Sunday, November 24, 2013
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Her Secret Ingredient—Yum, Lickable Treats from Fabulous Lisabet Sarai! Run, do not walk to read the excerpts here…
Her Secret Ingredient – M/F/M BDSM Erotic Romance from Lisabet Sarai
Available 15 November from Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/her-secret-ingredient
Buy from Totally Bound and get a sizzling extra chapter, available only to TB VIP readers!
Her Secret Ingredient by Lisabet Sarai
Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion
When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee “Emily” Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is sceptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can't help being attracted to him.
Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily's show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne's consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can't do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting M. Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever - until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.
“How are you getting on with Monsieur le Chef?”
“What?” I nearly toppled off my stool. I’d been focused on my iPad, poring over my recipe files and trying to figure out how much I’d need to modify them to satisfy Duvalier.
A firm grip steadied me. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. Etienne said you might need some help with your test dishes.” When he was certain I was not going to fall, the newcomer released my shoulder and extended his hand. “Harry Sanborne, at your service. Head producer, chief bottle washer, and all-around handy-man.”
A thirty-something man with longish black hair and dark-rimmed glasses grinned down at me. He wore loose-fitting jeans, a green plaid sport shirt and a dreadful beige cardigan sweater like something that might have belonged to my Chinese grandfather. Somehow I’d expected the producer would be more corporate. This guy looked like he belonged behind the counter at some back street bookstore. He had scrumptious nutmeg brown eyes, though, brimming with laughter behind his spectacles, and I heard genuine warmth in his voice.
“Mei Lee Wong. But you already know that. My friends call me Emily.”
“I hope I can count myself in that fortunate number, Emily!” He hiked his bottom up onto the stool beside mine. His baggy clothing didn’t completely conceal the fact that he was lithe and fit. “So does he have you cringing in terror yet?”
“Not exactly. Let’s just say that our culinary philosophies are not exactly in sync.”
“He’s been at you about the sacredness of French cuisine, hmm? Talking about how it’s a sacrilege to modify the holy recipes that have been passed down through the centuries?”
I chuckled. “That’s exactly the word he used! The problem is, all my recipes are riffs on traditional dishes. My specialty is contemporary French-Asian fusion. I’ll have to start from scratch to give him what he wants. And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to.”
The producer tugged on his chin with thumb and forefinger. He reminded me of Rodin’s statue. “Actually, if you stand up to him, you’ll be doing the network a favour. With his looks and charm – yes, he’s charming on his show, believe it or not – he’s still a draw, but serious foodies are starting to get a bit bored.”
“Oh?” I glanced at my watch. “Do you mind if I chop some veggies while we talk? He gave me a deadline and I’d like to be able to keep that, regardless of what I cook.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
I selected a six inch blade from the rack on the counter and began peeling carrots. “Anyway, you were saying the viewers are bored?”
Harry swivelled his seat so he could watch me work. I didn’t mind – I’d cooked in open kitchens, and if I was going to be on television, I had to get used to having an audience. And somehow, though I’d known him for only a few minutes, the dishevelled young producer made me feel comfortable.
”Yeah. The ratings for the channel as a whole are falling, because he won’t work with any chef who refuses to toe his line. That’s one reason the execs pressured him to contact you. Fresh blood and all that.”
“Hmm.” My knife rose and fell with satisfying precision, creating uniform half-inch cubes of crisp orange. I swept the diced carrots into a pile at one end of the cutting block, then started on the onions.
“Amazing. I could never do that. When I try to cook, the results look like something from a slasher movie.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes. “Anyway, the first two guest chefs the network hired – Etienne drove them away.”
I set the blade down. I’d chilled the onions ahead of time, but my eyes watered nevertheless. Harry handed me a handkerchief. What a sweet guy. If only Etienne were more like him.
“He’s not going to drive me away, Harry. I swear it.” I’d been the only woman in my class at the Cordon Bleu school in Paris, and the only Asian. They’d made it clear I didn’t belong. I’d stuck it out, three gruelling years to get my Grand Diplôme. Then there was all the time working my way up the ranks: commis entremets, chef saucier, sous chef.
