Lust After Death (Love-Bots, Book 1) by Daisy Harris released today

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Lust After Death (Love-Bots, Book 1) by Daisy Harris

In the Pacific Northwest, where life hurries to keep pace with technology, a re-animated bride named Josie struggles to escape her creator and tofind her identity in the half-erased circuitry of her mind and body.

Assassin Bane Connor just wants to get the girl to the Zombie Underground and receive his payoff-a mental reset that will erase his memories as well as his guilt. But an attack by a rival faction derails his rescue, and the wide-eyed female whose circuitry requires a husband tears at his hardened heart and ignites desire like he’s never known.

Lust After Death available to buy today; whet your whistle with the following excerpt…

lustafterdeathcoverShe picked up a bar of soap and her eyes widened. Normally Bane hated how newbies wondered at every damn thing—but this girl didn’t look stupid. She looked kind, excited, happy. The bar slipped out of her hands into the water and Bane watched as she dove head-first to find it. His hand left his dick to grab at the metal. He worried she might not know enough not to breathe under there.

Her head popped up again and she flipped her ebony mane from her face. A grin split her face. Damp curls of hair framed her cheeks, tangled at her shoulders, licked at her collarbone. She giggled and rolled the soap in her hands. Her eyelids fluttered as she smoothed the cream over her arms and up the long column of her neck.

Bane’s fingers traced over his lips as he watched her soap her body. He held his breath, silently urging her hand lower.

She obliged, skimming over the curve of her breasts before sliding her touch down her belly. Her palm dipped below the water and he lost sight of it, but her eyes fell to half-mast and her lips parted. When her arm reached farther, the girl’s eyes pressed tight as her mouth made a shape like an O.

Fuck! His legs swung out from under him and his fingertips barely caught on the thin ledge. Bane hung there for a moment, wondering whether to drop to the ground or pull back up. Despite his better judgment, he wedged his toe into a crack in the concrete wall and angled his body to push his torso higher until he once again peered like a letch through her window.

He shouted, finding her face right up to the glass. Her mahogany stare met his—surprised, curious, but not frightened. One corner of her mouth curled up into a lopsided, cherubic smile. She reached out a hand to the window and traced his face. When her fingertips covered his lips, her other hand reached up, stroking her own mouth.

Bane lost his grip, and with a winding thud, fell flat on his ass.


Ladies and gentlemen, the author, Daisy Harris….

authorpicBirkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn’t sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris’s dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.

She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she’s never missed an episode of The Walking Dead.

Get your social media on at website, Twitter and Facebook.

Buy Lust After Death at Amazon, Ellora’s Cave and Barnes and Noble.


Mysti Holiday’s Sugar Walls Released Today!

When Emilie is dumped by her boyfriend, best friend Jack Voss offers a shoulder and a place to live–the other side of his duplex. He’s always there, fixing her problems, her car, her sink. Emilie doesn’t know what she’d do without him, or with the feelings she’s having for him. His shoulder doesn’t just offer comfort anymore; his touch is a turn-on. Their shared wall is the only thing keeping them from sharing a bedroom—and fanning the flames might risk breaking something that Jack can’t fix.

Sugar Walls is released today so whet your appetite with the following excerpt…

A glance back down at the man who was driving her crazy nearly made her moan. He shifted, his ass moved and his thighs flexed as he crawled forward a few inches. The denim of his worn jeans hugged him as tightly as Em dreamed of doing and, before she had time to think about it, she took a step Forward, hands outstretched to snatch hold of the prize. She stopped herself just in time and tucked her hands behind her back to keep from doing something stupid.

“So, Jack?” Her voice was tight with desire and discomfort.

“Hmm?” He peeked at her over one shoulder, a smile in those midnight blue eyes, then quickly returned his attention to the pipe.

“Almost done?” She hoped so, because at this rate, she’d come just from thinking about him.

“Nearly there. Leak’s almost plugged.”

I’ve got a leak you can plug. Her panties soaked with more cream than any one woman should have when she envisioned him plunging into her, filling her pussy with his hard cock. Heat rushed up her neck, and her heart pounded so loudly, surely he could hear it. Dear God. She tried to picture herself in a cold shower to kill some of the heat but cursed again when he joined her there in her mind and slid soapy hands over her damp skin, across her breasts, and down her—

“There.” His voice jolted her out of the hot daydream, and she jumped an inch off the floor. He backed out from the cupboard and turned to smile at her. “All fixed.”

