Kindle Fire Winner

Congratulations  to Jeanette S from Conover, NC on winning the Kindle Fire loaded with  books by the Naughty Literati authors. 

Our sincere thanks to all who  entered and helped us celebrate the release of Naughty Phantasia.
Happy reading!

Excerpt from Swing Follies by Regina Kammer

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:



Blurb:
Blimey. Delia’s besotted. With Edward. But when an old flame from Edward’s revolutionary past swings by and steams up the laboratory, has Delia missed her chance at love?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Regina Kammer, 2017

Excerpt:

Newcastle, England
April 1879

Professor Edward Ockham gripped the ratchet handle more tightly as a frisson of lust roiled within. Before him his lovely assistant Delia Bennett awkwardly adjusted herself in a swing suspended four feet above the linoleum, her skirt and petticoats in riotous disarray. She was charming in her helplessness. Her arms, secured by leather wrist cuffs, stretched above her head. Her stocking-clad legs, extended and splayed, were held in the air by silken slings supporting each ankle and knee. Her rosy cheeks and bemused expression were slightly at odds with the bizarre eroticism of her predicament.

“Delia?”

The sound of her name tripping off his tongue echoed like a melody in the cavernous laboratory, the gentle hiss and thrum of the boiler adding a syncopated undertone.

Delia. No longer the more formal Miss Bennett during working hours. She was, by agreement, Delia.

He could say her name over and over and over again. Delia, Delia, Delia.

Her chocolatey eyes widened. “Yes, Profess—Edward?”

Edward. She was Delia and he was Edward.

“Are you comfortable?”

She wriggled her buttocks, each pillowy cheek cradled in its own sling leaving her quim exposed to the air. “Perhaps something across my bum, you know, a bolster above the crack—” She suddenly blushed crimson to the roots of her raven curls.

The door to the laboratory swung open with a dramatic flair.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” Sebastian Broadchurch sauntered in from the hall, a little rumpled from whom and whatever he had done the night before. He stopped before Delia, his predatory stare traversing her as he combed his fingers through his flaxen hair. “Our Miss Bennett finds herself in yet another delicious quandary.”

“Good morning, Sebastian.” Edward arched a brow. Morning had but a minute left to it.

Sebastian brandished a scowl before turning his attention to the rigging holding Delia. He pursed his lips as he studied the mechanism. His gaze followed the silken slings upward to where they attached to a swivel bolt mounted to a cable. He perused the cable to where it connected to a system of belts and pulleys housed on a sturdy wooden frame. He glanced at the diminutive steam engine then grunted in comprehension as he took in the exposed gear shaft and long ball-end lever of the control box.

“It spins, does it?” he said.

“It does,” replied Edward.

Excerpt from How The Alien Stole Christmas by Belle Scarlett

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
On board a deep space station, Christmas Trent learns her sexy cyber lover, who may not be human, wants to steal her for his own.
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Belle Scarlett, 2017

Excerpt:

I asked if you understand me, soldier.

Christie needed release, and she needed it now. She gulped some air and started unzipping her flight uniform in anticipation of the next phase of their play.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Please, sir, permission to touch myself?”

The computer was silent for a moment. Then Blitz’s next message unfurled across her vid-screen.

Permission denied.

Christie froze in disbelief, her hand in mid-zip on her flight suit.

What? She glared at his words. Screw that, she thought rebelliously, and seriously considered disobeying a direct order from him for the first time ever.

Blitz seemed to read her mind.

Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. I’ll know if you’re being naughty or nice.

Frustration sizzled through her as she stopped unzipping her suit. Damn her submissive streak. She hadn’t even known she possessed one until she’d encountered Blitzen. As an experienced sexual dominant he had recognized her latent submissive qualities right away, and quickly set about training her in the art of pleasing him during their online play. Now her body wanted to do whatever he told it to do. And that was starting to prove freaking inconvenient.

“Ha. What can you do about it from there? Text me a lump of coal for my stocking?”

Don’t sass me, soldier. You don’t want to find out what I can do about it if you disobey me.

