Every Tuesday for the next few months, I’ll post a short excerpt of one of my books. Remember these books are erotica, so you’re not going to want to share this post with your kids. Your mother, maybe. Your sister, for sure. Your best friend who’s just getting over a bad break-up. No question.
I blame Anna Leigh Keaton for getting me started writing erotica. I fell in love with her series of Incognito books that she co-wrote Madison Layle for Cobblestone Press. They were hot, hot, hot and I loved the characters. They felt real to me and the sex was amazing and so I kept reading. And reading. And reading.
Until finally I thought I might try writing something for Cobblestone Press. Anna Leigh had started a series of short stories called The Pleasure Club. It was all about fantasy, a place where you could go and have your sexual fantasy come true.
I asked if maybe I could try one. Because she’s a dear friend, she said yes. I felt safe doing this because, first of all, it was going to be short and second, once the story was finished, Anna Leigh would look at it before I sent it to the acquiring editors at Cobblestone – if it was terrible, only she would know I’d made a fool of myself.
And so The Nymph was born. Don’t ask me why I came up with this particular character, I can’t remember. And maybe I never did know. But I loved writing this book, Anna Leigh liked it, and so did the editors at Cobblestone. Although I wrote this as Kate Austin, I think of this book as my very first Josee Renard book. I wrote (I think) 3 more books for Cobblestone as Kate Austin, all of those books are really Josee’s writing.
Here’s a short excerpt from The Nymph:
Geoffrey laughed at the sight of the little orange gadget in his hands. A GPS doohickey? The last thing anyone who knew Professor Geoffrey Jones—securely locked into the world of Christopher Marlowe—would expect. Okay, not exactly the last thing. The Pleasure Club was the very last thing anyone would expect of him unless, mayhap, Marlowe had mentioned it in a poem.
But here he was, a small screen in his hand, leading him to what he hoped would be a way to break out of the past and, if not into the future, at least into the present. Because while Marlowe had been a passionate and lusty man, women just didn’t seem to be interested in Geoffrey’s tweed-suited, absent-minded self.
But a nymph?
Geoffrey knew everything about nymphs. He’d been studying and reading about them for years and he’d learned everything he needed to know to please them. God knew he had no idea how to please real women but he was damn well going to do that with this nymph.
The terrain he traveled got rougher and he stumbled a couple of times as he focused on the tiny ill-lit screen. He was close, now, very close. A wooden structure appeared on the hill ahead of him, candlelight flickering through the twilight. He turned off the GPS and put it in his backpack.
She was waiting for him.
Geoffrey took a deep breath, adjusted his hardening cock in his jeans, and forced himself to saunter rather than sprint the last few yards to the gazebo. Pergola. Whatever it was called. It had walls, though, so probably not either. Geoffrey smiled at himself, the professor, as always, rising to the challenge of the words. No wonder he didn’t have a woman in his life.
The door was partly shut, but sound drifted through the glade. Music, he thought, medieval chants. How did she know? His best orgasms ever had been masturbating to these particular sounds, to the deep, slow movement of the voices shifting from one key to another. His cock hardened further.
He could hardly wait.