It would take more than one sexy, stubborn Frenchman to stop me.
I dumped the onions into a bowl and covered them with plastic wrap, then paused. My beef burgundy used green apples and sliced Asian long beans. Did I dare include such unconventional ingredients here in Etienne’s kingdom?
“The other guest chefs weren’t nearly as pretty as you.” Harry’s sincerity made me blush. “Too bad he’s not more – uh - susceptible.”
You know how in cartoons they show light bulbs appearing above the characters’ heads? That’s how I felt when the idea occurred to me. It was so obvious, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.
“Even our Monsieur le Chef can be swayed by great food. The desserts – oh, I’ve just got to try one of these...”
Before I could stop him, though, he’d nipped a cream puff off the pile and popped it into his mouth. His eyes went wide as he chewed and swallowed.
“Unbelievable! Give me another...”
“Please, no...!” I grabbed at his arm, but it was too late. He’d already devoured a second choux. “Those are supposed to be for Etienne...”
“Come on, you’ve made at least two dozen. He won’t miss one or two.” Harry made as if to reach for a third puff. I hung on, trying to restrain him, but he was far stronger than I. Under that dorky clothing, I felt his muscles tense and shift.
He halted, his fingers inches away from its target, as if suddenly aware of my touch. Turning away from the tower of pastries, he gazed down at me. Behind his glasses, his mocha-coloured eyes gleamed with powerful purpose.
“Harry?” My stomach did a somersault. My cheeks felt as though they’d just come out of the oven. Meanwhile he held me in that fierce, all-consuming stare.
My right hand still gripped his left arm, near the shoulder. He reached out to rest his on my shoulder, as if we were about to dance. “You know, I actually see something a lot sweeter right here.” He slid his palm down my back and pulled me to his chest with a decisiveness that sent my pulse into overdrive. When he leaned in close, I smelled the almonds on his breath.
“Harry...I don’t think...”
“Shh!” He enforced this directive by fastening his mouth on mine in an energetic kiss.
He tasted, unsurprisingly, of sugar and cream. His firm lips moulded to mine while his tongue teased at the seam, coaxing me to open. I shouldn’t have given in, but I honestly couldn’t help it. He might look like a bit of nerd, but this guy really knew what he was doing. Wet, but not sloppy – forceful, but not brutal – alternating between deep penetration and playful flickering – he kissed with consummate sensuality. All I wanted was to swoon in his arms, to let him take me over. He seemed eager to oblige.
The hand on my back wandered down to cup my ass and pull my pelvis against his. I gasped at the size and rigidity of the lump pressed against my pubis. My nipples snapped into aching knots and moisture flooded my already damp panties. He laced the fingers of his other hand through my hair, using them to control the position of my head as he drank his fill of me.
His mouth slipped away from mine to nuzzle below my ear, somehow finding the precise spot that’s directly connected to my clit. Meanwhile he groped my breasts, squeezing hard – harder than I usually like, but now I actually wanted more.
Apparently he did, too. He tugged at my blouse, trying to pull it out from the waistband of my skirt, and finally succeeding. The first graze of his fingertips along my naked skin sent a wave of arousal crashing through me.
“Wait – no – aah...oh...” My protests faltered as he deftly extricated one of my breasts and caught the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged on the taut node of flesh, twisted it, flicked it back and forth. I swear I felt him doing the same to my clit. At the same time, he caught my earlobe between his teeth, worrying it like a pup with a toy.
Oh God! He was all over me, fondling and caressing whatever flesh he could access through my dishevelled clothing – and it was glorious! Crumpling my skirt to the waist, he worked his clever fingers under the elastic of my panties to stroke my soaked fur. I jerked against his palm, wanting him to explore more deeply. He appeared happy to oblige, pushing into my channel with his fingers while strumming my clit with his thumb. I wormed my way into his loose trousers and clung to his cotton-covered ass, feeling his gluts flex as he ground his astonishing hardness against my belly.
I’d never doubt my grandmother again.
X-Rated Excerpt 2 – From Extra Chapter!
The road dead-ended in a parking lot, empty save for our vehicle. He helped me out of the car and walked me over to the iron railing guarding the overlook. The night was crystal clear. Not a wisp of fog obscured the twinkling majesty of the City by the Bay.