Christie bit her lip. For better or for worse, her sexual satisfaction was now tied to his and she knew it. If he didn’t want her to come, her body would side with him even if her mind was furious at them both.

He was probably just teasing her, as part of the cyber play. Maybe some more sugar would help matters.

“I’m sorry, sir. Please? May I come?”

I like when you beg me, Mistletoe. I grow even harder for you.

“Is that a yes?” She asked hopefully.

Nope. My order stands.

“I can’t believe this!” Blitzen had never seriously forbidden her to climax before.

Believe it. I own your next orgasm. It’s mine. From now on, you will save that delight for me to share, control, and enjoy.

She shivered. He couldn’t be serious. Who knew if they would ever even meet, or when?

“You’re ruthless, you know.”

Yes. And you’re sexy as hell and hard to resist. But I mean it, princess. The next time you climax it will be with your wet pussy tight around my hard cock, squeezing me with every thrust until I come deep inside you.

Christie instantly pictured them together on a large bed in full-on, carnal coitus. Her clit twitched in spasm, yearning to uncork the full orgasm bottled inside her pussy. She could feel her back arch in aroused response.

Damn, this guy was good. He had tuned her fantasies so well over the past two months that she could envision every sexy detail he described exactly as if he was in the room doing it to her.

Okay, okay! I surrender, already,” Christie half groaned, half laughed. She struggled to get her rioting body back under control.

It’s not my fault you have a hair-trigger libido, sweetheart.

She could almost hear his warm, male chuckle in her ear.

“You wouldn’t be able to get me so aroused so fast if your titillating star messages took days instead of seconds over sub-space frequencies,” she grumbled.

Wanna bet?

Excerpt from Phantom Affair by Katherine Kingston

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Robert is the best lover Kelly’s ever had, even though he’s a ghost. If he could return, could reality live up to the fantasy?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Katherine Kingston, 2017

Excerpt:

That particular spring Thursday she’d been gone for three days, working on a large collaborative project. By the time she got back at eight in the evening, she was beat. She’d had dinner before she left the city but she headed for the kitchen right after dumping the briefcase and stepping out of her pumps. That martini was calling her name.

“Kelly?” Robert materialized beside her while she got out the bottles and filled the shaker with ice. It no longer startled her. His form was never fully solid, which made it hard to get a perfect idea what he looked like. She could tell he had a lean, handsome face with strong jaw and cheekbones and sensual lips, but it was especially hard to see his eye and hair color. Both seemed to be light. Otherwise, he’d been a tall man in life, but thin. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, which made sense since he thought he’d been about twenty-five when he died. He didn’t like to talk about it, but he had one time admitted that he’d been hanged in 1706. He wouldn’t discuss the reason. Nothing she’d learned of him in the three years since she’d bought the house—and his company along with it—suggested he was a bad or violent man, so his fate mystified her.

He must have some way to change his clothes—or maybe just his appearance, since his dress didn’t reflect a man who’d lived in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. He usually appeared to be wearing a polo shirt and slacks.

“Rough trip?” he asked, staring at her as she measured out the vermouth. “Took longer than usual and you look beat.”

“Busy. Lots of negotiations, a zillion details to hammer out. And I had to wear heels for three solid days.”

“Poor baby.” An intriguing hint of British accent underlay the slang he’d picked up from the TV. “Go put your feet up and I’ll rub them while you tell me about it.”

That was an offer she never refused.

Kelly finished putting together the double martini and took it to the living room. She settled into the reclining end of the leather sofa with a sigh of relief, letting the quiet, homey atmosphere she’d created sink into her tired bones. A puff of warm air surrounded each of her feet after she raised the footrest. The air began to move around, pressing against her flesh.

She had no idea how he did that. Another of the drawbacks of a ghostly lover was his inability to touch her, but Robert had figured out how to use puffs of compressed air to substitute for it. He admitted it had taken him years of practice to learn and master the technique. Kelly refused to ask how many women had gotten similar attentions from him. He’d said there were a couple, though he claimed he first developed the method to use for turning the pages of books.

