a look at Properly, Or Not At All by Lucy Felthouse #MF #BDSM #audiobook #audible @cw1985

Good news for audiobook fans who love a spanking short story—Properly, Or Not At All is now available to listen, thanks to the amazing talents of Frankie Holland!

Blurb

Can a husband and wife cope when one of their favourite sexual pastimes is taken away from them?

Tristan and Jayme are not only devoted husband and wife, they are also Dominant and submissive, with a particular penchant for spanking. They’ve been playing delicious kinky games for the fifteen years they’ve been together, and couldn’t be happier. However, when Tristan develops a health issue that means he can’t redden his wife’s backside for a while, it puts them under a lot of strain. It’s a big part of their sex life, and they’ll miss it badly.

They try to find a way around their unfortunate predicament, but in the end, Tristan declares he will either spank Jayme’s bottom properly, or not at all.

The prospect of no spanking at all dismays Jayme, but she has no other choice. Or does she? She continues to put her mind towards the issue and she indulges in some solo experimentation, with mixed results. But how will Tristan react when he finds out his wife has gone behind his back?

Buy

Universal link: http://books2read.com/properlyV2

Excerpt

“You know what this fucking means, don’t you?” Tristan snapped, slamming his car keys onto the hall’s side table and storming into the kitchen.

Jayme hurried after him, her heart racing. Tristan rarely got angry—sure, he often pretended she’d done something wrong and faked being pissed off about it when they played D/s scenes, but real anger—it was something that just didn’t happen. She wasn’t quite sure what had sparked it, either. The news had been unfortunate, yes. Inconvenient, yes—but it wasn’t the end of the world. Tristan’s only choice was to follow the doctor’s advice.

“Um, I take it you mean aside from the obvious?” she ventured quietly, not wanting to piss him off even more.

“Yes,” he said on a heavy sigh, making it clear his anger and frustration weren’t aimed at her. “Come here, you.” He held out his arms, and when she went into them, he hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “Fucking hell, Jayme, I’m really going to miss spanking that beautiful arse of yours.”

“And I’m going to miss you doing it,” she murmured into his chest. Then, pulling back so she could make eye contact, continued, “But we’ll cope. There’s loads of other stuff we can do—we can still have fun. As much as I love it, it’s not worth making the problem worse, or screwing up your recovery once you’ve had the op. Your health is more important, babe.”

“Mmm…” came the reply, along with a very displeased expression.

“Hey,” Jayme said sharply, raising her eyebrows, “you might be in charge in the bedroom, mister, but I’m putting my foot down here. Hopefully you’ll get a date through for the operation really soon. And the sooner you have the op, the sooner you’ll be recovered and we can get back to normal. In the meantime,” she grinned widely, “we’ll just have to get creative, won’t we?”

Much to Jayme’s relief, Tristan finally smiled. “You’re right, as always, wife of mine. Clearly I’m not happy about this—fucking carpal tunnel bollocks, spoiling all our fun—but it could be a lot worse, I suppose. At least they’re not operating on my dick.”

“True.” She giggled. “That would take some creativity of epic proportions!”

“It would. So, does this mean we have to have sex more often, then?”

Frowning, Jayme replied, “How do you figure that out?”

“Well, if it’s too risky to spank you, then surely wanking is going to be bad for my wrist, too. And I’m not sure that when the doctor asked if we had any questions, he meant of this nature, did he?”

Jayme laughed again. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. I think we’d have given the poor man a heart attack if we’d started asking him how we were going to get on with our particular kind of sex life without exacerbating your problem. And I was under the impression we already had plenty of sex and that you don’t feel the need to toss yourself off very often.”

“I don’t.” He shrugged. “But you can’t blame a man for trying, can you? Especially when that man’s wife looks like you.”

“No, I suppose not.” She grinned, then slipped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Closing her eyes, Jayme allowed herself to get into the touching of their lips, the parting, the questing tongues, shoving all thoughts of not being able to have her arse reddened to the recesses of her mind. She loved Tristan with all her heart, and their relationship was so much more than sex and kink, so they’d just have to get on with it.

And what better way to get on with it than to find a way around their unfortunate predicament? She pulled Tristan’s bottom lip into her mouth, then sucked and nibbled at it, enjoying the guttural sounds this elicited from his throat. Letting go of his lip, she then sucked at his tongue, mimicking fellatio on the warm, wet flesh and smirking to herself as his rapidly growing erection pressed against her stomach.