I grasped the balustrade, a bit nervous about the sheer drop on the other side. Standing behind me, Harry rubbed his rigid penis against my butt. Meanwhile, his hands snaked around to clasp and knead my breasts. “See what I mean?” he murmured in my ear, twisting my nipples at the same time.
“It’s—uh—it’s beautiful, Harry. But I don’t think…”
“Don’t think, Em. Just trust me.” He continued to fondle my tits with one hand, while sliding the other down over my belly to poke between my thighs. “I’ll bet you’re wet.” He probed through the jersey of my dress, finding my clit with his usual skill. “Yup, I was right. You love a bit of danger.”
“No, not really—ah!” He rocked my bead like a switch, sending spurts of electricity through my limbs. “Oh, God, Harry, we can’t do this here!”
“Why not? You let me fuck you on the studio floor the day after we met.”
“I— Oh, Harry, please…that was different…”
He had my skirt flipped up in back now, and my panties down around my knees. One hand had lodged inside the front of my dress, where he continued to squeeze my engorged breast. Meanwhile, he explored my wet crevice with nimble fingers, thrusting into my pussy, sliding over my lower lips, then making slick circles around my clit.
The smooth head of his bare cock bobbed against the backs of my thighs. How had he managed to get it out of his trousers while still teasing me this way? I reached behind me, wanting to grasp that lovely hardness and share some of my pleasure.
“No!” He caught my hand in a sticky grip and returned it to the iron pipe. “Don’t let go of the rail. Or do I have to tie you there?”
Lightning shot through me. I thought for a moment I’d faint and topple over into the abyss.
“Tie me?” Craning my neck, I tried to read his expression. Was he serious? The shadows made it impossible to tell.
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.
Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
If your Kindle melted while you were reading the scorching first books in this series—Adam’s Obsession and Tristan’s Temptation—you’re going to want to read Making Over Maris, the third book in the award winning Wired Series by Sabrina York from Ellora’s Cave.
Featuring über-nerd Jack Maris and his co-worker (and secret crush) Sara Grant, this steamy novel continues the erotic story lines of the Trillo-Maris Gang…and steps it up a notch. Jack asks, cajoles bribes Sara to help him become attractive to women. What she doesn’t realize is that Jack doesn’t want to be attractive to women—he wants to be attractive to her. Sara also has no clue that Jack has secrets and is battling a dark past. But when she learns he craves a taste of FemDom, she is delighted to play along.
Their exploration takes them on a journey of lust and love and redemption—and a happy ending they both never dreamed could be theirs.
WARNING: Making over Maris is a Nerd-to-Hot-Hunk sizzling erotic romance. You will never look the same way at a geek in glasses again.
Wired, Book Three
When über-nerd Jack asks Sara to make him more attractive to women, she can’t say no—even though it’s an impossible task. He’s shaggy and doughy and hopelessly inappropriate. He has no style or emotional intelligence but he’s a good person. And a great friend. What Sara never expects? Beneath all that fur and geekiness is a steamy hunk just waiting to emerge.
Jack takes Sara’s regimen very seriously, working out and losing weight until he feels like a new man. He even complies with her command to shave his beard—because Jack didn’t ask Sara to make him over so he would be attractive to other women. He only wants to be attractive to her. They go on a series of fake dates, each hotter and more sinful than the last. It’s not long before Sara discovers Jack’s secret desire to be dominated and what began as an arrangement becomes something amazing—something that could be real.
Inside Scoop: Our hero appreciates Femdom—with the right woman. Our hero doesn’t appreciate perfect strangers grabbing his junk. Ask nicely first, ladies!
A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
An Excerpt From: MAKING OVER MARIS
Copyright © SABRINA YORK, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“So… Have you thought about it?” Jack could have kicked himself. He hadn’t intended to burst into her office and blurt it out like that. He’d meant to be suave and slick.
He should have known better.
He’d never been suave and slick.
No. He’d hovered in the vicinity of Sara’s office—after sending Kenny on a meaningless errand—and barged through the door and pounced upon her as soon as Kat left.