“Tell me what’s happened the last few days,” Robert said, his half-visible form kneeling beside the chair. It appeared his hands were around her feet, though he couldn’t truly touch her. Still, the air shifted around her toes, stroking them gently but firmly.

Excerpt from The Magic That You Do by Tina Donahue

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


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Blurb:
Passion. Friendship. Love. Some things a man simply can’t forget… 
Finn has no idea what he’s doing at a haunted house on Halloween, but his tour guide Caty certainly rocks his world. Irresistibly drawn to her, he indulges in wicked delight and a return to their shared destiny.
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Tina Donahue, 2017

Excerpt:

Blustery wind swept across Lake Huron. The wintry blast tousled his hair, rattled bare tree limbs, and delivered an unbearable chill from the water. He clutched his coat closer to his throat and lifted his face. Ominous clouds pressed in. Coming rain scented the air.

Honeyed light poured from the house, the glow warm and inviting.

Strange that a haunted house should seem safer and more enticing than the street. Whoever had planned this tour was clueless as to what the public wanted or children demanded. A new group of kids ignored the place, not even bothering to check out the two bicycles abandoned on the expansive front lawn. The bikes, along with rollerblades and skateboards, were the only transportation allowed on the island.

He stilled, not certain how he’d known that. Probably had been on the sign. Nope. On a brochure? He patted his pockets. No literature there. Mystified, he stepped closer to the place.

A young woman stood on the widow’s walk. Her waist-length blonde hair and long white dress whipped in the stiff breeze. She leaned against the railing and offered a welcoming smile.

Intense heat coursed through him. His knees wobbled.

Something creaked.

The front door had blown in…unless it had opened on its own.

Dismissing such a crazy notion, he lifted his hand in greeting to the woman.

Gone. Where?

Shadowed figures passed the upstairs windows, gauzy curtains making them indistinct. The promised ghosts? He wanted to laugh but didn’t. One form stood a head taller than the other. Had to be a man with the young woman he’d seen. The guy most likely her lover or husband.

Inexplicable sorrow gripped Finn followed by acute loss for someone he’d yet to meet. Definitely time to go. This was nuts.

He pivoted.

The scent of violets surrounded him even though no flowers bloomed on the bushes. Drawn by the fragrance, he hurried up the walk toward the house.

A child darted into his path.

He reared back to avoid colliding with the little girl.

Unmindful of his presence, she waved and shouted to her companions. “Hold up! You’re going too fast!”

Laughing, they bolted away and taunted. “Slow poke. Slow poke. Slow poke.”

She ran toward them, tripped on her witch costume, and tumbled to the grass.

“Whoa.” Finn crossed the lawn and touched her arm to help. “You okay?”

“No!” Crying, she shoved spilled candy into her sack and raced to her friends.

They laughed at her witch nose, bent from her fall. She giggled with them and set the thing right.

A gust scented with violets slammed into Finn and pushed him to the house.

Heart pounding, he crossed the porch and stopped in the foyer painted a cheery yellow with white moldings. Furniture from way back when decorated the expansive space.

Footfalls sounded overhead. One heavy. One lighter. The man and woman from the windows. He tilted his face to the ceiling. The couple crossed from room to room, working their way back to the master suite.

His skin prickled. He hadn’t a clue how he’d known that. Wait. The widow’s walk was on that side. Made sense the largest bedroom would be, too. He’d painted enough client portraits in front of and inside Victorian structures to know the architecture.

Relieved, he lowered his face and started.

The young blonde woman from earlier looked at him worriedly, her slender eyebrows lifted. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

More like delighted to have her next to him instead of upstairs with the man…and the other woman. “Yeah.”

“I’m so glad.” Genuine happiness lit her lovely smile.

Her concern comforted and aroused Finn as nothing had in too many years. Warmth rolled through him, settling in his groin, thickening his cock.