God, yes. The two of them had been together fifteen years, married for thirteen, and were still crazy about each other. What was a little break from spanking in the scheme of things?

Sitting back suddenly as something occurred to her, she said, “Hey, gorgeous. Shall we take this to the bedroom? I’ve had an idea.”

Tristan grabbed her hand and they immediately headed for the bedroom. “Of course. What’s your idea, sweetheart?”

“Well, now,” she replied, grinning wickedly, “that would be telling, wouldn’t it? You’ll just have to wait.”

“Damn,” Tristan muttered, picking up his pace. “I can’t even threaten to punish you unless you tell me.”

“We’ll see.”

After throwing a confused look over his shoulder, he led them up the stairs and into their room before ushering her in and closing the door behind them. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, pulling her back into his arms.

“Now, now,” she replied, pushing his chest and wagging a finger at him. “No trying to butter me up just so I’ll cave and tell you what I have in mind.”

Adopting a mock-shocked expression, he said, “Moi? Would I do such a thing?”

“Yes! You bloody would!”

“Yeah, yeah, all right, all right. I totally bloody would. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. You are gorgeous, and I love you. And I want you.” Gesturing towards the erection that tented his jeans, he gave a wry grin. “And you’ll have me,” Jayme shot back matter of factly, beginning to remove her clothes. “Now, Sir, could I respectfully ask that you get naked?”

Author Info

a look at ‘Eyes Wide Open’ by Lucy Felthouse #MMF #BDSM #audio @cw1985

A chance meeting opens Fiona’s eyes to some very sexy possibilities.

About the Book

Good news for audiobook fans who also love steamy BDSM ménage romances—Eyes Wide Open is now available to listen, thanks to the amazing talents of Frankie Holland! Enjoy her dulcet tones as she takes you on an adventure through the swankiest parts of England’s capital city.

Blurb

* Recent graduate Fiona Gillespie is stuck working in a grimy pub in London’s East End, and living in a horrid flat. It’s only while she figures out what she wants to do career-wise, but that’s easier said than done.
* When she sees an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she jumps at the chance. Determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her dream role—and it comes with accommodation included.
* Her job and living situation sorted, things are on the up. Unfortunately, her personal life is lacklustre. It doesn’t bother her, though—not until she meets businessmen James and Logan, and her head is well and truly turned.
* When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor hotel suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover. Her imagination runs wild, but not wild enough to get to the truth—James and Logan are a couple, and they’re into some seriously intriguing activities.
* Fascinated, she launches herself into a whole new world with the two men. But is this just physical, or is their arrangement set to become something more?