Mysti Holiday will be giving away a $10 Amazon gift card to one random commenter at the conclusion of the tour so be sure to follow it for your chance to win.

Mysti Holiday is the pseudonym of a very busy SAHM who dreams of warm climes and hot bodies.  Most people know she writes, but not what she writes about:  sexy men and the wanton women who love them.

She’s married to a wonderful man who happily sacrifices himself for research, and she spends most of her days dreaming of interesting and unusual situations in which to place her characters.  But most of all, she’s a sucker for a happy ending.




Valuable Vista – part 2

She saw the colour of his eyes.

Through two panes of glass, her white sheer curtain, the darkness and the distance, she saw his eyes like he was standing in front of her.                 

The sensation was visceral enough to sap a little of her confidence, making her abandon her regular viewing point atop her bed, returning to the cover of the wall neighbouring the window of early days.  

From her secluded position, she could watch him surreptitiously, the nameless man who seemed content to live his life behind an uncovered window. The confidence of the dark-haired semi-stranger was evident as he had no qualms about conducting acts in front of the window. Even personal, intimate procedures were fair game, which was why he had no qualms about drying himself after a shower in full view of anyone who might be looking through the window. Namely, Gail.

As she watched him towel droplets of water from his skin, she knew she couldn’t blame him. With his view being the same alleyway that made up hers, he probably thought he was safe from being overlooked. He didn’t count on Gail and her window directly opposite.

Escaped drops flowed down his skin in uneven paths, leaving gleaming trails on surprisingly natural-looking tanned skin—she knew he hadn’t been away. 

So mesmerised by the sight, Gail barely noticed the towel was strategically placed, held at his crotch and draped over one leg to prevent her from seeing everything. Still able to see the slight curve of the muscle bulging in his thigh, she let her gaze drift up over his defined abdomen.

Holding her breath as she slowly continued to his face, knowing that even a partial glimpse of his expression would be satisfying. A warm sensation flowed through her like a waterfall, settling in a pool between her thighs. The sight that Gail was used to—looking down at his body in what he thought was a private moment—had been replaced. Instead, he was looking up, directly through the window.

For a moment, Gail was unsure that he could see her, though her heart began to pound in panic. Readying herself for a retreat, Gail froze on seeing his arm move, lifting his hand to tap the glass. Though she couldn’t hear the sound, she saw the motion. If she had been in any doubt, his wide smile, glinting white through the dim light, made it clear.

Flash Fiction: Valuable Vista – part 1?

I had intended to post a flash fiction piece on my blog, but I find limits difficult: I’ve been known to end up with a novel after I started out writing a short story. As a comprise, I’ll be posting a short story in instalments, with each one standing alone.

What follows is part one of Valuable Vista…


Like most people, she aspired to bigger and better—a large family home and possibly a pied à terre in the country—but in the meantime, Gail lived in a tiny flat.    

While it had it disadvantages, there were also some benefits to living in a box in close proximity to others. Gail liked her little flat, a cosy sanctuary from the world, which had everything she could need. It also offered things she didn’t need, but wanted all the same.

Gail was sure that many would be put out by the bedroom’s lack of view, but she took pleasure from it.

The brickwork of the near identical box across the alleyway could almost be touched if she leaned out of the window far enough. The window of the neighbouring building was almost opposite hers—perfect for the voyeur in her.

Not only did she not know his name, she didn’t know his story, but watching him was one of her favourite pastimes, guaranteed to satisfy her.

At first, she would conceal herself to get her fix, flattened against the wall next to the curtained window to peek through. However, after many months of going unnoticed while watching him, Gail had become emboldened.

Sitting on her bed, directly in front of the window, was her favourite place from which to see the sights. In the darkness of her room, she saw his lack of window covering as an invitation.  

From the look of his physique, toned and tanned, she speculated on his job, his athletic ability and his sexual prowess.

The sight of him pulling his T-shirt over his head was guaranteed to make her hold her breath, no matter how many times she saw it. Moving around as he disrobed, he tantalised her by momentarily disappearing from her eye line. Sometimes he returned to her view wearing less, other times in the same state—always comfortable in front of the window. From his mannerisms, she wondered whether he knew she was there. Watching him raking his fingers back through his hair, revealing his boy-band looks, her vulva pulsed with a deep clench.

It was possible that a furtive glance confirmed she was there—giving him the knowledge to know when to put on a show.