Dark lashes fringed her sapphire-blue eyes. Pink flushed beneath her milky skin. Heat radiated from her despite the cold night and what little she wore. Her white crocheted dress was a throwback to hippy finery popular in the sixties, the intricate design bearing flowers and tassels. Silver rings graced each finger, one boasting dark blue stones. None resembled an engagement or wedding band, thank God. The contraptions on her feet weren’t exactly shoes. There were no soles, merely braided leather cords wrapped around her slender toes that she’d then tied to her ankles. Dangling feathers and blossoms hammered from silver adorned the leather to make Bohemian wedding sandals.

His arms goose pimpled. He didn’t want to guess how he’d known the name for her footwear. Never had he been into women’s fashions, especially those from long ago. It was 2016 for Chrissakes, his thirtieth birthday barely past.

She couldn’t have been older than mid-twenties.

“Hi.” He offered his hand. “Finn Gallagher.”

Bliss crossed her lovely features. “Caitlyn.” She slid her fingers over his and squeezed gently.

His hair stood on end, indescribable pleasure filling him. Liking it, he grinned.

Loud laughter rang out overhead. “Did I interrupt your tour?”

“Not at all, Mr. Gallagher. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Excerpt from Cupid's Curious Case by Marianne Stephens

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Alan’s last job as Cupid 84 involves neighbor Amy and a special box of candy. Both secretly desire the other. Can they find true love?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Marianne Stephens, 2017

Excerpt:

Amy picked a pink candy with a red heart on it. Alan chose a blue piece that had white sprinkles on it. They popped their chosen pieces into their mouths at the same time.

A tingle went through Amy as she savored the rich treat. It spread through her body, and sent a shocking flame of desire to every inch of her body. There was a catch in her breath, and she itched to satisfy a lustful need she’d never felt with Scott.

She peeked at Alan, and noticed his eyes were closed as he devoured his candy. His breathing quickened, and dropping her gaze lower, she spied a distinct bulge pressing against his jeans’ zipper.

Alan opened his eyes and stared into hers. A heightened sense of craving, want, desire seemed to spark between them. Amy was at a loss for words, at least common sense ones. She wanted him. Here. Now. With a wanton passion.

“Try another piece,” she whispered, almost afraid to say anything.

“I—Sure. These are overwhelming. All my senses are aware of the decadent taste it leaves in my mouth. You too?”

“Yes,” she managed to answer before biting into a green piece of candy with a soft, minty inside that slid down her throat, leaving more tingling sensations wreaking havoc with her body.

Alan raked a hand through his hair. “Is it me, or is it hot in here?”

A stinging rush of heat course through her, settling in her cheeks. “It must be the champagne.” She fanned her face with her hand. “It does feel warmer than before.”

“Why don’t we open your window a little? Cool us off.”

Both stood, and walked to the window. Amy cranked it open and a rush of cooler air flowed inside. For a moment she shivered, and then felt warmer as Alan, wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re cold. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.”

Amy clasped his arms, hugging them tighter. “No. I mean, we can close the window, but I’m enjoying standing here with you.”

Alan pulled her back towards him. Amy couldn’t stop her hormones from racing into overdrive at the sensation of rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. “Turn around, Amy. I want to see you while I hold you in my arms. Please.”

She quickly turned to face him, never losing contact. Heat radiated between them, satisfying her passionate lust now controlling her every thought. “I want to be held by you—touch you.” She rested her head on his chest. “We’ve missed out on being with each other all this time. I feel a need now. And no, it’s not the champagne talking. It’s me. I’ve always hoped for more between us.”

Alan lifted her head, lowered his mouth to hers, and began with a slow, gentle kiss. He pulled his head away and said, “We’re together now. I want this. I want you. No, like the note said, I desire you.”

His next kiss was more urgent as he rubbed his hands down her back and lifted her rear end closer. “Tell me now if you want me to stop and I’ll leave. I’ll go, but I don’t want to.”

“No. Please stay. I want you,” she moaned, consumed in a need to have Alan make love to her.