He plopped into the chair and, because he didn’t know what to do with his hands, laced his fingers.
Sara studied him, dissecting him in that way she had, with her head tipped to the side, wrinkling her button nose. She was so cute when she wrinkled her nose. He forced himself not to wriggle. His cock didn’t listen. Something about her eyes, her lips, her scent, always stirred him.
He shouldn’t have this kind of reaction to her. In the office. Everywhere. But he couldn’t help it. He just did. Always.
When she looked at him like that, when she spoke to him in that clear, commanding voice, it was even worse.
Or better, depending on one’s perspective.
She cleared her throat. “Okay. I’ve thought about it.”
His pulse jerked. “And…?”
She dropped her attention to her blotter and meticulously rearranged several deformed paper clips. His heart pounded a painful tattoo as he waited for her response. “And…” She met his eyes—God, she was gorgeous. “If I do this, we need to have an understanding.”
Relief, or something like it, trickled through him. An understanding was awfully close to an agreement. A promise. “Okay.”
Sara sucked in a breath. “First of all, we need to agree this is an impossible task.”
“Not impossible,” he grumbled. Surely not impossible.
“Okay. Improbable then. My chances of success are…dismal.”
Dismal? Jack’s belly dropped. He fiddled with the wiry hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t like the way this was going. It was depressing that she thought so poorly of him. “Am I that hideous?”
Her eyes widened. A flush rose on her cheeks. “Oh my God, Jack. No. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It sounded that way.”
“Jack…” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Okay. How about this? We have a long way to go. Can we agree on that?”
“Sure.” He knew he was pouting. But he had a damn good excuse. She’d pretty much come out and said making him attractive to women—to her in particular—was a hopeless cause.
“My worry is this. I can teach you all the right things to say and coach you on how to act around women, prescribe a diet and exercise plan and even give you a makeover. But if you don’t listen to me—if you don’t follow the plan—I fail.”
“I’ll listen. I’ll follow the plan.” Hell. He’d follow her anywhere she wanted to lead. If she only knew…
Something fierce stirred in her eyes. “It’s not going to be easy, Jack. I’m gonna work you.” Why he shivered at the tone in her voice, he had no clue. Or maybe he did. “I want you to agree to honor our contract—even if you drop the ball.”
“Of course.” He always kept his promises.
He put a hand over his heart. “I swear.”
She sat back. The fire in her eyes flickered and sputtered out. “Okay. So next week I’m going back East to spend some time with my mother—”
“How long will you be gone?” Damn. He hated it when she was gone.
Pain flashed across her features; her voice dropped. “She’s…not doing well.”
His heart squeezed and he wanted to say something comforting but couldn’t find any words. Sara’s mother had been in and out of the hospital for a year. They were very close. Each time her mother had a relapse, Sara suffered.
Jack had never had a mother so he couldn’t relate but he imagined having one and losing her would be even harder than never having one at all.
“In the meantime, I’ll put together a plan for you.”
“A…plan?” His mind spun. How on earth was this going to work if she wasn’t even here?
“Yes. And you have to follow it.”
She put her hands flat on the desk and skewered him with a glower. “Religiously, Jack.”
“Okay.” He tried to not wriggle in his seat. He loved it when she got all…adamant. “So you’ll do it?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I’ll do it.”
Relief cascaded through him. Relief and hope. It was a tiny sprig of hope, but hope was hope. “So when do we begin?”
She gazed at him. Some strange emotion he couldn’t interpret flashed over her features. “Now.”
Oh. God. Excitement and satisfaction and panic surged through him. “Now?”
“Yes. I need to do an assessment. You know. To figure out exactly where we are.”
He swallowed. “An assessment?”
“Of your game.”
“Okay.” He liked games. He scooted to the edge of his seat.
“Let’s pretend I’m a woman—”
"You are a woman.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Be serious, Jack.”
“I am being serious.” He was.
“Let’s pretend I’m a woman you see at a bar. And you’re interested.”
Oh. He was.
“What’s the first thing you do?”
Okay. He could wrap his brain around this. He shifted to the side and pulled out his wallet. Found his trusty cheat sheet and unfolded it and spread it flat on the desk.
