid says. “He needed the lavatory.”

I lower my lashes to prevent my glare at the word lavatory. One day, I’m scoping out the staff’s quarters. I bet I’ll find the Helen Sanderson Dictionary on Annoying and Outdated Words, as well as an etiquette book on proper behavior. One rule would be texting is classless communication.

Grandma hates texts, but I fire off a quick one to her. I don’t know the protocol of a detective overhearing me ratting out his presence to my grandmother via a phone call.

“This is Detective Stu Jackson.” This maid is a tad friendlier and nods to me. I wish I remembered her name. Grandma just has too many people attending to her every need, for me to know who’s who. Maybe, if I hung around them more, I’d better identify everyone. “Detective, this is Georgiana McCall.”

Detective Jackson’s gaze falls on my stomach and he lifts a brow, shifting a thick folder he’s holding from one hand to the other. Not liking the way he’s staring at my belly, I shift my weight. I’m already on edge. His attitude heightens my tension. I can’t pinpoint his age, but he has a rugged, outdoorsy look. He isn’t handsome, but neither can he be called ugly, even though his top lip is thin. With a better look, I decide he has a chicken lip. It’s not only thin but nonexistent.

I hold back a giggle and deepen my study, to have something to concentrate on, other than how freaked I am by his visit.

Despite that top lip, the detective somehow reminds me of Sam, the doomed tutor Sloane hired for me. Detective Jackson has a suit and tie on while Sam wore trousers, a button-down shirt, and a bowtie. Sam’s face was also more classically handsome. The shape of the two men’s brows match.

Why do I find that so weird or relevant?

Laying the folder on the coffee table, Detective Jackson digs into his jacket and comes out with a small recorder, pen, and notepad. After he sets the items on top of the folder, he puts his hands on his hips and studies me. The placement of his hands pushes his jacket back. I glimpse the badge clipped to his belt, along with a holstered gun.

I lick my lips and place my cell phone next to me, within easy reach if Grandma responds to my message, then I brush bits of hair behind my ear. Without invitation, he sits on the sofa that I’m allowed to call a sofa, directly across from me.

“What’s this about?” Doing my best not to fidget, I cross my fingers, hoping Grandma responds. Judging by the size of the folder, this is a serious matter. “Why are you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.” His voice is kinder than expected. My tension isn’t eased.

“About what?” I squeak out, wincing internally. To stay in control of this situation, I have to keep calm.

He doesn’t draw out his answer, saying simply, “Sloane Mason.”

Incendiary Blurb:
Georgie has destroyed me. She's threatened my freedom and everything I've worked so hard to build. My band, my music, is the last thing on my mind. I want her to pay for all she's done.
But she's still my Georgie, and my desire for her is as hot as ever. She's my inferno, my biggest mistake and my greatest reward.
My fans see her as their idol's downfall. When her life is threatened, I will come to realize there's nothing in the world more important to me than her.
She's my flame.
I'm her anchor.
Together, we're explosive.
 We are incendiary.
 For mature audiences only. Incendiary is not a standalone novel, but is the conclusion to Georgiana McCall's and Sloane Mason's story that began in Inferno. WARNING: Contains triggers.
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