The next series of kisses were more frantic, with tongues slipping between teeth to thrust into each other’s mouth. Amy ran her hands down his chest and pressed against the zipper of his jeans. She noted the catch in his breathing as she undid his belt and lowered his zipper.

Then, she slipped her hand inside and touch the torrid flesh of his penis. Alan had circled her breasts with his hands. With every brush across each nipple, Amy’s breathing raced. Her nipples ached to have him hold, squeeze, lave them.

She stepped back, holding her lust in check, for a moment of sanity. “We’ll be more comfortable in my bedroom. I’ll undress you and then you can undress me.”

His smile only encouraged her to take control. “A definite invitation I won’t refuse.”

She took his hand and started walking to her bedroom.

Alan pulled her on a slight detour to grab the candy box, champagne bottle, and glasses. “I have plans for this.” He winked.

Excerpt from Where or When by Francesca Hawley

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Bardic witch and famous singer Frank Jasper has been Sharon Beryl’s dream lover for years. When she wins a date with him, she is thrilled. Can their mutual desire become reality, or will it remain forever a dream?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Francesca Hawley, 2017

Excerpt:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks to your generous donations we met our goal tonight. We’ll be able to fund two Honor Flights very soon.”

Everyone cheered. After all, this was the real purpose of the party.

“And now, that moment you’ve all been waiting for. Frank, please draw the name of our lucky winner.”

He reached in the bowl and stirred the tickets thoroughly before finally drawing one. “And my companion for the evening is…” he paused dramatically and looked out into the crowd with a grin. Then he looked down at the ticket and read, “Sharon Beryl. Are you here sweetheart?”

Shar froze while Jess squealed, jumping up and down. Everyone, including Frank thought Jess was the winner.

“Well, come on up.” He waved to her. Jess shook her head and grabbed Shar’s arm, dragging her toward the well-guarded staircase on the far right side of the stage. The guards tried to stop her, but Jess yelled.

“This is Sharon, you twit. Not me.” Jess turned and hugged her. “You won. You won!”

“But, how?” Sharon could barely talk; she was so shocked.

“I bought a lot of tickets and put your name on them. Now go on and have fun.” Then Jess leaned close to whisper, “And tell me if he kisses as good as he looks.”

The guards escorted her up onto the stage and Frank crossed to her.

“Sharon?” he asked softly. She nodded. He took her hand and drew her forward to a padded stool that now sat center stage. She awkwardly climbed up on it and settled her skirt, so she was modestly covered.

“This one’s for you, sweetheart.”

The band began to play and he looked into her eyes to sing, Where or When. One of her favorite classic ballads. She stared into his dark eyes and he smiled at her. Leaning close, he cupped her cheek in his hand as he sang to the howls and catcalls of the audience. She barely noticed them as she felt the warmth of his hand.

His touch zinged through her, strangely familiar. Just as she recognized his scent. He finished the song with a kiss on her cheek, but she got a weird feeling he’d wanted to kiss her lips. She had to be making it up. Wishful thinking again. Still, she got to see the rest of the concert from the best seat in the house.

He sang more standards that she loved, and he surprised her by making her part of the show. He continued to serenade her at times, and every time he winked at her she grinned like a silly love-struck girl. Before long, her cheeks hurt from all the smiling. She looked out into the crowd and found Jess, who waved. She laughed, then turned back to watch Frank.

During a band interlude, he pulled her off the stool and danced with her. When he started to sing again, she would have returned to the stool but he held her close. Normally, she was a total klutz, but in Frank’s arms she moved with grace. Maybe he knew how to lead, or maybe she was just floating on air. Whatever the reason, they moved like they’d been born to dance together. This couldn’t be happening to her. Yet it was. If only for one night, Frank Jasper was hers.

Excerpt from The Moon Maiden's Mate by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Luna, 2114… A reluctant Shayna must travel to remote Farside Colony to meet her chosen mate
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

New Brooklyn, Luna
Chanukah, 2114

Thank God it was the end of the evening. Turning her back on her date, Shayna wiped her mouth on her sleeve and closed the sli-door to seal the pod with a disgusted flick of her finger. She stomped into the kitchen, where the mild aroma of hydroponically grown coffee lingered.