Excerpt

Fiona Gillespie wiped a damp cloth half-heartedly over the surface of the bar. It was a pointless exercise. The pub’s fittings and fixtures were so old that no amount of scrubbing would remove the grime that had been ingrained in the wood over the decades. That and the next time she served one of the old drunks who frequented the place, it’d just get beer spilled on it again.
* Glancing at her surroundings in distaste, Fiona stifled a derisive snort when she caught sight of the swinging pub sign through the window. It had never really registered before, but The Royal Oak? There was nothing remotely royal about the pub in London’s East End where she worked. If an actual royal—even a minor one—so much as stepped foot across the threshold, they’d run screaming in the other direction. A shame, really, as a chance to try to woo Prince Harry would not go amiss. She was sure those mischievous eyes and smile hid a multitude of sexy sins. His grandmother would not approve. And besides, he was spoken for now.
* Abandoning her cloth with a sigh, she reached for a newspaper one of the patrons had left behind. There was hardly anyone in, as usual, so no glasses to collect, tables to wipe, or bowls of nuts to refill. A flick through the paper was her only source of entertainment. Or at least the only thing to stop her going completely out of her mind with boredom.
* It wasn’t quite where she’d seen herself when she’d decided to take a chance and move to London after graduating from university. But while she figured out her next career move—or any career move—this would have to do. It served a purpose—paying her a paltry wage, just enough to cover the rent and bills on her scummy flat, and food. There really wasn’t much left after that, so her social life mainly consisted of vegging in front of the TV with her flatmates.
* They’d club together their miniscule amount of disposable income to buy some cheap, supermarket own-brand lager and swap stories, either about their pasts or about how their current situation was just temporary—just a stepping stone on their way to success, to high-flying, ridiculously well-paid jobs in the banking world, the publishing industry, in PR, advertising, acting, production, tourism… The list went on.
* Fiona was absolutely determined to get a foot on the career ladder. She’d rather scurry back home to her parents in Birmingham with her tail between her legs than stay in this dump for much longer. The only trouble was, the others at least knew what they were aiming for, which particular ladder they were trying to grab hold of. She’d graduated with a first class honours in creative writing and didn’t have a clue what to do with the damn degree now she had it.
* Nobody got approached just for having a degree in creative writing, then were given a ton of money and told to sit down and write a book. It simply didn’t work like that—more was the pity. Even the world’s most famous and successful writers had had to start somewhere. And she wasn’t sure fiction writing was the way to go, anyway.
* A cough, accompanied by a whiff of stale smoke and booze, alerted her to the presence of a customer.
* Fixing a smile on her face, she turned to him and said politely, “What can I get you?”
* A white-haired, grizzled old guy with yellowing teeth—the teeth he still had, anyway—squinted at her. “Pint, if you’re not too busy reading the bleeding newspaper.”
* Holding the smile so firmly in place it hurt her now-gritted teeth, she took the proffered glass and filled it. After placing it back on the bar, she picked up the money that had been left. The exact right amount. This guy bought enough pints to know. She murmured her thanks as she deposited the money in the till, but she needn’t have bothered. The grumpy old sod was already halfway back to his table, precious beer in hand.
* She rolled her eyes. Then, after double checking there was nothing that needed doing, shifted her attention back to the newspaper, figuring it was better than wondering about a career she couldn’t even imagine.
* As it happened, the paper wasn’t all that engaging. It was several days out of date, so she knew about all the big news pieces already, and the weather and TV listings were now obsolete. But her interest was piqued when she reached the jobs section. She’d never looked in this particular publication for jobs before, thinking the online searches she did on various websites were more targeted, more relevant. But then, how could you target a role you didn’t even know you wanted?
* Skimming through the ads, she immediately dismissed many of them. She had no wish—or the qualifications—to drive an HGV, look after sick or old people, cold call, sell advertising, work in retail or become a model. But amongst all that was something interesting. Something that maybe, just maybe, she could do.
* She wasn’t entirely sure what being a PR assistant entailed, but it sounded like a very posh job title, and she could sure as hell tick the box of the phrase in the ad that had caught her eye in the first place. We’re looking for someone with creative writing skills.
* As she read through the information again, excitement bubbled in her stomach. The role was at a top London hotel—in Mayfair, no less—offered live-in accommodation, a generous starting salary, access to all the hotel’s amenities and, best of all, career progression. It was clear they wouldn’t employ just anybody and, if Fiona was honest with herself, they were probably looking for someone with more experience than her—which wasn’t difficult—but she had to give it a go. She had nothing to lose. If she didn’t get it, then she’d have gained some valuable interview experience—if she even got that far, that was—and if she did, well, then she’d have well and truly grabbed the bottom rung of the career ladder she’d been striving for.
* It was only on her third read-through, when she was mentally picking out key words and phrases she could use to help tailor her CV to the role and to write a spectacular covering letter, that she noticed the closing date for applications. For fuck’s sake! How typical was that? The only job advert she’d seen since arriving in the capital that had got her genuinely fired up, and she’d missed the bloody date by one day. One. Single. Day.

Buy

Universal link: http://books2read.com/eyeswideopenv2

About the Author

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter
Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

a look at Lucy Felthouse & ‘Good with His Hands’ #DownandDirty #Anthology @cw1985 @romancerebels69 #ParkRanger #BlueCollar #Romance

Today we have author Lucy Felthouse visiting. Welcome!

What would you like to tell readers about yourself?

* Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and Mia’s Men (The Heiress’s Harem Book 1). Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name.

Find Lucy Felthouse here…
Facebook | Goodreads | Newsletter | Pinterest | Twitter | Website

A look into Good with His Hands in the Down and Dirty anthology

~ Blurb ~

* Layla is enjoying a beautiful moorland walk in the English countryside when suddenly, clouds start to roll in. The weather was forecast to be fine all day, so Layla is woefully unprepared when the heavens open and her visibility is reduced to next to nothing. Trying hard not to panic, she carefully makes her way towards a remote hut she spotted before the fog descended. When she arrives, though, she discovers park ranger Stuart already there, and luckily for her, he’s much more prepared than she is, and they soon find a way to pass the time until the storm blows over.