“What the hell is that?” She gaped at the rumpled, well-worn paper.
“It’s my flowchart.” Duh.
Sara blinked. “You have a flowchart for picking up women.” Not a question.
“Naturally.” Didn’t everyone?
“Let me see that.” Before he could stop her she snatched the paper away. Scanned it. “Oh God.”
He knew what she was seeing. He’d studied this flowchart a hundred times. Still, when she read it aloud, he winced.
“Picking Up Chicks.” She grimaced. “Seriously, Jack? That’s what you named it?”
“Yes.” What else would he name it?
“‘Step One. Assess the situation’. Okay. That works. ‘Does she seem cranky?’ Cranky? Seriously, Jack? Cranky?”
He shrugged. “It’s a critical variable.” It was. It was exceedingly difficult to pick up a cranky woman. “Statistically speaking—”
But Sara ignored him. “‘If Yes: Charm her from her bad mood. If No: Proceed with caution.’” Sara sighed and glanced up at him. “Proceed with caution? We’re not wild animals, Jack.”
“You kind of are.” This he muttered. She didn’t hear. Or maybe she did. Maybe she was ignoring him again. She did that.
With a derisive snort, she crumpled up his precious template for seduction and tossed it in the trash.
With a strangled “eep” he dove in after it, dug it out, refolded it and tucked it back into his wallet. It had never worked but it was all he had. He needed it.
She glared at him. And then for some reason she softened. “Women are not an empirical science, Jack.” She gestured to his wallet. “We’re not all alike. There is no ‘one size fits all’ approach to winning someone’s heart.”
Yeah. He got that. “But you need to have a standard operating procedure—”
“No, ya don’t.” She blew out a breath. He loved the way it made her bangs flutter up. “Don’t you see? This kind of thing comes off as cheesy. Planned. Practiced.”
“And that’s…bad?” How could planning and practice be bad?
“Women don’t want to feel like they’re an insect being dissected or analyzed. They don’t want to be one option in a sea of possibilities. They want to be special. They want a guy who responds to them on an instinctual level. A guy who is so interested, he can’t help but be charming. Not a guy who has to be reminded to be seductive—by an SOP.”
He shook his head. This was all so…alien. “I don’t get it.”
She buried her face in her hands. “No. You don’t. That’s the point. Oh Jack, I’m going to need a couple days to think about this.”
His pulse stuttered. “But you already promised…”
“No. I’ll do it. I did promise to do it. I just need to think about how to do it.”
He relaxed. Okay. Okay. Okay. It would be okay. “Thank you, Sara.”
“Yeah.” Her cell phone buzzed and she picked it up to check the screen. Her lips tightened and she set it back down. “No prob.”
Damn. Why did she seem so dispirited? He’d seen the tears on her cheeks when he interrupted her meeting with Kat. He’d hated her tears. Hated even more that he didn’t have any right to wipe them away.
“Sara.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Thank you.”
This meant everything to him. More than she could ever know.
“Sure, Jack. Give me a couple days to think about this.”
She stared at him for a minute and then said in a very small voice, “You can go now.”
Right. He could go. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to fold her in his arms and hold her and make whatever was making her sad disappear.
He didn’t have that right either.
And he never would.
But for the next few months, he’d have her attention.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Hi Cerise, thank you for having me at your blog today!
Hollywood Dreams in the Gin & Jazz Era
Hollywood Bound (Gin & Jazz 1), was just released and is only 99 cents! The Gin & Jazz series begins in 1924, and follows the story of the young and innocent Jack Stone as he travels from a vaudeville theatre in New York - with his best friend and new lover Nick - to Hollywood. They hope to find great jobs there working as set builders at a motion picture studio. It’s such a grand adventure because everything is so new to them. From hopping a train, to being intimate, to the excitement of being in Hollywood – they don’t know what to expect next. But after they arrive, they find that the glitz and glamour of the celluloid kingdom isn’t kind to new hopefuls.
In the following excerpt, the cracks are beginning to surface in Jack and Nick’s new relationship.