“So what was wrong with this one?” her mother asked, cradling a mug.

She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek, hiding her blush. She wasn’t going to discuss her date’s make-out style with her ema. “He, umm, he hovers.”

“He vacuums? Shayna, what are you talking about?”

“Not Hoovers, ema, he hovers. He practically breathed down my neck when I ate my latkes.” She carried her mother’s empty mug to the sonic cleaning unit. Hoovering didn’t begin to describe what her date did with his mouth. She considered herself lucky to escape him with her tongue, teeth and tonsils uninjured. She liked deep kissing, but spraining her tongue at the root was a no-no.

“Such a nice boy, and a doctor to boot.”

“He’d make me meshugah.”

“You’ll have to go to the matchmaker for a shidduch.”

Her jaw tightened as she put the mug inside the unit, then tapped a button. The soni-cleaner hummed. “Please, no. I’m capable of finding a husband for myself.”

“You’ve been dating since you were sixteen. You’ve gone out with every single man in New Brooklyn, most more than once,” her mother said. “I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Shayna’s mind flashed on the image of a tall dark man with smiling gray eyes and a demanding kiss.

Her mother continued, “This one hoovers, that one’s too short… There’s no alternative. If you don’t marry soon, you’ll have to go live on Earth. You know the rules.”

Shayna cast a fearful look upward. She’d never been to her home planet and didn’t want to go. Earth consisted of armed enclaves surrounded by post-Apocalyptic mishegass. On Earth, a Jew was safe only in Beverly Hills, Miami, and Israel.

Those who’d created New Brooklyn had dreamed of completely safe, wholly Jewish outposts on a pristine worldlet. Because of the harsh conditions, stringent rules governed conduct. Skilled personnel were at a premium, forcing the able-bodied to work and produce young to continue this, their great experiment. At twenty-four, she was pushing the age limit.

“All right.” She sighed. “I’ll try a shidduch.”

* * * * *

The next morning, Shayna tapped at the sli-door of Rivka Markowitz’s tiny office. Trained as a cultural anthropologist, Dr. Rivka Markowitz was a valued member of New Brooklyn, not merely because she kept the peace and the laws as a member of the Bet Din ruling council, but she played matchmaker. In a small, tight community, the strength of family bonds was crucial. The men and women who had to marry and bear children while young had to be assured of appropriate mates. Thus, the value of a skilled matchmaker who could create a successful shidduch, an arranged marriage that would flourish.

The door opened, revealing Rivka’s podlet, cluttered with bones, skulls and other unnerving detritus of the anthropologist’s calling. Shayna sneezed, the dust from the artifacts tickling her nose.

Rivka, a diminutive brunette dressed in the same silvery Slicksuit everyone wore, looked up. “Ah, Shayna Goldstein. I’ve been expecting you.”

Shayna moved a stack of infodiscs and sat in the armchair Rivka indicated. “And which of the gossipy yentas infecting this town tattled?”

“Your ema called ahead. She thought it would be polite.” Rivka smiled. “But I’d expected you long before this day. Couldn’t handle the way Harold Mechlin smells, or how Jim Abrams kisses?”

Shayna burst out laughing. She bet that Rivka was good at her job. She’d put Shayna at ease in the wink of an eye. “I needed a towel, the way he slobbers. And the sucking! I had to check to make sure my teeth were still in place.”

“So I’ve heard. I’ll get him married somehow,” Rivka said. “All of the emas think that their sons are such princes that they won’t come to me. But everyone ends up here eventually.”

“Everyone?”

“Just about. Very few on Luna entrust their futures to a random selection process based on hormones.” After opening a drawer, she withdrew a carved wooden box. “Sometimes they merely want their choice confirmed. Others, like you, can’t quite make up their minds.” She passed the box to Shayna.

She lifted the lid, then raised her brows. “Tarot cards?”