~ Excerpt ~

* Anticipation seeped into Layla’s body, increasing with every second that ticked by. Each handhold she groped for, each push off with her feet brought her that bit closer to the moorland plateau she’d been wanting to explore ever since she’d seen photos of it in a Facebook group. She was a keen hiker—or walker, she’d never really understood what the difference was between the two—but she’d always stuck to places she knew well, or had at least visited a couple of times before, mainly because she always walked alone, and getting lost was bad enough without doing it by yourself.
* But one Sunday evening, after a flurry of yet more stunning photographs of the area had been uploaded to the group, Layla made up her mind. The following Sunday, she would join the seemingly scores of people that headed up to the dramatic-looking gritstone edge in Derbyshire’s Peak District every weekend, no matter the weather. Hikers, climbers, fell runners… they all raved about the place, despite the crowds. And if she did get lost, well, she’d just ask one of them for directions. No problem. Then, providing it was indeed as amazing as the photo-uploaders proclaimed it to be, she’d add it to her list of regular haunts. It’d make a refreshing change from her usual low-level trail walks.
* Now she was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about, and she wasn’t even at the top yet. After leaving the relative familiarity of the car park, she’d trekked through some dense woods—surprised to pass only one or two small groups of people on the way. She’d half expected it to look like London’s Oxford Street but with outdoorsy folk in hefty boots and backpacks instead of shoppers with umbrellas and carrier bags. The moment she’d stepped from the shadow of the woods, the landscape had opened up in front of her and she’d got a real sense of how special it was. Then she’d glanced up and to her right and, taking in the height of the edge she had yet to climb, realized she hadn’t seen the half of it yet.
* With one last push to get her onto a particularly large boulder, then a small step, she was there. On the gritstone edge, the moorland plateau—whatever you wanted to call it. As she took a couple of tentative steps forward and looked around, she decided she wanted to call it heaven. It was like nowhere she’d ever been before—so removed from everyday life that she was half convinced she’d stepped onto the moon, except it was unmistakeably England. Wild, untamed, rugged, but England nonetheless. How had she never been up here before? And were there more places like it? She suddenly felt like the worst kind of ignorant city dweller—her walks up until now had made a mockery of wearing walking boots. She may as well have done it in flip flops.
* She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and moved aside to let a group of three men in their early twenties pass. They had enormous, weirdly-shaped bags strapped to their backs, and yet strode along—exchanging smiles and nods with her when they drew level—as though their burdens weighed nothing.
* Layla shook her head incredulously and started to follow in the footsteps of the men. She didn’t need to consult her walk instructions yet—there was only one path, keeping footfall to a concentrated area for conservation purposes, according to a snippet of text she remembered reading on her printout. The trail stayed close to the edge—not so close as to be dangerous, but close enough to afford the most amazing views. The ground beneath her feet was made up of rough grasses, rocks and boulders in shades of gray, brown, and black, scrubby bushes, and what she suspected was heather. To her left, the stunning countryside went on for as far as the eye could see, with delightfully twisted trees in the foreground, followed by brown and green fields, woodlands, moorlands, and more fields, broken up only very occasionally by a road—often only identifiable by the moving glint of light that passed along them—vehicles highlighted by the reflection of the sun off their metalwork. It’d be easy to forget civilization even existed while up here.
* To her right, the moorland, a wash of browns and oranges stretched out—a haven for wildlife, no doubt.
* And ahead was… what was that? She squinted, trying to block out some of the bright sunlight so she could make out what she was looking at. She was still none the wiser, but after a minute or two she’d gotten close enough that she thought she knew. Set against the bright blue sky were a series of enormous… what did you call something that was bigger than a boulder? Bigger than a car, even! Amazed, she hurried closer to see the gigantic gritstone rocks, which she quickly realized had been where the men that had passed her earlier were headed. She now knew their oddly-shaped backpacks had contained climbing equipment, which they were currently sorting through in preparation for their chosen pastime. She took the opportunity to stop and have a drink of her water as she watched other climbers who’d arrived earlier scaling the rock faces, displaying incredible skill and physical strength as they navigated overhangs, seemingly impossibly smooth surfaces, and all manner of physical challenges.