Jack and Nick seek fortune and adventure in the silent film era of Hollywood. But their newly-expressed love is threatened by the heady allure of fame, gin and easy money.
Jack rolled over on the bed to face the wall. They had too much time on their hands, and Jack’s ass was already sore from all of the rough games they had been playing—there was no way that was an option tonight. As much as he loved it, he needed a bit of a rest. Any suggestions about walking around the city or taking the trolley to sight-see had also been shot down by Nick the purse-holder. It was either too hot, or they couldn’t afford it. They had to save their money—just in case.
Just in case what?
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I gotta get outta here for a bit. I’m about ready to climb the walls.”
That’s what I’ve been trying to say all week.
“Here, you take the last two smokes—we need more anyway. I’ll pick up some matches too while I’m out. You wanna Coca-Cola? That’d be nice, huh?”
Jack didn’t turn over. He suddenly didn’t feel like moving at all. It felt safer and more secure to huddle in a ball.
“Okay kid, I mean, Jack. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Nick patted him on the shoulder, and Jack heard the door shut behind him. What was happening? The excitement of the first few days had been heady. Not only were they finally in their dream town, but they were able to be together in the way Jack had yearned for them to be. Now he felt empty. It had nothing to do with being sorry about anything that was going on with their jobs, or how he felt about Nick. It was just Nick. He seemed unhappy and restless, and it was getting to Jack. It all came back to the same old problem. Nick wasn’t willing, or wasn’t able, to share his feelings. He held everything inside him like a deep, dark secret. No matter how many times Nick reassured him, Jack still felt unsure about himself and their situation.
There was a loud boom outside, and Jack saw a flash of light come through the window. He jumped up off of the bed and ran to see what was going on. It was just about twilight, and another boom rang out, this time even louder. He looked outside and realised that it was coming from behind the studio walls.
A picture! They’re making a picture!
It was too exciting. Why couldn’t he be higher up so he could see over the wall? Why wasn’t Nick here to share it with him? He couldn’t wait to tell him when he came back. Jack’s mind wandered to all of the possibilities of this mystery film. Could Douglas Fairbanks Jr. be just a stone’s throw away from him right that very second? The thought made him shiver.
On their second day there after they’d bought their coveralls, he’d found a torn scandal sheet in the trash. It wasn’t very big, and it was all in black and white, but it had lurid stories about FW Murnau, the genius filmmaker from Germany who had made the terrifying Nosferatu. Even more titillating was a story on Erich Von Stroheim, an Austrian director who some considered a sadist. He was supposedly filming orgies that featured women being tied up and whipped. No one knew for sure, since Willy Hays, the purity czar of Hollywood - who had made sure that nothing of an immoral nature would ever be seen on film again - didn’t allow such filth. All actors and actresses even had to sign morality clauses in their contracts.
Jack was filled with curiosity about Stroheim’s films. If what they said were true, then there were other people doing the types of things he and Nick did. Would Nick want to whip him too? His cock had twitched a little at the thought, but he’d put it out of his mind.
But there were also lighter stories involving the little tramp, Charlie Chaplin, that only hinted at improprieties. And there had been pictures of his dashing Douglas Fairbanks with the pretty Mary Pickford. Jack had cut Douglas out of the paper—leaving Mary behind—so that he could hang it on their wall. Nick had pretended that he wasn’t interested in any star gossip nonsense, but Jack had caught him peeking over his shoulder a couple of times.
Jack sighed heavily. He longed for so much all of a sudden, and felt selfish and greedy for feeling that way. He was already so fortunate to have a man like Nick, even if Nick did have a hard time sharing his feelings. And here he was, all the way on the other side of the country in Hollywood—so close to his dreams. Never could he have imagined being in this place when he’d been kicked out of the orphanage three years before. Yet he ached to be on the other side of the wall across the street, and for Nick to be by his side always. He only hoped he could have both.
To get your copy of Hollywood Bound for only 99 cents, head to these links:
Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/hollywood-bound
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hollywood-Bound-Gin-Jazz-ebook/dp/B00GDIX064/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383450453&sr=1-6&keywords=morticia+knight
Find Morticia here:
or @morticiaknight on twitter, and Morticia Knight on Facebook.