Rivka winked. “Most people don’t know the tarot is based on the Zohar, ancient Jewish mysticism. These cards have been modified to receive the emotional and mental vibrations of the user, and I’ve programmed them with the identities of all the single folk on Luna. Go on, take them out.”

The tarots felt peculiarly heavy and greasy in Shayna’s hands. If they were programmable, that accounted for their weight since each card would contain chips or computers of some sort. Dubious, she flipped them through her fingers. They vibrated gently, perhaps responding to her thought waves or whatever. Sounded kinda hocus-pocus to feet-on-the-ground Shayna.

“Divide the deck into three on the desk, here.”

Shayna followed Rivka’s direction.

“Turn over the top card on each stack.”

Shayna obeyed. “Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the candlestick?”

Rivka frowned as Shayna mocked the old and honored game of Clue. She tapped a finger on the first card, which depicted a dark moon beneath a sky full of stars. The Earth, normally a constant companion in the heavens, was absent.

“You are to go to Farside,” Rivka said.

“Farside!” A chill zipped up Shayna’s back despite her Slicksuit, designed to keep body temperature stable.

Rivka tossed the second card at Shayna. It showed a circle of dancers in a festive scene. “The Chanukah party at Farside. You will see your intended there.”

“How will I know him?”

Rivka held up a third, last card, which depicted a dark man. A head taller than his companions, he regarded them with an air of authority. Another shiver chased the first up Shayna’s spine. This was her mate, her one true love?

A dark man. Could it be…?

“Barack Obama?” Shayna hid her nerves with a quip about the first African-American president of the now-defunct U.S. republic.

Rivka glared.

“Sorry.” Shayna shrank back into her seat. “But there are many dark males here. I’m sure Farside is no exception.”

“Your intended will know you. Few moon children are red-headed, remember?”

“But who is he?”

Rivka smiled. “The only possible mate for you.” She shuffled the tarots together before putting them away.

“But I don’t want to live on Farside!”

Rivka’s smile disappeared. “Why not?”

“I want to stay in New Brooklyn. I was born here. This is my home.” Shayna rose to pace, as best she could, Rivka’s tiny podlet office.

“Apparently it’s time you left the cocoon.” Rivka tapped the top of the carved box. “The programming in these tarots has a reliability factor of over ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent. I assure you, your mate is correctly selected.”

“But why do I have to go?” Shayna wailed.

“‘Whither thou goest, I shall go.’”

She recognized the ancient words from the book of Ruth, and her shoulders slumped.

“It is time for you to commit to something beyond yourself, Shayna maydel.”

Excerpt from Valentime by Belle Scarlett

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:


Blurb:
Valerie buys a South Carolina plantation and discovers a Valentine addressed to her from a previous owner who bids her to return to him in 1865.
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Belle Scarlett, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

The ink was barely dry on the mortgage papers to the sprawling, old plantation house when Valerie Heart put a sledgehammer through her living room wall and discovered the Valentine addressed to her from the past. One hundred and fifty years in the past, to be precise.

She peered into the hole behind the plaster and plucked out the yellowed piece of folded paper. It rested on top of a hinged leather case about the size of a deck of cards. The brittle stuff ripped a little in her hand. Worried that the document might turn into powder between her fingers before she could see what it contained, she unfolded the creased parchment slowly. She removed her safety goggles for an unobstructed view of the sweeping, cursive lettering penned in faded ink.

I cannot sleep. I have no stomach for victuals or drink. I cannot think upon anything save having you in my bed again. Underneath me where you belong. Warm and wet as a soft spring night, with your legs wrapped around my waist as though to pull me all the way lost inside of you. Were you merely a ghost, after all? A wanton phantom come to delight my nights with your sweet body, only to vanish cruelly when the cock crows the dawn’s arrival? You torment my empty days with your absence.