Life Imitating Art

I’m sure that many people believe that writers of erotic romance draw on their own experiences when writing their erotic scenes. A case of art imitating life. They’re not entirely wrong—many do, but that doesn’t mean it is always true.

The imagination is a wonderful thing. Without it, there would be a whole array of television programmes, movies, plays and books that we would never have been able to enjoy. This is equally the case when it comes to erotica. Creating an imaginary world is par for the course for fiction writers, allowing to bring to life all the goings-on in our minds.

Of course, there are times when a story is purely imaginary, seeming to stem from nowhere. (For me, this is often when doing the most mundane things, like washing dishes and supermarket shopping.) But other times, we just can’t help but using our own fantasies for inspiration.

The question of genres made me think of this topic because I write in several of them, but then considered whether that arises simply becuase I have a vivid imagination or whether I am also using a few fantasies. 

For my part, the two seemed to have combined in many cases. I suspect it is a situation that is mostly unique to writers of romance fiction in its many forms. For example, I have just finished reading Blaze by Stephen King as Richard Bachman. While it is an engaging tale about a career-criminal who finds his soft side after kidnapping a baby for ransom, I can’t imagine that anyone in possession of all their faculties would fantasise about such a thing.

Writers will offer a number of reasons for why they enjoy the process—making up the plot, creating the characters, the satisfaction of getting a story accepted or even release day. However, getting a fantasy down on paper can also be one of the more pleasurable aspects.

After the gratification of putting a fantasy into words, tweaking and embellishing to make it perfect, the first thing you want to do is try it. What else would you do? I wonder whether it is just me or whether other writers have the same reaction. Creating a world that seems authentic makes me curious to see how an experience from that world stands up to reality.

There are so many experiences that I have enjoyed, which I’m not sure I would have if it wasn’t for my writing. Just another reason why I love erotic romance! Besides that, my adventures have also served to fuel more of my fantasies. And so it continues…

Give Good Sex?

I read an interesting newspaper article a while ago about concerns raised by the judges of the Booker Prize. Not that they were unable to pick a winner, or that there was anything wrong with the quality of the nominated works, the problem was—of course—sex. Was there any doubt?  

Rather than there being too much of it, the opposite was the problem as the judges were expecting lots of the good stuff from the nominated books but got nada. Well, they got some, but not enough to satisfy them. It proved to be such a big issue that it was repeatedly discussed, which resulted in the authors themselves confirming their reasons.

The nominees offered an array of reasons for why they avoid writing about the sexual act, but it all boiled down to “I don’t wanna!”  

There was some talk of the authors being worried about earning the Literary Review’s Bad Sex Award, which is given to writers who pen sex scenes that are less than erotic. The idea of the critics merely being failed writers was little comfort, with many admitting that they would feel humiliated and upset if their work was chosen. This reason seems like a valid one, but this was not the only one put forward.

One of the most interesting reasons for not writing about sex came from a very well-known English writer, who told a crowd at a book festival that it was actually impossible for a novelist to write about real sex, as opposed to the pornographic variety. Sex is too personal and, therefore, cannot be universal. Who says it has to be universal? It was even suggested that a ‘closed door’ and implications are more effective. It seems that these people are of the same mindset as those that sought to prosecute Penguin under obscenity laws due to Lady Chatterley’s Lover – and that was 50 years ago!

An editor of the Literary Review went so far as to say that there are no cases where sex scenes work in fiction. (Though the Bad Sex Awards are meant to be light-hearted rather than humiliating.) Other writers suggested that it was difficult to write about ordinary or loving sex, which resulted in books containing drug use and rape.        

I can only wonder what I and the many other erotic writers out there are doing when this type of opinion exists. Who is reading all the erotic tales that exist if they’re so bad? It is very disheartening to realise that literature is affected by such prudish ideas.

Fortunately, the article mentioned several other writers that had the opposite view. A story in which the heroine losing her virginity was an integral part of the story, gay writers writing novels that they can see themselves in. It is by using these sex scenes that the writers reveal the true personalities of their characters. What’s wrong with that?     

There is one glimmer of hope that shines through the fog of nonsense, bright enough to offer a little hope—at least the judges wanted to read about sex!

New web site live

My new web site is live…..looks amazing!

You’ll find details of my all my shorts, novellas and novels and where to buy them, some free reads (naughty but nice), plus all my contact information.  Go and take a look around, you know you want to

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