~ Down and Dirty anthology ~

Releases: May 22, 2018 | Publisher: Romance Rebels Publishing | Cover Artist: Sinfully Sweet Designs

* Get in, get down…and get filthy with these sexy, hardworking, blue-collar heroes who don’t mind when things get a little dirty while at work or at play. This collection of 22 brand new stories from USA Today and International Best-Selling authors is full of scorching hot romance tales that will be sure to leave you breathless for more. These men work hard, and play even harder.
* From cops to mechanics, and miners to brewmasters, they aren’t afraid to go all in. At the end of the day, when they find the woman who completes them, they learn that love and life can be just as messy as their day job…and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
* Featuring stories from: Lori King, Maia Dylan, Sarah Marsh, Elena Kincaid, Cecile Tellier, London Saint James, Bella Settara, Rose Nickol, RL Merrill, Ashley Malkin, Lucy Felthouse, Scarlett J. Rose, Sydney Lea, CR Moss, Samantha A. Cole, Danielle James, Ava Campbell, Eva Moore, Kimberlie L. Faye, Sabrina Sol, Nikki Prince, and Mia Hopkins! Visit the Facebook Page

Pre-order the Down and Dirty anthology here…
AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Want more by Lucy Felthouse? Check out her story Mia’s Men

~ Blurb ~

The Heiress’s Harem: Book One
* Mia Harrington’s father just lost his brave battle with cancer. Naturally, she’s devastated. With her mother long-since dead, and no siblings, Mia has a great deal of responsibility to shoulder. She’s also the sole beneficiary of her father’s estate. Or so she thinks.
* Unbeknownst to Mia, her father made a change to his will. She can still inherit, but only if she marries a suitable man within twelve months. If she doesn’t, her vile cousin will get everything. Determined not to lose her beloved childhood home, she resolves to find someone that fits the bill. What she isn’t expecting, however, is for that someone to be into sharing women with his best friend. In the meantime, Mia’s friendship with the estate gardener has blossomed into so much more.
* She can’t possibly plan to marry one man, while also being involved with two others …or can she?

~ Excerpt ~

* Mia Harrington thanked James, her father’s butler—her butler now, she supposed—as she stood from behind her father’s desk in the estate office—now also hers, to welcome her visitor.
* “Mr Lenton. Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice. Please, come in, and take a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”
* The grey-haired, bespectacled man gave a tight smile and bustled over to the chair Mia had indicated. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. A glass of water would be fine.” He took a seat, then began removing files and papers from his briefcase and placing them on the desk.
* Once Mia had delivered two glasses of water to the desk and taken her own seat, the solicitor fixed her with what was undoubtedly an often-practised solemn expression. “Thank you. May I firstly offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your father? He was a wonderful man, and he will be greatly missed.”
* Mia barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She’d received so many condolences and expressions of sympathy in the last thirty hours that she was in danger of drowning in them. In many ways, of course, she deeply appreciated them—it was heart-warming and offered the merest sliver of comfort to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d loved Edward Harrington and genuinely mourned his loss.
* It was the sound-bite condolences that drove her crazy, from people that had barely known him, and those she’d never even heard of, let alone met. How could it possibly help Mia to know that Mrs Pipes from the post office in the village was terribly sorry for her loss? And it would only get worse once the death announcement went into the newspaper.
* She mentally shook herself. While Mrs Pipes might not matter, Mr Lenton most definitely did. He had been her father’s solicitor for many years now, and was here to discuss her father’s will with her. And, although she’d much rather not be dealing with the fallout, would much rather Edward Harrington was the one in the office with her right now, poring over paperwork; in the absence of a time machine or a magic wand, she had no choice. She had to hear what her father’s wishes were, and carry them out to the very best of her ability.
* Her remaining family members—distant as they were—thought it odd that Mia didn’t already know her father’s wishes. It wasn’t as if his death had been a surprise, after all. The man had been valiantly fighting cancer for two years, and finally it had won, leaving Mia devastated. Just because she’d known it was inevitable didn’t make bearing his loss any easier. In fact, the only thing that made it remotely tolerable was knowing he was no longer suffering from what, especially towards the end, had been horrific side-effects and discomfort.
* It was that overwhelming love and admiration, as well as simply not wanting to contemplate the “after”, that resulted in Mia’s refusing to talk to her father about what he wanted to happen once he was gone. Years ago, when he’d re-done his will following his wife—Mia’s mother’s—death, he’d basically told her she was the main beneficiary, as well as the executor, and that his funeral wishes were all there in black and white. With that knowledge in the back of her mind, Mia saw no need to further distress her father, or herself, by discussing something she wished with a fervent—albeit pointless—hope that she would never have to deal with. But here it was.
* “Thank you, Mr Lenton. I appreciate that,” she lied.

Buy Mia’s Men here…
Amazon (universal link) | Add to Goodreads

Thank you for joining us here today, Lucy Felthouse! It was a pleasure getting to know you and your stories.