To add to my misery of finding you lost to me comes the intelligence that Sherman has cut off Augusta from Charleston and the railway between. One of the last remaining Reb armies now in Charleston is in danger of being surrounded. The end of the war cannot be far off, but my land is in the direct path of the ensuing disaster with Union shells advancing every day to kiss my property line. I am long past my original plan of doing my bit to help end this bloody conflict and then quitting the area timely before I am happened upon by either side; the result of which in either case would surely mean my court martial in one instance or my immediate hanging in the other. Yet I linger on here and find I cannot make myself leave this place without you. My gut twists at the thought of never seeing you again.

I will delay my departure in the hope that Providence may help my letter to find you in the manner you told me it shall. I pray you will re-appear as mysteriously as you left. Come back to me, Valerie Amy Heart. Find a way back to me. – Grayson Hunter

Valerie Amy Heart? Valerie stared at the paper in her hand, uncertain whether to be more incredulous at the crumbling missive that implored her by name or at the impossible date on it. February 14, 1865.

“Is this a joke?” She heard her own words echo softly in the empty room but felt instantly that this was no prank. This would be a pretty big gag for anyone she knew to pull off, and she knew no one in the immediate area. For another thing, she could feel the truth and passion in the letter as though it were a tangible thing, reaching out from the page to curl around her like heat from a bonfire. Impossible as it was, her gut tingled with certainty that the paper in her hand was meant for her find and… do what?

The historical detail in the letter was correct, as every school child in South Carolina knew. Three days after the date on this letter, General William Tecumseh Sherman and his Union Army swept through this area and burned Columbia just a few miles away. Nothing in the Union army’s path, including this plantation, had remained unscathed. The local population even put on Civil War reenactments in the countryside every year to commemorate the siege.

Valerie’s eyes scanned the document again, more slowly this time. She couldn’t decide which burning question frustrated her more.

Who was Grayson Hunter? How, or when, had she told him to send this letter? How could he have known her in 1865, much less so… intimately? What had his fate been?

Then she shivered, recalling the small cemetery belonging to the former, longtime occupants that the realtor had told her was on the property somewhere down by the woods. A morbid thought snaked through her mind before she could stop it.

Would she find Grayson Hunter’s name carved on one of the crumbling tombstones in the Hunter family plot when she explored the woods tomorrow morning?

Excerpt from Hot As Hades by Regina Kammer

Part of the NAUGHTY PHANTASIA boxed-set, available now!


Find it here:



Blurb:
After living in Hell for four months, Persephone returns home to the mortal realm. But can home truly be home without the man she loves?
*Published in a previous Naughty Literati anthology.*


Copyright © Regina Kammer, 2017

Excerpt:

Hades slumped in his golden throne, drumming his fingers on his knee, his other hand barely holding his blood-red wine goblet. Tiny waves of fragrant liquor sloshed over the rim as he balanced the cup with two fingers on either side of the stem.

A ker scurried over to refill his cup every time it reached half empty. After the tenth time he waved the servant away. The attempts by his staff to satisfy his every desire were getting bothersome and tiring.

He had only one desire. And she was back home visiting her damn mother. A growl of displeasure rose in his throat. He was expected to wait how many months? Eight?

Zeus had promised his daughter, then had made good on the promise. The maiden had been exactly where the God of Gods had said she would be.

Hades stared at the golden chair next to him. His queen should be sitting at his side at that very moment. Even the usually fierce Kerberos looked dejected lying on his pillow between the thrones, three chins atop two crossed paws. The canine guard sighed as his three pairs of eyes stared dolefully at the empty seat his mistress used to occupy.

Hades downed the contents of the half-filled wine glass. Damn it all to Hell! It wasn’t right. He had captured the maiden fair and square and then her mother had to go and ruin it all.

He threw the goblet into the fire pit fronting the dais. Shards of glass exploded in a dazzling display of gold flames tipped with flares of white.

Gold like her hair. White like that dangerously sexy slip of a dress she had been wearing when he first grabbed her. The filmy fabric had exaggerated the tender curves of her nubile body. Before they made love for the first time, he had easily torn the chiton clean off.

Fuck. He was hard just thinking about it.

Hades gripped the arms of the throne chair, futilely digging his nails into the hot metal, then stood.

Well, maybe he’d just go grab her right back.